Redemption

by Phil M. Williams

  “E.”

  Jason shoved the box under the counter. “I’ll you see you tomorrow.”

  “Before you go.” Terrance hesitated for a beat, checking the CO, who was in the hallway, out of earshot. “Be careful. Guys like to test the new guy to see if he’s a punk. Walk away if you can but don’t be a coward. Keep a low profile. If you have to fight, put up a good fight. You don’t have to win, but you have to try.” Terrance raised one eyebrow. “You understand?”

  Jason nodded.

  “Don’t get into debt or accept favors from anyone you don’t trust. Debt is the thing that gets guys in trouble more than anything. If you owe someone, they’ll get their pound of flesh, one way or another.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  Terrance held up one finger. “One more thing. No matter what happens, never snitch. It always makes it worse.”

  Jason walked back to Cell Block C, escorted by a lanky CO. Jason was buzzed into the cell block. He glanced at the analog clock on the wall—4:32 p.m. He still had a little time before dinner in the cafeteria. The common area of Cell Block C was bustling with activity. Inmates returned from their jobs and loitered, waiting for dinner. Jason avoided contact with any of the inmates, climbing the stairs, headed for his cell. Hushed voices came from his cell. Jason slowed as he approached, not sure what he was walking into.

  “You wanna know what it’s like to get fucked like a little girl?” The voice sounded familiar, but Jason couldn’t quite place it.

  “She w-w-w-wasn’t a little girl,” Ronnie said. “She was s-s-sixteen. I w-w-w-was only eighteen.”

  “That’s what all you fuckin’ chomos say. Tell the truth, motherfucker. You like little girls, don’t you?”

  “No. I s-s-s-swear to God.” Ronnie’s voice was whiny.

  The familiar voice mimicked Ronnie’s whine and stutter. “I s-s-s-swear to God.”

  Jason peered around the corner to see the muscular man who’d called Jason a “punk-ass bitch” the day before. He had Ronnie pushed against the far wall. Jason stepped into the doorway and spoke in a friendly tone. “What’s going on in here?”

  The muscular man turned around, his jaw set tight. “Get the fuck outta here.”

  Ronnie appeared terrified, with bulging eyes and a taut expression, like he’d been given a bad face lift.

  “I need to get into my locker,” Jason said.

  “Do I look like I give a fuck?” the muscular man snapped.

  “No, you do not. But, … um, … I still need my shit. We only have a few minutes until dinner.” This was a lie, as they had close to thirty minutes. If everyone wasn’t lined up for chow at 5:00 p.m. sharp, the COs would come looking.

  This was enough to disrupt the man’s plan. The muscular man turned back to Ronnie. “Sooner or later you’re gonna give up that ass, or I’m gonna take it.” He turned and marched toward the door.

  Jason moved from the doorway.

  On the landing, the man glared at Jason, his lips curled into a sneer. “Watch your back, bitch.”

  Then he was gone. Jason watched him greet another inmate at the stairs. The inmate referred to the muscular man as Duane. Jason went into his cell. Ronnie sat on the concrete floor, sniffling, his head hanging. Jason squatted in front of him.

  “You okay, Ronnie?”

  Ronnie shook his head. His voice quivered. Tears ran down his face. “He’s gonna … r-r-r-rape me.”

  “He’s trying to scare you.” Jason thought about the advice he’d gotten from Terrance. “They do that to the new guys. As long as you don’t except any favors, you’ll be fine. I’ll watch your back, and you’ll watch mine.”

  Ronnie sucked back mucus and wiped his face with his smock. Jason stood and held out his hand. Ronnie took it, and Jason helped him to his feet.

  “He knew about m-m-my charges,” Ronnie said. “How d-d-d-did he know?”

  “I don’t know.” Jason wondered when Duane would find out about his charges.

  Chapter 42: Safety in Gangs

  After his second day working at the resource center, Jason was buzzed into Cell Block C. As usual, it was bustling with inmates loitering in the common area before dinner. As Jason headed for the stairs and ultimately his cell, Duane shoulder-checked him, causing Jason to bounce off the man like a pinball. Jason stumbled and regained his balance.

