by P. J. Tracy
‘Brother Ray?’ Emil whispered.
‘Yes. And I also hold his opinion in some esteem. He’s been working with offenders for a very long time and I always find his initial evaluations noteworthy.’
Emil nodded earnestly. ‘Brother Ray is a very positive influence.’
Judge Addison gave him a stern look and Emil snapped his mouth shut. ‘Mr Rice, I don’t think you’re mentally ill.’
‘No? Well, there’s some good news …’
‘I think you’re a con artist and a hustler, and quite possibly a pathological liar, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a path for you, so I’ve decided to make an exception in your case.’
Foster gasped audibly while Emil looked up hopefully. ‘Really, Your Honor, sir?’
‘From what I’ve read in your files, you have an IQ off the charts, Mr Rice. An intellect that could, if redirected, benefit society rather than harm it. And since there is absolutely no hint of violence in your history, no drugs and no gang affiliation, I’ve decided to give you another chance.’
‘Uh, Your Honor?’ Foster sputtered. ‘That would be his twenty-third chance.’
The judge nodded. ‘Noted. Now, Mr Rice, you have a choice. Either return to jail and finish the last two years of your original sentence, or enroll in a little pet project of mine.’
Foster dragged a hand down his face.
‘One year on-site supervised community service in the facility of my choice, and I think I have the perfect fit for you. If you complete your service to Mr Foster’s and your on-site supervisor’s satisfaction, you will be a free man, and, hopefully, a better one, in twelve months.’
‘No jail?’ Emil squeaked.
‘Your Honor,’ Foster interjected, his voice sounding a little panicky. ‘This man is a flight risk. He won’t last a day anywhere you put him unless it’s jail.’
Judge Addison smiled. ‘I don’t think that will be a problem, Mr Foster.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
The thing about Vegas was that, once you got outside the city, there was nothing but sand and rocks, some cactus, and a lot of nasty, poisonous critters, like scorpions and snakes and Gila monsters. And the further Foster drove, the more nervous Emil got. ‘Where is this place?’ he finally asked.
‘Over the river and through the woods.’
‘Come on, Foster. You can’t just drag me out into the middle of nowhere without telling me where you’re taking me.’
‘Watch me.’
Emil let out a sharp puff of frustrated air. ‘Man, you got one bad attitude. What do you have to be upset about, anyhow? You won the pool, didn’t you?’
He got a nasty look for his trouble. Foster had two moods, bad and worse, and Emil had been on the far end of worse since that morning.
‘I won a stinking hundred bucks, Emil, and now I have to haul you five miles out into the desert for some stupid program. I should just dump you right here and let the coyotes eat you.’
Emil looked out of the correction van’s window, thought about roasting during the day and freezing to death at night while coyotes ate him alive. ‘You can’t do that, man.’
‘Oh, yeah? Who’s going to miss you?’
‘Now that was just plain mean. Just plain mean. What is your problem, anyhow? You won your hundred bucks, plus you get to enjoy some scenery on the state’s dime instead of hunching over your ghetto desk in your ghetto cubicle.’
Foster let out a battle-weary sigh. ‘I’m just sick of your face, Emil. And now I have to look at it once a week for another year because you got Judge Santa Claus.’
‘Hey, now, don’t you be dissin’ Judge Addison. He is one fine man, a compassionate man, and he looked inside me and saw I was worth another chance … Oh, I get it now.’ Emil folded his arms across his chest and shot Foster a revelatory smile. ‘I know what your problem is. Deep in your heart you were pulling for me, weren’t you, Foster? Didn’t want me to mess up. Hoped I’d work three jobs and go to night school and buy myself some Izod shirts and be a doctor so I could do all the bypasses you’re going to need because you are so stressed, man.’
‘Yep. I’m a gambling man, and I always put my money on twenty-three-time losers. Give your jaw a rest, Emil. You’re going to need it to try to con yourself out of this place.’ He slowed the van and pointed to a sign that said ‘Clark County Extended Care Facility’. ‘Welcome home.’
