Ryan`s Redemption
Author: The Empress
The bus rumbled slowly down the two lane road, as if it knew its destination, but was in absolutely no hurry to get there. The prisoners were in the seats two by two, shackled together at the wrists and ankle a small length of chain separating them. Ryan looked at the passenger sitting next to him. He was a Negro. There were several on the bus with him, but this was the first time in a long time he had actually been this close to one. He tried to appear nonchalant as he studied him. The black man, a boy really, looked so scared he might actually pee himself. Ryan sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. He turned to the grimy window and stared out at the rolling hills as they passed by his view.
Ryan replayed in his mind the events leading up to his present situation. What miserable luck he had most of his life. One way or another life had been full of getting himself in and out of trouble with the law. It started when he was just a boy of five. Stealing candy from the local five and dime while his mother tried to barter her personal property for food, had earned him several boxes around the ears, as well as a working off his thievery in the store where he stole from. The grocer had no sympathy for a boy trying to stave of the hunger pangs for another day, and finding the only source of sweetness in his life from the peppermint candy that beckoned him from the rack.
Ryan then remembered the gang of kids he got himself tied in with when he was only ten. Trying to be accepted by the older boys, he would do whatever they told him, to prove that he could be just like them, even if it meant doing the unthinkable, like beating up kids younger than he or stealing old women's purses as he watched from the bushes, the older kids egging him on. He took his fair share of the beatings as well, earning him not only his current tough exterior, but several battle scars that he would carry with him forever.
He shook his head at the memories and turned back to the man sitting next to him on the bus seat. Ryan could tell that the man was trying his very best not to cry. His bottom lip was stuck out a mile long and he kept nervously twisting and pulling at the chain that linked them together. Ryan gave the chain a yank and frowned hard at the man. "Hey man, what's the deal?"
"Oh oh..I'm ssorry." The man said nervously, not daring to look in his eyes.
Ryan scowled at him. He hated cowardice. He hated it more than the people who beat the crap out of him on a daily basis. At least he could fight back with that; all he could do with cowards was intimidate. He needed more of a challenge. He yanked on the chain once again, pulling the man's hand along with his over to his face. He buried his face in his hands for a few seconds before scrubbing them across the tired weary lines around his eyes and focused again on the road ahead of him.
The bus hit a few bumps in the road shaking up the prisoners. After a few loud curses and yells from the guards to "shut the hell up" Ryan turned to his attention back to the man who still had his hand half poised in front of Ryan's face. "What's your name kid?"
The "kid" looked back at the older man in near panic. It was the first time someone spoke to him since he got on board the bus, since the first time he actually found himself in this mess. He knew he should have listened to his mamma. You should always listen to your mamma. He knew full well he should have never done what he did and now he was going to pay for it in the worst way. He put his free hand in his pocket and stroked his lucky rabbit's foot. Where was the luck when you really needed it? He didn't bring it out for fear that it would be taken from him and then he'd never have anything to keep him safe. To remind him of his life at home and of what he missed. Again he kept his eyes downcast as he answered the giant of a man sitting next to him. He was more of in a panic for what would happen if he refused to say anything. "Wwayne." He stuttered, stroking his rabbit’s foot urgently.
"Well, Wayne," Ryan said studying him further, "since we're stuck on this shit hole bus together we might as well make the best of this long ride to hell, what do you say?" Ryan leaned back as far as he could in his seat and thumped Wayne on the back. What he wouldn't do for a cigarette right about now. He thought he could actually kill for one. "So whatcha in for?" It was the standard question. He really didn't want to know or care; it was just some background noise to get his mind off of his own tortured thoughts about his own problems. He figured if someone else's had to be worse it would be this petrified blackie sitting next to him. They were after all, in the Deep South and it was 1936. Things couldn't be too good for ole Wayne, he realized.
Ryan had been transported all the way from New York. He had only heard about the South's reputation from other convicts that he'd been involved with over the years and he knew he didn't want to be a part of the system he was now entering. The south had no compulsions in treating their prisoners unfairly and a good amount of them never made it out of the system alive.
Wayne swallowed a couple of times, trying to decide whether or not to trust Ryan enough to tell him his sad little tale. Ryan looked disinterested enough for Wayne to safely give him the short version of how he wound up here. "Uhm, well, I made a mistake." He replied hesitantly.
"Didn't we all?" Ryan said rhetorically. He leaned his head back against the seat and stared out the window. It was getting darker outside.
Wayne laughed a little at this and shakily sighed. "You do have a point. Well I hope whatever you did will not get you into the same situation I'm unfortunately finding myself in now. I always thought I could use my easy nature to get me out of anything...I suppose this time I thought wrong." Wayne stared down at his feet. He didn't know how much he felt like opening up, but it seemed easy to do with this guy.
Ryan smiled a little and closed his eyes. He didn't need to see the man to listen to him. He hoped he could try and fall asleep before he got to the large Alabama penitentiary that was looming in the distance waiting to pull him in, claim him and make him one of its own. "Name's Ryan, by the way." He said at Wayne's pause.
"Nice to meet you, Ryan." Wayne said offering his shackled right hand to shake Ryan's free one. It seemed to Ryan that once you got him started, Wayne appeared easy going enough to forget who and what he was and expected to be treated as equal as anyone. Wayne relaxed a little and settled back in his seat. He took out the rabbit's foot and studied it while he stroked it's soft but almost worn fur.
"So," Ryan said after a longer pause.
"So," Wayne repeated. "back in my home town in Tallahatchie County, Mississippi, I'm known to a lot of folks as somewhat of a goodie two shoes, you know a negro that does as he's told, gets along, keeps his nose clean, etc." Ryan nodded. "Well, I did that for a reason, because the white folks over there will find any excuse at all to give the black man a hard time. There is no way on God's green earth that you could even look at a white man over there without getting your head turned around and put on backwards, let alone look at one of the women. You do that and you end up dead." Wayne looked down at the rabbit’s foot regrettably once again.
"Anyways, one day as I was walking over to Old Mr. Greenwood's curb side country store, with some buddies of mine, we were laughing and goofing off like usual, staying on our side of the road like we're supposed to, and out walks Mr. Greenwood’s daughter Kathy." Wayne got a far away look in his eye when he spoke about Kathy. Ryan opened his eyes at Wayne's mentioning of her. He saw Wayne's shy, but pleased smile, and it didn't take long for him to put two and two together. He let Wayne put it into his own words.
"I saw Kathy and I couldn't resist showing off to my buddies who looked at me and started egging me on because they knew how I felt about her. We all knew I shouldn’t have had anything to do with a white woman and I knew it would come to no good end for me if I pursued it, but she was so beautiful." He sighed wearily. "My buddies told me to go over and start a conversation with her, you know, just say hello. What would be wrong with that? And there was no one else around, so it wouldn't hurt just to say hi or something right? So I did. I knew I shouldn't have listened to them. They wouldn't be the ones after all who'd get in hot water if anything went down. And I was right, as you can plainly see." Wayne let out a shaky sigh that bordered on a sob.
"I went across the street, just with the intentions of saying hello. It's all I wanted to do. But the closer I got, the prettier she got, and with the guys hootin and hollorin behind me, all I could think to do was whistle at her. I'll never forget the look she gave me as she went back to the store, I suppose, to go and get her daddy. My friends came up then and snatched me away. We ran as long and as far away as we could to get away, but they came for me anyways. She pointed me out as the one who whistled at her. I didn't get a fair trial and now here I sit. They said I sexually harassed her and that I made lewd comments and gestures to her. I never did any of those things. I'm not that kind of a person. I made a mistake; I guess I should be lucky though. People in my shoes get off with a far lot worse than a death sentence in a state penitentiary, where I come from, they just wind up dead."
Ryan studied his companion a little while longer and thought to himself, that's a hell of a stroke of bad luck. How in the world could anyone be sent to death row for whistlin at some chick? It must be shit to be black in the South he reasoned. He would never have pegged the man sitting next to him as being a hardened criminal or criminal of any kind for that matter. He knew he wouldn't survive long on the inside without some sort of protection. He gave half a thought to being that, but he couldn't be bothered with new shit while he was still trying to work out his own. He looked out the windows of the front of the bus and realized that by this time they had entered the city limits to the home that was to be his and the poor unfortunate soul's sitting next to him for a very, very long time.
Chapter 2
The bus came to a full stop in front of the massive complex that housed somewhere around 3000 plus criminals, Ryan had heard somewhere, at current count. He stared up at the looming building with growing distaste and the bitter bile of apprehension in his stomach. Wayne was slightly trembling at his side. Ryan guessed it was around maybe six or eight in the evening judging by the twilight sky and the darkening clouds. He picked at a hole that was in the back of the seat in front of him. The calm before the storm, he realized. Up ahead the bus door opened and Ryan turned his attention toward it. The top of a buzzed head came into view and before the head reached the top step, it disappeared and a slight thud was heard. "Shit" a slightly high pitched deeply southern accent preceded the thud.
Ryan tried to suppress his grin as he realized whomever it was had stumbled up the stairs. He watched as the man, a very stout bespectacled individual, righted himself and brushed off his pants and surveyed the prisoners with beady little eyes that seemed to disappear into his pudgy, square face.
"Well, well, Mr. Sherwood, is this our new batch?" The man drawled to a tall, goofy looking police officer at the front of the bus. The officer gave a full-toothy grin to the man and Ryan couldn’t help to think that the man seemed more suited in any other job than the hardened job requirements of a correctional officer. He had known quite a few in the past and none of them seemed as jovial or as affable as the man appeared to be.
"Yes sir, Warden Carey. All dressed up and ready to go." Officer Sherwood tipped his hat to his boss and then banged his stick on the wire mesh that separated the prisoners from the driver. "All right you son’s a bitches listen up!" He said as if the entire bus was in an uproar when in fact it was a still and as quite as a church inside. No one wanted to know what awaited them and they were even less excited to participate.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to our quaint little home away from home." Warden Carey started. There were only men on board the bus, but they all knew what the implied meaning was behind his greeting. "My name is Warden Drew Carey, but you wonderful ladies can call me Warden Carey, if you will. Now if y’all wouldn’t mind following Officer Sherwood here into the building we can get the rest of this little orientation started. I will tell you right off that we will keep the volume down as to not disturb the other inmates. And we will not attempt any daring escapes from here to the door. I guarantee y’all won’t make it to the gate. Welcome once again, and remember this from here on out: You are permanent guests in my little establishment, how you conduct yourselves while here warrants the comfort ability of your stay. We’re all gonna get along just fine." He smirked, turned and stepped off the bus leaving the prisoners under the charge of Officer Sherwood.
When Warden Carey left the bus, Officer Sherwood, tapped the mesh three more times and said "Ok ladies, rise and shine." The prisoners stood to their feet and began shuffling to the bus aisle. Ryan gave Wayne a little shove as he appeared to still be in a daze from Warden Carey’s announcement. Wayne jumped a little and moved out of his seat. Ryan towered above him as well as everyone else on the bus by at least five inches. As he got to Officer Sherwood he looked him levelly in the eyes and gave him a half smirk. For some reason Officer Sherwood didn’t mind the insubordination and let him pass. They had sized each other up and read each other in the span of three seconds. That was all that was needed. Ryan exited the bus to the cool, crisp chill of the early autumn evening.
The line of dark blue denim clad convicts shuffled their way to the prisoner’s entrance at the side of the building. They each paused at the doorway where they were once again patted down roughly, ensuring that none had brought in any foreign objects on their person. Wayne cringed inwardly as a guard, roughly patted him down and felt a lump in his pocket. The guard looked at the scared black man and grinned widely. He dug deep into Wayne’s pocket and extracted the rabbit’s foot. Wayne’s eye’s pinched up in protest and his hand almost rose up, reaching for it.
