Skip turned around, saw Oliver moving toward him and smiled. “Hey, Oliver.”
They shook hands, embraced and patted each other on the back. “How have you been?”
“All right. And you?”
“I'm doing well, Ollie. It's good to see you.”
Oliver fingered the sleeve of Skip's leather Washington Redskins jacket, which prompted Skip to say, “I guess you're a Steelers fan now, huh?”
“Are you kidding? I'm not a turncoat.” Then, as though he noticed something missing, he asked, “Where's everybody else?”
“Anna couldn't make her mind up and Ernie Boy the Second wouldn't let Huck come 'cause they have a house full of company. And Momma, well, you're not going to believe me when I tell you, Oliver.”
“What? Did something happen to her? Is she okay?”
“Couldn't be better. She just got married again.”
“To who?”
“A television executive. Real nice guy. You'll like him. He treats her like a queen.”
“When did this all happen?”
“Two weeks ago. They're in Stowe, Vermont, right now. They're coming to see you after the holidays.”
“Man, she sure is resilient,” Oliver said. “Good for her.”
Skip smiled at Oliver and said teasingly, “Tell me about this girlfriend of yours.”
“How'd you know?”
“Momma. Who else?”
Oliver nodded. “Well, she's real nice,” he said. “Her name's Penelope. She goes to Duquesne U. right here in the city. She's one of the smartest girls I've ever met, too. And the prettiest.” Oliver tapped his chest bone with pride.
“You always did have the fine ones. You have any plans?”
“For what?”
“I mean, are you two in love?”
“Hell, I'm crazy about her, and I can tell by the way she shows up here every week she thinks a lot of me, too. But we haven't said one word about being in love. I'm a goddamn lifer, Skip. I might never get out of here. She's got her whole life ahead of her. She's not going to stick around forever waiting for me to get out, and I don't want her to.” He said it with confidence but he put a period in his voice too. He didn't want his relationship with Penelope discussed and endlessly analyzed, not by his brother or anyone else.
Skip heard the period in his voice but still added, “What about parole?”
“There's no parole for lifers in this state, man. The best I can hope for is a pardon in fifteen years. That's how much time they usually make a lifer do. Did you hear I'm going to college?”
“Yeah, and we're all glad you are.”
“I might earn a Ph.D. before it's all over with,” Oliver said with enthusiasm.
“That would be some accomplishment, Oliver.” They grinned at one another and then Skip asked, “Anyone else been to see you?”
“Yeah, but you'll never guess who,” Oliver said, rolling his eyes.
“Give me a hint. One of your old classmates?” Skip asked.
“No.” He said it with disappointment. “Happy Ernie.” Oliver spit out the word Ernie and his countenance turned sour. “Remember how Momma used to call him that?”
“Our father Ernie?” Skip said in disbelief. “Ernie Boy the First?”
“Yeah. You just missed his ass by a day. He and his new family were here yesterday. He wasn't even on my visiting list. The Captain of the Guards let them in because it's the holidays and they came from out of state. Youngstown, Ohio. He's been married for fourteen years. We have a real cute little half-sister named Lottie. She's fourteen. He sure as hell didn't waste any time, did he? And he's got a son named Dickie who's twelve. They're nice kids. His wife's nice too. Isabel, or Isabella.”
Skip followed the convoluted flight of a fly overhead. “So, did you give him hell?” Skip smiled faintly.
Oliver laughed. “No. I wanted to show that son of a bitch I had some class, you know? The whole time I just smiled and pretended like he'd been in my life all along. Hell, I could have won an Academy Award the way I smoothed them all right into my morning. I didn't ask him a single question. Not one. I wanted to though. I wanted to say, 'Where the hell'd you disappear to, man? Why didn't you give us a call? Why didn't you stop by?' But no sirree, Skip boy. I had too much class for all that.” Oliver was bitter. “And you know what, Skip? He never mentioned a single word about why I was here or what happened in that reform school. Not one word, man.”
“I was wondering about that, too.”
“About what?”
“You know. What you were doing up here in Pennsylvania in the first place and why you had to rob that store. And we'd all like to know what happened at that training school, why you killed that fellow.”