  Duane said, “Watch your step, kiddie fucker.”

  A few nearby inmates glowered at Jason.

  Jason hurried to the stairs, his heart pounding. Four Aryans blocked the staircase. They all had shaved heads and tattoos.

  Jason said, “Excuse me.”

  The Aryans didn’t move a muscle. The apparent leader stepped forward. He was stocky, with a barrel chest, and ink-covered pythons for arms. A chain tattoo ran around his neck, with a red swastika for a charm.

  The man smiled, showing the gap between his front teeth. He held out his hand. “I’m Erik.”

  Jason hesitated, then shook his hand. “Jason.”

  Erik gestured with his chin in Duane’s direction. “He givin’ you trouble?”

  “No.”

  The man arched his eyebrows. “He will if you don’t do somethin’.”

  “I don’t want any trouble.”

  Erik shook his head. “In this place, trouble finds you. Guys are talkin’ about you bein’ a chomo.”

  Jason swallowed. “I’m not.”

  “That may be, but Duane’s already got his eyes on your ass, if you know what I mean. You and your faggot-ass cellmate. I can intervene. Make sure Duane doesn’t turn you into a bitch.”

  Jason thought about what Terrance had said about accepting favors from people you don’t trust. “I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary. I’ll handle it.”

  Erik chuckled. “I don’t think that’s gonna work out.” Erik’s grin evaporated, replaced by a hard stare. He pointed at Jason with a thick finger. “You gotta make a choice. Be with us or take your chances with Duane.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  Chapter 43: The Alchemist

  “It looks like today’s my last day,” Terrance said, with a smile, standing next to Jason at the counter.

  Jason turned from the book he was cataloging. “I thought you were leaving next week.”

  “I’m outta here on Monday morning, so …”

  It was Friday, and Jason’s third day working at the resource center.

  “That’s great.” Jason forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  Terrance tilted his head. “You all right?”

  Jason broke eye contact. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t seem fine. I know I don’t know you very well, but you’ve been quiet all morning.”

  Jason exhaled. “I might have some trouble brewing.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  Jason glanced at the CO standing near the open door, just out of earshot. “A guy in Cell Block C thinks I’m a child molester—”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  Terrance nodded.

  “This guy wants to … make me pay. The Aryans offered to help, but I declined. I remembered what you told me about accepting favors.”

  Terrance rubbed the stubble on his chin, thinking for a moment. “Sooner or later you’ll have to fight this guy. You think you can do that?”

  “I can try. He probably outweighs me by seventy-five pounds.”

  “Is he a fat guy?”

  Jason shook his head. “He’s built like the Incredible Hulk.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Duane.”

  Terrance winced. “Shit. This isn’t good.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s well-known for raping guys. A few years ago, he had one white boy acting like his wife. The boy started wearing makeup. Grew his hair out. Shaved his legs. Duane had him doing his chores, performing sexual acts that I’d rather not think about, but that wasn’t even the worst part.”

  Jason leaned on the counte
r, his stomach in knots. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

  “You need to know. Duane started selling this white boy to other inmates to use.”

  Jason cringed. “What about the guards?”

  “They don’t give a shit. They need a complaint before they step in. Of course, you can’t snitch in here. That white boy wasn’t gonna snitch anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that boy was broken. He ended up killing himself. Took apart a safety razor and sliced his own throat.”

  “Jesus.”

  “That didn't have anything to do with Jesus. That’s for certain.”

  Jason rubbed his temples. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I wish I had an easy answer for you, but there isn’t one. For most guys, you fight, and it’s over. Nobody dies, and nobody’s defiled. Duane’s different. He wants to dominate, humiliate, and possess a man.”

  “I’m completely screwed.”

  Terrance took a deep breath. “I had a situation similar to you when I first came here.”

  “What did you do?”

