She sank back in her chair, confused. It made her look like a sexy secretary, I’d have to get her to wear glasses sometime.
Big Dick wants to protect you and he’s also planning to assassinate his henchman?
She was pretty smart at summing things up. I hoped she’d be happy with this version and it wouldn’t come back to bite me. If not, like usual and like Bill Clinton, I’d just deny everything.
That might be true. We knew some kind of attack was in the works, something involving Big Dick’s gang and Colossus’s. The order must be coming from outside…
She had more information than I realized. Obviously when they’re locked up and under full-time observation, the guards have the time to construct various theories about their prisoners. And to soil their souls by turning them into informers. Yeah, but I think that if the black guyf manave to kill Butterfly, it will change the balanfe of power. Fo I need to make fure I don’t get caught in the trap, fo that Timoune’f the one who copf it for hiv own crime and fo I replafe Butterfly…
She looked as surprised as if she’d hiccupped. So you replace Butterfly?
I couldn’t work out what was so surprising, apart from my slightly clumsy indiscretion. In all the excitement of scheming, I’d let her see my cards. I dunno, I wav juft faying that for no reavon, but it’f not relevant. Let it go.
I had to shut my mouth, change the subject. I’d stuffed it full of lies to hide the plot. But lies are like soda crackers: they’re dry. You have to wash them down with a bit of truth soup. And right now she was getting too much truth. Imagine what she could fish with all the bait she was worming out of me.
I needed a diversion, quick. I’d really like uf to fee each other more often, babe.
She smiled, tensed, and hit the ball back. Yes, that could be useful for both of us. You’re a very interesting prisoner. But I have to remind you that we aren’t in a place where you’re allowed to call a correctional officer “babe.”
She wanted me to keep the terms of endearment for more intimate moments. The time for clasping each other on her desk had arrived, I could feel it right in the marrow of my bones. But there was a knock at the door.
Edith stood up, swayed before my very eyes, slowly, so I didn’t miss any of her swinging hips, then opened the heavy door. Jocelyn again, that great, tiresome man with his brotherly urges. They had a whispered conversation in the doorway. The unit manager didn’t take his eyes off me. His eyes were brown, like mine, but they didn’t have the mischief or intelligence that mine have. He thanked Edith before indicating that I should follow him. As I passed her, my girlfriend gave me a sweet promise: We’ll talk again soon. That was enough for me to leave with a full heart and full of desire.
* * *
From the office that adjoined the sentry box, it was just a few steps to my cell. Just enough time for Jocelyn to let his mask fall and threaten me.
Listen up, don’t take me for a sucker. Edith trusts you. I’d like to trust you too, but something smells off. You’re mixed up in something. I’ve got my eye on you.
I didn’t give a shit about him keeping his big brown eye on me. His eyes weren’t even as shiny as mine. I had Edith on my side, Edith, who found me very interesting. And the most powerful gang in the section to protect me. That jerk was mistaking me for a run-of-the-mill crazy. Well, mister, I’m a se-ri-al-ki-ller!
I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not mikfed up in anything.
He slid shut the heavy door of my cell to return me to confinement.
Poor old Timoune, barely out of the hole and already suspected of planning an assassination. But the guilty ones never get burdened with the burden of proof, especially in a prison setting. You can scream blue murder all you like; you have little chance of hearing the echo of justice.
Edith was cleverer than Jocelyn, but she trusted me. And that made me the cleverest one of all. With the corrupt Tony on our side, Edith would come round to directing her attention at Timoune rather than at me. In the end, my indiscretions would help Big Dick’s plan. He’d realize that as well as being an unparalleled serial killer, his new soldier had a sparkling mind at the unarmed end of his arm. Edith had almost got me to say too much, but I’d got myself out of it without any damage. From now on I’d need to avoid the subject. In less than twelve hours I’d told two people about Butterfly’s imminent death, and one of them was a correctional officer. Denis and Big Dick might have some concerns about my methods.