“You didn't hear?”
“Hear what?”
“I broke a chair over that cocksucker Ernie Boy's back.”
“I don't get it.”
“Aw Christ, Skip. I stopped in to see June one night and his car was in the driveway. This was after she had gotten a restraining order to keep him away. I parked out on the street and looked through the bay window curtains and saw him tying her legs up to the dumbwaiter. When he started tearing her nightgown off, I ran around the back of the house and came in through the basement. You know her favorite antique wicker chair? Well, I tried to knock his head off with it. After he went down, I was afraid he had his gun on him so I hit him a few more times to make sure he didn't get up. Then I untied Momma and I took off. I drove north for two straight hours before I realized I didn't know where the hell I was. I was almost out of gas and I only had a dollar in my pocket. So I pulled into this little country store, walked in the place and told the cashier to give me all her money. Hell, I don't know why I did it, Skip. The whole thing was so surreal, man. Especially when that state trooper pulled me over two miles up the road and told me I was on the wrong side of the Mason-Dixon Line.”
“Oliver, that's the craziest thing you've ever done! Did you have a weapon?”
“No. I poked my finger out inside my jacket pocket like I had a gun.”
“Okay. So they put you in that reform school, right? And you had, what, nine months to do before you turned eighteen and they had to let you go?”
“Yeah.”
“So what happened in that place, Oliver?”
“Look, man. There's no way you could ever understand what it was like in there.” Now it was Oliver's turn to stare into the river.
Skip looked at him. “Listen, our grandfather hasn't been right ever since they tried you and put you in here, Oliver. He deserves to know what happened, what made you do what you did. And so do I, and so does everyone else.”
“Like who?”
“Your aunts and uncles and cousins. Anna and Huck and Momma. Come on, Oliver.”
Again Oliver glanced at his brother, briefly, as though he were a distraction from the major work of looking for an answer. “Remember that big old guard dog in old man Gilbert's junk yard that got loose and went on a killing spree?” Oliver asked.
Skip looked confused. “Okay. Yeah. He killed your collie puppy and two other small dogs in the neighborhood. Go ahead.”
“You forget what Ernie Boy the Second did when he came home from work that day?” Oliver pressed his knuckle into the frown between his eyes.
“I remember you were sitting on the back steps holding that dead puppy in your lap and crying up a storm when he pulled into the driveway.”
“Yeah, and then the bastard did the one good deed he probably ever did in his life. He went and tracked that dog down and put an end to his viciousness.”
Skip scratched his head before he ran his fingers through his hair. “Oliver, I'm sorry. I'm lost.”
“Skip, the boy I killed wasn't a boy at all. He was a vicious predator and he made me his prey. He traumatized me something awful.”
“I still don't understand why you had to kill him. But listen. We're all sorry you have to be in this place, Oliver. You know you have to pay for what you did
, though. The good thing is you'll still be young enough to get on with your life fifteen years from now.”
“Let's change the subject,” Oliver said. His voice was soft and a little sad.
“Let me ask you one last question. Did you lose your temper?”
Oliver looked at his brother, wishing it had been his temper. Something that easy to explain. But he knew better, and every day since that fatal moment, everywhere he looked-in cell blocks, dining halls, canteen lines, and even his mirror reflection, he saw those dying eyes click shut and while he did not regret the fact that Jimmy Six was dead, he was ashamed for being the perpetrator of the deed.
He continued to look into Skip's eyes when he said, “I didn't mean to, Skip. I mean the killing part. I wanted to kill his viciousness. I didn't mean for him to die, though.”
“Wait a minute, Oliver. When you kill something, it stands to reason that it dies.”
“Yeah. I went too far.” Oliver looked away now and stared out the window into the icy waters of the river. How he yearned at that moment to be sitting in Skip's car and on their way home, or shopping, or to their grandfather's farm-anywhere far away from prison bars and callous men. As hard as he tried to hold back the tears, one rolled down each of his cheeks.
“Come on, Oliver. I'll get us some candy.”