The guard whistled loudly to another guard at the back of the line and then unlocked the shackle separating his hand from Ryan’s. "Seems like you got a problem here boy." He said menacingly to Wayne. "First you try to smuggle contraband in here and then you try to hit me. That, my friend, is a real no, no." Wayne couldn’t even stutter out a defense as he was roughly shoved ahead of the line and into the admittance room. Ryan clinched his fists behind him a witness to the entire scene. He could see how things got manipulated around here and already it didn’t sit well with him. "Move this line along!" The guard in back shouted. All of the rest of the prisoners were ushered into the admittance room and stood in the line. The room was dimly lit, but everyone could see that it was just an empty room with a door opposite, leading into the hell they knew they would call home.
Wayne was standing in front of everyone his hands were cuffed together and his legs still shackled. Ryan could see he was trying his best to stop his trembling, but it was not working. Ryan noticed that Officer Sherwood had come in at the very end of the line and locked the doors behind him. He walked the length of the prisoner line, studying each face and making remarks here and there about standing straighter and keeping quiet. He stopped in front of Ryan and looked at the other man once again. Ryan averted his eyes at an angle and tried to keep them on Wayne who was looking back at him fearfully. Sherwood cocked his head towards Wayne and said in a low voice. "Now the fun begins." He smiled his goofy, boyish grin, but there was a knowing glint in his eye. He turned and continued to the other end of the room where the door was and opened it. As soon as he turned, Ryan’s face scowled hard in his direction. His fists were still clinched. He wanted his opportunity to speak out against this unfair shit.
Warden Carey stepped into the room followed by another man, about his height, but considerably smaller in physique. The other man was an officer, and extremely well built. He seemed to almost have the same body characteristics as Wayne who was also very muscular and fit. The man looked as if he tried too hard to be threatening, but it really was a wasted effort. His face pinched up hard as if he were constipated, but there was also something crazy in his eyes. Ryan didn’t think at the time he’d be much of a threat for anything and wondered who would be in this joint? Everyone here looked like they were some sort of comedian.
Warden Carey walked up to Wayne and stood very close behind him, well into his personal space. "I’ve been waiting for this moment." He whispered into Wayne’s ear tickling the fine hair along the edge. Wayne closed his eyes briefly and dared to turn his head slightly in the direction of the voice. "Did I say that you could move… (he looked at a clipboard that contained the prison roster) Brady?" Warden Carey’s voice raised several octaves so the rest could hear him.
"No suh." Wayne answered him, his voice regressing back into the submissive tones of his Deep South background.
"That’s right." Carey said sarcastically. "Now ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to Officer Esten. Officer Esten will now demonstrate some of our correctional methods for inmates who refuse to comply with the rules and regulations we’ve established here. Officer Esten, kindly inform everyone of our procedures when we suspect someone has carried contraband onto the premises."
Officer Esten came from the shadows of the darkened room and stood in front of Wayne. Wayne did not look into the man’s face and kept his eyes resolutely straight ahead and to the left. The other prisoners stood still. An air of anticipation hung in the room. Ryan tried to catch Wayne’s eye to give him a look of encouragement. He didn’t know how much more of this he would be able to tolerate. Wayne’s innocent facial features betrayed his fear, and Ryan shook his head.
"The first thing we do when we suspect someone of carrying a concealed weapon on to the premises, is to make sure the prisoner has no where to hide the evidence." Officer Esten’s accent was very pronounced even more so that the warden’s. He sounded more like a hillbilly from Tennessee and not a redneck from Mississippi, if there is much of a distinction. His voice inflections proved the nature of his intelligence which was indeed lacking in many areas.
Esten grabbed either side of Wayne’s shirt and ripped it clean off of the prisoner’s body. Buttons flew everywhere and the shreds hung down on Wayne’s wrists, the cuffs blocking the material from falling to the floor. Wayne’s white undershirt stuck to his chest from sweating emphasizing his smooth, hard muscles. Sherwood gasped from where he stood and Carey cleared his throat. Ryan trailed his eyes down the man’s body trying to keep his appreciation from showing on his face. Wayne didn’t need everyone in the place ogling him. Officer Esten ran a finger down Wayne’s chest and stopped at the edge of his prison-issued denim jeans. Wayne was breathing unevenly as Esten’s hand rested on the button. "Take ’em off." He ordered. Wayne looked at him apprehensively, keeping his hands still.
"Do you have a problem with your hearing boy?" Esten said inches away from his face.
"No suh." Wayne said.
"Then take off those pants." Officer Esten said removing his stick from his belt.
"No suh." Wayne said the tremble clear in his voice.
Officer Esten grinned incredulously around to Warden Carey and shook his head. He couldn’t believe the audacity of this Negro kid standing up to him. He was about to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget.
He walked around behind Wayne slowly and steadily like he had not a care in the world. Oh did he love an audience. He strutted up behind Wayne and without warning he slammed his stick hard into the man’s back. Wayne screamed out in pain and hit the ground. Esten continued to beat him about the back and arms with his stick increasing the strength of his blows as he repeatedly brought the stick down. Wayne scrabbled along the ground trying to gain purchase of it, hoping to stand again. Warden Carey stood to one side a thoughtful expression on his face, one finger placed on his lips as he watched the scene. Officer Esten looked as if he was performing an impromptu jitterbug on the fallen convict. He looked as if he took great joy in his work. The blood from various cuts was beginning to seep out onto the floor, staining it with the dried ones underneath. Esten actually broke a sweat from his efforts and loosened up his uniform unbuttoning the top two buttons. He could go on for hours if they ever let him.
Ryan could not take it anymore. In the middle of the third or fourth blow to Wayne’s back, Ryan rushed forward, dragging most of the line easily with him. "STOP IT YOU BASTARD!" He screamed ready to beat the living crap out of the officer in front of him. Esten turned around and stared up at the enraged man before him. There wasn’t even a hint of fear in his eyes only the deranged glee staring back through wild eyes. "I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t stop, right now." Ryan said with sheer malice in his voice. Wayne raised his bloodied face up, looking at Ryan through swollen eyes. A tear slipped down his face.
Warden Carey calmly and quietly as ever, approached Ryan and stared up at him with his arms folded. He took out the clipboard from under his arm and flipped through. "Stiles," he said. "Well my, aren’t you a tall drink of water. I think we’re gonna have real problems out of you." He nodded to Sherwood who had approached Ryan from behind. "But not today." Ryan heard the whistle of a stick come down from behind way before he felt the blow behind the back of his legs, at the knees. "FUCK" he yelled and went down on his knees in front of the Warden who had a placid smile on his face. He ran a hand through Ryan’s hair and came closer to him. "Don’t fuck with me son." He said and turned his back on him.
Wayne now lay on the ground barely breathing. He had tried his best to contain his screams, his internal pride not letting the situation get the best of him, but he broke around the 15th blow. Pleading for his life he cried as the stick kept coming down, as he watched the man dance around him and on him. One final blow to the head and a resounding crack that was felt by all, Wayne lay still on the ground, unmoving. Esten stopped immediately and went to the wall; hewas breathing hard and he wiped his hand across his brow.
Warden Carey approached Wayne, stooped down and lifted his head, and opened one of his eyes. He tsked and shook his head and let Wayne’s head go gently back to the concrete floor. He stood up and looked at Officer Esten. "Get him to the infirmary." He looked at Ryan who had managed to rise back to his feet, but he stood there hunched a little. "That, ladies and gentlemen, concludes the lesson for the day." He turned on his heel and left the room. Officer Sherwood motioned for two other guards to lift Wayne up and carry him from the room. Ryan watched him go, not realizing it would be the last time he would see him.
chapter 3
Ryan lay on his back in the small cell that was his allotted space for the duration of his sentence. He had given the cell a once over when he entered earlier, holding his toiletries and an extra uniform in his hands. The bunk beds in these places were never long enough to accommodate his lanky frame. He always hated that. But it was something he had learned to grow used to, unfortunately. He had his arms folded behind his head and he was staring at the patterns of the bunk above him and tried to will himself to close his eyes and get some sleep.
Lights out had been called hours ago, so there wasn't too much talk in the halls, save for the fact that when they had entered the hall earlier, the place seemed to come alive with cat calls, and whistles and obscenities from each cell. Ryan was used to it; he knew the drill. He shuffled along with the other inmates on their way to their own respective cells and just blocked out the noise. Now the place had quieted down considerably, and Ryan stretched his long legs out until they slightly curled over the edge of the end of the bed.
His thoughts brought him back to Wayne and the unfair treatment he had been subjected to. This would never have happened in the joint upstate, he told himself. He'd seen many riots start in the pens up there, most from guards threatening the privileges of its inmates. Of course those were just small time holding cells he admitted to himself. There they put you away for murder and mayhem. Nothing like the big joints down south where they send folks to just for looking at people funny. 'What a fucked up world', he thought bitterly. He hoped that Wayne would be taken care of in the infirmary, and that he'd find a way to contact his lawyer or someone that would help him seek justice over what had been done to him. He put little salt into that notion.
He stiffened a little as he heard the man above him roll over onto his side, the bed springs squeaking. He didn't get a good look at his bunk mate when he entered the cell. The small bulb above the sink afforded little to no light in the evening. 'Lights out was lights out' as he was informed. The snores from above told him he wasn't going to get any conversation from the man either, which was a good thing for the moment. Ryan didn't really feel like getting acquainted.
He rolled over on his side, his back facing the room and closed his eyes. He heard the hollow clicking of footsteps in the hall as the guards patrolled the floors, making sure all was well. He tried to use those sounds, as he always did, to lull him to sleep.
It was the same dream he had every night for the past seven years. It always started the same it always ended the same, with him waking up in a cold sweat. He hoped in his new surroundings that things would be different this time. They never were. As long as he was in the stir, nothing would change. This night though, his memories took him back to the days before everything went down. The days of good times and good memories. Being one of the top mob boss's number one guys had its advantages and disadvantages. He'd seen it all in his day. Not that he was old by any means; it’s just that he had done so much in his youth that he knew he was way beyond his 30 years in mentality.
It was one of his old street gang buddies that had introduced him to New York's underground life back in the early 20's. He was 18 years old and well into his life of petty crime. In and out of juvy hall most of his formative years and living on the street during the rest. His mother had died early of influenza, leaving him and his four brothers to fend for themselves. Being the youngest, he had the toughest time. The others abandoned him to his hood friends and they all went their separate ways. Ryan grew tougher on the street, learning the rule of beat or be beaten, take or be taken. One rule he gave to himself was that he would always give someone the benefit of the doubt. He wouldn't pick on just anyone. He gave up fighting the defenseless long ago, when his conscience got the better of him. Now, he rationalized, he would only take advantage of the ones that deserved it. Trouble with him was everyone deserved it in his mind. He was bitter that life didn't always work out well for him. And more often than not, there was always someone to pay for that unfairness.
He remembered one day his buddy, Jim Phillips, introduced him to Tony Malone, one of Henry Morgan's top henchmen. Jim had be talking to Malone for a while seeing if he could get some easy work on the side, to earn some extra cash. Malone fixed it so that Jim and Ryan could start transporting some of their "company's" homemade hooch from one part of the state to the other, in large covered trucks. It sounded like an easy way to make a living for Ryan, who had by this time made his way through life with odd jobs and small theft. He was always right under the radar with the law. This, he knew would cross him over into full blown hard core criminal territory, but it was a risk he was willing to take for the dough.
