No idea, maybe fome debt? I stood up and sat down on the edge of the bed. Philippe did likewise.
He wouldn’t have beaten him up like that just over a C-note.
I dunno…but how do you know how muff it wav? I was curious, but above all jealous. How could Philippe, a peon of my own caste, be in the know about the outstanding debts for our section’s gang?
Maybe he owed them more, but I know that the Italian guy owed them at least that, for a tattoo I did for him back in April, a dragon on his shoulder.
I mumbled in agreement and let him carry on talking.
I guess they thought he was taking too long to cough up the payola. Now we were getting to the part that interested me.
I’d like you to advanfe me a tattoo av well. If I was going to be stuck in a cell with a tattoo artist I might as well get some ink.
Man, are you stupid or what? You’ve just seen a guy get his face totally smashed in for a debt and now you wanna get into debt?
It wouldn’t be getting into debt, it would be investing. Tattoos get you recognition in my field. And that was without taking into account that I was sure to get a little something, via Butterfly, for the new supply line I’d opened up for Big Dick. And even if I didn’t get anything, Butterfly wouldn’t let the black guys smash my head in. I had to swallow the pills in front of the wardens, in the office, and then spit them back out in my cell. If I got sent to the nurse or the hospital, every dose I took on the outside would be a net loss for the organization.
And if worse came to worst and Colossus turned against me, it would set off a gang war from which I would emerge unscathed. It was all good, I had a plan in place. I hadn’t stolen two-thirds of The Art of War for nothing.
I’m feriouf, Philippe. I want you to do my famurai tattoo on my back.
Forget your samurai, man, you haven’t got the money to pay for it. I’m not wasting ink for nothing. The nice thing about closed doors is that they open the doors to lying.
Nobody elfe knowv yet, but I’ve ftarted working for Big Dick… I’m going to have the caff to pay you.
His surprise gave way to his sense of duty. It’s Colossus you need to pay, and then he gives me my share. Keep that in mind, Colossus is the one you’re going to owe. Three hundred big fat ones for a tattoo like that… You don’t have anyone outside who can pay for you, you never have any visitors. If I give you a tattoo, the minute they unlock the cell doors you’ll be walking out with a fucking big debt. Are you sure? Philippe gave himself some serious airs for a Chicano designer. He should read The Secret, then he’d see that nothing happens for no reason. And the opposite too. Hundo P! Get your maffine ready.
The rest of our period of confinement was taken up with him creating a masterpiece on my back. In spite of the pain of the needle jabbing at me, I sat proud and silent, more focused than a bushido. I visualized every stab as a pearl being inlaid into my back, as a gem that would give me special powers, like a shower of diamonds falling on my body.
Beauty is not being afraid of being ugly. That’s a lovely quote from Mick Jagger, who was a sex symbol from the last millennium. Every hole the needle pierced in my flesh was one step closer to glory and power. I was becoming good-looking. Philippe’s machine buzzed away for hours, reverberating around our cell, and interrupted only by meals and medication, which both of us had to spit back up for our superiors’ benefit.
Philippe and me, we got close. Having someone touch your back for twelve hours is bonding. We talked of everything and of nothing, but less of everything. I reckon we solidified a great friendship. He even gave me some cookies his sister had sent him.
My mother didn’t cook, but I didn’t eat much. Maybe the one explains the other. I’d have liked someone to send me cookies too. Chocolate chip or macadamia nut or peanut or almond, even though I hate almonds. If my mama sent me cookies, I wouldn’t share them with anyone.
* * *
After the period of confinement, we still had to wait another ten hours before we were finally allowed to go out for a breath of fresh air. Fresh is a relative term, since two major highways passed close by the prison and a nearby chicken processing plant filled our lungs with its toxic vapours. But it was still good to get outside.
In one corner of the wire enclosure, Denis was talking to Colossus. From the faces they were both making, it looked more like a disagreement than a friendly chat. Denis was pointing his finger threateningly at Colossus’s face. Timoune’s outburst in our section must have got Big Dick really pissed. Maybe Colossus had forgotten to warn him in advance. Or maybe his foot soldier had acted on impulse. Or maybe, to my great astonishment, it was just that the big boss had wanted to hear the end of the fairy tale and felt cheated.