Skip bought them each a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup and a cup of coffee and before they walked away from the vending machines, he said, “Can I get you a sandwich, Oliver? Anything you want, name it.”
“No, thank you, man. This is fine.”
They sat and ate the candy and drank the coffee in silence while they watched a prisoner sitting across from them console the older woman who was wrapped in his arms. After the woman began to cry, Skip dug into his jacket pocket for his keys and curled his fingers around them. “I'm going to be hitting the road soon, Oliver. I'll be back to see you again in the spring and I'll bring Huck with me.” He reached into his front pants pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “I've got some money here for you. Where do I leave it?”
“Give it to the officer at the front desk where you first came in,” Oliver said. “He'll give you a receipt. I appreciate it, Skip.”
“Well, it's from everybody. So don't just thank me.” He got up and buttoned his jacket. They walked to the door and embraced. Skip stepped back and then reached out and gently touched Oliver's shoulders. “So long for now, Oliver. I'll see you soon.”
“Yeah. Listen, Skip. I didn't lose my temper. It wasn't like that, man.”
Skip turned around and smiled. “Okay, Oliver. Merry Christmas,” he said. He waved his hand and cut around the corner before Oliver could say, “and Happy New Year.”
chapter five
DONNIE BLOSSOM WAS STANDING in front of Oliver's cell biting his nails and eyeballing the tier. “Don't be in there all day, Fats,” Donnie whined.
Fat Daddy creeped into Oliver's cell, closed the door and pulled the curtain across the doorway. “Shut up and keep your eyes open,” Fat Daddy said. He looked around the cell and thought the place was cozy right down to the smell. Cinnamon incense and Right Guard. On the clean white wall over the bed were three long words scrawled out in fancy letters: ostentatious, loquacious, salacious. Above the desk was a gallery of family photographs. The Priddy family at Christmas. Mom Priddy, with the Bette Davis eyes and the hourglass figure, had it going on, as did the daughter and three sons. The made-for-television family. Only there was no Ozzie Nelson or Ward Cleaver in the picture. So the boy did need a daddy after all.
A letter on the desk said read me, but Fat Daddy couldn't. The cursive flow was too much for him, so he settled for a peek at the photo inside. The same slim goody who was in one of the pictures above the desk with her arm hooked around Priddy Boy's waist. The come-fuck-me scent of her perfume wafting from the envelope was tantalizing, too. Fat Daddy rubbed his groin and sat on the edge of Oliver's bed. On the pillow was a black marble composition book with the words MY DAILY JOURNAL scrawled in big red letters on the cover. He opened it and easily read the first entry.
I saw the psychiatrist today and the first thing he said to me was I don't give out valium if that's what you have in mind. I told him I was there because my mother asked me to see a shrink. He wanted to know why I caved in “that boy's” skull. First of all, “that boy” was as big as King Kong. Second, my lawyer told me I can't talk about it while my appeals are waiting to be heard. He asked if I was interested in attending weekly sessions with the psychologist. I said my mother thinks I should so I guess I am.
This joint is crawling with booty bandits and they're sizing me up already. I don't want any trouble and I'm doing my best to ignore them, but I sure hope they leave me the hell alone.
This morning when I was returning from the commissary, I found a ten-penny nail in the alley beside the building. Now all I need is some kind of handle to make the perfect ice pick.
Fat Daddy stared at the pages and thought, I'll bet he got fucked. I'll bet King Kong popped his young-ass cherry! He was excited now and flipped to another entry.
After six months, a fractured arm and three ass whippings, I'm finally out of the hole! That lieutenant with the blue eyes came to my cell this morning to let me know they were letting me out 30 days early for good behavior. I thought he was messing with me so I kept right on reading Moby Dick like he wasn't even standing there. But then he said good luck to me and an hour later they were springing my door.