So Ryan lived the life of a lower-level henchman for about 3 years. He learned the ropes of avoiding checkpoints, fixing shipping invoices, cutting deals with his proprietors, running raids, and everything in between. He'd seen his fellow "coworkers" caught, busted, gunned down at times, and he grew eyes in the back of his head as the saying went. He always seemed to be lucky, except for the times when he was caught himself and served his sentences, a month here a month there.
Ryan remembered the day his buddy Jim was found floating face up in the river by his flat in the middle of town. He stood at the edge of the crowd as the police fished Jim's lifeless body out of the river, a bullet hole in his head, and cement overshoes on his feet. Ryan cried that night for his lost friend. The first time he had cried in years; Jim was only 22 years old. He had barely enough time to live, but then he lifted his pint to his fallen friend saying at least the lucky bastard got out of it when he did. Ryan would have given anything at that moment to join him.
It was around that time when Ryan was introduced to the head man himself, Mr. Henry Morgan. Malone had been talking up Ryan's reputation for getting the job done, and not taking shit from anyone. Morgan had noticed his profits increasing where Ryan had his routes and he wanted to meet the man who was making his pockets fatter. Ryan was nervous at first, but then warmed up to the genial mob boss's good natured ways. He immediately became one of Morgan's favorites. Ryan always had a way of making people laugh with his unique brand of humor. It mostly centered around sex with the prostitutes that he favored visiting after a hard week's worth of work. Morgan thought highly of his employee and he let him know by offering him a section of the neighborhood to take control of. It was the turning point in Ryan's career.
Ryan woke up to harsh sunlight in his eyes and a blaring of a horn in his ear. It took him a moment to remember where he was and then the realization settled back in on him and he sighed. 'What would today bring?' he wondered. He looked down on his chest noticing something there. It was small and odd shaped. He recognized it as a rabbit's foot, worn and well rubbed.
chapter4
"Will you look at what just walked in here." Greg studied the "fresh meat" as they entered into the cafeteria for breakfast that morning. He whistled low and appreciative. "Well helloooo gorgeous." He said, eyeing one new inmate in particular.
The man sitting across from him paid him no attention. He didn’t bother to look up from his runny scrambled eggs, grits and dry toast. ‘A meal fit for a king; the same one everyday.’ He thought ruefully to himself.
"Hey, you know if you paid attention to me once in a while, you wouldn’t let these good opportunities pass you by, sweetheart." Greg said nudging the man in the elbow.
"And if you would stop thinking with your dick every 30 seconds you’d come to know that there are no good opportunities here, now or ever."
"Well I gotta do something to occupy my down time. I'm not the one spending all of Daddy’s money on my Harvard education, putting it to good use with the top executives at the local law firm of Dewey, Cheatham and Howe. I've always wondered about you my friend, and I'll ask again, why hasn't daddy paid for a stay in a more upstanding institution, instead of letting you rot down here in the middle of 'squeal like a pig' Alabama?"
Greg blatantly watched as clearly the tallest man he’d seen in his short life, pick up his tray and head to a less populated table. Greg followed the man with his eyes, and then turned in his seat to watch him sit. He had no intentions of making things less obvious.
"You know Gregory, it’s remarks like those that have kept you off of my invitation list."
"Well if you would just pick your head up out of your ass and look over there, you’d at least give me the satisfaction of saying I told you so." Greg casually spooned some of the eggs into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "Say, if they mixed this shit with motor oil, it might give it the flavor it's sorely lacking."
"I think I’ve told you before that cattiness suits you, Mr. Proops. But as we’ve also discussed, I am not now, nor will I ever be in the mood to accommodate you and your whims. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a meeting with the board of directors at my country club in an hour."
He looked at Greg with a hard, passive glare and Greg sighed, relenting. He knew he had overstepped his bounds with his comments, and deep down he knew he cared, but for the sake of keeping up appearances he, as always, acted like he never gave a shit.
"Ok, but one day you’re gonna thank me, buddy, that is if I don’t get to him first." Greg replied with a wink.
"For his sake, I hope you get to him before they do."
Greg snorted knowingly, and looked back at the man he had spent the last twelve years with as a cell mate. "I'll see ya in an hour."
"Wouldn't miss it."
Colin Mochrie sat his tray of mostly uneaten food on the counter at the front of the large prison cafeteria. He knew he should have eaten more than he had, but he didn't have the stomach for both the greasy food and the equally greasy remarks from his cellmate. Today of all days was not the time to bring up past wounds, and Greg always had a way of hitting just the right spot. He shook his head at the audacity of the man, but then forgave him as always, because he knew Greg's nature. Greg was mostly all talk and Colin knew what parts to blow off and what parts to take seriously. It had come with the territory of being around the man for the past 12 years. Greg knew the same for him, but he didn't have near the restraint Colin did when it came to class. It was true, Colin was highly educated and Greg never let him forget it with his often jealous comments and digs at his social status. Colin often wondered why he even bothered to confide in Greg, but then understood that Greg was intelligent in his own right and could pick up the things he knew by wheedling just the right way. Where he was book smart, Greg was people smart. It got Greg what he wanted, even if it did come at an emotional cost often at Colin's expense. Why Colin let him go on, he never knew. Perhaps that was why he was here now. He had been a pushover. He still was.
It was kind of a forced friendship between the two at first. They both were on the complete opposite ends of the spectrum for personality traits and the aforementioned intelligence scale. Colin had come in about the same time as Greg, but where he was petrified of being locked away, Greg seemed to be at ease with it. It was only later that he learned that most of Greg's bravado was just a good show. There would be nights when Colin would wake up to the sounds of crying from the bunk below. He never let Greg know that he heard him, but he eventually came to understand Greg better.
Colin made his way, along with about twenty other prisoners to the door of the cafeteria that led to the hallway to the prison library. The prisoners didn't have many options with what they were to do with their days, but one of them, if they so chose, was to go to the library and read. A lot of them didn't choose to do that preferring instead to go to the Rec room, the gym for the morning weightlifting session, or back to their cells.
Colin was an old timer now at 31, serving a life sentence, and he basically was a mentor to a lot of the new comers. He didn't offer much, he didn't say much, he didn't do much, but something about his calming nature, quiet tones and innate wisdom, brought everyone to him. He would only say a word or two and leave it at that, but a person would go away feeling much better than when they came. He really didn't make friends. He really didn't want friends.
Colin selected a book from the shelf, one that he had read dozens of times and sat down. 'This library could sorely benefit with the donation of a few more novels.' he complained inwardly. He flipped through the chapters not really focusing on what was in the book, but more about what was on his mind. He put on his reading glasses and tried his best to keep the tears in as he pulled the letter from his pocket once more.
Mr. Mochrie:
This is to inform you that on this the 28th day of January, 1936, the co-defendant in your case, Mr. Richard Petersen was pronounced dead at the scene due to extensive razor blade injuries inflicted by a fellow inmate in a claim of self defense. He was taken to the infirmary at approximately 7:25 in the p.m. but expired, the cause of death determined as loss of blood and shock. The doctors did all that they could to resuscitate Mr. Petersen but to no avail. Being his closest friend, Mr. Petersen has left specific orders in his will, to inform you of any and all things that happen in his life of incarceration. His mother and father have waived their legal right to council denying you access to the information.
Regards, Illinois State Correctional Institution - Joliet
Colin quietly closed his book and rested his head in his hands. He held the letter to his temple and let the tears flow. He sobbed wretchedly for his lost friend. He cried, the well of unshed tears springing forth, and mourned just as he did every day. The reason he was here. The reason he endured. The reason he even chose to stay alive was wrapped up in a casket in the Petersen family burial plot. How could he take another minute of this hell, this torture that he knew he must face everyday. "I did it for you, Richard." He sighed. "Why did you leave me?"
chaprter5
We, each of us, have a good alibi
For being down here in the joint;
But few of them are really justified,
If you get right down to the point.
I was born on a ranch in Wyoming,
Not treated like Helen of Troy,
Was taught that rods were rulers,
And ranked with greasy cowboys. . . .
You’ve read the story of Jesse James
Of how he lived and died
But if you're in need of a song, this won't take long.
Here's the tale of Johnny and Adelide.
Now Johnny and Adelide are the Barrow Gang,
I’m sure you all have read
how they rob and steal and those who squeal
are usually found dying or dead.
There’s lots of untruths to these write-ups
They’re not so ruthless as that
Their nature is raw, they hate all law
Stool pigeons, spotters, and rats.
They call them cold-blooded killers
They say they are heartless and mean
But I say this with pride, I once knew Adelide
When she was honest and upright and clean.
But the laws fooled around and taking her down
and locking her up in a cell
'Til she said to me, "I’ll never be free,
So I’ll meet a few of them in hell."
The road was so dimly lighted
There were no highway signs to guide
But they made up their minds if all roads were blind
They wouldn’t give up 'til they died.
The road gets dimmer and dimmer
Sometimes you can hardly see
But it’s fight man to man, and do all you can
For they know they can never be free.
From heartbreak some people have suffered
From weariness some people have died
But all in all, our troubles are small
'Til we get like Johnny and Adelide.
If a policeman is killed in Dallas
And they have no clue or guide
If they can’t find a fiend, just wipe the slate clean
And hang it on Johnny and Adelide.
From Irving to West Dallas viaduct
Is known as the Great Divide
Where the women are kin and men are men
And they won’t stool on Johnny and Adelide.
If they try to act like citizens
And rent a nice flat
About the third night they’re invited to fight
By a sub-gun’s rat-tat-tat.
They don’t think they’re tough or desperate
They know the law always wins
They’ve been shot at before, but they do not ignore
That death is the wages of sin.
Some day they’ll go down together
And they’ll bury them side by side
To few it’ll be grief, to the law a relief
But it’s death for Johnny and Adelide.
The young man's soft Texan voice filtered throughout the cell block in the mid morning hours. He chose not to go down to
breakfast, as he was want to always do. Maybe that was why he was so thin. Oh he had an appetite as his mamma could attest to, but it was his time to reflect. To sing a song; to play tune on his old trusty harmonica. The music echoed hauntingly down the halls of cell block C and reached many of the prisoners who were making their way back from breakfast.
Ryan had finished his less than satisfactory meal and returned to his cell. He wasn't used to southern cooking with all its grease and lard. Ryan rubbed his stomached and belched. "Ugh. I ain't looking forward to this for the next 20 years." Ryan had caught the final verse as he walked down the hallway. He cocked his head to the sound and followed it, mildly surprised to find that it was coming from his own cell. The harmonica's sorrowful sad notes hit him somewhere inside his soul and he paused at the entrance and looked toward its source.
Ryan shook his head in surprise as he studied his cellmate. "This just keeps gettn better and better." he muttered to himself. Two deep brown, almost feminine eyes stared serenely back at him, a lackadaisical smile played around his lips. 'This kid ain't no more than 20 if he's a day.' Ryan thought, stretching his long arms out to either side of him resting them on the top bunk He leaned his head back on the mattress. The boy was obliged to scoot over a little but had yet to speak, still staring at Ryan.
"Problem?" Ryan said as he felt the eyes, more than saw them, continue to probe him.
"Nope." The boy said laughter in his voice as he placed his harmonica back in its worn box and slid it in the hole he made in his mattress just for that purpose. He couldn't run the risk of his most valuable possession being thieved by the guards that tossed his cell along with the rest of them whenever the urge arose. He couldn't chance it with this new guy either.
"Well, then, do I got somthin' on my face?" Ryan said turning to the kid. "I don't take kindly to strangers lookin at my mug for no good reason."
The boy continued to stare, his smile growing wider, but at Ryan's deepening scowl he turned away shyly and look toward the sunlight streaming through the window.
