by Kirk Jockell
Stone said, “Go on. Tell us what happened.”
Nigel said, “I need to do something first. I have something to say and you have to promise me you will air it. It can’t be edited out. It is that important to me.”
Stone smiled and said, “I promise. The floor belongs to you tonight.”
The camera zoomed in on Nigel’s face and he said, “I love you, Candice.” As he paused, she gasped and choked. The tears were again rushing down her face. “If you are watching, it’s important that you know that. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. I wanted to insulate you from my past. I didn’t want to start something I wouldn’t be able to finish.”
He laughed a little and said, “I tried to resist you, but you were so damn persistent. I couldn’t help myself. You probably never realized it, but I surrendered myself to you long ago. I gave you my soul. And now, I sit here empty because you are not here.”
Candice never took her eyes off the screen. It was as if the others weren’t even in the room. She nodded, and, through the tears, tried to make a joke of her own. She spoke to Nigel on the screen and said, “I know. I’m irresistible that way.” For a brief moment, she laughed at herself but stopped when he started talking again.
“I’m sorry for putting you through this. I’m so sorry for the pain I have caused. I’m so sorry. But I’m not sorry for what I have done. I would do it all over again, because, as strange as it all sounds, it ultimately brought me to you. It didn’t take long before I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life by your side. But that isn’t possible. I love you Candice. I will miss everything about you. I just wanted you to know that.”
As Stone continued the interview, nobody was paying attention to the screen. All wet eyes were on Candice. They each searched their minds for the right thing to say, but came up empty. Candice was wiping her eyes and blowing her nose when she felt something nudge her lap. It was Maxine. Candice broke the tension in the room when she said, “Hello, Maxi. Are you ready for your PBR?”
She looked at Luke and said, “It’s in the cooler along with a bowl. Do you mind getting it for her? I think I’m going home.”
Luke said, “Sure.”
Everyone rose as she stood and headed toward the door. As she reached for the handle, Red said, “If you need anything ... you know that right?”
She nodded her head. Trixie said, “We love you.”
Candice smiled and disappeared out the door.
Judgement Day
There were four of them in the room: Logan, Hawkins, DA James, and one of his clerks. The DA started off pushing for life without parole. Hawkins stood up and said, “Oh shit, you got to be kidding me? That’s how you want to start things? Well, screw you.” Hawkins got up and looked at Nigel and said, “Get a good night’s sleep, shipmate. We’ll see these assholes in court.”
James said, “Do you want to do that? He confessed.”
“Confessed? To who?” Hawkins looked at Nigel and asked, “Have you told them anything yet?”
Nigel said nothing.
“That’s what I thought,” said Hawkins. Then he looked back at the DA and said, “Oh … The news reporter interview thingy. Shit, that’s no confession. Hell, you don’t even have a copy of it. They could have been talking needlepoint and lemon pie recipes. And even if Logan did spill a bunch of beans, it doesn’t mean anything. Shit … My client is an egotistical, habitual liar when it comes to the ladies, especially when they look as hot as, umm … umm…” He was snapping his fingers trying to remember.
The DA’s clerk said, “Stone. Sherry Stone.”
Hawkins snapped his fingers one last time and pointed to the clerk. “That’s the one. Sherry Stone.”
The clerk received a scalding look from his boss as Hawkins continued, “That boy right there will literally do, or say anything, if he thinks he can work his way into some sugar britches.” He stopped and turned to Nigel and asked, “By the way…,” He made a pumping motion with his fist and continued, “how did that work out for you? Were you able to…”
Nigel finally broke his silence and said, “Hawk! That’s enough.”
The DA was able to sneak a few words in and added, “I couldn’t agree more, Mr. Logan.”
“Call me, Chief,” said Nigel.
Hawkins dismissed his client with a wave of the hand and said, “Okay. You can tell me later.” He turned his attention back to the DA and said, “It doesn’t matter anyway. We’re not taking your deal, which isn’t exactly a deal, now is it?”
“What do you propose?” asked James.
“Second-degree murder and five years.”
The DA laughed and said, “That’s ridiculous.”
“Almost as ridiculous as your offer, Patrick. Wouldn’t you say, huh?”
“Please. Take your seat.”
Stretched across the left breast of his international orange jumper was his last name; under that was 23-ZA-973. Nigel found his new digs comfortable. In the Navy, they were blue and called a Poopy Suit, an alternative to dungarees or working khakis. Nigel was sitting on his bunk reading and laughing his way through The Man Who Invented Florida, a Randy Wayne White novel.