‘What’s an extended care facility?’ Emil asked, his eyes busy as Foster turned down a drive that seemed inordinately long and a little spooky, especially since it terminated at an institutional-looking brick building surrounded by a high fence.
When Foster declined to answer, Emil pressed on: ‘Come on, man, what is this place? An old folks’ home?’
‘Get out of the van.’
As they approached the front doors, Emil noted two elaborate keypads with card swipers, which meant you needed a code or a card to enter, and possibly to exit. There were also a lot of security cameras positioned all over the place. Seriously restricted access in and out, and not what he’d been expecting. Or what he’d been hoping for. ‘Uh … this is kind of serious security for an old folks’ home, isn’t it?’ he finally said.
‘Don’t even think about it. You could break out of Folsom easier than this place.’
‘Break out? Did I say anything about breaking out? Now why would I go and do a fool thing like that? … You know there’s no handle on this door? Has the fire marshal seen this?’
Foster ignored him and pushed a buzzer, then held up his state ID to one of the cameras.
‘Nope, this doesn’t look like any old folks’ home I ever saw,’ Emil rambled on nervously. ‘Old folks’ homes, they got porches and rocking chairs and walkers everywhere. It’s rehab, isn’t it?’
‘Nope.’ The door opened automatically with a harsh warning buzz and Foster made a grand gesture with his arm. ‘After you.’
***
Emil’s eyes were busy and sharp as he scanned the deserted lobby for possible exits he could utilize in the future. Unfortunately, the décor was Eastern Bloc gulag and, short of having an RPG to blow out a cinderblock wall, he was getting the sinking feeling that this was a place he might have to stay for a while before he could figure something out. ‘Oh, darn, doesn’t look like anybody’s home, Foster. Guess they changed their minds about me. What do you say we just saddle back up and head out? I’m sure Judge Addison has some other programs for me to try.’
‘LOOK! EDITH, LOOK!’ somebody squealed above them.
Foster and Emil’s heads jerked up toward the source of the sound, standing on an open balcony one floor up.
Emil’s jaw dropped. ‘Foster,’ he hissed. ‘There are two crazy old women up there wearing some weird-ass bathrobes.’
‘Settle down, Emil,’ Foster said, his voice silky with vindication. He called up to the two women. ‘We’re looking for Dr Harold.’
They didn’t seem to hear him, just kept running their own dialogue. ‘I see, Gloria, but don’t get too excited …’
‘Is it? Oh, dear God, is it?’
‘Hush, dear.’
But this Gloria character apparently didn’t want to hush: she just wanted to start waving her arms like a psycho windmill and dance all over the place, like her feet were on fire. ‘Glory be to God in the Highest, and on earth, peace, goodwill toward men!’ she shrieked, and Emil shrank back.
‘Damn, Foster, this is a loony bin, isn’t it?’
Foster smiled, like a big fat Cheshire cat. ‘Welcome home.’
‘Oh, now, this is just bullshit! You can’t put me in a place like this for a whole year!’
‘Hey, you’re the one who told Judge Addison you were struggling with internal demons and mental illness.’
‘That was supposed to be a metaphor!’
Foster chuckled wickedly. ‘Some switch just goes off inside, does it, Emil? Something bad just bubbles up and you can’t stop it?’
‘Yoo-hoo!’ Gloria called down, waving her arms
even more wildly.
‘These people are running around loose in here!’ Emil panicked. ‘That’s not right!’
‘Gloria, calm down,’ the other crazy lady soothed her friend. ‘He’s a man, and that’s not a part of the plan.’
‘But look at the color of his skin, Edith! It’s perfect!’
‘He’s still a man. We’ve discussed this extensively.’
Emil glowered up at them. ‘Are you dissin’ me?’ He looked at Foster. ‘They’re dissin’ me. They can’t do that.’
‘So go up there and explain politically correct to a couple of insane old women, see how that goes. Besides, they’re the least of your worries.’ Foster nodded to a rigidly postured man with a steel-gray buzz-cut, striding briskly toward them with military precision. ‘That’s Dr Harold. US Navy, retired. He’s a shrink now, but he started out as a SEAL. If I were you, I’d keep my nose clean while you’re in here, because he’s your supervisor for the next year.’