"Nice tune you were singin." Ryan said after a moment more. He hated silence in most situations. Silence meant you had to think. That was something he was trying to put off for as long as possible. The kid seemed a little slow, but maybe that was just because of the dopey looks he was getting.
"Thanks." Came the reply.
"Listen Mac, we're gonna be bunk mates for quite a long time, ya might as well drop the shy and silent gimmick and tell me your name." Ryan scratched his head hoping that soon he'd be able to acquire a much needed cigarette. 'They did let you smoke in the South.' he could only promise himself.
The young man above chuckled and dangled his long legs over the side of his bunk, putting his hands on his knees. "My name's Jeff." He drawled in a nice country twang. Ryan could picture him out on the range roping cattle with a piece of straw stuck in his teeth. He smiled up at him and extended his hand "Ryan."
"Well, Ryan, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Jeff said congenially, his dazzling white smile lightening up his face and eyes. 'He looks too pretty to be a man,' Ryan thought to himself. 'In a place like this I wonder how he survives.'
"So you wanna tell me what that song was about, or am I gonna have to spend the rest of my time in this joint trying to figure it out on my own?" Ryan said plopping down hard on his bunk making the springs creak and groan underneath him. 'This won't be good for my back.' he sighed and listened as Jeff got more comfortable up above.
Jeff rested his head on his propped up arms as he lay on his stomach on his own bunk. Ryan thought the man had drifted off to sleep and he almost did himself before he heard the words softly float down to him.
"I reckon you heard about the infamous bank robbers Johnny and Adelide?" Jeff said after a moment more of silence.
"The couple out west who somehow managed to avoid the law while committing some of the greatest heists in history?" Ryan said with a question in his voice. "Sure I heard of 'em. Whatever happened to those two? The news seemed to stop reportin on them back in '34. I didn't really follow much of it, but I did admire their moxy."
"You mean you don't know?" The voice took on an ominous mournful tone.
"Nah, I figure they got away and are livin it up in Mexico somewhere right about now. Lucky bastards." Ryan said dismissing the pair with a wave of his hand.
A bitter laugh was his only reply.
"Well?" Ryan said shifting on his mattress.
"Well, I do believe they would be living somewhere in Mexico if it weren't for the actions of some dumb, stupid kid that got them in a whole mess of hot water along the way." Jeff buried his head in his arms for a moment thinking back. When he spoke again his voice was tinged with regret.
"Adelide had just broken Johnny out of Eastham Prison Farm in Texas, there was quite a scuffle and a guard was killed. They managed to escape and get back to business. They were just starting over so they needed new recruits. Johnny always wanted the thrill and pursuit of more money. Adelide was just happy to be with him. She was excited too, but only because Johnny gave her the adventure. Anyhow they recruited her brother to help in the bank hold ups but they needed someone to drive the getaway car." Jeff paused and picked at something on his sleeve.
"I take it you were that someone." Ryan said starting to get a clear picture.
"Ah yep." Jeff said. "Anyhow," Jeff continued after swallowing hard. "It was one of the greatest moments of my life. I'll never forget the days of seeing them scramble from bank to bank, most of them small town banks with nothin in them but a couple hundred dollars, screaming and laughing and telling me to GO GO GO!! That was my cue to cut outta there faster than a flea bitten dog with a sunburn."
Ryan snorted at the analogy just as another horn sounded from above. A deep southern drawl came over the P.A. system. "Cell Block C Recreation Time."
"That means us," Jeff said sitting up and hopping down off of his bunk stretching and making his way to the cell door. "Ya better get moving before someone 'helps' ya." He disappeared in a line of inmates marching toward the stairs that would take them into the yard.
Ryan sat up and ran a hand through his hair. Jeff seemed to know more than he was letting on. He could get to like his cell mate but for now, the mystery was just too frustrating to ponder. "Maybe one day." He said leaving it at that and lost himself in the crowd.
chapter6
Ryan wandered the yard looking around and taking in the view. It was pretty breezy outside and they only issued each inmate a thin jacket, a cap, and fingerless gloves. Up North it would never do, but he figured this was all the cold it was going to get down here. Sometimes in New York in the middle of October they'd have their first snowfall. He could do this standing on his head. He could survive it. He'd survived far worse.
The sun was shining and there were about 300 other prisoners milling around doing pretty much their own thing. There were clusters of prisoners here and there talking, playing cards or board games, sitting on the bleachers that outlined the yard's electrified fence. Several watch towers were strategically placed around the compound, each posted with two to three guards. There were guards monitoring every area of the yard. Ryan observed that the guards interacted with a lot of the criminals as if they were their pals or something. Others took turns randomly searching some of the prisoners, making sure they didn't try to sneak a knife or something else into the yard. Some inmates chose to play basketball on the run down court several yards away. More bleachers surrounded the court with groups of inmates sitting there as well, either paying attention to the game or in their own little worlds.
One thing that did catch Ryan's eye was the clouds of smoke wafting their way into the cloudless sky. This wasn't exhaled breath; this was honest to goodness cigarette smoke here! A smile touched the corners of Ryan's mouth. "Finally!" he said, inhaling deeply trying to catch the intoxicating aroma that permeated the yard. His wanderings took on a purpose as he tried to seek out its source. Several of the prisoners had cigarettes dangling from their mouths or hands, but Ryan didn't feel like approaching most. He was looking for just the right someone to charm into giving him at least one or two, until he found a way to earn them. He spotted a pair of smokers sitting on the bleachers near the edge of the fence. They were pretty much alone and seemed to be playing a game of cards. One had his head hunched down, a blue knitted cap covering it, the other was leaning back casually his legs draped over the bench in front of him his arms resting on the bench behind him. He held his cigarette in one hand his cards in the other, impatiently twirling them. Ryan decided that this would be his best bet as he approached the pair, trying to be as causal as he could make himself.
"Knock knock..." Greg said out of the blue. Colin ignored him as usual and studied the cards in his hands. His mood was still morose from earlier and he really didn't feel much like bantering with Greg today. He just wanted to get through the recreation period so that he could go back to his cell before it was time for work. It was the same routine, every day of his life: Wake up, shower time, breakfast time, free time, recreational time, quiet time, lunch time, work time, dinner time, down time and lights out. You could set your watch by it, but why bother. He knew the routine, and twelve years into the routine, he had come to rely on the routine. Most of those moments were spent in solitude and, with the exception of Greg being around him for brief chunks of his day, he preferred it. He had a lot of remorse built up and he didn't mind punishing himself. Before his partner's unfortunate, untimely end, he had hoped that it wouldn't have been much longer that he would have been alone. He had dreams of being one day reunited with Richard. Now all he had were his dreams.
"Knock KNOCK..." Greg said again, insistent. Colin looked up at Greg to see him smiling smugly back. His tired, weary eyes studied the man before him and he recognized the look almost instantly. "Your point, Gregory?"
Greg winked at him and nodded his head in the direction of the approaching man. "Here's opportunity knocking once again." He said in a sing-song voice, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Colin looked up and up and finally up into the sun-lit silhouette of the man who had stopped in front of the bleachers before him. He had to put his hand to his forehead to shield the light that was making it difficult to see the person in front of him. Ryan took one step to the side and nearly blinded Colin when the sun hit him directly between the eyes. "Ack." He said grimacing and turned away.
"Geeze, I'm sorry bud." Ryan said as he placed his boot on the bleacher in front of him. Greg laughed like a crow being strangled and slapped his knee. Colin glared at Greg, who took a long drag on his cigarette and tried once again to get a look at the stranger that had broken into his comfort zone. After rubbing his eyes to clear the dancing dots away, he evaluated the man who was looking to him for a reply.
Ryan was tall and thin with dirty blond hair that was curled on top. The sun had highlighted the golden tips giving him an almost angelic appearance. He had a smooth face with laughing green eyes that held secrets and pain behind him that only he knew the meaning to. He looked well tanned by comparison to the other two. His tight jeans accentuated all the right spots and Colin filed that notion away for later. It was only after Ryan smiled a most charming, shy little confused smile in his direction that Colin realized he had been staring more than a second too long. Making sure his expression showed nothing he turned his attention back to Greg.
"Hey can I bum one of them coffin nails from ya" Ryan said gesturing toward Greg's dwindling cigarette.
"I say old chap, how very eloquent of you." Greg said affecting a haughty British accent. "You're not from around here are you?"
"Don't get wise." Ryan replied, drawing back his fist jokingly. Greg fished in his pocket and pulled out a pack with only three remaining and handed one to Ryan. "I owe ya one." Greg looked at Colin and raised his eyebrows. Colin just rolled his eyes and said nothing.
"Maybe you can tell me something. What's with the screws in this joint?" Ryan said gesturing toward one of the guards who was strolling by. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone jerk someone around the way these mugs do."
"Well since you're new here and I think you’re just a doll, I'll let you in on a little something." Greg said gesturing Ryan a little closer. Ryan leaned toward Greg and watched as the other man pushed his glasses further up on his nose. "This, my friend, unfortunately is the end of the line for you. You've obviously been brought here for some sort of heinous act that even everyone up in your home town state of, I'm guessing, New York (Greg nodded condescendingly as Ryan sneered back at him) wouldn't stand for. Your fine ass now belongs to the state of Alabama boy and don't they know it. The only rules that apply here are the one's that Warden Bumblefuck makes up on a daily basis."
"Well, that boy last night was innocent." Ryan said looking at the ground as he said it.
Greg looked at him skeptically. "Well, we all are darling, don't you get it? Well except for me." Greg snickered and rubbed his knuckles on his chest and studied his nails.
"Yeah I get it, I've been gettin it for years. It's just that that kid didn't deserve the treatment he got from them coppers and they took pleasure in dishin it out. Boy what I wouldn't give to get some payback on those rats."
"Well it looks to me like you wouldn't hurt a fly." This earned him a snort from the otherwise silent Colin who had been listening intently to the conversation coming to his own conclusions.
"Your friend’s the quiet kind, ain't he?" Ryan said looking over to Colin. Colin looked at him passively, staring right through Ryan, making him feel as if he were made of glass. It made Ryan momentarily uncomfortable. He didn't like people reading him wrong.
"Oh, Colin? Well he's just a little out of it these days, due to the fact that his lover was 86'd in the shower a few months back."
"Greg for God's sake."
"Well honey, I've told you, if you just let me take care of you for a while, I'd make you forget all about him and you can lose the melancholy mollies for a change."
Colin gave Greg one of his patented long-suffering sighs and rose up from the bleachers. "What my less than articulate friend is trying to convey here is that he is an ass hole. And you'd be wise to stay as far away from his as possible."
"That's not what you told me last night, doll."
"Go to hell, Greg. Why don't you say hi to your mother the next time she's in town." Colin said flippantly as he left the bleachers without glancing back.
Greg nearly jumped off the bleachers and lunged at Colin. Ryan reached out and grabbed him, holding him from running off after Colin. "You take that back, you son of a bitch."
Colin kept walking as if he never heard a word.
"You mean you guys are both queer?" Ryan said raising an eyebrow. Greg straightened his shirt, breathing hard.
"Why whatever gave that away, sweetheart?" Greg said batting his eyelashes, and calming himself. He smiled at the now thoroughly confused man, who had been watching the other two go at it like an old married couple.
"Is he going to be ok?" Ryan asked watching Colin's retreating back with concern.
"Colin? Yeah he'll shake it off, that's just his thing. In a day or two we'll be pals again and everything will be peaches. You know once you get to know him, I think you two will be real friendly like. I for one wouldn't miss it for the world."
"I'm not gay."
