"Little People and Big Heroes" movie script
Text/[United States] Leonard Fletcher
Translation/Ye Shuixin
"Hero" starring actor Dustin Hoffman is one of Hollywood's most successful films. Based on this movie, American writer Leonard Fletcher wrote the film novel "Hero: A Hero And A Half" (Hero: A Hero And A Half). The book portrays the image of two lower-level figures in American society, the so-called little people, Bernie and John. Although their lives are unsatisfactory, and they have their own shortcomings of one kind or another, sometimes even intolerable, but at critical moments, they show shining points that surprise others, even themselves, and become A living hero. The novel shows us the beautiful and upward side of human nature and reflects the values of Western society; the language is lively and humorous, and the whole story is done in one go.
Authorized by the author and Big Apple Co., Ltd., our agency has the exclusive right to publish the simplified Chinese characters of the book. --editor
1
If life is like a merry-go-round in a playground, Pamboni has never reached the brass armrest so far. When the things around him endlessly revolve around him, he will also stare at it-golden light twinkling, full of promise, but it is impossible to achieve. Although he had tried to catch the elusive copper ring and wanted to take it for himself, the god of fate always kept the best prizes undistributed. His clumsy attempts are always almost a bit.
Think about the copper ring. It is a familiar symbol of "achievement" that most people agree with. For the lucky few, the brass ring will automatically untie it wonderfully, like a pitiful puppy wagging its tail, digging into you, directly on their laps. Bernie does not belong to their group. In addition, some people can get a string of copper rings with their own ingenuity. Bernie is not one of them either. Most men and women have worked hard all their lives, and in their later years they can also get the bronze ring of fate as a reward for their persistence in monotonous, hard and honest work for many years.
Of course Pamboni is not one of them.
Bernie has bad luck, incompetence, and hard work is not his style. He is the kind of person who makes easy money, is a scammer who swindles money and runs away. He occasionally steals at a convenient time, and often does a small amount of stolen goods. But no matter what kind, Bernie is not very prominent. He doesn't do complicated things, he doesn't make serious plans, and he doesn't do things that require muscles or-God can't tolerate-violence. This is all because Bernie has a nose for money, maybe he thinks so. But the facts always seem to prove that Bernie's criminal career-like all the jobs he has been engaged in over the years-he achieved nothing, desperately desperately, and was unsuccessful. He didn't make any money at all, and he was often arrested.
Hey! Don't think about it crooked. Bernie is not a bad person, he just frequently deviates from the narrow path, walks into too many dead ends, and finally loses himself. On the highway of life, the busy traffic made Bernie overwhelmed, because he had lost a map guiding him to the destination he once yearned for somewhere on the journey.
Ironically, Bernie takes the wrong path a lot harder than most people take the right path. The constant deception has exhausted him, and his thin shoulders have collapsed under the pressure of humble existence. And he always feels very tired.
When the god of fate took out the copper ring, he had only one request, and everyone treated the same-whether you rely on luck, talent or hard work, that is, before you get the copper ring, you must stand tall and look straight at your destiny The eyes of the gods.
Bernie never looked into the eyes of the god of fate or anyone. This habit has been developed since he was in kindergarten 35 years ago. At that time, he escaped from the teacher’s angry eyes because she wanted to know who stole the red crayon (he stole it. When the teacher scolded him in front of his classmates who laughed at him, the crayon was still in his pocket) .
So if you are looking for a hero, you must be crazy to consider Bernie. He is the most unlikely and the least decent one you will pick. He was short and skinny, his big and weird nose was lined with two wicked eyes, he was ragged, and he staggered and seemed to never stop. His tense hands have never stopped, and he often has to look back to see if any new threats are approaching quietly. He is the kind of person with the word "loser" pierced on his forehead, and everything will mess up. You will be sure that he is not the hero you are looking for, and Bernie will be the first person to agree with you.
But that is also the greatness of the God of Destiny, and there are often amazing moves. Just when you want to take a good grasp of this game, the god of fate looks at a few bases, grabs the ball, swings his arm, and throws a fast-changing ball that will make you three strikes out of the game. Suddenly everyone can play. If the twists and turns are more bizarre, it might even be Pamboni's turn to play.
But now Bernie is not in the rest area, waiting for his turn to play the ball thrown by the god of fate. He is in the second room of the Seventh Court in the lobby of the Judiciary Building. He sold several boxes of stolen five-gallon barrels of latex paint. paint! For God's sake, the jury should let him go. What the hell does it matter to take a few insignificant buckets of paint from Carvery’s endless cargo? It was just a blast in the storm. But now the jury is leaving the table to consider accusing Bernie's first charge: conspiracy to sell stolen goods, theft accomplices. There are also one or two offensive charges. Frankly speaking, now he is a little worried.
Bernie had been arrested for several minor offences, but-thank God-was not sentenced, and he had never met this judge before. But there are other things to be weighed on the balance of justice.
The paint bucket case didn't seem quite right from the beginning. If he didn't do the stupid carpet cleaning for 5 yuan this hour. Allow him to enter the bathroom grandiosely, and Bernie wouldn't even commit the crime of taking paint. It's too risky. If he didn’t do this with a smoker who sent his pigeons, and his brother did his own business, then Bernie would not be arrested; if the location of the stolen goods he chose was not only away from the 14th police service area A few blocks away, or if his lawyer really has a few litigation experience, rather than the diploma assigned by the court, the ink is not dry, and the litigation free doll lawyer-if, if, if, can Can't, won't, shouldn't, these are Bernie's common spoken words.
He looked around the dull and familiar courtroom. The milky white paint was paired with the contrasting dark brown woodcarvings. The high ceiling could absorb sound. There were bright fluorescent lights above his head, and the plastic floor never looked clean. Judge Cohill, wearing a black nylon gown, sat on a red chair with a frown on the case. On both sides of him stood the American flag and the Illinois state flag, and a bronze badge with the county emblem of Cook County hung on the wall behind him like a halo on his head. Bernie has been here before and sincerely hopes that he is not here at the moment.
The jury has assembled its opinions and guided into the court by the bailiff. They discussed it for less than half an hour, which is not a good sign. The patrol officer testified that he happened to bump into Bernie unloading stolen goods from a bad car-now even Bernie himself admits-and arrested him as a convicted criminal. A few buckets of paint, God! Release me! He felt very optimistic that they couldn't convict him at all. He will be released again, as Bernie always does.
"Mr. Hu, have you reached a verdict?" Judge Kou asked.
A tall, bald man stood up. He wears thick glasses and a thin bow tie. "Yes, sir, we think the defendant is guilty."
guilty! What the hell is this, are they trying to kill him? A few cans of paint, you can’t condemn a person with this! Who is in jail for paint? Didn't he defend his innocence? What's wrong with this ghost justice system?
