Mama's Boy Behind Bars

by David Goudreault

  * * *

  It was my last dinner in prison. I was going to make a move the next day, at the first opportunity. I had no appetite. It was better that way. It meant I could suck the chunks of stewing beef and stash them in my underwear. Along with some bread, little cups of butter, and some salt packets. For my escape.

  Fucking hell, you wanna tell me what you’re playing at?

  Despite my subtlety and stealth, Denis had picked up on what I was doing. Telling him about my plan to escape after Big Dick got out was out of the question.

  Nothing, I’m not doing anything, I juft get hungry at night.

  There was an exasperated silence.

  Well, if you hide your dinner in your pants, it’s not that surprising you get hungry at night. He punctuated this observation with a long sigh of frustration, and then Big Dick started fretting about my mental state.

  He has to be the worst crazy to ever come through this wing, and he’s the one who’s gonna get me out of here? Denis, remind me why the fuck this was a good idea?

  They were exaggerating. Their bad faith was more noticeable than buttocks in a pair of leggings.

  I stayed calm, guessing that their strategy was to talk theatrically about their loss of confidence in me to ensure my complete focus.

  He did ice Butterfly though.

  Big Dick corrected him: Nearly iced Butterfly!

  We all turned mute as Paul moved between the tables.

  Yes, technically…

  Technically fffmechnically, I’ll do what I have to do. There’v no need to worry, Big Dick. Pack your fuitcafe and fet your mind at eave.

  And I finished the Last Supper, our last meal, slurping down my Jell-O. (Orange, the best flavour.)

  * * *

  I had my blade in my underwear, and the other inmates were rubbing up against me. That sounds very homosexual, but you have to take it literally: I was armed and caught up in the scramble to get out into the yard. It was always the same at outside time, all the guys wanted to be the first one through the doors. As if they personally were snatching the extra second they gained outdoors from the hands of freedom herself. The second they crossed the threshold, the excitement disappeared, everyone fell back into their usual habits, their slow, heavy footsteps, to take up their regular spot in the yard, day after day.

  My doves were already waiting for me in my corner, cooing away. The pigeons knew they’d get nothing from me and flew off when I showed up. I rolled the bread I’d saved into a few balls in the palm of my hand. Hunched over, I encouraged my proteges to come and eat. They took turns feasting, jumping from one hand to the other.

  There is no answer to the great existential questions other than patience. Everything happens when you need it. You just need to be alert, read the signs and seize your opportunities. Scientists who specialize in chakras and angel energy will tell you the same thing. Good things come.

  After all those months of taming, the male climbed onto my left wrist and the female onto my right. A dove was perched on each of my arms and pecking each of my hands. At last. And then: sshhhtriiiikkk. I squeezed my fists as hard as I could.

  Aaaaaargh! I roared with contentment. They were mine!

  The female jabbed her beak into my palm and beat her wings, imprisoned in my right fist. Her male, more tightly in my grasp, let out a coarse wheeze as I splintered his ribs, and his little black eyes popped out right to the ends of his optic nerves. Rhaaaaa!

  I caught my breath, tightened my grip and yelled louder: RHAAARGH! I felt the male’s body mould itself to my fist, his bones snapping and piercing his organs under the pressure. The female was shaking her butt like crazy, feathers were twirling around in the yard, blood was flowing down my flailing arm as she spasmed her last breaths. And then it was over. Her life had slipped away.

  I dropped the corpses at my feet, wiped the sweat off my forehead, and looked up. All the inmates, and the guards too, were staring at me in silence. Jaws had dropped. Beanpole was crying. The silence lasted a long time, right up to the moment when Melon fell to his knees and started throwing up.

  17

  Spontaneity

  I slept badly, filled with a sensation of deep emptiness. Insomnia in prison is a stupid waste of time. It’s like mixing nonbusiness with displeasure. My thoughts were scattered to the four points of the compass. I was suffering from my friend’s death. The absence of Edith in my arms was weighing on me. I was already missing my doves, but I couldn’t have left them here without me. And in spite of my concrete plan, I was afraid something would go wrong, some freak occurrence in the hostage-taking and the escapes.