* * *
Filipinos can be nosy. Philippe’s questions flowed freely, he tried to confuse me, wanting to know who was going to do what, what Big Dick’s plans were, how I’d managed to seduce Edith. He couldn’t get over the fact that she’d pulled me out of my cell so we could fuck on the desk. Obviously I hadn’t actually quite reached that stage, but close enough. And Philippe stayed amazed: in two days I’d gone from insignificant roommate to Mafioso Don Juan.
I was kind of doing more than the customer was asking for, but I have an image to uphold. And he couldn’t check the truth of what I was saying; like a lesbian at a girls’ sleepover, I had it pretty easy. And it was all moving so fast. It wasn’t long until the murder, and love was already aflame.
Edith filled my mind and my body with every breath. It could only be a shared love, there was too much for me alone. An emotion that big can only be felt by two people. Take your partners, as they say in pole dancing.
I was embellishing a little further with each conversation; Philippe, an excellent audience, was asking for more. I told him all about my fantasies until they finally let us out of the cell after another thorough and pointless search.
They found nothing so they had to let us get back into the normal routine. There was a committee of prisoners that monitored prison conditions and made sure they didn’t become too inhumane. Good idea. We all met in the common area the second the cell doors were opened. You could have cut the tension with a knife. The famous missing knife, in fact.
Colossus headed straight for Big Dick, but Denis intercepted him; it was weird to see two men fighting in whispers. From what I could make out, Colossus didn’t like cutlery disappearing when he hadn’t been warned about it. On the other side, Denis had to remind him of Giuseppe’s attack and the section hierarchy. Watching them shake their index fingers and murmur so forcefully, you’d think you were witnessing a diplomatic incident.
And Pedo went off to crash in front of the TV.
And Gilbert started leafing through the last three days’ papers.
And Louis-Honoré reminded me that time was passing by holding up four fingers to indicate the four days that had gone by. He then smoothly changed those four fingers into two—a revolver pointing at me. A pretty creative little move.
And Butterfly grabbed my arm and guided me to the showers. In spite of its being the end of June, with the air heavy and the humidex through the roof, I would gladly have skipped the hygiene routine.
* * *
The guards usually respected the prison custom of turning a blind eye to inmates’ sex lives. We were rarely disturbed when we were playing with ourselves or having love made to us by force. I never figured out if it was down to Edith’s jealousy or the guards’ vigilance, but Butterfly wasn’t permitted to relieve his tension that day. Still in “prevention” mode, they’d put a third guard on our floor, Dany, who followed us to the showers and watched us like a hawk. To my great joy, that thwarted my undesirable lover’s inspiration.
He still ordered me to get undressed and wash myself. He’d take care of me later; he wanted his sex toy to be as clean as a whistle. I was resignedly getting undressed when I heard Dany laugh—Dany, that pathetic asshole of an insignificant guard—which made me freeze in position. Butterfly figured out what had made him laugh just before he asked me to turn around, and then he burst into idiotic laughter too.
Those two hilarious jerks thought my big beautifu
l five-hundred-dollar tattoo was basically the funniest thing they’d seen in the last decade. And it set them off again, seeing my samurai brandishing his katana either as some Chinese guy grasping his erection, or as an alien wearing a cassock and waving a pool noodle about. I turned away, but Butterfly refused to give me my shirt back and threatened to smash out my other teeth if I didn’t turn around again.
He was cackling and calling the other inmates to come and have a cheap laugh at me when Jocelyn intervened to bring back order. I felt a hint of gratitude toward him, but it was barely perceptible amid the hatred and resentment pulsing through my veins. Butterfly wouldn’t be waiting long for my revenge; he deserved his imminent death.
* * *
I took my irritation out on Philippe, ordering him to meet me in our cell, where I give him a serious roasting. I made sure I shouted loud enough for all the other inmates to hear me and realize that I was superior to him from now on.