Bernie turned to look at his defense lawyer Oudanna, a serious young woman with a sexy mouth and sympathetic, big, dark eyes. She just passed her 24th birthday. So far, Bernie is her only client, and this is also her first case. She was sad when the lawsuit was lost, even though she could not find any witnesses to defend him except Bernie. And even Dana didn't really want to put Bernie on the witness stand.
"Sir, can I discuss with you?" she asked.
The judge nodded, and Odanna moved to the judge's bench and discussed with the prosecutor there. Bernie watched unhappily, grief and anger mixed in his heart. When the two men and the judge were in a quiet meeting, they could not be heard. Suddenly something caught his gaze, and he stood still, his eyes wide and staring.
Odana’s briefcase was opened and placed on the defense table, and Bernie saw her purse on the top of the file. An unforgettable opportunity. He glanced at the judges' bench, Odanna was concentrating on the meeting, and the opened lid just blocked her sight, so that she could not see Bernie anyway. The only person who could see Bernie was the observer sitting behind him. Bernie looked back, and the courtroom was empty. Even homeless homeless people have interesting cases like Biberni and Paint Bucket.
Bernie quickly moved the wallet from the suitcase to his lap, watching the lawyers and judges, and counting the banknotes in the wallet. He must be careful, but don't be too greedy to make it look like stealing, although he is the most obvious and the only suspect. He can steal some, but not all. Holding his breath, he managed to take a few 20 yuan denominations and one or two 10 yuan denominations into his pockets, and then just before Odanna returned to the debate table, he put the wallet back in the suitcase.
"I want you to continue to be released on bail," his young lawyer said.
"Bail, God!" Bernie yelled angrily. "I am innocent!" At this moment, Bernie sincerely believed that he was innocent. This is the flexibility of the human spirit.
The judge's bench heard the sound of knocking on Mu Fa to demand that order be maintained.
"Mr. Pan," Judge Kou said sternly, "I was persuaded by your lawyer to continue to release you on bail according to the previous terms because you have always had a job and have no previous convictions. The judgment will be postponed for 6 days from now on. , And at the same time you have to meet regularly with your parole officer, and he will give me a suggestion report on your case."
The judge leaned forward and looked at Bernie frowning. As usual, he avoided the judge's gaze and turned his gaze to the side. "I advise you," the judge said solemnly, "use these six days to arrange your personal affairs and prepare for imprisonment."
Bernie winced. In prison, he hated the word. The judge's wood faded again, ending the trial. The sound of wood slamming along with the judge's words lingered in Bernie's mind, like a big and heavy door slammed on his face.
"What does'preparation for imprisonment' mean?" Bernie asked as he and his young lawyer walked down the corridor from the court to the exit.
"It means going to jail, Mr. Pan," Odanna explained to him.
Bernie waved his hand impatiently and looked at his defense lawyer angrily. She wore a neat suit for the court appearance, which looked like a little girl in her mother's clothes. "Of course I know what that means. I'm not the kind of person who goes to jail, I'm a person with a job." He frowned and bit his lower lip. "I'm very reluctant to say this, Miss Ou, but you didn't do your job well. You should let me be released. My lawyer dropped the complaint last time."
"I think that's why the prosecutor will be so stubborn this time," Odanna pointed out.
But Bernie was not in the mood to listen to reason. "How about the appeal? And—"
Odana's curved eyebrows raised in amazement. "Appeal! We have no reason to appeal." She opened the suitcase, and a panic of fear ran down Bernie's back, but she just took out a stack of files instead of a purse. He was relieved. Obviously, she hadn't noticed what was missing.
Bernie's lower lip pursed stubbornly. "Then you should find some fucking reason. Forgive me for speaking foul language."
The lawyer fiddled with her suitcase and managed to open the file. "What we must do now is to focus on the parole officer's report," she told him.
Bernie narrowed his eyes and thought for a while. "You mean that if he writes the report well, I can walk?" He asked softly.
Odana looked at the ground and shrugged slightly. "Well, I don't think there is much hope for a suspended sentence," she admitted, continuing to look through her files. "You still have a job, right?"
It's almost gone. "Yes, I called for sick leave," he told her surprisedly. "They think I have a cold."
"There is another son raised by your ex-wife? Is it Joseph?"
Bernie looked taken aback. This was a problem he didn't expect.
"There is a son. What does it matter to him? His name is Joey."
"Do you have the responsibility to participate fully in the upbringing?" the lawyer asked.
participate? God! This question filled Bernie’s tiny soul with righteous indignation. He screamed: “She took my fucking paycheck! Why don’t you want me to find a lawyer appointed by the court instead of one...er...more Experienced lawyer!" Oh, he really has an open mouth, he almost said just now, "I don't find a real lawyer".
"I understand," Odana said, her tone sounding hurt. "How often do you see your son?"
"Oh, often," Bernie lied. He almost believed what he was telling a lie.
"I mean the most recent time."
recent? What is it recently? He frowned and thought, finally got the answer. "The kid? Uh, I don't know, I think it's probably his birthday. Uh, let me think about when it is? May?"
Odana looked surprised. "It's November now, Mr. Pan, it was 6 months ago!"
"By the way, it was about that time." Bernie shrugged.
The young lawyer closed his lips tightly. She herself comes from a rigorous Irish family, all members love and take care of each other. "I think you should visit your son and try to ask your employer to write a written report of your work situation," she suggested.
"She doesn't want me to see him," Bernie replied in a deep voice, embarrassing him by talking about it. "She thinks I will give him a bad influence." The thought of his ex-wife's criticism of him would always make him uncomfortable, so he seldom thinks about it.
"You need to create an impression," Dana continued, "to make people believe that you are a responsible, noble citizen with a sense of family, just a momentary slip."
"Yes." Bernie agreed deeply, but his doubts gnawed at him again. Can he really do it? Would anyone believe it? For the first time, the possibility of an impending prison disaster hit him. He felt he was shaking in fear, and his forehead was sweating.
Now it was Odana's turn to feel embarrassed. "Uh..." She hesitated and opened her mouth. "Mr. Pan, I know you have financial difficulties... but I don't know if... I mean... the money I lent you last week... Is there any more?"
Frightened by the sudden "preparation for imprisonment", Bernie confessed to his creditor that he still had money; this would never happen when he was sane.
"There are some more." He said as he took out 10 yuan and 20 yuan bills from his pocket, which were stolen from Odanna's wallet. "It's all here, I will pay the rest as soon as possible." He put the money in her hands.
Dana was very surprised and even moved. She didn't expect Bernie to offer anything other than excuses, but now her gentle, unintelligible kindness began to melt, and she began to find a pitiful excuse for the client and the man. "I know you have been out of luck recently, Mr. Pan, I don't want to take all the money..."