  I tossed and turned for hours. Every time sleep almost carried me off, a sudden fear whipped me into wakefulness. And Philippe, who wasn’t asleep either, was moving just as much. He was getting on my nerves!

  I’m trying to fleep, I have a big day tomorrow. Juft go to fleep, will you?

  In a hesitant voice, he murmured, Forget it, dude, I can’t even close my eyes if you’re not asleep.

  * * *

  Paul did the morning head count, just before the shift change. Usually, just the noise of the doors being opened was enough to wake me up. That morning, the guard had to bang on the steel. Bang bang!

  Get up! No sleeping in! Especially you, you need to come and sign the note in your file about yesterday’s little performance.

  Still in a fog, I couldn’t work out what show he was talking about. The doves incident popped into my mind. I wasn’t putting on a performance, I wav juft trying to deal with my ftreff.

  I totally get that it was shocking for people who’ve been conditioned to eat dead animals but who never kill them themselves. People underestimate the feeling of well-being you get from killing something. Humans, obviously, but especially animals. It’s more accessible and there are fewer consequences. And it’s similar. A dying human is always closer to the beasts than to the angels.

  The guards weren’t the only ones bothered by my executions. The entire wing was giving me the death stare as if I were Hannibal himself. If they were trembling over two little doves, what were they going to think in a few hours when I was accused of aggravated murder? People shrank away from me as I passed, giving me free access to the much-coveted toaster. What hypocrites!

  I was philosophizing to myself, filtering my thoughts through the cynical approach prism developed by Seneca. Killing animals is therapeutic. We shouldn’t just stop at eating them, we should all kill them ourselves. That way we’d take on their suffering. The Americans can’t even kill their convicts without any mistakes, so do we really think that the hundreds—thousands, even—of animals each person consumes per year don’t undergo torture at the abattoir? Ha! We ought to have light bulbs attached to our foreheads so we can see when we’re hiding our heads up our asses.

  * * *

  As I was buttering my toast, I noticed Tony arriving, taking over from Fat Mireille. Edith would be replacing Paul any minute now. All I had to do was wait for a chance to meet her in the office to set off Operation Escapio. It sounds more Italian that way. The best part about being the only person who knows the name of your operations is being able to rename them whenever you feel like it.

  Sitting alone at the table, I was whistling a bit of “Wind of Change” by Metallica. What with having toast crumbs on my tongue and being a tooth and a half short, it was a bit of a challenge: Ffffft fffft ffffft ft fffft fffffiiit! I felt like I was graduating, or at least I imagine that’s what it’s like—I’ve never graduated anything. I was almost expecting someone to give me a yearbook. Short of making a scrapbook of miscellaneous news articles, I couldn’t expect a collection of memories of my fellow inmates. I myself would soon be an inmate no longer.

  For the final time, I breathed in the prison morning smell of burned bread mixed with the heat-wave sweat. I looked round at the old beige walls, the crazies’ broken jaws, the precious
television. I gazed for a long time through the barred windows at the yard where I used to go outside for an hour every day to take care of my doves. Then I cast my eyes down to my hands, these hands that were about to commit another crime, any minute now.

  Denis slipped in next to me, excited, and anxious for reassurance.

  Do you have everything you need? Do you have the paper? Do you have a weapon?

  I just answered with a single yes for all the questions.

  Good, perfect, they don’t suspect a thing. I’m going to stay with you, make sure you don’t do anything stupid! As soon as you’re in the office, we’re going to call the Italians to say the helicopter can take off. This is the real fucking deal, don’t fuck it up.I was calm, confident, zen. Boy oh boy, was I relaxed, as Pedo might have said.

