by J. L. Beck
Grant was still dead and would stay that way, beaten to a pulp with a tire-iron that came from the back of my rusted out Honda Civic–that much was true. I had used that same tire-iron to fix my flat tire a week earlier after driving home from the bar late one night. Of course my prints were all over it like a kid’s hand in a bag of candy. My conviction couldn’t have been easier won.
If only I had paid more attention to what Grant was doing in his free time besides screwing around. If only I had known he was a low-level gangbanger for Hector Rivera, a man he pissed off by skimming money off the proceeds of the drugs he sold. Hector’s street gang knew how to screw a person over big time, and they definitely got two birds with one stone by killing Grant and framing me for it. Leave it to me to pick a boyfriend messed up in the shit I was trying to escape. Not only would I never get out of the shitty Dallas neighborhood I was raised in, but now I was going to rot in Texas for a lot longer by going a dozen steps backward in the fast lane straight to Colby Meyers Women’s Correctional Unit.
“Woo! A real lady killer. What he do? Fuck you up, sista? I don’t blame you; men are all cocksuckers.” She popped her lips for effect, and my stomach rolled.
“You let me know if you want Sharee here to wet your puss down real good. I got some ins with the Red Tribe even though my girls are the Sunshine Sisters.” She looked me over, licking her dark pink puffy lips, nodded, and stared out the window. Not even there, and already I had an offer from one gang. I guess word got around quickly.
City buildings seemed to shrink, and cattle farms lined the highway mile after mile. I didn’t particularly want to know what Sharee had done to get a ride on this bus. I wasn’t exactly feeling social.
Clearing my throat got her attention, and she smiled, waiting for me to speak. “I don’t know who the hell the Red Tribe is, but I’d settle for a contraband tampon if you can get one.” I didn’t know if we got sanitary supplies each month, or if that was something you had to buy at the commissary. There hadn’t been time to prepare or do research for this sort of thing and even months later, I was still overwhelmed by the speed with which the state had prosecuted me. I wasn’t about to ask a guard; they looked about as friendly and as helpful as a DMV employee with a down computer.
Sharee grunted, nodding before looking at me sympathetically. I may have killed a man, but my ignorance about what happened to you inside prison walls was obvious.
“You got it Chiquita, regular or super?” I didn’t realize I still had a choice, grunting a shrug because any would do. It would be a miracle if I didn’t get shanked in the next four years, seven months, and twenty-nine days.
“So what do they call you, Chiquita?” It took a bit of convincing that I wasn’t into munching carpet once Sharee told me what that meant. That was a new turn of phrase for me. I definitely wasn’t into girls. Not if the one sitting behind us had it out for me, that was for sure. I’d barely gotten into boys trying to survive getting out of Dallas. I just wanted to be left alone.
“Nene is my nickname, short for Benedicta.” Sharee backed off my pussy, offering to be my bitch once she learned I’d killed a man, and I wasn’t going to correct her. Sometimes lies protected you better than the truth and I needed all the protection I could get.
2
Cohen
“Cohen–you sure about this?” I looked over to my NARC unit commander as I slipped the suit jacket over my shoulders and adjusted my silver linked watch. The large crystal face covered the blue metal surface and silver roman numerals. I hadn’t worn a watch in years doing undercover work and the heaviness felt stifling against my wrist bone. Funny how this job with a monkey suit felt so stifling and the ticking watched only served to lengthen the endless wait to finish. I adjusted my tie, a figurative noose in this job.
“If there was any other way to do this, then sure, but fuck it, we haven’t gained any ground, and Hector’s gang is fucking shit up all over the place, drugs, armed robbery, prostitution, you name it.” Dallas had become a hotbed for gang activity, which ravaged communities with limited law enforcement resources, earning it the nickname North Mexico City,
“After all the hard work I did to get you a desk job, and this is the assignment you and Maris put your cap in for.” He shook his head, smiling despite his disappointment.