Bernie regained his sanity and reached for the 20 yuan bill. "Yes, if I want to take the child out, I'd better keep some money with me." His hungry fingers hovered over the banknote, and then took another banknote. How can he resist it?
"And...er...Mr. Pan," Odanna said again, trying to be as gentle as possible, "Do you think you can...wear some...new clothes...when you go to see the parole officer?' She glanced critically at Bernie’s old wrinkled raincoat. The ragged blazer was made of polyester blended Scottish duffle, and he wore a polo shirt and bag-like pants that he wore with holes. His shoes look new and polished very brightly. "Also...can you...shave a beard? "
Bernie seemed taken aback. shave? He touched the stubby beard on his forehead. He doesn't remember when it was last scratched, did he yesterday? The day before yesterday? "Okay, of course," he said to himself. "Why don't you shave a beard? You can do anything, you are the boss."
2
Believe it or not, Pamboni is not without charm. Even if the burden of today's life is like the sea old man who is tightly wrapped around Sinbad in "Arabian Nights", he is weighed heavily on his shoulders, occasionally that charm will struggle to show his face. For example, he has a charming smile. He seldom laughed, because there never seemed to be anything worth laughing, but when he laughed, his whole face seemed to light up. The wrinkled and vicissitudes of Bernie's face full of wrinkles and vicissitudes of age still has the childishness of the little boy trapped in him, and sometimes the inner child will stick out her head charmingly. Bernie seems completely ignorant of his smile and childlike innocence, which is a good thing, otherwise he will find a way to use them to deceive others.
Women never find Bernie irresistible. But he was not without a romantic encounter, and a woman fell in love and married him. This is Fu Lin, a kind-hearted but confused woman. She accepted the 28-year-old Bernie compassionately because she was sure she could transform this piece of jade. Under the magic of love, she wanted to recast Bernie into his proper face.
Poor Fulin! Living with Bernie, seeing him full of lies and excuses day after day, she was an incompetent husband and father, and her dreams were shattered one by one. Soon after they got married, they faced real problems; Pamboini spent his whole life squandering and would not go to heaven after death. He has no sense of morality, spine and ambition. There is no trace of honesty in his humble and hypocritical soul. But Fu Lin still stayed by his side for a while, because in the deep disappointment and frustration, there was still a trace of love. After the birth of little Joey, Fu Lin finally decided to ask Bernie to walk. It's one thing to spoil a childishly naive man, but it's quite another thing to have a real baby. The baby really needs care, but the husband refuses to grow up and face the difficulties of life. It is impossible for him to do his father's duties. Fu Lin is unable to take care of two babies at the same time.
The day Fulin sent Pamboni out was the beginning of his rebirth from decadence. For every bad thing he encountered in his life, he saw it come, but closed his eyes and deceived himself and thought it would pass. Fu Lin's final determination really surprised him.
He felt sorry for the loss of his wife and children, and also sad for the loss of his family. But all this is fate, no one can escape, he also accepted the fact: "Pan Berni, this is your life." Besides, he was alone, and he was indeed free to move.
As far as he is concerned, he still loves Fu Lin, but Fu Lin will not believe anything. As for Bernie and Joey, there is only a thin relationship at best. Take one thing, he didn't know what his father should do. He didn't know what to do or say in front of Joey. His sincere love for his son is always mixed with the guilt he felt for neglecting the child in all aspects. So he took the second place, as long as he knew that there was a child in this world who inherited the Pan family's surname, and also inherited Bernie's big black eyes, black hair, thin body and shoulders, and a long chin. He felt satisfied. Thank God, fortunately, the child inherited his mother's nose.
Even so, Pan Joey still admires his father very much. The distance between the two adds to Bernie’s magic in his son’s mind, and what he shows in front of Joey is an extraordinary and romantic image. Brave, strong, and extremely smart. Joey treats Bernie as an idol, which makes Fulin feel extremely distressed. She wanted her son to follow a good example, and that was not something his father could do, because that included setting up a good example of behavior, which was harder for Bernie than it was for him. She opposed the exchange between them, and she was sincerely grateful for a father like Bernie who never went home and had been indifferent for a long time.
But now Bernie is back at the order of his lawyer. The lawyer asked him to "behave like a father in front of the parole officer; behave normally; visit your son often." In the court order, he only had 6 days to save himself, which was only the first step. The first day.
Furin frowned and reluctantly handed Joey to Bernie. Joey was wearing a new coat, ecstatic, and drilled lifelessly on him. Flynn’s big grey eyes flashed warning eyes at him, and she told him plainly, “If you let this child suffer any harm, whether it’s emotional, psychological, or physical, or if you’re in a few hours later If you fail to bring him back unscathed, Pan Fulin will be your lifelong nightmare." Bernie nodded and moved his feet slowly. When his eyes avoided Fu Lin's two sharp gazes, he suddenly noticed that she still maintained a very good figure and was still a beautiful woman.
In order to take his son out, Bernie got 40 yuan from Dana and tidyed himself up. He drove Joey toward the zoo with the accelerator of his dilapidated Toyota. In addition to traditionally a place where fathers and sons divorced from their wives meet, the zoo is also a relatively free place.
Joey went to the zoo with his father happily, just like the other fathers and sons, except that his father was even better and wonderful.
"Wow! Look at that one!" He panted, and pointed to a large male lion that was half-asleep on the concrete floor in the cage and ignored tourists. A big yellow eye was staring at the human world outside the cage. , Seems to be unfair to his being imprisoned by humans. "The other one!" Joey's 10-year-old body was shaking with excitement when he saw a muscular black panther. The panther walked angrily around in the small enclosure, its long hairy tail wagging nonstop.
"If you are in a cage, will it kill you... Dad?" The address from this child's mouth is sincere and tentative, because he doesn't often have the opportunity to be called "Dad".
Bernie glanced at Panther nervously. Are those damn railings strong? Can it stop the power of this "big cat" when it gets angry? The beast glared back at him fiercely, making him take a step back uncomfortably. "Yes," he said to the boy vaguely. "Yeah, that's how it is."
But Joey just shook his head quietly. He bet that if his father wanted to, he would be able to beat it. Bernie is just humble.
They spent a few hours walking from one animal cage to another, watching the tall giraffe use its long and flexible tongue to pull the leaves from the branches above its head; watching the chubby hippopotamus basking in the sun in the pool; The monkeys catch fleas for each other and put them in their mouths for chewing. They also find it very interesting. Bernie felt that the distance between him and his son had become much closer. But as always, once he thought of how he had overlooked Joey, a guilty sadness destroyed the sweetness they shared.
Joey never asks Bernie for anything, so he always thinks that the child must be hungry until the man feels hungry. The Toyota drove to the burger restaurant frequented by Bernie, and they ordered cheeseburgers, french fries and soda.