I stayed in my corner, happily feeding my mourning doves. There were three of them, my usual couple and one other, a smaller bird. I bent down to the ground to let the big male come and peck straight from my hand for the very first time. I was overjoyed, my projects were all coming together, it was a sign. Nostradamus himself could have confirmed it for me, but he’s dead.
But when I got up—surprise! Louis-Honoré’s face was four inches away from mine, taking into account the height difference. I’m lean, thin, and muscular. He’s a stocky, beefy little guy, like Mike Tyson in his good years. I was afraid he wanted to whisper a secret in my ear so he could rip a piece off it at the same time. I hear you show real initiative, kid, I hear. Seems like you took advantage of the lockdown to get yourself inked, right?
Yeah, I got a nice—
Shut your trap, fucker, shut your trap. You owe us five hundred bucks for your shitty samurai, got it?
It wav three hundred, Philippe faid three hundred! Things were heating up. All the guys were turning to look at us, and the guards too. Louis-Honoré whispered a few last threats before heading back over to Colossus.
I had a week to get the money deposited into their account on the outside. If not, the little massage session they’d given Giuseppe would be nothing compared to what I’d get. Louis-Honoré was pretty creative when he told me what he was planning to do with the pieces of my body. Big Dick and Denis hadn’t missed any of it. Which was good, I was going to need them. It was time to checkmate the chequebook.
* * *
I didn’t let fear take hold of me. In spite of all the space my terror took up, I still saved a bit of room for courage. I didn’t regret anything, no, absolutely nothing; my tattoo would open more doors for me than it would close, even if I had to kill to crack them open. I just needed to stop shaking, stay brave, and be patient. Rome wasn’t burned in a day.
You seem more stressed than usual, is something wrong? Edith, Edith, Edith, how can I seduce you, manipulate you, and reassure you all at the same time? No, it’f fine, nothing feriouf. I’m juft having fome weird thoughtf, that’f all…
She was wearing her eternal grey uniform, far from the colourful underwear my imagination had been dressing her in these last however many nights. But I noticed she’d unbuttoned the top of her coarse grey shirt, which revealed part of her bosom: sending a big message there!
You know you can confide in me, right? I’m here to keep you company through the hardship of being in prison. I have power over you and have to monitor you, but I’m also supposed to support you. You can tell me what’s on your mind, what’s worrying you.
You’ll fall asleep in my arms so you can wake up in my heart. No, that was too intense. Happiness cares about no man, but I care about you. Too weak. You’re a fallen angel. Worse still. I decided to be evasive and mysterious. Women love that. I think everyone needf fomeone, even people who have no one…
Edith held my gaze for a long time, a really long time. There was a chemistry fizzing between us that you could have cut with a knife. Eventually her plump lips broke the silence. You know you can trust me, right? Here we go.
I can truft you?
She nodded
her head softly, sensually. There was nothing but the two of us, no more prison, no more uniform, no desk between us. She said it again, leaning on each of the words. You can trust me.
It was better than an I love you.
Yes, Edith, you can truft me too…
6
Determination
Blood flowed along my thighs before disappearing into the drain. But I wasn’t a young girl celebrating her first period. Although I think I’d have liked that. Life is easier for women, girls especially. Less violence to submit to or dole out. Pyjama parties, pillow fights, hot chocolate. Nicely put together outfits. And more tenderness, more affection. I’m not a man who needs much of that kind of thing—my heart’s pretty stony. But all the same, I’m pretty sure that behind every psychopath is a little girl just hoping for someone to stroke her hair.
The scabs and encrusted blood washed away under the hot water. In the mirrors over the washbasins, opposite the showers, I managed to twist my neck to see my new tattoo. It’s tricky, seeing your own back; the way my skin twisted kinda wrecked the way the work looked. What I could see, and what I liked, was that the tattoo covered almost my whole back. It was impressive. I was burning with the desire to see it up close. I’d need to ask a guy with a cellphone to take a picture.