“To be honest, it was her idea. The Red Tribe is connected deep to the cartel–hence Hector’s little street gang. There’s only one way to get recruited, and that’s from the inside.”
“I can’t believe those gang-bangers are using women to transport drugs and establish the trade routes between southern Texas and Mexico.”
“You seem surprised. Don’t forget those females are full-fledged gang members,” I reminded my boss.
“Obviously, Cohen. I just hate the idea of sending you and Maris in so soon. The last job–well, you know.”
I didn’t need to be reminded. We had been ordered by the psych to take time off after losing one of our team members in a gang related street shooting. Unable to let it go, Maris and I decided to jump back in. We’d barely used the vacation time we had coming to us anyway and while a few days on a beach somewhere sounded nice we needed to bring Hector’s gang down even more.
“We needed an in, but this was more than I think we bargained for, given the opportunity.” After all the red tape had been cut, explored and cross-examined, my partner and I had been given permission to go undercover, and my boss, James DeLuca, came back with reservations. I swore the timing was equal parts bullshit and bureaucratic red tape.
“And now we have one.” I smiled sardonically.
James snickered meeting my gaze. “Never pictured you as a warden, Cohen Shepard.”
“Yeah well, tell that to Maris who is going in for prostitution and distribution.” I thought about my undercover partner, Maris Ramos, curvy, dark hair, and big brown eyes that reminded me of sweet chocolate until she got riled up. Maris was capable of hitting back as hard as any of our male counterparts. She could take care of herself, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t concerned when she was going to be inside the prison without backup or a weapon to protect herself. I wasn’t a chauvinist; I was being realistic. I couldn’t back her up the way I wanted to for my own peace of mind.
Prison was still prison.
And those women on the inside… let’s just say I wouldn’t exactly call them ladies or innocent.
James walked around the office picking up framed knick-knacks and books from the shelves. “Aww it’s a tradeoff. Remember your last big sting.” How could I forget… my last undercover job was in an all-male review show. I was comfortable with my sexuality, but I learned a few things about crazy, cock-hungry women as well as how to dance my ass off. Another man might have been embarrassed, but after everyone you’ve worked with has gotten an eyeful of your nine-inch dick bouncing to the rhythm of the music in a g-string barely holding up, you’ve got no shame left. I earned my bonus after busting up that illegal steroid ring. How bad could working in a women’s prison be? I didn’t plan on being alone with any of the women, so I was pretty sure my cock was safe. It was Maris I worried about despite her enthusiasm to jump in. I guess we all had to roll with the learning curves here.
My first week at Colby Meyers Correctional Institution was mostly observational. It was obvious that Evangelina Corazon was the leader of the Red Tribe, but so far, she’d kept her nose clean and used her network of minions to carry out her dirty work. It was frustrating that I had no reason to pull her into my office for questioning that wouldn’t tip her off. The plan was for Maris to commit minor infractions in order to meet with me under the guise of her being in trouble. Her job was to investigate the pecking order around here and get intel on the Red Tribe once she arrived on the inmate prison van from the county lockup.
I took to walking up and down the aisle of the lunchroom, letting my presence be known. Since my arrival, there had been a few shake-ups, fights, and one stabbing that required an infirmary visit and stitch
es for a female inmate. It was gruesome, possibly more than a men’s prison, which said a lot. The manipulation was different, and I was sure a few of the guards were in on the schemes at the prison. One woman was pregnant but I couldn’t be sure which male guard was responsible. No one was exactly forthcoming in claiming the baby.
Today a mini van carrying six new inmates arrived, one of whom was my partner, undercover now that I’d been established as the new warden. Their files sat on my desk next to more bureaucratic red tape than I thought possible. I worked for the government drug and gang division so this was nothing new. Might as well give me three separate memos from different bosses asking the same damn question in triplicate. This was shamefully our tax dollars at work.