Sitting happily having lunch with his father like other children, Joey looked very happy. And began to chat about his daily life. Maybe he was a little too open. Because soon he told Bernie all about Fu Lin's new boyfriend.
Bernie frowned. This boyfriend was something new to him. After the divorce for so many years, Fu Lin has not been fooling around outside, at least Bernie has never heard of it. But this new ruffian seemed to be a serious matter, and Bernie was very upset.
"This guy—the guy your mother thinks is a'friend.' He's a firefighter, isn't he?" he asked. "Did he... ever stayed overnight at home? What is his name?"
Joey took a big bite of the burger, and the ketchup dripped onto his chin. "Sometimes," he replied nonchalantly. "His name is Airy, and he rescued a person in a fire."
Bernie needs this information, even if it's only a little bit. His brows were frowned severely, and two deep lines formed on his face. "Oh, isn't it? A hero, right? Has this guy named Airy been to'Nan'?"
Joey was confused. "What'South'?"
"It was the war," Bernie said. "Vietnam." He shrugged. "That's not really important."
"Did you participate?" Joey asked eagerly, hoping to dig out more heroic deeds from his hero. "Have you participated in that war?"
"You never saw that picture, did you?"
"What picture"? Joey's eyes sparkled with excitement.
"The one in my military uniform," Bernie said sadly. "Usually on the bookshelf." Fu Lin must have thrown it away with all his memories, and he realized this in frustration. Whether in substance or form, he no longer lives there. The room had been completely changed, and he could hardly recognize it. Only then did he know how little he knew about Joey's life, which he had shared in the past. He also learned how neglected to visit his own son. The child loves him so much, but he rarely contacts him.
Joey shook his head because he had never seen a photo of his father in a military uniform, but his eyes still flashed with pride. And Bernie felt painful guilt and self-blame again. In front of his son, he was a complete stranger. How far can a man sink?
Nevertheless, he is not completely helpless to Joey, he has experience. Of course, these tricks of messing around on the street are much more useful than what I learned in the book, and Bernie knows this well, doesn't he? His own school of knowledge needs to be passed on. The best example is right now. The father and son were standing side by side in the men's room of the burger restaurant, peeing into the urinal. If Bernie knew anything, it was that he knew how to pee. For a responsible father, this unique skill is passed down to children and not to disciples.
"What you have to pay special attention to, kid, just get closer so that you don't pee on your shoes." Joey listened intently, his eyes bright, he wanted to absorb all his father's wisdom. "Of course it doesn’t matter at the moment, because you are wearing sneakers. But someday when you are running, you wear a pair of expensive shoes, but you don’t want to pee on them. You will avoid urine, avoid those rude people, avoid Open everything."
Bernie looked at his shoes smugly. That was all his joy and pride, a pair of casual shoes with tassels. If he hadn't bought it from the back of a truck, he would have to spend a fortune. 100 yuan a pair of shoes. Bernie prefers expensive shoes. He thinks a pair of expensive shoes is the authentic mark of a gentleman.
The old and young two stood side by side, zipping up their trousers. "Will you take me somewhere else next week?" Joey asked hopefully.
"I have to work that day," Bernie replied. He might be lying comfortably in prison next week eating and drinking. 6 days, that is all the time he can use. In this short time, he wanted to find his lost life and put it together again.
"Because of some business problems...and...what's the matter?" He paused suddenly when he saw Joey walking to a toilet cubicle, bending over and reaching under the door.
"Someone dropped the wallet." The boy said, picking up the wallet and showing it to his father.
Bernie stretched out his hand and grabbed the black wallet eagerly, opened it and took a glance, and saw some cash, some 50 yuan bills, and 5 yuan or two yuan and some one-yuan bills. In addition, there are a few credit cards. If he has good hands and feet, they should be worth some money.
"Are we going to hand it over, Dad?" Joey asked.
How can you explain to a 10-year-old child that life is not like that? "Well, we can give it to the manager..." Bernie said, and Joey kept nodding.
"But, let's talk about it," he continued, and led the boy out of the men's room in a hurry, and walked out of the restaurant door to the parking lot. "If you give it to the manager, he might put the money in his pocket and throw away the wallet. A lot of high-ranking people... Attention, I'm not saying that all... are thieves. No, I do. A better way." He peeked at Joey to see if he had oversaid, the child was listening intently.
"I'm going to do this. When I get to the office tomorrow, I will ask my secretary to call this guy by the name on the driver's license. I will let this guy come to my office to claim his wallet, and I promise to reward you. . This is what you deserve, because you found it. You want a prize, don’t you?"
"I think so," Joey said. "Of course."
When they were walking through the parking lot, a ragged, homeless woman just pushed two shopping carts full of her poor belongings past them. The autumn wind blew up her shabby clothes, and she was trembling in the cold wind. When her gaze fell on the man and the child, she grinned hopefully, revealing annoying blood-red gums and toothless black cavities.
"I'm sorry, sir," she said with a dry, cracked and extremely dirty hand. "Can you give alms—"
"Impossible, ma'am, there is no door," Bernie snarled rudely. He grabbed Joey by the shoulders, pushed him forward, and hurried past her. The boy looked back at the unfortunate woman. Bernie thought he was a bit too rude to Joey. "You must resist the urge to do good to them," he explained hastily. "They are big liars, deceptive people. In fact, many of them are much richer than the rest of us."
"Really?" The little boy was suspicious, thinking how pitiful the old woman was just now.
"Trust me," Bernie replied. They walked to the spot where Bernie had parked his Toyota. This broken 1981 car has run 400,000 miles. It is rusty and riddled with holes. It is dying. But Bernie also locked it up like a treasure, as if he was afraid that someone would steal it, but he didn't worry about being fined or towed away. He fumbled for the keychain and found the key inserted into the rusty keyhole.
"The first thing you have to pay special attention to," he explained to his son using his Pan philosophy. "It sounds harsh, but the outside world is fucking... Forgive me for speaking foul language... a jungle, kid. That's why you want to lower your posture, right? Take a lower posture!"
Opening the car door, he urged Joey to get in the car, eagerly hoping to leave the place before the owner returned to look for them. Of course, this Toyota has been "stalwart", but the last time it was a stalwart was in 1985. Bernie has always lived in hope.
On the way to Furin's house, a feeling of sadness came to Bernie's heart. In the next few years, this may be the last time I got together with my son. This thought frustrated him. The child's innocence and love for his father touched the unknown part of Bernie's heart. Although his feelings for Joey were short-lived but very real, it also brought him immense pain. The innocence and trust alone made him feel desperate.
The car drove for several miles, and the two of them didn't speak, each fell into contemplation. For Joey, it was an exciting afternoon because he was accompanied by someone he regarded as an idol. This man is extremely intelligent in many ways. He used to be a soldier, fought in wars, and maybe still a hero. This person knows everything, knows how to pee, and is very honest. He even wanted to present awards to his son because his son found his wallet.