"Now that is a shame." Greg tutted.
"That's not what you two are in here for?" Ryan said hesitantly. "I know that's as crazy and off the wall as it sounds, but I've seen stranger shit happen in this place and I've only been here a day."
"No, of course not. My lawyer fucked me. And not in a good way."
chapter7
Greg entered the cafeteria alone. He looked around for a familiar face in the crowd, but not seeing it, he took his place in line with about 50 other convicts. It was supper time and he hadn't seen Colin for the rest of the day. The new inmate, whom he learned his name was Ryan, had parted company with him when the alarm sounded once again. Greg was sure Ryan would be assigned a work detail sometime soon and he wouldn't see too much more of him. He hoped not. For what it was worth, Ryan seemed like the friendly sort, covered in a nice tough exterior.
He approached a server who was dishing out the usual evening slop. "Can I get the kosher meal, babe?" He asked laughing at his own joke. The inmate behind him poked him in the back. "Alright Brutus, there's plenty of this crap to go around, enough with the rough stuff."
He took his tray and went out into the cafeteria looking once more for Colin. He saw his friend's balding head four tables away and approached it ready to make amends. He could be a bitch he knew, but he didn't want to lose the only friend he had come to know while inside this hole. Of course try as he might Greg had never yet found a way to get inside. He used and abused Colin, and Colin didn't seem to mind most of the time, but Greg couldn't find that place where Colin would actually feel.
Walking toward his friend, he didn't notice the foot that suddenly appeared from nowhere until it was too late. Greg, usually light on his feet, went down gracelessly and hard right in the middle of the cafeteria floor. A raucous laughter rose up from the surrounding tables as everything on his tray wound up on his prison issued uniform. His glasses flew off of his face and skittered to a halt at the end of the aisle . With as much dignity as he could muster, he stood up, brushed off a good portion of the food turned and faced whomever the foot had belonged to.
Officer Esten stood there grinning like a hyena. He had his stick in his hand and was thumping it in his other hand inviting Greg to take his best shot. Greg looked back at him, contained fury behind his forced resigned features. He had played this game before. He clinched his fists and held them at his sides and said nothing. It was an incredible display of restraint, especially for him.
"Well come on Pansy." Esten twanged out in his red-necked yodel. The other prisoners were banging their trays on their tables, shouting and laughing. It was going to cause a riot soon, but still Greg said nothing. Greg turned his head to the left slightly, blearily seeking out Colin. Colin was still sitting at the table. He watched the scene play out but did nothing.
Officer Esten, still waiting to get a rise out of Greg, took some mashed potatoes off of another convict's plate with one finger and smeared it down Greg's cheek. He looked in Greg's eyes. Greg was trying his best not to squint, but he was incredibly near-sighted and being without his specks was like being without an arm or a leg. He didn't want to show Esten his weakness, so he tried his best to remain calm. Esten's shark-tooth smile was quite clear and Greg saw the humorless glint in it, before he sauntered around Greg and went down the aisle.
Colin watched Chip move down the row toward him. He knew most of the guards by first name, you learned them after a while. He also knew his purpose. Chip was a stoolie. He did everything Warden Carey asked of him and then issued his own brand of torment. Most of the guards just did their jobs and minded their own business but Chip took special delight in making each of their lives extra hellish. The other convicts were sympathetic to an extent. They were always happy when it wasn't one of them that fell into his radar. Colin was not a coward, but he knew when to stay out of a bad situation. If Greg was smart, and of course Colin knew how this was going to go down, he wouldn't give Chip his satisfaction, let him do what he wanted and just get it over with.
"If there's one thing I don't like around here, it's little pansies." Chip said strolling casually towards Greg's glasses. "Especially sissy boy pansies with four-eyes." Chip emphasized the word four-eyes by taking the heel of his prison guard boot and coming down hard on the only possession Greg owned. Greg lowered his head, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white as the resounding crunch was heard throughout the now quiet cafeteria. You could have heard a pin drop.
Esten turned on his heel crunching the glasses further into the cement floor and strode back over to Greg. Colin stood up and picked up his tray and headed silently to the cafeteria window. He didn't want to see what was going to happen next, he knew. He brushed past Ryan who was making his way over to Greg and officer Esten, he didn't care what reputation it was going to earn him, he was going to kick the crap out of the officer. He was fighting the crowds of inmates who were blocking the aisles to get a good view.
Esten took his stick and tapped Greg in the center of his back, his wide shit-eating grin still plastered on his features. "Whatcha say, sissy boy?"
Greg whirled around quick as a jack rabbit and sprang toward Chip's face. He was lightening quick but the prison guards were faster. They had anticipated Greg's reaction from the start and had been steadily inching closer to him waiting for him to make his move. Two guards each grabbed an arm as Greg lunged and spat and cursed at Chip. "YOU FUCKING BASTARD! THOSE WERE MY ONLY PAIR! LET ME GO YOU ASS HOLES!" He was kicking and screaming and wrenching his arms from side to side. Chip stood inches from his face and said in a deathly calm voice. "Solitary."
"NOOOOO!!!" Greg screamed as the guards hauled him away. The crowd parted and they let the officers through. Greg was near panic now, a wail in his voice as they drug him off. "NOOOOO DON'T PUT ME THERE!!!" They passed by Colin on the way and he brushed his fingertips across the back of Greg's hand. He looked sorrowfully into Greg's frantic eyes conveying as much sympathy as he could in his own doleful depths. "COLIN!" He screamed. "Don't let them take my glasses!"
Ryan came flying out of no where. He had pushed his way through the final layer of convicts and tackled Chip to the ground. He raised his huge hand and brought it down squarely across Chip's jaw. He could hear a crack in the other man's mouth and he knew he at least got a tooth out of the deal. He raised his fist and it came down right in Chip's gut knocking the air out of the other man. The crowds of convicts were going wild! Everyone was screaming. The horns had gone off and more guards came in. It took five big guys to remove Ryan from the fallen officer. Ryan had gotten in about three more blows before he was kicked in the back. He fell over onto his side wincing in pain as Chip tried to find his barrings and stand up.
Esten stood up blood oozing from his mouth. He hawked up a big bloody spit and spat it out on Ryan. He went over and kicked him square in his gut. "Get this Goliath outta here and throw his ass into the hole." He straightened out his uniform and with one final kick to the ribs he marched his way out of the cafeteria as more guards came to restore order.
Ryan lay on the ground, trying to catch a breath. It felt as if his back had snapped in two. Before the officers helped him to his feet he was at ground level in front of the smashed pair of glasses. Delicate fingers carefully picked them up and Ryan followed their trail to the hunched down form of Colin looking back at him. "Thank you." he mouthed as the guards lifted Ryan up and took him away.
chapter8
The guards threw Greg face first into the darkened cell. It was a room that had no windows, light bulbs, or any other source of light other than the little square in the door. All it contained was a cot with no mattress and a toilet. Solitary confinement meant just that. No contact with the prisoner, no convenience for the prisoner. The prisoner was there to reflect and come to terms for why he was being punished. The length of his stay was determined by the offense. It could be a day, it could be a week. Those who were in for a week felt it as if it were a year. Just as the guard closed the door he told Greg. "Two days, Proops."
The door closed as Greg got his bearings. He turned running to it pounding with all his might. DON'T DO THIS TO ME!! LET ME OUT OF HERE! I want to see Warden Carey now!!! It was useless. The guards had walked off leaving him there in the dark. Greg whined sort of a half laugh half sob and felt his way to the corner of the room. He slumped down the wall and sat on the floor putting his head on his arms that were crossed on his knees. In the twelve years he had been in this place, he had done his fair share of solitary confinement. His mouth usually got him sent there, but he had not been in the last five years. That was mostly thanks to Colin. He hated to admit it, but some of the man's calming ways were having a decided effect on him.
Most everyone hated being put in solitary confinement, but Greg thought he felt it the worst. He couldn't talk to anyone. That drove him near insane at times. But other than that, he would be forced to come to terms with why he was in prison to begin with. When those thoughts came back on him, he practically clawed the walls to be free. Even now the niggling little thoughts were eating at his brain and he thumped his head back on the wall he was resting against. "NO...I'm not going to go there tonight." He said aloud. He rubbed his hands over his bare face, wishing he had his 'security blanket' to comfort him in his solitude. "I'm gonna be ok, you'll see. Yeah, I'll get this fixed. It won't happen. I won't let it happen." Greg rocked himself into a fitful sleep, repeating the same mantra over and over.
As far back as he could remember, Greg had always been a homosexual. He really didn't think of himself that way at 12 years old but something had to be different with him, when all of his male classmates at school were interested in pulling the girl's pig tails and chasing them around the school yard while he was more interested in being alone with his best male friend Clive Anderson. Clive had moved from England to Pittsburgh when he was five years old and Greg had been the only one to befriend him. None of the other kids in his class liked new comers and he seemed a little odd to begin with. Greg was a loner himself for other reasons, so he immediately had an affinity to the shy little boy. Greg confided most everything to his best friend and Clive was happy to listen. They also liked to one up each other in arguments that they had. It was how Greg learned to fine tune his wit.
He needed that wit to keep him sane from what he battled with the most.
Greg's mother was a pillar in the community. She was on the school board council, back in a time where it wasn't really acceptable for women to do anything. She was also an upstanding member of several church organizations. Whenever someone needed a leader or action taker, Greg's mother was there. She was a stern no nonsense woman and people trusted her to get the job done. Oh how Greg admired her for her fortitude. Oh how he wanted to be the best son a mother could ever have. Oh how he tried to be the son she wanted him to be. The son she could love and be proud of. He tried. He really did try.
It started when he was around five years old. It would begin with "Gregory, you've been a bad boy." Those were the words that haunted Greg in his dreams every night. He was always in trouble for something it seemed. Whenever his mother came home from one of her meetings he would always catch it from her. He would get whooped with a switch, a belt, her hand, whatever she could find. She would always say that he was a horrible child and that she never wanted to have him. She blamed everything that happened in her life on him.
He really couldn't blame his mother. She had so much going on in her life. His father left before he was born and she had raised he and his brother alone. She seemed to have carried a lot of resentment toward that fact and often taken it out on the two boys, especially Greg. Greg was confused often because she would punish him then bring him in to sleep in her bed with her every night. He had slept with his mother many years before learning that it was wrong to do that. He never had sexual feelings toward his mother but he did sleep very close to her almost like her lover. When he was a teen he began feeling more of a stirring in that direction. He knew he needed to get away from those feelings, but somehow his mother made it difficult.
He would never forget the day when he was around 15 years old and his mother caught him kissing Clive behind the woodshed on their farm. He had strong feelings for Clive ever since he was 13 years old and he was elated that Clive felt the same way. They had kissed each other often and explored things about the other and really came to be in love. They would take long walks and hold hands and be perfectly comfortable with telling each other anything and everything that was on their minds. Greg didn't see anything at all wrong with what he was doing, but Clive informed him that they would have to keep their love a secret. So Greg complied. He would have moved the moon for Clive if it made him happy.
His mother caught the pair and the look on her face as she grabbed her son away was one of pure and utter disgust. "YOU DISGUSTING LITTLE PIG" she shouted at Greg. Then she turned her rage on Clive. "HOW DARE YOU DESTROY MY SON YOU LITTLE FAIRY". He looked at Greg, and Greg stared back helplessly. She proceeded to beat both of the boys all the way to Clive's house where she then informed his mother and father as to what the pair had been doing. The next day, Clive with tears in his eyes, approached him at school saying he'd never be able to see Greg again. His mother and father were sending him to boarding school and he would not be able to have contact with Greg. Greg was heartbroken. They held each other for hours, but promised each other that they would see the other again one day.