Since beginning his twenty-five-year sentence, Nigel felt it would be important to stay as connected to Florida as possible. He did so vicariously through works of fiction and other books about the Sunshine State. He typed Books about Florida by Florida Writers into the Google search box. A host of possibilities filled the screen. He printed a list of authors and then began to search the prison library system. He found a few titles by White, as well as Carl Hiaasen, John D. MacDonald, Michael Lister, and a few others.
He started and enjoyed the John Jordan series by Lister. But Lister lives in Wewahitchka, Florida, the little town just north of Port St. Joe. And while his tales take place in a setting with fictional names, Nigel recognized too many descriptions that reminded him of home. He had to put them down, temporarily anyway.
He fell in love with the Doc Ford novels of Randy Wayne White and the wacky Skink series and other titles by Hiaasen. The problem was the selection in the library was limited, and it didn’t take him long to burn through what was available. Nigel asked the librarian about obtaining more books and received laughter as an answer. Books cost money, and taxpayers didn’t give a shit about the reading needs of inmates. Nigel asked, “What if I buy them and donate them to the shelf after I get through reading them?”
That’s what he was reading now, one of three new titles he had purchased: Two Whites, one Hiaasen.
Nigel was deep into his reading. A smile on his face. Reading was the only comfort and enjoyment he could find in prison. He liked to exercise as well, but reading was the perfect escape from his neighbors and the concrete box he slept in each night. Each book brought endless hours of being lost in other worlds, not his own. He was thankful for being a slow reader.
His thoughts and memories, of home and Red and Trixie and everyone else, always made him smile. He especially missed Candice. He cherished every letter from her. But, unlike the books, they weren’t fiction. They were real, and the realness of his circumstances always settled into a sadness that found no boundaries. And he missed his boat, MisChief. He often wished that he had grabbed Candice in the middle of the night and set a fast, close reach for distant horizons. They could have started another life. But he didn’t.
Instead, Nigel was flipping pages, lost in the wacky discovery of Florida’s hidden gem: The Fountain of Youth. Doc Ford’s insane Uncle Tucker was setting out to change the face of the Sunshine State. Nigel read with a smile until a nightstick tapped on the bars. “Logan! You got a visitor.”
“Who is it?”
“How the hell would I know? What do you think I am, your damn secretary or something?”
Logan was led to the visitor’s room where tables were scattered about, separated enough to give the impression of privacy, but not really. The guard at the door said, “Table sevente
en, Logan.”
Logan gave the guard an inquisitive look.
“He requested it.”
Nigel scanned the room and found a thick stream of cigarette smoke rising to the ceiling. He made his way over to the table, sat down, and said, “You should really make an appointment from now on. You never know how busy I might be.”
His attorney laughed and said, “I figured I would take my chances. Jesus Christ! What happened to you?”
By instinct Nigel reached up to feel what was left of the swollen mouse under his left eye. He looked around the room to see if anyone was paying attention and said, “I fell down.”
“Damn, boy. You should be more careful.”
“You should tell that to the other guy. He looks like he fell off a building.”
Hawkins raised up his hands and didn’t say anything.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Hawkins handed him an invoice for services. Logan looked it over and said, “What the hell is this?” He slung the paper back at Hawkins. “I paid you, bitch. Cash money, remember?”
“Yes ... I remember. I put in a little overtime.”
Hawkins crushed his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray and reached for his pack. He offered a cigarette to Nigel, but received a you’re an idiot look in return. As he lit his new cig, Nigel asked, “So what’s this all about? Why are you here?”
Hawkins chuckled and said, “You’re gonna love this shit, brother,” as he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a document and placed it on the table. Nigel picked it up as it was slid toward him.
He looked it over, front and back. It was a Voter Registration Application from the Virginia Department of Elections. Then he looked at Hawkins and said, “What the hell? Is this some kind of sick joke or something?”
“In a way, yeah,” said Hawkins. “It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s also the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen too.”
“You’re not making a lick of sense, Hawk.”
Two more documents, letters, were produced from the briefcase. Hawkins looked them over one last time before handing them to Nigel. “Merry Christmas, Motherfucker.”
“You’re a few months early, aren’t you?”
Nigel hesitated, but Hawkins shook the papers in his face, “Take ‘em. Read ‘em, you dumb shit.”
He did. The first letter was from the Governor’s Office. It was addressed to him, but it wasn’t really a letter. It was more of a campaign pitch. He looked up at his attorney and said, “The son of a bitch is asking for my support and vote. What is he, a moron or something?”