Do you think I’m an idiot? You’ve given me a terrible tattoo! It doevn’t even look like a famurai!
Philippe defended himself: he was a portrait painter; he’d never drawn a samurai in his life, his specialty was faces and lettering.
Good at fafev, my aff! It lookf like a Fineve guy. Famuraiv are Japaneve, not fucking Fineve!
He tried to calm me down, assuring me that Butterfly and the warden were exaggerating, that it wasn’t that bad.
Don’t give me that! The end of the weapon’v round! I wanted a katana, a thin ford, not a fucking gladiator ford! It’f like he’v holding a big phalluf!
Philippe didn’t know what a phallus was. I had to splutter in his face and explain to him with multiple images. He tried to negotiate: he’d rework it as soon as he got another machine, he could improve it.
Mother Tereva iv leff dead than my faith in you! Eat fit and die, you’ve done enough damave!
Red with rage, I left him alone in the cell and went to zone out in front of the TV. All the guys were laughing, except for Denis and Big Dick, who were smiling.
* * *
The gangs were closing ranks at either end of the common area. The future of our section was being plotted in little cliques. It was weird—rather than gathering in their cells to have their little chats, the two gangs were posseing up in the common area. They were making their presence felt. Taking ownership of the territory and showing that fear was unknown to them.
The professionals on high saw this as a return to normal. In any case, they had to take their third guard off the floor. The budget came first. Two days of extra staff is all the state can provide to keep the officers and pariahs in their charge safe. If you’re bold enough to stick your head in the wolf’s mouth, pull it out quickly before the jaws snap shut. The guards were on edge.
We’d gone back to our coercive sexual activities, our habits, and our small-time dealing. Giuseppe wouldn’t be coming back, his lawyer had managed to get him transferred to a lower-security prison—one that would be more secure for him. A lot of good it would do him. Denis lost his roommate and ended up with a loft all to himself.
As the token intellectual, I could finally leave the morgue-like atmosphere of our wing to go and renew my library books. In the library, the Sage wanted the news from our section. Tongues are wagging all over the prison. Apparently something’s brewing in your neck of the woods. I mean, three days in confinement. What’s going on?
I can’t talk to you about it, but fomething iv going on and I’m going to get a promofion.
The Sage, the man with the most depressed face in the entire prison, lit up. Noooo. Are you planning an attack? An escape? You’re not going to kill someone?
I’m not in a pofifion to confirm that informafion. A supporting wink put him on the right track. His face settled back into its condemned-man look.
Too bad, you’re amusing, I like seeing you come by.
I reassured him immediately. Don’t worry, I’ll be back. I have a plan…
The Sage raised an eyebrow and then suggested I read Machiavelli’s The Prince. I didn’t want to read a knight story, so I borrowed some tales about mutants by Isaac Asimov.
* * *
Two days had passed without movement of troops or shift in mood. We endured the heat wave as best we could, letting our disgusting food get cold—even grosser now that we had to eat it with plastic cutlery. Some people took up to five cold showers a day, or made themselves makeshift fans with pages from the newspaper.
Luckily, the criminal milieu gave up cowhide a long time ago. Now leather is the prerogative of gay guys with moustaches and fetishes. And retired people. Now we wear tracksuits, which are more comfortable. Especially when we have to train between two men addicted to protein powder. “We” excluding the person writing: I don’t need muscles, I can handle firearms. I improve my talent with visualization: having a gift isn’t a given.
By lunch we were sweating like pigs when Butterfly surprised us by attacking Pedo. He got up from the table, headed over toward the mindless idiot, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him for twenty feet. Right to the box, where he flattened him against the window and called him a snitch. We all got up and went after them, yelling at Butterfly to give us a good show. Kill the fucker, kill him! We needed some kind of action, we’re only human. Come on, Butterfly, you can do it!