Life became even more of a living nightmare for Greg after that. His mother would never let him out of her sight. She fought him, raged at him, called him names, ridiculed him, punished him more and more every day. He was afraid to wake up each day wondering what abuse she would come up with next.
All the while, she invited Greg into her bed every night. The two would sleep like spoons, he often burying his head into his mother's neck, breathing in her scent and snuggling down into her bosom when she turned. He loved her, but he never understood that she had a sickness.
It was at 17 when she started drinking heavily. She'd come home every night with a bottle of something and Greg would wind up cleaning up after her after she would get sick all over the place and smashing her bottles on the kitchen floor. Greg would dutifully clean everything up and listen to her berate him for not being his father, and for being a "little fairy" one of her favorite nic names for him. Greg would try and tolerate it but it was taking a toll. He had snuck away several times to go and visit Clive in the boarding school and they would have rendezvous whenever he could get away. He told Clive he wanted to leave, but he couldn't leave her just yet. He didn't know what to do.
Months later his mother got sick from tuberculosis and the doctor had confined her to her bed. She would shout her orders to Greg and he waited on her hand and foot. She didn't allow him to sleep in her bed with her any longer and he always felt like he had done something wrong to deserve that. He'd often go to the room his brother used before he moved out and cry himself to sleep. He didn't ask for this life. He didn't deserve this. But as the days grew longer, his mother's health and attitude worsened.
One day after a particularly bad shouting match, in which she had called him the worst names imaginable, Greg decided it was time to put an end to his mother's "loving treatment" He couldn't live like this anymore. He wanted to ease her pain and his as well. He waited until she was asleep for her afternoon nap. He stood over her bed and watched her sleeping form for several minutes. She was so beautiful and frightening all at the same time. He hated what he was about to do, but it was a way out for the both of them. He picked up the pillow beside her head and leaned down and kissed her softly on her forehead. "I'm sorry." He whispered and placed it over her face pressing down hard.
Greg screamed into the darkness. His eyes opened wide and he breathed heavily. The only sounds he heard in the deathly still room was the sounds of his breathing, panting and gasping. He ran a hand over his clammy skin and looked toward the square of light at the door. It must have been morning because the little slot at the middle of the door was rattling and someone was there with his tray of breakfast.
"Wait...WAIT..." he cried out, feeling his way to the front of the room, his eyes trained on the blurry square of light. Officer Sherwood was at the door, Greg could see his outline as he got closer. "BRAD...Brad!! Please, you gotta tell them to let me outta here! You know I can't do two days! Brad, PLEASE!!"
Officer Brad Sherwood looked at Greg pitifully through the square in the door. He shook his head and said, "There's nothing I can do Greg. Chip has told Drew that you assaulted him and you have to serve your time in there. I'm sorry." Brad slid the food tray through the slot and turned to leave. Greg pounded the glass in frustration and almost slammed the tray to the floor, before seeing something on there that made him pause. There on the tray was a mended pair of glasses.
Greg was rocking and moaning by the time the guards finally let him out on the second evening of his confinement. He was trembling and shaking when the guards opened the door. He stood up and staggered toward the light when the door opened and winced when the light hit him in the eyes. He had to blink several times against its harshness, but he was relieved nonetheless. He plastered his patented curled lip sneer on his face and straightened himself up tugging at the corners of his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles.
"And that ladies and gentlemen is how you do "the hole" standing on your head." He gave a thumbs up to the guard as he allowed them to lead him back to his cell. It was evening so everyone was on down time.
The door to Colin's cell opened. He was on the top bunk reading his latest installment of Dick Tracy. It was the only luxury he allowed himself. His father sent him money regularly but he never used it for anything other than the occasional pack of cigarettes and his favorite comic book.
He looked up from his reading and watched as his haggard, weary, tired friend was escorted into his cell. He looked right on the verge of a breakdown and Colin hopped down from his bunk. "Thank you gentlemen, I'll take it from here." He said as he put an arm around Greg.
The guards walked off and Greg immediately fell on his friend. He sobbed into Colin's neck holding onto him for dear life.
"Shhh Shhhh...it's ok Greg. It's ok. Come here, come on. Shhhhh..." Colin led him to his bunk and they both eased their way onto it. Colin held Greg in his arms and stroked his face, running his hand over Greg's stubble. Colin kissed his forehead and wiped his tears away.
"Colin, I'm sssorry." Greg sniffled into his neck, nuzzling the skin there. Colin closed his eyes to the touch and fingered Greg's hair calming him further.
"Why are you sorry? I should be the one to apologize." Colin traced patterns into Greg's hair soothing him, wanting him to go to sleep and rest.
"I missed you Colin." Greg said after a moment more. He snuggled deeper into Colin's chest and held his arms loosely around his shoulders.
"I missed you too, Greg. Colin said with a hand on Greg's chest feeling his heartbeat. It was returning to normal and Colin exhaled softly.
"Colin, I'm afraid." Greg said tightening his grip on his friend. "I'm going to die."
"Shhhh... shhhh...don't think about it now, sweetheart." Colin said as he rocked Greg, holding him closer.
"Can I kiss you, please." Greg said pleading in his voice.
Colin closed his eyes and trembled ever-so-slightly. It was difficult to refuse Greg, but he couldn't let him get that close. Not yet. "I can't." He said regretfully.
Greg nuzzled his neck once more and sighed, finally finding sleep. Colin reached over and removed Greg's glasses only half curious as to how he got them back. He would ask him later. He held Greg closely to him and let his eyes drift shut.
chapter9
The door eased open allowing a large shaft of light to penetrate the otherwise pitch black room. Its only occupant was curled up into a tight ball on the make-shift cot at the far corner. For two weeks not so much as the sliver of light from the food slot had been admitted into the small space no bigger than a storage closet.
When the light hit the form on the bed, it stirred slightly. Officer Sherwood walked quietly toward the sleeping figure and ran his hand through his hair, feeling the soft texture of it. Brad trailed his hand down the neck and rested it on the shoulder. He didn’t want to startle him, and he knew it was going to be a rough transition back. He gently shook the shoulder bringing the owner to consciousness.
Ryan Stiles jerked fitfully and sat straight up in the cot, his fists flailing and then covering his eyes as the shaft of light blinded him. Two arms caught hold of his own and held him steady. Ryan tried to push his way out of them, but the calm soothing tones of the man’s voice settled him momentarily. He recognized it as Officer Sherwood’s, and ceased his movements.
For two weeks Ryan sat in that darkened pit and rotted; he didn’t know when the days ended or began. He only was allotted 2 meals during the day and a 30 minute stretch in the confined square of concrete designated for the solitary prisoners. This was done in the evening. Ryan had not seen the light. He did not bathe, he itched constantly, and he did not have a change of uniform. By the second week he was in and out of a stupor. No one came to see him except for Officer Sherwood and that was mostly at the meal time hour. Officer Sherwood would tell him the time, the day and regretfully inform him that no matter how much he pleaded, he would not be released. He asked at one point if anyone had ever been kept here as long as he had. Brad looked at him with pain in his eyes and told him that only a select few had been held a week at the most never more than eight days; Ryan had already been there ten.
Minutes felt like hours and hours felt like weeks. Ryan would sleep most of the days away, not moving, not eating. When he did eat he got sick; mostly due to the smell. Officer Sherwood would come to take the trays and remark that he needed to eat to keep his strength up, but he would get no reply. Brad could barely get two words out of Ryan unless it was to ask when he could leave.
Brad waited patiently as Ryan righted himself on the cot and swung his legs over the edge. They ached something awful as did his back. He needed to go to the infirmary. He didn’t think he could stand. Brad helped him to his feet and put an arm around his side supporting him. "How many?" he asked after a moment.
"Fourteen." Was the reply. "You are being released today, but you’re to see Warden Carey after you’ve cleaned yourself up." Brad released the man after helping him stand, Ryan didn’t seem to want his help, brushing him off and taking a few staggering steps toward the door.
Brad opened the door further, to allow Ryan to go through. The moment Ryan stepped out into the hall; he let out a piercing scream and fell to the ground. The light burned into his eyes and he couldn’t see anything. He huddled against the side of the wall trying to block out the light invading the thin layer of his eyelids. He dug at his face trying to rub out the sensations. "I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch!" Ryan swore.
Brad rushed over to him and helped him back to his feet. He turned Ryan’s face to his chest and held him there. He scowled hard at the other guards who approached and told them to back off. He escorted Ryan out of the hallway and back into General Population.
Brad made his way with Ryan back to his cell in Cell Block C. The doors automatically rolled open due to Brad’s instructions when they entered that portion of the building. He helped the man onto his bunk and instructed him to remain until the rest of the prisoners on his block returned from recreation time. The he was to get showered and report to Warden Carey’s. Ryan opened his eyes cautiously allowing a little of the light to penetrate focusing first on the floor. The first thing he saw was Officer Sherwood’s boots, then legs, then chest, then finally his face. A big lopsided grin met his blinking gaze.
"There you are." Brad said smiling once again. Ryan groaned and turned away. He was not going to give Sherwood the satisfaction. Brad shrugged, turned and walked toward the cell door. "Glad your back among the living," he said with his back turned.
An hour later the cell door opened once again and Jeff strolled through the door, easy as you please. He looked at the form huddled on the bed and stood there watching him for a moment. He took note that his cellmate had emaciated quite a bit in his two week absence. His skin was decidedly paler and his hair had grown shaggy in the back, and he had the makings of a full beard. Jeff sighed and shook his head; he knelt down by the bed and put a hand on Ryan’s back.
Ryan rolled over and faced the young man with the shy smile and bedroom eyes. Jeff smiled softly at him and said "Welcome back."
Ryan looked at him, his eyes filled with anger. "Ya know, if that rat was anywhere near my boys, he’d be someone’s rear bumper by now. I’d personally take great pleasure in rubbin him out."
"Ah yep." Jeff replied. "Let me just tell you, I've been talking to a lot of the other fella's out there and they let me know that they are mighty proud of what you did the other day." Jeff brought a hand to Ryan's forehead and ruffled his hair. "No why don't we go get showered. It looks like you could use one."
chapter10
Ryan stood under the hot spray of the shower head in the prison's large, multi-user shower rooms. Several other men were around him all washing themselves, but Ryan continued to let the hot water soak into his skin. He rested his head on the shower wall giving into the delicious sensation of knowing that soon he would be clean. Soon he could feel whole again. Two whole weeks of nothingness permeated his mind. Every day he had felt the weight of anger and injustice and rage for the mistreatment of so many. He wondered how many people that were actually here, were actually guilty for the "crimes" they hadcommitted. He needed to erase the hollow feeling inside of him; the hollow feeling that was slowly consuming him. The anger and rage that he felt toward the whole situation pushed him on, filled him up, helped him to get past the nothingness that had been his confinement. He wondered how Greg was doing. He wondered how long he had been made to endure. He rubbed his forehead against the tiles, letting the heat from the water soothe the aching muscles of his back and legs. The water ran trails down his long, slender back, past the scars of old bullet wounds, down his legs and to the drain. Ryan grimaced; whenever water hit his wounds, he would always get a tingling sensation and the memories would rise again. He could not block them out today. He had tried so hard to keep them buried but he was tired, and when he was as tired and as hollow as he felt, he let the memories wash over him the way the water did at this moment.
"Gotta job for you, Legs." Mr. Henry Morgan said one day, calling him out of the blue. Ryan had been quite successful in his little area of the neighborhood. He had been put in charge of two of the cities highest populated brothels. They both belonged to Morgan and his organization. The other two belonged to Morgan's top rival Frankie Capone. Morgan was always trying to gain territory, business and property from Capone. Ryan knew of their long standing rivalry and even took part in a few of the raids that involved the Capone Syndicate.