This fake good idea soon passed. The only such person I was on relatively good terms with was Butterfly. I wouldn’t have dared ask him, for fear he’d try to take some erotic photos. I didn’t have any choice about being his fuck buddy, sure, for however long it took me to climb up the hierarchy, but I couldn’t allow any proof of it to remain. It might come back to bite me when I found myself at the top of the crime pyramid. Or the political one. There’s a revolving door between the two.
I was going to get out of the shower, followed by Pedo, who was snickering away at nothing, when Denis came in. His mere presence set all the nerves in my body jangling. I was going to press myself up against the wall to let him pass when the prophecy finally came true. Denis, notorious and respected criminal, Big Dick’s right-hand man, spoke to me. Me! There was contempt in his voice, but he was still talking to me! Go to the boss’s cell at twelve twenty-five on the dot. And that was it: the dice had been thrown in destiny’s face.
* * *
My rubbery legs barely carried me to my cell. I had to look good for Big Dick. I only had twenty minutes. The boss was going to entrust me with an important mission, or announce that he’d settled my debt with Colossus, or kill me. No, he wouldn’t get his hands dirty, Butterfly had already had a gazillion chances to strangle me from behind. It could only be good news. I was champing at the bit.
I suffocated myself when I cleaned my teeth because I was singing at the same time. Danfing queen, danfing queen, I am the danfing queen! I couldn’t keep control of my body. Philippe noticed, and asked me what I was so excited about. I told him I had a meeting with the big boss of our section.
Well yeah, you did say you worked for him.
Okay, so maybe I got a bit ahead of myself there. But now it was really happening. Sometimes, if you lie with enough conviction you can fool everyone, even reality.
My trembling feet managed to get me out of my cell, which was the one nearest the guard’s room. I had to walk across the whole communal area to get to Big Dick’s cell at the far end. The meals were being delivered. In prison, we don’t just eat shit figuratively speaking, we get three square meals of it every day. Like animals, we have to take what we’re given. Anyway, nothing can be remotely appealing when it’s served on a beige tray.
Colossus and his brute sat down to dinner next to Gilbert the moonshiner. They weren’t talking to him, but he wasn’t bothered by it. He was happy just to make his hooch and do his time in peace. It was hard to believe he’d chopped up a tenant who hadn’t paid his rent. But, after all, even the sweetest chihuahua is descended from a wolf. We should never lose sight of that.
Louis-Honoré watched me as I tried to put one foot in front of the other. Five hundred dollars, you fucker! We’d kill you for less than that! Maybe we’d even do it just for fun.
I passed Philippe and Pedo, absorbed in some crude program with a summer theme. Scarlett Johansson was being beamed in. Philippe was testing the limits of his jail buddy’s deviancy. Come on, Pedo. Have you seen this chick? Check out her face, her thighs, she smells like sex up to here, man. You can’t tell me this doesn’t turn you on more than a little boy. Pedo just smirked and stared at the screen.
At the moment I approached them, Denis came out of Big Dick’s cell and stood in front of the door frame, as he did for each of the boss’s meetings.
I noticed that only Butterfly was missing, and then realized that Tony was the only one working on the floor, and that the office door was shut. Butterfly was having a follow-up meeting with his officer, Fat Mireille. With Timoune in the hole, the count was good: I’d be alone with Big Dick. Just four more steps and I’d be there. One. Two. Three.
And then Denis stood in front of me, blocking my way to the inner sanctum. Everything you’re going to hear and say in this cell stays in the cell. Look at me when I’m talking to you! Am I making myself clear? He didn’t need to be so forceful, I’d fully grasped the seriousness of the situation.
Yef, I underftand, it’f the omertà. I really like the movie. I’ll never know if he watched it too; he just shook his head and swore.