"Is it the next exit?" Bernie asked suddenly. "right?"
The child nodded. He was sad for the reunion that was about to end.
Bernie sensed his sadness and at the same time infected his emotions. "Uh... listen, Joey, I mean... I'm very happy with the progress of our relationship."
"Thursday night you can take me to the movies," Joey suggested softly without any hope. "Because we have no class on Friday."
"Well, I hope so," Bernie said.
"Oh!" the boy cheered, but when his father continued, his face stretched.
"It's like this, I have to discuss these business issues... with the lawyers." How could he tell his son the truth of the matter, which would ruin the relationship between them.
Joey nodded, his brown-black eyes full of frustration and resistance. That pitiful look was more like Bernie than ever. The man's heart began to sympathize with the child.
"But I will try to find a way," Bernie said proudly. "The most important thing before us is that we have to go home on time. We can't make your mother upset. She still likes to nag about punctuality, right?'People must be punctual'." He imitated and recalled With these Fu Lin said thousands of times.
Joey nodded and grinned. "'People must be punctual.'" They repeated it again in unison, enjoying the fun of sarcasticing Fu Lin together.
"She always takes care of me," Bernie said. "I'm not saying that punctuality is not important—"
"Over there!" Joey pointed. "The exit is over there."
Bernie turned the steering wheel, and the whole car body turned around with the steering wheel, which is really amazing. "Yes, thank you, I almost started. Thanks, brother."
Brother! Joey Coke. Bernie called him old brother, and he and his father became buddies. They crossed their eyes and smiled knowingly. Bernie felt a mixture of guilt and powerlessness gnawing at his heart. He loves this kid in his own way, and he loves Joey with all his heart. But the child's completely innocent confidence in his father made Bernie nervous.
3
As soon as he left Joey and Flynn, his whole heart was on more urgent matters. There were several credit cards in the wallet that the kid found in the toilet of the restaurant, including a gold card with a high credit rating, which was worth a lot of money in the black market. But he has to get rid of it as soon as possible, before the owner calls the credit card company to report the loss. This hot plastic currency can be cooled faster than the buckwheat cake on a plate in the refrigerator.
The first thing he did was park the car next to the phone booth on the street and made a call to Bonnie, a second-rate thief and informer. This person’s road news is the most informed. Just give him 50 yuan, and Bonnie will tell you who wants to buy what, where. If you add another 10 yuan, he will even arrange a meeting for you. On important things like this, Bonnie is like Bernie's public relations secretary.
He listened to Bonnie reading out a long list of buyers who would buy credit cards. Two of them were especially recommended by Bonnie, but Bonnie was not familiar with it. "Asby and Vangas?" Bernie asked cautiously.
"Of course they are not decent!" Bonnie giggled. "If they are decent, would they buy a credit card?" He kept laughing at his little humor.
"Yeah, all right," Bernie murmured. "Tell them to be at the Nightshade Bar tonight, 8 or 8:30, and tell them to bring cash."
"Where is my 60 yuan?"
"You will be paid 60 yuan as soon as the business is concluded."
"Well, it's better. This time I won't let you fall back on your account again, Bernie, or you will become a current account refused, understand?"
"Got it. In'Night Shadow' tonight, don't mess up, Bonnie."
Bernie got back into his Toyota and looked miserable. His reason was warning him, and he knew very well in his heart that he was doing something stupid; he was on bail before the sentence was pronounced, and he dared to sell stolen credit cards.
"They weren't stolen, I found them," Bernie said to himself aloud. But he knew that as long as he didn't return the lost property, it was considered theft. In addition, buying and selling stolen goods—even the “found” credit card—was a felony.
His lawyer Odana had given him advice, and Bernie knew that he should try hard to put it into practice-to make his messy life as straight as possible. But he couldn't resist the temptation to make money quickly and easily. These credit cards are a gift from heaven in his hands. If they are ignored, it would be too ungrateful, even a sin. Who knows? If he had a good bargaining, these cards could cost hundreds of dollars—the gold card worth 10 dollars shouldn’t be a problem. And he needs every penny that can be searched.
Pamboni often talks about his "office" to the National People's Congress. If he does have an office, it should refer to the place where he handles transactions, that is, "Night Shadow". It was a bar and rotisserie on the other side of the city, and most of the people who visited were workers. "Night Shadow Bar" is very suitable for people like Bernie, a low-cost male bar, a bit old, with pictures of sports stars on the walls, and quiet enough for a person to handle his financial trivial matters. , Without a large crowd of noisy people watching from behind. The owner and bartender is a Lotte man with a baby face, named Cheek. Bernie was never interested in asking what his last name was. Cheek is a friendly and amiable person, who likes to talk about trivial matters, but he can also grasp the principles and be less nosy. Many of Bernie's shameful transactions were done in this small bar. As long as Bernie can keep the secret and not recruit the police, Cheek also pretends not to see it.
At about 8:15 that night, Bernie walked into the "Night Shadow Bar", and a familiar smell of beer made him feel comfortable. It was raining heavily outside, it was a downpour in November, and there were almost no people in the bar. Cheek stood behind the bar as usual, wiping the cork of the wine bottle with a rag in his hand, staring at the TV on the bottle rack that was playing college football league.
"Bernie! Where have you been these days, buddy?" Cheek's face was radiant.
Bernie quickly glanced around the bar, searching every table, looking for the person to connect with him.
"Cheek, are there any guys coming in to find me? Someone who looks like a Spaniard?"
"A Spaniard?" Cheek repeated it, then shook his head.
"Business matters. Will you give me a glass of HEDY with beer?" Bernie found a place by the bar and sat down, looking at his watch, with an anxious look on his face. These credit cards become worthless over time. If these two possible buyers don't show up tonight, he'd better throw these fucking things away. He reached into his pocket and took out a 20 yuan bill and placed it on the bar.
When Cheek held a goblet of ice soda and beer in front of Bernie, he caught a glimpse of the banknote and his face was slightly surprised. Bernie’s usual consumption is 5 yuan, and 20 yuan is a huge sum of money here.
"What's the matter, I haven't seen you for five days?"
Bernie frowned. This is a difficult topic to answer, and he will go crazy even when he talks about it. "Because I'm unlucky enough to get home! I went bankrupt and had a lawsuit... Has anyone ever asked me about it, eh?" He looked around nervously, peeking at the gloomy decks again.
"No," Cheek replied. "You have to get a lawsuit, but you have to find a good lawyer." He looked around, ready to suspend the conversation at any time to take care of the business.
Bernie smiled bitterly. "My lawyer has just graduated from school, and God, she is only a few years older than my kid."