"What's that boss," Ryan said a little less than eagerly. He preferred staying with the paying customers in his booming business. Everyone loved going to Ryan's strip clubs. Ryan catered to everyone's taste including the ones that were taboo. He made the Morgan Syndicate top dollar for his selection of women and men alike. Morgan had no complaints for a job well done. Every so often though, Ryan would get itchy to do something with a little excitement. There was nothing like running a raid at midnight, stealing the competition's stored up stock of alcohol and running for dear life through the hail of bullets. There were plenty of close calls, but to date, he had survived.
"I need you to go with Malone and a few of the guys tomorrow night to the S-M-C Cartage Company garage at 2122 North Clark Street. I need you to help unload a shipment of old log cabin whiskey that will be delivered around 11:00 am. I also have some business to discuss with you and the boys."
"Gee, I dunno, boss." Ryan said hesitantly. "Tomorrow's Valentine's Day and that's when I get my biggest clientele."
"Have one of the others handle it, Legs. I need you here on this one."
Ryan knew better than to argue with Morgan. When Morgan said jump, the only thing you answered was 'how high?'
"Ok boss will do." And with that Ryan geared himself up for what he thought was just a routine shipment.
The next day Ryan arrived at the garage along with a couple of the other guys in Morgan's gang. Ryan took note that there were mostly top associates of Morgan and a few flunkies. Ryan had a bad feeling about this. He shook it off crediting it to Morgan saying he had some business to discuss. Ryan surveyed his surroundings making small talk with some of the guys and looking for the fastest exit. You didn't go into anyplace unaware in his line of work. He made sure his pistol was securely tucked into its holster in his suit coat.
As the minutes ticked on, Ryan became increasingly uncomfortable. He knew Morgan was going to arrive shortly, but in everything that Morgan did in the past, he was always earlier than Johnny on the spot. Malone was nowhere in sight.
At that moment the doors burst open and five police officers burst into the garage. Two were dressed in uniforms while three wore long trench coats and fedoras. Ryan saw out of the corner of his eye the tell-tale signs of heavy duty artillery. He saw that tucked inside their coats were sawed-off shotguns and Thompson submachine guns, the newest and deadliest weapons of choice.
"Hands up and face the wall!" one of the plainclothesman blurted. And when Morgan's gang didn't move fast enough, screamed, "Move!" The cops fanned out behind them as seven grouchy, mumbling men leaned palms-flat against a side wall, shoulder to shoulder, staring at brick and mortar, waiting to be frisked.
"Lay a hand on us and there'll be hell to pay in City Hall this afternoon, coppers," Ryan threatened. He was surprised none of the bulls answered him back.
The men facing the wall listened. In fact, the silence seemed an omen. There was only minor rustling, someone whispering something, and someone's sole scraping along the oily cement floor.
Then, a boom broke the silence, to be picked up by a staccato of something exploding behind their backs. Their instincts shouted the reality of this as they realized what was happening, Ryan for the first time in his life, actually tasted death. He felt the first two bullets rip into the flesh of his shoulder and lower back. He had no time to think, just react. He immediately fell to the ground and rolled out of the way of the spray of bullets. He never looked back to see if anyone would follow, or if for that matter anyone would mark him. He just rolled and ran. He felt more of the bullets wiz past his head and he ran into the back room. He had noticed there was a window in the back of the room when he was doing his surveillance. He turned and faced the open door when sounds of footsteps approached. He didn't hear the shouts of more men as they came into the garage. All he saw was the barrel of a gun.
Ryan drew his gun and fired. He was bleeding from his wounds but kept up his end of the fight. Suddenly there was the sound of gunplay from behind the men in front of him. The men in front of Ryan went down like playing cards. Ryan turned and grabbed the nearest object hurling it toward the window, smashing it into pieces. Just then more uniformed men rushed the room. "FREEZE" They shouted and Ryan froze. He dropped everything in his hands and reached toward the sky. He knew he was going to die; he just knew.
Ryan noticed as he was being ushered out by the actual police this time that vehicles were backed up and passersby seemed to be pausing, despite the cold, to gawk.
A Cadillac was parked at the curb beside a small convoy of squads. Two uniformed policemen stood guard at the doorway, while others were scurrying in and out between the garage and the sidewalk talking to obvious plainclothesmen outside. One seemed to be taking notes in a tablet. Ryan shuffled his way past the Cadillac and saw Morgan inside. He had balls being there because the cops were crawling all over the place. Ryan said through the window as the cops were leading him away almost inaudibly, "Capone...it's Capone..."
The water had grown cold, and Ryan still stood there unshed tears in his eyes. He didn't see any of his associates after the fact, but he knew they had all been eradicated during the set up. He later found out that he was wrong about it being Capone, but in actuality it was Morgan who had planned the take down. He and Malone had thought that several of their men were trying to scam them out of money and Ryan was one of them. Ryan had never been more destroyed in his life when he found out that his boss was paranoid enough to believe that of him. He never had a chance to confront Morgan. The last he had heard was that his boss and one time friend had met his maker in an Italian restaurant. Some of Capone's own thugs had finally gotten theirs by taking him out during his evening meal. Ryan shut off the water and grabbed a towel. He went to a bench by the wall and sat down hard. Things had a way of catching up.
During Ryan's reflections, another inmate was having his share of drama replay in the Warden's conference room. Colin entered the large room and made his way to a chair that sat in front of a long table. There were three chairs behind the table. In those three chairs were the members of the board of parole, who had convened on this day to hear the cases and determine if prisoners deserved an early release. The members of the board consisted of two men and one woman. Warden Carey sat behind his desk and waited patiently as Officer Sherwood brought the prisoners in one by one and issued them to their seat. Colin was handcuffed and was led to the chair. He looked up at Brad and half smiled at him. He had been there before.
"I hereby call this meeting of parole acquisitions to order beginning with case number uh 44568, prisoner 022 uh 175, Mochrie, Colin Andrew. Will the members of the parole board state their uhm names for the record?" Drew's stumbling over the reading of the docket was nothing new. He often lost his place because he was often distracted by something else.
Stephen Colbert, Dan Patterson and Laura Hall, all stated their names respectively for the recorded. They all opened a copy of the case in front of them. It was the standard procedure to start the hearing with a redisclosure of the crime, the verdict and the sentencing. The prisoner was then allowed to make remarks as to why he felt he was rehabilitated and then Warden Carey would confirm or disprove said rehabilitation. It was then up to the parole board to approve or deny the prisoner's request for parole. Colin had been their twelve times.
"On Wednesday, May 24, 1924, the body of one fourteen year old Bobby Franks was found face down in a patch of woods. Beside the body was a pair of reading glasses. It had been determined by the courts that the prisoner Colin Mochrie and his accomplice Richard Petersen had attempted to orchestrate the perfect crime. Mr. Mochrie, a Harvard graduate with an IQ of 210 had assisted in the brutal murder of the victim. He claimed that it was an experiment for two highly intellectual adults bored with the normal confines and constrictions of life. Initially the crime was to mastermind a plan of kidnapping for ransom and everything was planned out to the minute detail. A flaw caused a panic and the resulting murder. "The detectives proved that the reading glasses found at the scene belonged to Mr. Mochrie." Laura Hall looked up from the reading of the transcript and studied Colin before continuing.
Colin looked intently at the floor. He willed himself not to show any emotion. He listened, as he always did, to the nature of his crime. He thought back to the days of his youth in bitter remorse. He would have given anything to take back those moments of naive stupidity masked in intellectual genius. He would have done anything to persuade Richard against doing the unthinkable. It was hard to convince Richard of anything other than what Richard wanted to do. Richard held the strings and Colin danced to his tune. He couldn't blame Richard. He didn't blame him now. They were just young and thought they had the world at their fingertips. If he could take back those moments, if he could relive that day, he would gladly have given his own life in return to save the boy's he had taken.
Laura continued. "It was determined by the court beyond the shadow of a doubt that Mr. Mochrie clearly motivated by Mr. Petersen's influence committed the crime. His father procured the best lawyer for his defense, as did Mr. Petersen's. They were to be separated and put into different correctional institutions. It was the court's decision that Mochrie would be given a life sentence with the possibility of parole." Laura finished and took a sip of her water. The heat from the day had penetrated the room and it was stifling. There were no windows open and the ceiling fans did noting but rotate the hot air. It was meant to be uncomfortable.
"The prisoner will now make his remarks." Drew said to the board. He looked at Colin pointedly. He had known Colin throughout his tenure as Warden almost eight years now. He knew that Colin could be trusted. He knew that he had felt remorse for his mistake in the past, but he also knew that Colin would never be set free. The boy's parents had seen to that. Every time there was a hearing, the victim’s parents would make a plea indicating several conditions in the sentencing. So far the parole hearings always went in their favor.
Colin cleared his throat. He looked up at each member of the board and thanked them for taking their time out of their busy day to look at his case again. His soulful brown eyes told of his heartache and pain. He allowed it to shine through now.
"Of my crime, I take full responsibility for. I have no defense. I admit freely that it was a grievous error on my part and the part of my partner, Mr. Petersen. Knowing full well the nature of my relationship, with Mr. Petersen, you can all attest that it was indeed a crime of passion. I will try at this juncture as I always have to maintain my dignity about my involvement with Mr. Petersen in the nature of our sexual orientation and how that had played a part in the incident that took place. I will ask once again to express my humble apologies to the family of the victim and that I will endeavor to do everything within my power to make amends for my actions. My partner, if he were with us today, I am sure would concur with my decision as well." Colin allowed the tears to well up. He had cried so many nights over his mistakes and kept his actions first and foremost in his mind. He couldn't forgive himself. He wouldn't allow it.
"Warden Carey will now make his remarks." Dan Patterson announced.
"Convict Mochrie has shown remarkable improvement over the years under my watchful supervision; however, it has not improved to the point to where he deserves to be released back into society. He is a cooperative inmate, but requires further rehabilitation before I can honestly grant my consent to his recovery."
As Drew made his recommendations in his usual Foghorn Leghorn intonations, all the hope that had dimly shown in Colin's eyes snuffed itself once again. When would he learn his lesson? There would be no way in hell they would ever let him out of here. He was here to stay. He lifted his hands, clasped together in silent plea that maybe, just this once, he would be spared and given another chance. How much longer would he have to suffer for his mistake? He felt it everyday of his life. "Let me do some good." He whispered.
"It is hereby then the decision of this parole board that the Prisoner Colin Mochrie has failed to prove or warrant his release back into society. He will continue to serve out the remainder of his sentence until said time as when another hearing can be rescheduled." Stephen Colbert, taking the stamp that sealed Colin's fate every year, stamped his file with DENIED. The sound echoed through the room and resounded in his heart.
chapter11
Officer Brad Sherwood returned to Cell Block C in search of the freshly showered and groomed Ryan Stiles. He knew Mochrie was still in the middle of his parole hearing, so he had a moment to fetch the other prisoner. He found Ryan sitting up in his bunk, his height making his hair brush against the metal of the upper bunk. He was dressed in a fresh prison uniform and his beard was shaved and he looked marginally better. He was staring off into space. Brad sighed and approached silently.
Brad paused at the door to his cell and leaned against it. He noticed convict Davis on his upper bunk. The man had a tablet and was scribbling something furiously on the pad. Every so often he would pause, look his boyish face toward the window, smile, and continue to write. Brad tapped the cell shaking both men from their thoughts.