  Terrance lowered his voice. “I did what I had to do, but I paid for it. Dearly. I wouldn’t recommend it, unless you’re out of options.”

  Jason drew his eyebrows together and leaned toward Terrance, also lowering his voice. “What is it?”

  Terrance glanced toward the open door, checking on the CO. He was talking to another guard in the hallway. “My name has to stay out of this.”

  “Of course.”

  “You didn’t hear this from me. If you say so, I’ll deny it.”

  “I won’t say anything. I promise.”

  Terrance leaned toward Jason and whispered, “I’m gonna say this once, and I’m never gonna say it again. Understand?”

  Jason nodded.

  “I read a book called The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. Don’t read it, unless it’s an absolute last resort.”

  “I don’t understand. Does it tell you how to poison someone?”

  Terrance put up his hand, like a stop sign. “I’m done.”

  Chapter 44: The Visitor

  Jason had spent the weekend with Ronnie, doing their best to stay within view of a CO at all times. Duane and his crew had been watching them, waiting for an opportunity. Jason thought prison was a lot like high school, without girls. The inmates had their cliques. They jockeyed for popularity. They bullied. They were managed on a strict time schedule. Those in control rarely stopped horrible things from happening. At one point, Jason and Duane had locked eyes, and Duane had mouthed a kiss.

  By Monday, Jason was exhausted from being on high alert for days. He’d had to leave the resource center in the late morning to meet a visitor. It was the first visitor he’d had since he was incarcerated. The CO assigned to the resource center kept watch while Jason was away, but he wouldn’t be recommending any books or taking returns.

  Jason was escorted to a visiting room by a CO. The visiting room was filled with perfectly spaced stainless-steel tables with attached stainless-steel disks that functioned as the most uncomfortable seats ever created. A few vending machines lined the walls with overpriced snacks and soda. Corrections officers patrolled the room, making sure nobody touched or acted inappropriate or aggressive.

  A short balding man with round glasses stood next to a table and said, “Jason Lewis?”

  Jason nodded.

  “I’m Les Goldman.”

  They shook hands. Jason already knew his name and the reason for his visit from Jason’s visitation list.

  “As you know, I’m your wife’s divorce attorney,” Les said.

  Jason nodded again, looking down on the man with bloodshot eyes.

  Les gestured to the table. “Mind if we sit?”

  “Sure.”

  They sat across from each other at the table. Les placed his briefcase on the table and opened it. Other inmates sat at nearby tables, snacking, talking, laughing, and whispering with their friends and families. Les removed a stack of documents and a pen, and shut his briefcase.

  “I have papers for an uncontested divorce. My client is being very generous.” Les pushed his glasses up his nose. “Against my advice, I might add. She’s highly motivated to settle this divorce quickly and amicably.” He slid the papers across the table to Jason. “Michelle’s only asking for $50,000, her car, and her personal items. If I were you, I’d sign it before she changes her mind.”

  Jason shook his head. “I’m not signing anything unless she comes to see me herself.”

  The papers sat in the middle of the table between the two men.

  Les pressed his lips together. “She’s made it clear to me that she will not come here under any circumstances.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “Don’t you think you’ve put her through enough?”

  Jason glared at the attorney. “I’m not signing anything until I talk to Michelle.”

  “What if she called you?”

  Jason paused, thinking for an instant. “That’ll work—on one condition.”

  “What’s the condition?”

  “She has to hear me out. She can’t hang up on me, until I’ve said my piece.”

  Chapter 45: Commissary Day

  The inmates of Cell Block C were given the opportunity to go to the commissary to spend their hard-earned money once a week. Ten inmates were escorted at a time throughout the day at scheduled intervals. Eligible inmates were expected to sign up ahead of time, so the prison could allocate the appropriate number of guards. Jason and Ronnie had signed up for the latest time slot, after dinner.