  There was nothing to keep me here any longer. Everything was waiting for me outside: my career, my love life, my freedom. Big Dick’s helicopter trip was just one little piece of my plan. And I was going to see it through.

  Everything’v going to be juft fine, Denif.

  I gave him a little pat on the hand and he immediately pulled his away, afraid that someone might spot us.

  * * *

  And look who was here, with all the noise of the doors opening, shining in the morning light, burning in my wolf heart. Her uniform suited her so badly. I was desperate to see her naked, to have her all to myself. She avoided my eyes and concentrated as Paul and Mireille brought her up to speed on things before the shift change.

  Tony was already stationed at the far side of the communal area, strategic and completely useless. Big Dick must have given him his orders. From there he enjoyed an excellent view of the whole place: you’d have sworn he was doing his job, but he was mainly just keeping away from the office door.

  Just be ready to go, I think it’s going to happen. As soon as she’s alone, you jump her and then force her into the office!

  Denis was exhilarated, more excited than a virgin in a whorehouse.

  Get ready, get ready…

  And then big Melon came and squeezed in next to us. Without even bothering to slide his thighs into the gap meant for that purpose, he flopped into the seat, his loose blubber spread out on the table. He was blocking our view.

  Denis went so stiff I thought he was going to explode. He channelled all his power into a whispered shout: Fuck off, you fat fuck!

  Melon squinted at us, smirking.

  Get the fuck out of here!

  I deduced that Melon wasn’t in on the plan.

  Fuck. Off. Now!

  He didn’t move and wouldn’t move. It was all pretty tense. I shoved my hand in my pants to grab my shank.

  Denis stood up and grabbed me by the elbow. He wanted to reposition us, but I resisted, standing up to Melon.

  I know you’re juft pretending, I heard you talking to Coloffuf, what’f your problem?

  Suddenly interested, Denis made sure that Edith was still with the group and sat back down. Does this asshole talk?

  He knew how to talk and how to sweat, I was going to demonstrate.

  We’ll fee who’v laughing now, Mr. Comedian. I stood up. Melon followed me with his gaze and squinted at the ceiling with the other. I sat down beside him, opposite Denis. By pushing up against his flabby body, I was able to grab my blade with my right hand. I unceremoniously pressed it into the flesh of his ribs. Talk, you baftard, we’re liffening. Who’v your boff?

  Denis was hopping up and down on his chair. Don’t do anything stupid, for fuck’s sake, we don’t want to attract any attention!

  I needed to be clear in my own mind about it. I could feel that Melon’s skin was about to split; my weapon was on the point of piercing it. I leaned in closer and increased the pressure.

  Okay, okay, I’ll talk, get that off me!

  There was a floating sensation, like a corpse rising to the surface of a swamp. I had my proof; silence was still the best defence.

  I was feeling kinda proud. Denis was flabbergasted, pale with anger. I let out a long stream of onomatopoeia and stashed the knife back in my crotch.

  You are seriously ill in the head, you could have ruined everything.

  I preferred it when Mr. Obesity stayed quiet, to be honest.

  Watfh what you fay to me, you fucker. And ftop fquinting at me when you look at me! Your moronic little game iv up.

  He banged on the table with his sausage fingers. You’re the moron, my squint is legit.

  Oh, I’m fo forry! But ftop infulting me or I fwear I’ll kill you myfelf.

  Denis cut our discussion short impatiently. You’re gonna tell us what you’re doing here and who you’re doing it for. We’re in a rush.

  Nife and to the point, Denif.

  He snorted. Shut your face. And you, talk!

  Big Melon let it all out. The Italians had me transferred here to monitor you. You messed up with Butterfly and—

  I did not meff up!

  Well, you didn’t close the file, and you snort more than you sell, your wing brings in next to nothing.

  Denis turned from pale to translucent. He was being put in his place, and it was a place he was going to lose pretty soon.

  I’m the one who’s gonna take over once Big Dick is out of here. I still have twelve years on my sentence, I’ll be doing some housecleaning.