Cheek's eyebrows were raised, and his round face like a full moon was full of surprise. "Do you have a child? You? How old is your child?" It seems that Bernie's fatherhood is worthy of special mention.
"I think it's about 9 years old," Bernie replied sadly, pulling his neurotic fingers to count. "Maybe 10 years old. By the way, 10 years old, a good boy."
Will Pamboni be a father? This society is bizarre, and it has everything. Chick put down the rag in his hand and looked at his old friend. "You have a ten-year-old lawyer, Bernie?" He grinned.
Bernie snarled, "I don't have money to ask for a better one, my ex-wife-she withheld my salary as alimony." When the door opened, he turned around. A person walked in wearing a raincoat and walked towards the deck. "Are you looking for Pamboni?" he shouted.
The man shook his head in denial, and ordered a glass of wine from the cocktail waitress. This waitress is the only clerk who can afford the "Night Shadow Bar".
A child, Bernie has a child. Cheek was still surprised by the news. He tried to accept this, but was unsuccessful. "I never knew you had a child."
Bernie temporarily shifted his thoughts from the deal to Joey, recalling the time they spent in the afternoon and the devotion that the child showed to his father. Bernie knew that this was based entirely on lies, half-truths, and cheap fakes. He is really a good boy, a decent boy. If he finds out that his father is actually a depraved person, he will definitely feel ashamed. Bernie felt nervously not "in case he found out," but "when he found out" closer to the facts. This thought made him even more frustrated.
"The problem with the children is that they are too... young," Bernie said after thinking about it. "They don't understand anything. When you were a kid, you always thought you were grown up and perfect. In fact, you are just a fart like everyone else." He decided on the spot to take Joey to the scene he wanted to see on Thursday night. movie of. Of course, why not? He is an old man, isn't he?
Cheek smiled. He saw the other side of his old friend, so philosophical, not like Pamboni at all. Cheek had never heard Bernie talk about topics other than making money, or else talk about transactions that are currently underway. "We are all farts. Bernie?"
But Bernie was still deep in his sorrowful contemplation. "When I was young, I thought I would be a great hero—"
"Are you Bamboni?" A rough voice interrupted his meditation. Bernie turned around and saw that two Latinos were standing behind him, one tall and one short; one with a mustache and the other with a clean beard. But both of them were dressed in ragged clothes and looked very wretched.
"My name is Pan," Bernie corrected them. "Pamboni." He may be the only criminal in the world who will tell two strangers his real name. "You are the people Bonnie contacted, eh?" He slid off the bar stool and led the two to a deck at the back. Vangas and Asby looked around suspiciously, but finally entered the deck. The three sat down, and Bernie took out the credit cards from his pockets and put them on the table.
The two Latin Americans did not say a word, carefully examining the cards. They put the card close to their eyes, checked the authenticity of the autograph on the card, and rubbed the code strip with their fingers. The two passed the card back and forth. Finally, Asby threw the card back to the table in front of Bernie, and said in a rough and harsh voice: "Three hours has been too long, man, too long."
Bernie forced a sincere and angry expression on his face. "Hey! He hasn't reported the crime yet. He may not have noticed it in these few hours."
"Did you find his wallet?" Vangas asked suspiciously.
Bernie shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah, how much is it. Believe me, they are still very new."
The two Latin Americans exchanged suspicious glances. Then the three people met and started discussing the small deal.
In the afternoon of the next day, at the other end of the city a few miles away-for the "Night Shadow Bar", which does not include thousands of light-years away-a metropolitan business center lined with skyscrapers, Channel 4 News The trump card announcer Gurdjier is doing an outing interview hard. The subject she interviewed was Jerry Bu, a millionaire, philanthropist, and athlete. He is about 40 years old, and he is a thoughtful and polite person with a smile. They were standing by the window of the floor where Bu Jerry's office was located. The strong cold wind in November blew Jill's red-brown hair, and also blew the lapels of the suit that Bu Jerry had made for 4000 yuan.
Standing behind Jill is Shaqi, an eye-catching young man, the photographer of Channel 4 News, who is shooting with his camera. Shaqi is only 25 years old, very keen, quick, and a talented photographer. After Jill worked with him once, he didn't want to work with other people anymore.
"But it doesn't make sense, Mr. Bu," Jill said, holding the microphone and reaching out to the businessman for him to answer.
Bu Jerry squeezed out a smile without a smile. When he speaks, his voice reminds me of Groton Preschool and Yale University (Note 1); reminds of a white sail gliding over the undulating sea; reminds of the smell of British leather saddles; reminds me of The winding path between the heather trees leads to a Tudor (Note 2) half-timbered home. His deep, educated tone reflects a comfortable, casual and even luxurious life.
"To be honest, I can't make a point, Miss Ge," Bu Jerry said frankly. The camera he stared at Shaqi seemed to hide nothing. "Things seem to be picking up. The differences between us and the Securities Regulatory Commission have been resolved smoothly. I believe we have weathered the crisis."
Gurdjier's lovely face looked at Bu Jerry sincerely. She is a tall, long-legged, young and slender woman, about 30 years old. She wore a dark red tiger-skin short coat, and the tight waistband set off her slender waist. Her reddish-brown hair was cut very short and fluttered on her full forehead. Jill is a beautiful woman.
Her charm on TV is very important to her position as a Channel 4 news anchor, but this is by no means the only or the main condition for her to get this position. Gurdjier is a smart, enterprising, hardworking announcer and news writer who loves to discuss issues in depth. She can think with her feet. She also has an extremely sensitive news smell that no one knows, and can tell reporters when and where important news is about to happen.
But the most important thing is that Jill has a rare and special talent. She can show a news story to show the human nature and make the audience be influenced by her. Gurdjier's report can make people understand any meaning emphasized in the story she interviewed. This technique is worth at least US$100,000 in this chaotic television news world that relies on mouth to feed on.
In the distance, she could hear the sound of police sirens approaching gradually, mixed with the noise of the walkie-talkie and the shrill calls of the two-way radio. Even if they were standing there, they felt that this floor was getting hotter and hotter. As a journalist, she feels that the situation is very urgent.
"Mr. Bu, while we were talking, your wives and children have already set off here, don't you think--"
But Jerry interrupted her with a wave of his hand, and his smile became brighter. His voice remained calm, even a little pleasant. "I think I have been fulfilled in my whole life, healthy, happy family, and very rich. I think what we are talking about here is a kind of despair. I have a feeling that everything from here on will... go downhill. I I once believed that I should "pursue excellence" and put my personal needs first. This sentence contains everything I want to say. Thank you for being here for me to talk to you and your audience."
After saying what he wanted to say, Bu Jerui took a step forward calmly, and fell straight down from the wide window without looking back, from the 60th floor to the heart of the street and the embrace of death.