I'm back in the same cell on the little St. Regis. B-49. All my belongings are here except for my two throw rugs. Some thief stole them while I was gone. The first thing I did when I got here this morning was check my stash. My ten-penny nail was still there and I took it everywhere I went today. First, I got a haircut from a barber named Chinaman. Nicknames kill me. The barber wasn't any more Chinese than I am. He was a chubby, high-yellow, hip-talking black dude from North Philly. I liked the scene down there in the barbershop and was glad I had to wait an hour before I got in the chair. I read a couple of magazines and listened to the radio they had tuned to a soul station. They played Marvin and the O'Jays back to back. And there was that familiar smell of talcum powder and sea breeze and hair after it's been shaved off with electric clippers. It reminded me of Charlie Spalding's barbershop back home.
Tonight I called home. Momma was ecstatic to hear my voice but hounded me because I hadn't called in six months. She knew even before I told her that I had gotten in trouble and couldn't call. I told her this place isn't that bad at all. I didn't tell her I was ready to run a ten-penny nail through the neck of this nasty freak who's been following me around ever since I got here, watching me as if I were his next goddamn meal. The same freak who knocked me down in the yard last summer. Momma's been through enough and I don't want her worrying about me any more than she already is.
Tomorrow I'm going to the gym to join the boxing team and in the evening I'm going to sit out in the yard with my neighbor who I just met, a fellow named Albert DiNapoli. He's a real intelligent guy and he goes to college. He's got more books in his cell than I've ever seen except maybe in a library. I think I'll ask him to let me read a few of them. It's been a long day and I'm tired, so that's all for tonight.
Fat Daddy closed the book and set it back on the pillow. A nasty freak, he thought. I'll show this bitch what a nasty freak is.
What Fat Daddy was planning to do to Oliver other men had done worse to him. The bedroom where his Too Tall Uncle Paul had kept him for two days and nights when he was eleven had smelled worse than nasty. “Cee-lo or straight?” They all said straight at the same time and laughed like a bunch of corner boys over their unanimity. Four corner boys and one Big Momma who went out for fish sandwiches and more Boone's Farm. Too Tall Uncle Paul came in the bedroom first. What you doing, boy? Nuttin'. Come here. Why you crying? I'm thirsty. Drink this. He drank the whole glass of strawberry wine, then Too Tall Uncle Paul said now come a little bit closer. His beard tickled little Winfield's neck. He pulled the chi
ld's underpants down and sniffed his hind quarters before he dry-humped him and filled the crack of his ass with warm sticky cream. After Too Tall Uncle Paul walked out, Spook the trash man walked in saying over his shoulder, the next time you stick the dice, niggah! He spooned up beside the child and nuzzled his neck before he dug into his behind. When he pulled out, he said, got to get back to them bones. Kiss me for good luck. Then the nasty niggah slid his tongue inside Winnie's mouth for good luck just as the door flew open. You'd better eat this fast, young'un! Them boys is hungry! Come here to your Aunt Gwendolyn. He devoured the sandwich while she played with him. Lord, child. Yes, indeed. She had him martial and interested when the door flew open again. Where's the food, Big Momma? It's all gone and so are you! Get out! That boy finger fucking you? Get out! Go finger fuck the dice!
Two days later his mother came for him and cursed her former brother-in-law out because the boy smelled so nasty. Stink nasty. They wasn't nice to me, he said. He didn't let his tears or his pain show, but he knew right then at the age of eleven what he wanted to do. He started with a mongrel bitch he found in heat inside an abandoned house at the end of Oxford Street. From there he learned the fine art of becoming as invisible as God hiding behind trees and in them, crouched in the weeds, standing around corners, patrolling school lavatories and public rest rooms. The prey, the predator. He was stalking boys half his size and some twice as big.
“Come on, Fat Daddy! You've been in there long enough.” Donnie Blossom's voice startled Fat Daddy. He walked to the door, drew the curtain back and reached through the bars. He squeezed Donnie's buttocks and said, “Shut up, bitch! I'll be out when I'm ready.”
Fat Daddy closed the curtain again and took one last look around the room before it occurred to him that he had one more thing to do. He laid on the floor and slid under the bed, moving around until he decided there was plenty of room for what he had in mind. When he got to his feet, he rearranged the marble composition book on the pillow and walked out of the cell.
Eureka Man: A Novel Page 7