"Stiles, the warden will see you now." Brad said, putting his key in the cell lock and opening the door with a loud metallic screech. Ryan rose from the bunk and extended his wrists. Brad looked over to the bunk where Jeff was watching as usual. He looked back at Ryan who kept his face neutral. He placed the handcuffs around Ryan's wrists and allowed him to pass through the cell.
As they walked down the corridor, Brad glanced sideways at Ryan. "You know, you could talk to me. I'm not all that bad once you get to know me."
Ryan frowned and turned back. "I ain't gettin friendly with no coppers. Besides, I remember what you did to me when I first came into this joint." He said as they walked past several cells.
"Aww now can't we let bygones be bygones? I only do as Warden Carey tells me. I really see something noble in you Stiles and I like that." Brad said hesitantly, putting his hand on Ryan's shoulder.
Ryan shrugged the hand off. "You can save it. You're just as much a part of this as they are."
Brad sighed and shrugged and continued to walk with Ryan past a few more cells, stopping him in front of Greg and Colin's. "Proops, your lawyers got a meeting with you today."
Ryan looked into the cell where Greg was sitting at the smallest of small tables that was supposed to be considered a desk and looked up from his reading. Upon seeing Ryan he stood up and crossed over to the man. Brad allowed Ryan to go to the cell; he and Greg stood face to face. Greg looked up into Ryan's eyes and shyly smiled. "I wanted to thank you for, you know, the other day." Greg had his hands resting on one of the iron bars of the cell and Ryan reached out and patted them. "Keep your chin up." He smiled a rare smile at Greg, letting down his guard momentarily.
"Hey come on man...you don't have to tell me! That's just another chapter in my colorful book of life. I only wish I got a nice right hook on that bastard."
Brad nudged Ryan and with a final look back at Greg, Ryan walked on. Brad escorted Ryan through the courtyard to the warden's office at the north end of the penitentiary. It was much colder outside; they had entered the winter months. They didn't say another word to each other as they approached the building.
Colin was just leaving his seat, being ushered by another guard, when he turned and faced Ryan coming in with Brad. They had not seen each other since the night of the cafeteria incident. Colin took note of the now paler, thinner man and gave him a grim smile and a nod in acknowledgement. Ryan looked back at Colin and then at the others behind the desk. He wondered what it was he seemed to be interrupting; then it dawned on him. He looked into the other man's eyes and got the answer he was looking for. He tried to convey sympathy in his face and almost spoke, but all Colin said to him was, "Don't." He walked toward the door Ryan had just entered. Their shoulders brushed each other's in passing and Ryan felt his despair in the briefest of touches.
Warden Carey chose this moment to speak up. "One second, Mochrie."
Colin turned around and waited beside Officer Sherwood, who was ready to escort him back to his cell. He looked at Carey with sad, vacant eyes.
Warden Carey approached Ryan, who had waited patiently in front of Carey's desk. His head was bowed, but he was not doing it out of respect. Drew circled the man and then came to face him. He put a finger under Ryan's chin and lifted up his face to meet his eyes. Ryan tried to move his head from Carey's grasp, but Drew held him firm. He stared into Ryan's eyes, and Ryan looked back defiant as ever. The spark of life still shown through. Drew nodded and said. "So, Stiles, how did you enjoy your stay in the pent house suite?"
Ryan's anger was building again inside of him. That made him want to trash the place, including the very smug looking Warden. He stood still and held his tongue.
"Before we proceed any further," Carey said to the parole board, "I have an interesting work detail for Mr. Stiles here. He seems to have a lot of extra energy to burn off these days, and I figure he wouldn't mind putting that to good use out on the rail. We are having the train come through this part of our town and the state has volunteered us to provide the rail workers to help the process." Drew looked pointedly at Ryan.
Ryan grimaced; back breaking labor. This was how they were going to push his buttons. He twisted his wrists inside their confines and said nothing. He wasn't going to give the man his satisfaction.
Drew patted Ryan's shoulder and said, "Oh, you'll change your tune. Oh, and Mochrie, you're going to be on the detail too. Colin looked away from Ryan; he had been studying the man's reactions, and shook his head no. "I can't do that Warden Carey. I can't be out in the heat of the day during the summer time." He knew the project would last more than a few months. It would be well into the summer before they finished.
"I really don't think you have a choice Mochrie." Drew said with a slight smile. "I've checked your roster and in the past 4 years you have not been on any labor details. Your time has arrived. That's all I needed you boys for. You can return to your cells."
Ryan turned on his heel and followed Colin and Brad out of the door. As they were crossing the courtyard Ryan turned to Colin and said, "What is with the sadistic bastards in this place? How the hell have you survived all this time?"
Colin looked at him and shrugged. "You get used to it. Soon it becomes a part of you and you just learn to accept it."
Ryan stopped him for a moment and said. "You don't honestly believe that shit do you? I know I'm gonna get out of this pen just as soon as it's humanly possible. I ain't gonna let this place lick me and when I get outta here I'm going straight. I hope you have the power to do the same."
Colin smirked at him and the implication. "You're living in a pipe dream. You know they have you and you'll never be free. You might as well face those facts. They'll have you till you lose your mind or you die. Warden Carey has seemed to take a particularly fond interest in you since your little display of heroism. He would never have put a new inmate on this particular kind of detail. You better take note of that, and just not get involved next time."
"What are you saying, man? I don't get you! Greg is your friend. How could you stand there and just let it happen to him without doing something?" Ryan looked at Colin incredulously.
Sherwood issued them both back into Cell Block C. As they approached Colin's cell, Colin turned to Brad and said. "Brad, as long as you've been here, have you seen anything good come out of someone making a stand and trying to make a difference? This place is hell on earth and the more you do, the more you sink into that pit."
Brad looked at the pair. He couldn't help but remark to himself that the two had points on both sides of their argument. "Hell, Colin I've been here ten years and I can't even break free. I've seen enough of my share of despair and desperation to last me for a lifetime. I only happen to be on the other side. But Ryan has a point. If you don't do something, all you have to do is look forward to the norm."
Brad unlocked Colin's cell and let him back in; Greg was not there. Colin surveyed the room and waited patiently as Brad undid his cuffs. "Well whatever the case, Ryan, you'd be far wise to let those dreams of yours stay inside your head." He looked forlornly toward the window as the pair exited his cell and Brad walked with Ryan down the hall to his own cell.
Ryan sighed and muttered to himself as they got closer to his cell. "I don't understand him at all." Brad looked back at him and put a hand on his shoulder. "You have to go easy on him Stiles. I don't think you realize how hard it is for someone to live here with the intelligence he has and not be able to put it toward any kind of use. He tortures himself daily and he has come to believe that there is truly no hope. Try living that way day after day, year after year and see what it does to you."
Brad left him with those parting thoughts and Ryan crossed over to his bunk and lay down on it. Jeff had just taken out his harmonica and began to play a song. It was sad and sorrowful, just like all of his melodies. Ryan closed his eyes and listened for a moment. He thought about Colin and how much he wanted to convince him that there was more to this life, and that he did have a chance. He thought about Greg and how he could be good in helping to convince Colin of that. Greg had a positive outlook despite his situation.
When Jeff paused his playing, Ryan cleared his throat. Jeff looked over the side of the bunk and smiled. There was something undeniably cute in his gaze and Ryan had to stop himself from smirking back. He looked at the young man and said. "So tell me, you never really did finish your story about the bank robbers out west. If they didn't make it to Mexico, what happened to them? I get what happened to the driver. I'm looking at him."
Jeff's smile disappeared and he rolled onto his back on his bunk. He fingered his harmonica bringing it to his lips once more and blew softly into it a few more notes. After a few moments he spoke in soft tones that Ryan had to strain to hear.
"The Barrow Gang continued to commit more crimes, starting with the robbery of the Lancaster Bank. It was after this job, that that something changed with me and the others. Johnny was havin a dispute with Hamilton, Adelide's brother, over the split of money from that bank heist, Johnny had suggested we part company. But Hamilton still deserved his share, so we chose a lonely stretch of Highway 114 to meet and divvy up. Johnny put me on watch as he and Adelide slept in the car. The last thing either of them wanted right now was another direct confrontation with the law. While they dozed, some motorcycle cops by. I panicked when I saw the troopers curb their machines and begin to strut back toward me. I yanked Johnny's elbow. 'Laws, Johnny.' I told him frantically.
Johnny brushed his eyes and saw the policemen. 'Let’s take ’em,' he told me. I didn't know he meant that he wanted to take them on one of his funny joy rides that he was known to do. He loved scaring the cops by driving them all over the desert then dropping them off out in the middle of nowhere. I was so nervous I thought he meant only one thing. Before Johnny had a chance to stop me, I had my revolver out and fired, striking one of the cops dead. The other cop began shooting back. Johnny had no alternative but to defend himself and returned the shots. His aim was deadly. As both of the patrolmen lay in the hot sun, Adelide checked on them to see if either of them had any chance for survival, she wanted to make sure that if they had the chance she could call and get them help. She hated the law but she also hated death. Anyways, we didn’t know a nearby farmer had witnessed the incident and prob'ly loved his moment in the press, claimed that Adelide purposely walked up the two dying men and pumped another round into each of them. That wasn't true, but that didn’t matter now. Two more policemen were dead and Johnny and Adelide were responsible.
We made it all the way to Topeka and it was there that Johnny and Adelide stole their last car, the car in which they would die." Jeff paused at the sound of Ryan's intake of breath. He made a low sound in his throat and urged Jeff to continue.
"It was fast, sleek and accelerated like a rocket. They loved that car." Jeff said with remorse
The detective that was on the case was trailing us the entire time. He had learned of our gang's meeting with Johnny's folks in Dallas. He put two and two together and, again, guessed correctly. He presumed that they were probably en route next to visit with my father, Iverson, who lived in Acadia, Louisiana, in the northern part of the state near Shreveport. He was right. After we stole the car, we were on our way to visit my dad.
Ever since the shooting of that cop, I hadn't really been the same. I was skittish. I’d known from that moment on that I'd gotten into something way over my head. I had heard the "death talk" during the Barrow- Parker reunion; I seen the sullen faces; and I had read Adelide's poem, which spoke of death. Jeff paused again his song still playing in his head. I was not presupposed to the idea of accepting what Adelide called "the wages of sin". I just wanted outta there.
By the time we got to Shreveport, I was a bundle of nerves. Holing up at my dad's out-of-the-way cabin off Sailes Road, I told my dad that I was scared. While the pair was asleep in the other room I told my dad I rued the day I ever met them. I wished I could wake up and find myself pardoned of all my crimes and start life anew. My dad told me he had an idea.
When the lead detective and his gang arrived in Shreveport, they were planning on an ambush for Johnny and Adelide. My dad paid him a visit offering him a deal: Johnny and Adelide for a reduced sentence for me. The detective wanted to see my dad immediately.
Sometime during the day of May 22, final preparations were made for an ambush. The plan that resulted was fairly simple. Johnny and Adelide tended to make early visits to town in nearby Sailes. The Sailes Road was dense with woodland, moss hanging low over the road. The road was narrow and there were plenty of places a posse could wait concealed.
The detective wanted to make sure I was no where with them when the ambush went down. That problem had already been conveniently worked out by fate. A day earlier we had driven to Shreveport for hamburgers; and while I went in to order, a police squad had pulled alongside the car in a parking lot. I looked out the window as Johnny calmly pulled away; I just thought it was my time to go into hiding. I went and stayed with a cousin and never looked back.
My dad told me later the rest of the story and what had eventually happened. He worked out the details with the detective. He was a logger by trade and owned a be