Gurdjier gasped in horror, and instinctively took a step back from the window where she had a conversation with Bu Jerry for the last 10 minutes of his life.
"Oh my God!" she screamed. "Shaqi, shoot down!"
Then she covered her mouth with one hand, horrified by her intuitive reaction as a strong newswoman. Faced with a man committing suicide, she actually ordered the camera to shoot. "God, did I say that?"
The young photographer has stepped forward and stood in front of her. He filmed the whole process of Bu Jerry's fall, from stomping through the air to the nauseating impact. When the police and doctors crowded around the body, he continued to shoot downwards. They packed the body of the suicide in a black rubber bag and zipped it up. The stretcher bed of the ambulance stands aside, ready to carry the corpse to the funeral home, just like Karon in Greek mythology is carrying the dead across the river Styx.
"Hey, Jill, how about you make a comprehensive review here? I first shot these skyscrapers, then photographed you, and then photographed the fall."
Although still trembling, Jill, who has always been dedicated, still nodded. She put the microphone close to her mouth and nodded at Shaqi-this was the signal to start.
4
Starting from being a manuscript feeder for a small-town newspaper, the 50-year-old Dijem has been in the press for more than 30 years. In these decades. He watched the world’s focus shift from daily newspapers to 60-minute TV news programs; saw the daily weather report change from a few words beside the daily headlines-"cloudy showers, clear afternoon, temperature 40 degrees"-evolution In the 5-minute weather report, satellite cloud images, pet or birthday cards, love cards, and weird T-shirts are also interspersed. He also witnessed the development of interviews with war news. In the past, a detailed report had been fought for several days from typography to distribution; but now there are news bulletins on TV every hour, and there are also reports that officials are chatting with the international press with witty words.
The irony is that Dijem knows everything, has no regrets, and does not trust anyone. He believes that news, like other products of the 20th century civilization, is a commercial distribution.
As the director of Channel 4 news and responsible for the assignment, Dijem can be said to be the best candidate for this position. Nothing can bother him, and nothing will surprise him, but he will still squeeze it out of a good story theme, and nothing will be left. Especially exclusive news, such as Gurdjier's final interview with financial giant Bu Jerry.
Four people are sitting in Dijem's office looking at the TV monitor screen. Sitting next to Dijem, who was wearing only a shirt and throwing expensive suit jackets on the back of his chair as usual, was the TV manager Charlie, a man with a personality very different from that of the news director. He was a head shorter than Dijem, who was 6 feet 4 inches tall.
Charlie Weiss came from a prestigious school and had no practical work experience. He was always served well. When he was in college, he often wore a Harvard tie. Wear a coat embroidered with the words "Financial Reporter" as a uniform. There is always a briar pipe in his maloccluded mouth. Since Charlie quit smoking five years ago, tobacco has never been put in a pipe, let alone a light. This has two meanings to Wei Charlie: one is to have the function of a pacifier, and the other is to make him look like a man. However, his persistent dependence on this pipe rarely shows up in daily life.
The other two in the office are photographer Shaqi-he brought the precious video tape, and Concordia, the reporter for Channel 4 News. The latter was determined to catch up with Gurdjier and surpass her. The cramped one was Bethes. He is a 22-year-old prospective journalist and errand runner under Dijem. The news director only regarded him as a piece of furniture with legs.
On the monitor screen, Gurdjier made an "end" gesture to Bu Jerry's story. Her beautiful face has rich and varied expressions. She was speaking to the audience, and the camera was clearly in love with her like a lover, following her towering cheekbones and curved lower forehead.
Jill's eyes were deep and jet-black, which deeply attracted the audience. Those expressive eyes added a lot of brilliance to every news story reported. Her nose is tall and straight, flawless and has a noble charm. But the nose is not the most beautiful part of her. Jill's mouth is what sets her apart from other beautiful TV reporters. Her mouth is big and sexy, her lower lip is full and naturally blush, and the dimples on her cheeks are looming between her smiles.
But now she has no smile on her face and only briefly explained the tragic end of a man's life on the screen. Her bright black eyes were full of compassion and sadness.
"The 137th suicide person in this city this year is neither a poor nor a homeless man, but a successful executive-level figure with a happy family and a bank deposit of 40 million. If there is such an unnamed'despair for the managerial position' ', what will there be under the 60th floor? What will the hungry and homeless people, the brutal and lost people, make a living?" Jill looked directly at the camera, as if looking for an answer . "Guddell from Channel 4 News reports for you from a window edge 60 stories above the ground."
This is truly a masterpiece of news footage, the best unscheduled comprehensive report that Dijem has ever seen. He murmured his approval in his throat.
"Boss, how do you think the part of the fall was shot?" Shaqi asked triumphantly. "The guy had a good focus when he fell down 20 floors, and the viewfinder was in the center. I smoothly pushed the focus from 16 to 5.6."
"Very good, Shaqi, very good." Dijem took out the videotape from the monitor and handed it to the runner's hand. "Seth, run downstairs to give this to Old Bai and tell him that we are going to broadcast the news at 6pm, 11pm and 77am."
"I bet she pushed him down," Concordi said to himself, green eyes full of jealousy. "Just to make this amazing film, I have such irrational ambitions."
Charlie's little face turned pale, and it seemed that he had been greatly frightened. "Push him down? Oh my god, that wouldn't be true, would it!"
"Mr. Wei, he is joking," Shaqi assured him. "He was just jealous because this was not his report. In fact, she almost broke down because we couldn't save the guy. She thought she should reach out—"
"Extend your hand!" Wecharlie gasped. He is really scared now. "no, do not want!"
Just then Jill floated inside, radiant and beaming, looking very satisfied with herself. "Hi! Boss!" She walked towards Dijem. "Do you like that suicide movie?"
"Never stretch out your hand!" Wecharlie shouted to Jill. "Never!"
"Hello, Mr. Wei," Jill said, seemingly confused.
"He was right," Dijem said. "This is too unprofessional!"
"If you reach out, you might drag yourself down," Wecharley explained eagerly. He could vividly imagine the horrible scene: Jill stretched out his hand to Bu Jerry, and they touched their fingers. Bu Jerry's powerful hand held the woman's slender wrist and dragged her, dragging her out of balance. A picture of two people-the suicide and the one under the coffin-planting together from the 60th floor to the middle of the street came to his mind. Jill screamed and fell all the way. Wei Charlie blinked, as if to clear the terrible illusion.
But Jill didn't know what Wei Charlie was thinking, and felt baffled. "What are we talking about?" She wanted to know. "What do you stretch your hand for?"
"I told them that you were distressed for not being able to save that guy—" Shaqi started, but Dijem interrupted him.
"It's not our job to save people," he said to Jill abruptly. "It's equally wrong to step forward to save people and push them down."
Wei Charlie didn't fully understand what he meant. "You didn't push that guy down, did you?"