Three of the women were coming in for a mix of drug offenses, dealing and using. One was in for armed robbery and grand theft auto, helping her boyfriend lift a car. One had been picked up for prostitution which would be Maris’ cover. Her file also said she pimped out girls and then beat them when she felt cheated, according to the file littered with aggravated assault charges–something the Tribe would look to recruit. The last one is ambiguous. She killed her supposed lover.
I took a moment to review her file thoroughly. Only nineteen, practically a baby to be in a place like this. Her conviction also made her a perfect recruit for the Red Tribe. They preferred to take women under their wing with serious or violent charges. I had to meet her and figure out if there was a way to take advantage of the possibility she would be initiated into the group. The big bosses had given me some leeway, and I could offer immunity and sentence reduction for cooperation if I thought the info we were getting would be good enough to get the lead to the big fish.
The new girls arrived that morning, and by the time they were processed, it was lunch. I was in a meeting with the corrections board, so the guards brought them through processing. It wasn’t until later that I got down there to see them lined up for a tray of food, if you could call the shit they served food. Today’s meal happened to be some kind of meat patty and a bunch of soggy vegetables that were more yellow than green. Red Jell-O and a container of milk rounded out the nutritional requirements, but I wouldn’t feed this shit to a dog let alone human beings.
As the warden, I would have to review those nutritional guidelines at some point in the shuffle of paperwork and bullshit. Standing against the wall, several of the guards and inmates acknowledged me by nodding their heads. A few women winked inappropriately, and I ignored their forward behavior. Crossing my arms over the monkey suit I was forced to wear, my jacket strained under the involuntary flex of my arms. Later I would have to address the inmates in a house meeting, establish my dominance, and get to work uncovering the gang activity.
I watched and waited, feeling the air buzz and crackle with tension. A table of women snickered and made comments toward one of the new girls. Five of them, including Maris, ate their lunches, inspecting each item while one stared blankly at her tray. The food remained untouched, and her skin paled under the fluorescent lights. She was fair skinned with a caramel hue that suggested some Latina blood flowed in her veins. Her reddish brown hair looked natural with highlights while her hazel eyes suggested mixed heritage somewhere in her family tree.
She was—in a word—stunning. It was easy to tell she wasn’t one of the girls in for drug possession and use. Healthy skin made her stick out in the crowd. She wasn’t pregnant like her tablemate at the end, and she was too soft looking for the hard life of prostitution. That left manslaughter, and I shuddered to think of her baby face having the hardness or her having the brute strength to whack a man thirty times with a tire-iron with here skinny arms.
I left the cafeteria more curious than before intending to meet with the new girls as soon as I could. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Maris slip into her role, pushing the new girl’s tray clear off the table to the floor in a splattering mess of disgusting food. I guessed I’d also be seeing Maris sooner rather than later.
3
Nene
“What the hell?” I had just finished pushing my food around the tray, thinking I would rather starve when it launched off the table, skidding across the linoleum floor. Recognizing the woman next to me from the bus as the one who tossed it to the floor, obviously I wouldn’t be getting a reprieve. I didn’t eat meat, but I had highly inflated hopes that the soggy vegetables had some life left to them.
“I heard you killed a man.” Of course she did, but I didn’t need that advertised on day one. Me and my stupid mouth. Looking up, I saw she was dark haired, brown eyed, and curvy. She had a good number of pounds on her in all the alluring places, and enough muscle under soft feminine flesh that I knew she’d kick my ass if I so much as moved from the table.
“What are you gonna do about it?” Leaning over she whispered in my ear taunting me. Sharee looked over but didn’t say anything to diffuse the situation. Neither did the oh-so-helpful guards who were yelling for a cleanup of the tray. In a way, I didn’t want anyone to interfere because my troubles were my own, and this crazy ass woman seemed to think I was ripe pickings. It was the first time I laughed since this ordeal had started, and it sounded maniacal as reality descended over me. She’d probably kill me in my sleep. I wondered if that would be a blessing.