Emil glowered at Foster, but decided to keep his mouth shut.
Dr Harold snapped to a halt in front of them, offered a hand to Foster in acknowledgment, then gave Emil a quick once-over. ‘Good morning, Mr Foster. I take it this is my new recruit.’
‘No, this is your new pain in the butt, Emil Rice.’
Emil jerked his head up as the two old ladies tittered on the balcony. ‘Uh … Doc? Shouldn’t those two be in a padded cell somewhere?’
‘Not on my watch, son. Confinement is a last resort. Besides, most of our residents are non-violent.’
‘Most? Most? What kind of ratio are we talking about here?’
Dr Harold nodded at Foster. ‘You have the paperwork on this man?’
Foster thrust a stack into his hand.
‘Judge Addison said he’s a thief.’
Foster snuffled at the understatement. ‘A week with this guy, you’ll be looking for your underwear. You just bought yourself a world of hurt.’
‘I didn’t volunteer for this duty, Mr Foster. I was called, and I answered. I take it you don’t approve of the Community Service Rehabilitation Initiative.’
‘Pansy-ass, bleeding-heart, leftist load of crap is what it is.’
Emil decided to take an exploratory expedition of the lobby while Foster and Harold were distracted, his eyes and trajectory fixed on the exit door. Upstairs, Edith and Gloria were watching him with rapt attention.
Dr Harold nodded at Foster. ‘Well, in most cases, I would agree with you. Never saw how scooping dog crap out of a park all day could turn a man around, but we don’t have any dog crap here, and we don’t have any parks. I’ve got other plans for your man.’ Dr Harold’s eyes tracked Emil. ‘You touch that door, son, you’re going to think an F-16 just buzzed you at Mach two.’
Emil tore his eyes off the exit sign and frowned at him, confused.
‘There’s an alarm. A loud one.’
‘Oh.’
Dr Harold returned his attention to the paperwork and Foster. ‘I see he’s a repeat offender.’
Foster nodded. ‘That would be an understatement.’
‘Thirty years in the service, I never once saw a repeat offender. Maybe the civilian sector should let the US Navy handle the courts for a while.’
‘Yeah, I hear you.’
There was sudden movement in the adjacent hallway, some weird shuffling noise, and some low, clipped voices echoing against all the tile. Emil watched google-eyed as he saw a group of orderlies herd patients from the hall into the lobby. Scary patients, some dressed in hospital gowns, some dressed normally, and a handful of others in weirder costumes. There was even a lady dressed in a black gown with a violin at her chin, bow frozen over the strings, like she was a wax figure at Madame Tussaud’s. They all looked like zombies from some horror movie. He retreated back a few steps and tried to make himself invisible. ‘Oh, hey, this is Night of the Living Dead,’ he whispered, looking at Foster and Dr Harold with genuine desperation. ‘You gotta lock those people up, man.’
The rag-tag assemblage of patients suddenly caught sight of Emil and, like a single organism, headed toward him.
Foster smiled. ‘Hey, Emil, check that out. Looks like you’ve got yourself some new BFFs.’
Emil wanted to run, but even if there had been a place to run to, it wouldn’t have done any good because his legs were frozen. A sweet-looking young woman approached, stopped in front of him, and just stared. Nobody home. ‘Uh … you know, Foster, I had kind of a different vision of what this community-service thing was all about.’
She suddenly opened her mouth wide and started screaming, sending Emil scrambling away, like a terrified crab, and the rest of the patients into full-on bedlam. ‘Damn, Foster, you gotta get me out of here!’
Gloria screamed from the stairs, ‘No, don’t take him away!’
Dr Harold shook his head and pushed his face into Emil’s. His eyes were stern but his voice was soft. ‘No profanity here. And no sudden movements or loud noises. Ever. Is that understood?’
‘Hey, she was the one who screamed at me!’
‘Understood?’
Emil nodded and swallowed hard.
‘Good man.’ He turned to the orderlies. ‘Line ’em up, move ’em out, get everybody under control and back to their rooms.’
Emil grabbed Foster’s arm. ‘Foster, man, you can’t do this to me! This is wrong!’