But Jill replied to Dijem: "I didn't say that I think we should save him—"
"Didn't you say?" Wei Charlie began to gasp again.
"I mean, I hope I should at least think of saving him."
"Is that any good?" Dijem asked.
Jill sat on the corner of Dijem's table and took a deep breath. This problem has been tormenting Bo Jerry since she committed suicide this morning. What can she do? Can she stop him from jumping off the building? What are the benefits of doing this? After all, that person has countless opportunities to save himself.
"That makes me feel like a person, not a bitter, hard-hearted female news reporter," she said slowly, while grinning slyly. "In addition, this is also a good subject:'Female journalist saves suicide', isn't it?"
"Too unprofessional," Dijem said mockingly.
Jill shook his head. "You just can't accept good news ideas," she teased.
Dijem just muttered, "You are sitting on your ticket."
Jill reached out to the sitting table and pulled out an airline envelope from behind.
"Ticket? What's the matter?" Wei Charlie asked. He is always the last person to know the truth.
"She will fly to New York," Dijem tried his best to keep his tone from being too proud, but he still showed a hint of pride inadvertently and made his tasteless words come alive. "She was nominated for the Silver Microphone Award--"
"Silver microphone!" Charlie Weiss whistled and smiled at his ace reporter. "We really have added brilliance together!"
Jill shook his head. "I haven't won the prize yet," she said calmly, picked up the ticket and looked at it carefully. "I found out that you have arranged the itinerary for me. I have to fly back an hour after the ceremony." She looked at Dijem mockingly. He hated her for taking a vacation, even when she might win an award for the TV station.
"In an hour!" Wei Charlie cried. "Old Di, for God's sake, let her spend the night in New York. We will arrange her and her boyfriend in a good hotel—"
"She blew it with her boyfriend," Dijem said anxiously, then turned to Jill. "Listen, baby, we need you to come back. You are going to track the jumping incident and find the cruel and endless stories that people are interested in. In this cruel city, many traumatized hearts make these stories everywhere. It's all." He grinned sarcastically, but he was telling the truth.
Jill wrinkled her small nose in disgust. She fully understood what Dijem meant. "The story behind a story, the despicable act of a millionaire who fell from a building. You mean a scandal."
Dijem shrugged. "You can say that too," he admitted. What can I hide from Gurdjier? He is really jealous and envious. She always hit the nail on the head.
Jill turned firmly to the TV station manager. "Will the company let me stay in a good hotel?" she asked.
Charlie Wei laughed. "Absolutely!" It would make him very happy to beat Dijem, but this kind of opportunity is really too few.
"I accept." Jill smiled and walked towards the door.
"Okay, leave him alone, play happily!" Dijem shouted from behind her. "Is that what they said?"
When Jill walked to a place where he couldn't hear them talking, he turned around and said to the others: "She just pretends to be just like the average person, but she is 100% a reporter. I bet fifty yuan. She will take the first shift. The plane is back."
"I'll bet with you," Wecharley said.
"You know something I don't understand," Shaqi said suddenly. "I don't understand why a guy asked to talk to a TV reporter before jumping off the building." Shaqi is only 25 years old, so it is forgivable to ask this kind of question.
Dijem grinned sarcastically. "Because he doesn't do this, how does he know if his jumping off the building will be on the 6 o'clock news."
There is only one parking space in the municipal building, and barriers have been installed. Bernie blocked a small car, parked the truck in the no-parking zone amid the screams of the brakes, turned off the engine and got out of the car.
Bernie wore a coverall with the words "Gan's Super Carpet Cleaning Company" embroidered on the back. The letters form a circle, with a rugged carpet in the middle and a smiling face. The same pattern is also decorated on both sides of the truck. The name "Huali" is embroidered on Bernie’s chest pocket, because he has not been working in Gann’s company long enough, and he does not have his own overalls, and his boss wonders if he will have them. That day.
Glancing at the cheap watch on his wrist, Bernie knew that he was late than the agreed time, so he hurried up the steps of this magnificent building. He must linger for a while in the floor plan of the marble foyer to find the location of the probation department. Then he was furious and waited impatiently for the damn elevator for 45 seconds.
He finished the last few yards from the corridor to the office by sprinting. He arrived in a state of sweating, disheveled, and panting, with his hair dripping in his eyebrows, and his virtue could hardly find the neat image that Odanna had told him to keep.
The parole officer named Du Parker wasted no time in handling the case. On the table in front of him was a thick stack of files with the name of Pamboni. Bernie saw them and his heart sank. God knows what he is being accused of, the file is a dangerous thing.
The purpose of Bernie’s meeting with the parole officer this time was to show that he is a good citizen with a regular job, paying taxes on time, and a good father; he himself is correct, but he was accidentally involved in something very minor. It's just a crime. Moreover, he violated the law because of ignorance, not because of his thief, so he came here to ask Dupac to help him out. His lawyer has explained all this to him clearly.
Maybe that "was" the purpose of this trip, but Bernie was Bernie, and he immediately forgot about it. Now, he is intently posing a gesture of protesting against judicial injustice. He deliberately exposed his plight, but did not try to get the parole officer to stand on his front.
"I don't quite understand what you mean by'technical', Mr. Pan," Dupac said stiffly. "The jury found you guilty in court—"
"Yes," Bernie interrupted. "But what I want to say here is that the police did not follow the correct procedures to present evidence. You know, the'relevance of evidence'."
"Then your lawyer should bring it up during the trial," Du Paike pointed out. "We are here to propose—"
Bernie has lost his patience with what they are going to propose here, and he has to complain about many more important things. His voice almost screamed: "This is the point!" he shouted. "I'm bankrupt. My lawyer is appointed by the court, understand? She's still a child and doesn't know anything about fart. I should be acquitted! A real lawyer will surely make me fine. All the evidence is Nonsense."
Dupac looked at Bernie coldly. He had no sympathy for the screaming, angry little man, who obviously seemed to have forgotten the purpose of the meeting-if he had ever known it. The case is over, and it is easy to draw a conclusion. Bernie had the last chance to jump out of the fire pit, but he seemed to be unable to seize any chance.
"Mr. Pamboni," the parole officer said firmly, "my task today is to provide a recommendation for the sentencing. These are all based on today's meeting and other information you have provided—"
"That's what I want to tell you," Bernie interrupted him fiercely, his dark, round eyes gleaming with excitement. "I'm not a thief, buying and selling stolen goods is a trivial matter. Have I robbed anyone? Have I beaten anyone? No! You can't put people like me in jail indiscriminately. The jail is for bad guys. It's a place for people who like fighting, lifting weights, and messing around. I can't serve that kind of sentence!"
Bernie is almost hysterical now. His face was bloodless, the corners of his mouth were salivating, and the sweat from his forehead ran down hi
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