All the guys were crowding around them. The guards were trying to disperse us when I felt a hand in my underwear. By the time I’d grabbed the wrist attached to it, I recognized the caress of a cold blade on my sweaty scrotum. I was blinded by fear; I froze. But Denis reassured me, pressed against my back, murmuring in my ear, under the shouts of the other inmates: It’s gonna happen tomorrow. He let go of the knife, pulled out his hand, and let Jocelyn get control of him. I stepped back too, pretending to be afraid of getting pepper-sprayed. But we didn’t care about that. Only the smell of urine bothered us.
Pedo was sent to get cleaned up and Butterfly was sent to the hole for twenty-four hours. He hadn’t hit him, after all, just threatened him a bit. Threatened for no reason, on his boss’s orders. His boss who wanted to create a diversion. A diversion to give me the weapon. The weapon for killing him. Him, Butterfly, my rapist, whom I was going to kill and then replace. Everything fitted together. It was beautiful, well played, I could see the artistry in it. Sometimes you find refinement where you least expect it.
With the background agitation of the guards, I went back to my cell. I heard Jocelyn complaining that they couldn’t keep us confined, but they weren’t allowed to have more officers on duty either. He’d had an assfull, in spite of his heterosexuality. The summer was hot, too hot for his liking. He verbalized his discomfort with a stream of cursing, while everyone, minus Butterfly, went back to their places. Colossus was more confused than ever.
* * *
It was a magnificent dagger. It was indeed the missing butter knife but sharpened on a cement block or homemade file. It was pointed and sharp. The handle was covered with a face cloth tied up with a shoelace. To avoid leaving fingerprints, but especially for getting a good grip. You can injure yourself when you’re injuring someone, it’s well documented. You need to get up some momentum, especially if you want to kill them. All it takes is a broken rib or cartilage for your hand to slip, and then the whole thing backfires, spraying blood all over you.
The future was about to arrive; my life was going to be transformed. Like Lotelance the day before getting knighted, I recharged my batteries, isolating myself in my cell so I could spend time reflecting. I had peace, Philippe no longer dared to approach me. I focused on visualizing the following day’s events. A meeting between me, Butterfly, and Timoune in the showers had been set up. I’d be lying in wait, a Bengal tiger crossed with a cheetah, ready to pounce when my prey was distracted. Big slashes of the knife to the neck, the chest, the eyes: finally I would have revenge on Butterfly. Timoune and Tony, as spattered with blood as me, would leave th
e scene immediately, leaving the weapon and the brute’s corpse behind them. The only thing left to do would be to give our witness statements. Two against one: Timoune did it! And Edith would wrap everything in her good faith, trusting in the confidences she’d heard in a professional capacity.
I went over the plan in my head, again and again and again, trying to sniff out the flaw. What if Timoune wasn’t there? What if Butterfly defended himself? What if Tony told the truth? There were so many variables I had no control over. I had to have faith in Big Dick as well as in my destiny. I stayed sitting on my bed for hours, meditating and caressing the blade in my underwear. It was a solemn, sacred time, maybe even spiritual.
I took advantage of Philippe’s not being there to caress myself. The excitement of the impending mission bubbled up in a sexual urge. Eroticism and violence are never far apart, which is how we get brutal sex and domestic violence. Eros has been taking Thanatos up the ass with a studded strap-on since the dawn of time. It’s well documented in the Lascaux caves.
I slept like a baby that night: I woke up at two a.m. whimpering. Big events are hard.
8
Strength
The big day had arrived. And it was my birthday as well. Twenty-two, Christ’s age. Apparently he died when he was older than that, but he must have done something impressive at twenty-two as well. Old Jesus was pretty prolific.
The sun was shining pointlessly behind a ceiling of grey cloud. Finally a bit of coolness, a respite from the heat, a change! The signs were piling up like the fifty-two cards in a Tarot deck. And if all that didn’t bode well for my first contract, Fat Mireille showed up to take me to a surprise meeting with my love.
Mama's Boy Behind Bars Page 8