“Crazy bitch,” The brunette said, kicking the tray and going over to sit at another table of curious faces.
“Man, you be pissing cunts off left and right with that attitude. Maybe I should call you Stone instead of Nene.”
“I thought everyone went by their last names.” The pregnant girl named Raina looked at me like I had lost my shit. Almost. I was going to lose it at some point.
The addicts at the other end mumbled. “Yeah.”
“So what is it?” They asked between the two of them looking a little green and twitchy. I didn’t know how long it took to go through withdrawals, but their eyes remained squirrelly.
“Cruz.”
“Nah, you’ll always be Nene now.” Sharee smiled and helped me clean up my tray as the girls at the other table continued to eye fuck us. I wasn’t sure what it meant but Sharee told me to keep my head down for now since that woman got me lit up like Christmas for a bunch of Tribe recruits. I wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but it didn’t sound good, and I was only on day one.
Sharee ended up being my cellmate, and that ended up being both good and bad. She’d been incarcerated here before but said there was a warden turnover so that meant a whole new set of rules. The warden could fast-track your parole hearings or stall them dead in the water. Sharee was convinced the last one was giving special perks to inmates, and I was hoping to bide my time and avoid that. I didn’t suck cock as a habit, which is what got me in here in the first place thanks to my dipshit lawyer. I wasn’t sucking one to get out either.
“Hey, Cruz.” I looked up at one of the guards, a male, maybe in his mid-thirties and stacked with muscles. Obviously he hadn’t heard I was going by Nene. He seemed to think he was the shit, and I read the nameplate under his badge as Garcia. As good looking as he was and fit, it begged the question of why he was working in a women’s prison, but I wasn’t about ask him.
“What?” I calmed the heaving breaths from my chest and looked him straight in the eye.
“You missed a spot, newbie.” Smiling, he poured a carton of milk on the floor at my feet, and it splashed up against my plain slip-on sneakers.
“Fucking hell.” Groaning, I looked down at the wet spot bleeding through the canvas. Spoiled milk reeked, and these would be my only shoes unless I could get something through the commissary. Maybe I’d wear them into the shower once I got an opportunity to clean them off. I couldn’t stand the smell of rotting crap, and this was going to be a problem for me if I couldn’t fix it.
Everyone filed out, and we headed toward the common area. My feet squished with each step as my nausea rose. The day wasn’t going to go any quicker.
Sharee nudged my arm.
“I’ll see if I know anyone in the laundry. Might be able to get you some clean stuff.” A kind gesture, but now I owed her a favor, and I couldn’t have that hanging over my head. Too many favors might obligate me to the wrong people.
I placed my hand over her arm and stopped her, shaking my head no. “Sharee, I’ll figure it out, but thanks. Thanks a lot.” Extending my appreciation, I made my way over to the table in the corner alone.
Alone was good for me. I could observe my surroundings and work on relearning Spanish between the growls of my hunger pangs.
4
Cohen
I waited for the door to click shut and listened to the rubber-soled boots filtering down the hallway from my office. Garcia had given her quite the lookover before leaving, and I didn’t like it. I knew guards could be abusive, but seeing it there like a movie in slow motion waiting to happen didn’t ease my conscience. I had few options as to what I could do without blowing my cover and endangering my partner.
I slapped the top of the desk, pissed. “What the hell were you thinking, Maris?”
She shrugged me off, taking this role on a bit thick for my liking. She crossed her arms, with a petulant look, giving me attitude worthy of a delinquent teen. It was disturbing, and I released the stress I’d been holding onto with a deep breath.
“What? I did what I had to do. I took an opportunity to get the Tribe’s attention. Besides, that girl killed her boyfriend or some shit.” She shrugged uncaring.
“Maris.” She knew better than to take stupid chances. My gut twisted with worry and I regretted taking this assignment.