* * *
Under the curious, and even envious, gazes of all the guys in the section, I went into Big Dick’s office. It was a bit of a disappointment. I don’t know what I was expecting, but his crib wasn’t luxurious in the slightest. The Extreme Makeover team would have had their work cut out for them. In fact, his cell was just like mine. But with no decoration, no graffiti, no grime. Not even a postcard of a bikini-clad whore, nothing. And nothing lying around either, no dirty clothes, no special-interest magazines. Just pure minimalist feng shui. Just Big Dick, sitting on the edge of his bed. That was enough.
The boss was whispering into his cellphone and scribbling in a black leatherette notebook. It was a big phone, a BlackBerry, I think. Respect to the person who smuggled that in. Big Dick waved at me to wait a minute. I’d been hoping for this meeting forever, a real genuine boss who wanted to talk to me, I would wait as long as he wanted me to… Yes, that’s right, twenty G… I’ll call you back. Do what you have to do. He hung up and indicated I should sit down on the opposite bed, Butterfly’s bed!
He was making me nervous. I tried to put things into perspective: there wasn’t much to be impressed about, he wasn’t the chief boss of all the bosses in Quebec, just the boss of our wing, and the crazy wing at that. But I’m a sensitive guy, so I stammered a bit.
I-I’m here, Bi-big Dick, l-like you wanted.
With a wave of his hand, he ordered me to come closer. Near him. I slid along the bed until I was facing him. My knees were almost touching his. I’d never been so close to a big man. He cleared his throat. You can call me Gilles.
P-pardon? My mouth was drier than the Sahara during drought season.
My name’s Gilles. You can call me Gilles.
I was terrified. Okay, Dzilles. It seemed dangerous to me that a man of his moral fibre would want to become intimate with me so soon. Had Butterfly recommended my services? Was this sudden closeness part of a sex game whose rules I didn’t know?
I need you, kiddo, I need you and you need me. You have guts. Getting yourself tattooed by Philippe without going through Colossus sure takes guts. And I saw you getting excited when Giuseppe was getting his head kicked in. Do you like violence? Are you the real thing?
The right answer, quick. Yef, Mifter Dzilles, I’m the real thing!
He leaned toward me and put his hand on my shoulder like a father. And I don’t mean the kind of father who abandoned his son to unbearable suffering without ever trying to reach out to him again.
If I had a delicate mission, a very de
licate mission, do you think I could count on you?
I could hear the glorious violins, the chords of The March of the Emperor, resounding with the imaginary drums. Pum pum parrrrrrrum pum pum.
Are you going to give me an answer or what?
Oh yef, Mifter Dzilles, I’ll do anything!
He leaned forward and stared right at me with his fathomless eyes.
Even stab Butterfly?
Time stood still. It pressed down on me with all its weight. There had to be a right answer. And this right answer had to come from my very own mouth. But I didn’t know what it was. Was this a test of my loyalty? Was I being offered a new job—going from service fuckhole to paid assassin? Lives were at stake. Mine, without question, and maybe Butterfly’s too. It was too stressful. I wanted to run away and pee, preferably in that order. I no longer wanted to be there, I wanted to be anywhere else, even in the hole with Timoune. Too late. Denis was blocking the way out. Big Dick was holding me by the shoulder, and I had to play: all or nothing. He who has nothing risks nothing. Yef, I could even kill Butterfly.
Denis nodded his head at Big Dick, who let go of my shoulder and congratulated me. It wasn’t a test, he really wanted me to eliminate his right-hand man.
You’re the best man for the job, he won’t suspect you, you have an…intimate…relationship, and you’re brave!
I was trembling with pride. Yef, Dzilles, yef, I’ve got real ballv in my heart. I couldn’t get over it, the big boss was giving me a murder contract, what a promotion!
But why him?
Big Dick insinuated that the order had come from outside, that the Italians were proposing some staff changes, but Denis interrupted him. Stop, Gilles, he doesn’t need to know this!
Big Dick agreed, which blew me away. He took orders from Denis? Was this gang organized crime or a communist co-op? If it wasn’t the latter, there was some confusion over roles. Big Dick pulled me out of my thoughts by confirming that I would kill Butterfly with a knife.
Mama's Boy Behind Bars Page 6