  Denis was worried. He asked him what was going to happen to him, Big Dick’s right-hand man, theoretically speaking the heir, the designated successor. Melon set him straight with a malicious little expression whose existence we hadn’t even suspected a few minutes earlier. You’re gonna be working for Colossus!

  Poor Denis, he’d refused to hear me out. When you work in a team you have to be open to your colleagues’ input. You have to pay for your mistakes; if you spit at heaven you shouldn’t be surprised when God pisses on you.

  I told you fo, I warned you!

  Denis told me to shut up again. This last “shut up” turned out to be the straw that broke my very tolerant camel’s back. While Melon was clarifying the situation, I’d had time to do a few calculations. When I was a Mafia henchman on the outside, I’d have more power than Denis would under Colossus and Melon on the inside.

  I’d never have guessed that that very afternoon I’d find myself in isolation, accused of premeditated murder.

  Right then, though, my criminal future looked bright. And I let rip with a violent burst of self-esteem.

  You’re the one who’v going to fut up, Denif! Fut up! Fut your fafe! Don’t you ever tell me to fut up again! You fut up!

  Denis was red now, bordering on purple. If it wasn’t for the table between us, he’d have strangled me then and there. Melon cracked up laughing.

  * * *

  Fat Mireille and Paul showed up at our table. Melon switched from demonic laughter to moronic cackling. Denis relaxed his fists, but his face was still crimson. And I saved the day.

  Forry, Melon wav getting on my nervev. I fouldn’t have fouted at him.

  As though I was a child being punished, Mireille ordered me to leave him in peace, adding that Melon couldn’t defend himself, and told me to go back to my cell immediately. I obeyed with relief, since putting some distance between me and Denis seemed like an excellent idea.

  From my cell, I could observe the table as the former senior executive negotiated his new working conditions with the former village idiot. The business world is an unstable organism. The way I was crouching also let me check that Tony was still stationed at the far end of the wing, and also allowed me to keep Edith in my sights.

  Edith had her back to me and was chatting about me to Mireille. At least, that’s what I guessed. Girls always talk about their love lives to each other, it’s well documented. She must have been telling her how much she was suffering from this whole mess, and from that son of a bitch Jocelyn who had forbidden
us, out of jealousy, to see each other. Talking about that kiss she’d refused me and now regretted.

  Fat Mireille put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Love will find a way. I was just speculating. With the same hand, she signalled something to the guard in the box. The noise of the door rang out. Mireille and Paul left, Tony vegetated, Edith unlocked the office door. It was the perfect moment. I only needed to walk a few steps. I turned to my colleagues one last time. Denis’s defeated look communicated nothing but distress.

  Fat Melon had somehow guessed that I was ready to act. He moved his massive bulk in my direction. His whole body was calling me to action. He shouted encouragement in his fat voice, making his three chins vibrate: Go on! Go go go!

  * * *

  It’s crazy how much stuff can go through a feverish mind in four steps. Remarkable, as David Attenborough would say. He’s the naturist who does animals on public television. Step one: I was going to make a name for myself as a fugitive. Step two: I’d show Melon and the Mafia I could wrap up a contract. Step three: I’d regain my freedom, settle my accounts on the outside, find my mother, reconcile with her, and then introduce her to my sweetheart. Because, step four: Edith and I would finally be able to love each other at long last. I was hella paved with good intentions.

  My heart was thumping at top speed. Propelled by ambition, love, justice, and the four steps set out above, I jumped on Edith’s back and yelled, Watch out! I pushed her against the half-open door, which her face hit, and then crushed her with a roar on the office floor. It was off to a good start.

  18

  Passion

  Edith was stunned. She stayed lying down when I got up to barricade the door behind us. Hostage situation! Hostage situation! Tony was yelling, being obliged to make a pretence of doing his job. I pushed the desk up against the door as the alarm went off. All this excitement was stressing me out. I was sweating like a pig from every pore of my body.