‘Emil, you mess this up, I’m on the phone to the judge before your next breath and you go straight up to State. I got his number on speed-dial.’
Dr Harold returned his attention to his two visitors, and took Emil’s arm. ‘Mr Foster, I’ll be in touch. Mr Rice, you come with me.’
‘Come on, Foster! Can’t we just talk about this?’ Emil shouted, over his shoulder.
Foster just smiled as he watched Harold half drag Emil down the hall.
CHAPTER NINE
Dr Harold unlocked the door to his office and gestured Emil to a pretty decent-looking chair next to his desk – way better than the metal folding thing in Foster’s cubicle. But higher-quality office furniture didn’t have a direct correlation to a better-quality penal experience, as Emil was realizing.
‘Have a seat, Mr Rice.’
Emil obeyed, his eyes doing a quick scan of the room as he tried to get a bead on his new nemesis, because this guy was not the kind of personality he was used to dealing with. Worse yet, he was a shrink, so he was probably going to be a little tricky to handle.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to see – there was no hint of his military past displayed in the room, no family photos or personal items, pretty much nothing but books and some framed diplomas hanging on the wall. Not exactly compelling talking points that might give him some leverage for future exploitation.
As the doc took his seat and flipped through the paperwork Foster had given him, Emil cleared his throat nervously, spinning his ring. ‘Uh … so maybe we could chat about what exactly this community-service thing is all about? Because I’m not sure I’m the best fit for your organization. You might want to look at some other candidates, if you know what I’m saying.’
‘So you think prison is a better fit for you?’ Dr Harold asked, his eyes never leaving the page he was reading.
Emil held up his hands in surrender. ‘No, sir, no, sir, that’s not what I’m saying at all. But I’m sure there are some alternatives for me in the program. Cleaning up ditches or parks, like you were saying earlier. I could do that.’
Dr Harold finally looked up. ‘Prison or here, your choice. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. From your file, it looks like you favor the hard way.’
‘No, sir, I’m easy as pie …’
‘Stealing is easy. Not getting caught doing it isn’t. You haven’t figured that out by now?’
Emil squirmed in his chair. ‘It’s just that dealing with a bunch of crazy people doesn’t seem like my kind of thing. I’d be horrible at it. In fact, I’d probably inadvertently bring harm to this fine institution –’
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‘You won’t be interacting with our patients on a substantive level,’ Dr Harold interrupted. ‘But you will be in the general population. You will provide services to the patients in accordance with my orders, and your interaction with them is discretionary, but should be kept to a minimum, for their safety as well as yours. We have varying levels of impairment here, so it’s best for you to remain quiet, disengaged and neutral. First rule is to remain calm at all times. Never agitate our patients. Is that understood?’
Emil thought about the zombie mob that had attacked him just a few minutes ago, and nodded enthusiastically. ‘Oh, yeah, I got that part of it down. What’s the second rule?’
‘There is no second rule. No second chances, either. If I make the determination that you are in dereliction of your duty or intentionally sabotaging this facility in order to be reassigned, you will go straight back to jail. Do you understand?’
Emil came to the sudden horrifying realization that he was now entirely at the mercy of a tyrant and his future hung in the balance of one man’s opinion. ‘I … Yes, sir.’
‘Good.’ Dr Harold stood abruptly. ‘Let’s get you set up.’
‘There’s – there’s no orientation or anything?’
‘I just gave you the orientation. We have rules and you follow them. I’ll let you know how you’re doing. Don’t overthink this, Mr Rice.’
‘But you’re a shr– a psychiatrist,’ he quickly corrected himself. ‘Aren’t you supposed to ask me questions and give me some guidance, stuff like that?’
‘You are not here as a patient. You are here as a healthy and capable individual, who has been given an opportunity to improve your situation and hopefully excel in the future. I recommend you take advantage of it. Follow me.’
Reluctantly Emil trailed Dr Harold down a hall that reeked of industrial-strength pine cleaner to a supply room, where puke-green scrubs were stacked on a counter.
‘Here’s your uniform. Feel free to change as often as necessary. This can be a dirty job.’