  The commissary was divided by a concrete wall, with an open window for transactions. On the wall was a daily printed list of prices and items in stock. A long counter beneath the price list held order forms, with pens chained to the counter. Jason, Ronnie, and the rest of the inmates grabbed order forms and scanned the price list. The price list was alphabetized and divided into categories: food stuffs, pharmacy, toiletries, entertainment, electronics, and stationary. Jason was shocked at the prices. Everything was two to three times more expensive than normal. Sodas were $2. So were candy bars. Ramen noodles were $3. A single roll of toilet paper was $1.

  “This is ridiculous,” Jason said, holding his empty laundry bag.

  “I know,” Ronnie replied. “I can’t b-b-b-buy much. I only have t-t-ten dollars in m-m-m-my account.” The only money Ronnie had was from his janitorial job that paid twenty-five cents an hour.

  “If you need something, I can help you out.”

  “Thanks. I’ll p-p-pay you back.”

  Jason shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything.” Prior to incarceration, Norman Tuttle had advised Jason to give him a few thousand dollars to deposit into Jason’s prison account if necessary. It felt like a bad omen at the time, but Jason was relieved that he didn’t have to go without any necessities now.

  Jason and Ronnie filled out their cards and turned them into one of the inmates working behind the counter. The inmate collected their order and set it in front of the corrections officer who ran the computer and register. The CO deducted the items and funds from their prison accounts.

  Jason packed his purchases in his empty laundry bag. He had purchased a roll of toilet paper, soap, floss, underwear, socks, a pencil, some paper, plus some candy and potato chips for Ronnie.

  Jason, Ronnie, and the eight other inmates were escorted back to Cell Block C. As soon as they entered the cell block, everyone was accosted, and Cell Block C turned into a market. Inmates haggled, begged, and cajoled for their desired goods.

  “What did you get?”

  “Lemme have some.”

  “I’ll trade you for that candy.”

  “I’ll pay you back next week.”

  Jason walked toward the stairs, intent on locking up his goods in his cell. Ronnie was right behind him. He and Ronnie had already discussed the importance of immediately locking up their commissary items. Jason held his laundry bag tight to his body. The
Aryans blocked the stairs. The hair on the back of Jason’s neck stood on end, and his heart thumped in his chest.

  Erik lifted his chin to Jason. “What’d you get?”

  “Some necessities.” Jason pointed up the stairs. “Mind if we get through?”

  “Gimme that,” a voice said behind Jason.

  Jason turned to the familiar voice to see Duane snatch Ronnie’s laundry bag.

  “Come on,” Ronnie said, his voice whiny. “Give it b-b-b-back.”

  Duane grabbed a Snickers candy bar from the bag. He opened the wrapper and took a big bite. “I love me some Snickers,” Duane said, with his mouth full.

  Ronnie walked away, his head down. Duane turned back to his friends, savoring his candy bar. Jason approached from behind and snatched the laundry bag from Duane’s grasp. Jason ran toward the stairs, right into the Aryans. Instead of letting Jason through, they blocked his path. Jason turned to face Duane, just as Duane’s big fist connected with Jason’s jaw.

  Jason’s body went limp, and he crashed to the concrete floor. When he came to, his head and jaw ached, and both laundry bags were gone.

  Chapter 46: Last-Ditch Effort

  A row of phones was attached to the wall in Cell Block C. Inmates could make outgoing calls between 8:00 a.m. and 10:00 p.m. All calls were collect, unless the inmate had a calling card from the commissary. The day before, Jason had made arrangements with Michelle’s divorce attorney to call her collect at 8:00 p.m. at her parents’ house.

  Jason moved his jaw from side to side. It clicked and was still sore from Duane’s knockout punch. He had a headache and a knot on the back of his head from the fall. When the COs had cleared the chaotic scene, they’d asked Jason what had happened. Jason had replied, “I slipped.”

  Jason took a deep breath and picked up the phone receiver, placing it to his ear. He dialed zero, then the phone number. The recording asked for his name, and he said, “Jason.”

  Ten seconds later he was on the line with Michelle. Her voice was clipped and cold. “What do you want?”

  “How are you?” Jason asked.

  “What do you want?”