Hawkins laughed and said, “Yeah, but don’t be so quick to judge. Read carefully.”
He did, but nothing made any sense. He read through the important parts again.
It gave me great pleasure to restore your status as a whole citizen of Virginia. I hope you will enjoy your new freedom and exercise your voice on election day. Please do not hesitate. You can only vote your conscience if you register. For your convenience, I have included a Virginia Voter Registration Application. It is my hope that you will use it and support my re-election.
Nigel looked over the top of the letter. Hawkins was grinning from ear to ear. Nigel said, “This guy is a moron! And that smile on your face doesn’t make you look much smarter.”
Hawkins kept grinning. “Look at the other letter, asshole.”
Nigel shuffled the pages and began to read through the other letter. This one was from the Secretary of the Commonwealth of Virginia. He read through it three times. It didn’t make any sense either. He read through it again. He was shaking his head, not believing or quite understanding what he was looking at. He looked at Hawkins and said, “What does this mean?”
Hawkins snatched the letter from Nigel’s hands, slammed it on the table, and began pointing to the letter saying, “That’s why you pay me the big bucks, to explain the obvious. Did you not see this part?” Hawkins pounded his index finger on the letter. “It says, ‘Absolute Pardon.’ What’s so hard to understand? You’re getting out, bitch!”
Nigel’s head was spinning. What? It was more information than he could wrap his head around. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Minutes earlier he was planning his reading list for what he expected to be the better part of the rest of his life, and now he was being told he was a free man. He looked at Hawkins and said, “You’re not real. None of this is. It’s a goddamn dream, and when I wake up, I’ll be back in my cell looking at concrete and steel.”
Hawkins took a long drag on his Camel and flicked the ashes in the ashtray. Then he made a swift move and tapped Nigel’s bare arm with the red-hot burning end. Nigel jumped back and out of his chair. “Fuck, Hawk! What the hell are you doing?”
Hawkins took another deep pull on his cigarette and exhaled, saying, “Waking your ass up.”
Nigel sat back down rubbing his arm and said, “Is this for real?” Then his mind shifted to the burn on his arm. “You asshole. That goddamn hurt.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah,” said Hawkins. He picked up the invoice and shook it in the air. “You can thank me later.”
Nigel rubbed his arm and said nothing. He listened as Hawkins explained.
“I guess when you checked out of Virginia, you really shut the door behind you, huh?”
Nigel said nothing.
“Anyway ... while you’ve been playing on the beach, it’s been a caustic election year here in Virginia, especially with the Governor’s race. The current communist administration has been an absolute nightmare.” Under his breath he said, “Goddamn Democrats.” And shook his head and continued. “Well, thankfully, his popularity polls have been in the tank all year. There didn’t seem to be any path to re-election. There was no way to recover, so do you know what the corrupt fucker did?”
Nigel shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea.”
“Man. You really have been living in a cave. So, check this out, with a swipe of a signature he tried to pardon and restore the voting rights to some 200,000 convicted felons that had served their time. He did this a few months back, but the State Supreme Court smacked his hand, and in so many words said, ‘Hey, dipshit. You can’t do that. Every pardon must be looked at individually.’
“When I heard about this, I called an old girlfriend that works in the Office of Pardons. I asked about it, and she gave me the scoop. Basically, she said the dirty bastard was trying to find any vote he could, and he wasn’t giving up, even with the Supreme Court decision. She said he was initiating an auto-signature system that would allow him to sign off on every pardon individually. Doing so would legally satisfy the requirement to consider each case independently and bypass the court’s admonishment.”
“You got to be shitting me,” said Nigel.
“I wouldn’t shit you. You’re my favorite turd.”
“Okay then, if he did this for people that have already served their time, how does it affect me?”
“Good question.” Hawkins lit another cigarette. “As the mass numbers go, it affected those that had already served. That’s where he would get the biggest bang for his buck. But it could also apply to pardon applications already in the system for consideration.”
Nigel thought about that for a beat or two and said, “So you...”
Hawkins cut him off. “...submitted an application for an absolute pardon. Hell, I submitted an application for every level of pardon there is. I did it the day after they locked you up.”
Hawkins leaned forward and used his fingers to wave Nigel in closer. In a much lower voice he said, “Actually you don’t qualify for an absolute pardon. They’re quite rare. Reserved for those that pleaded not guilty and have exhausted all their other appeal rights.”
Again, Nigel said, “So you...” And again, he was cut off.
“...filed it anyway. Shit ... the system is so big and clumsy. I figured I’d let them figure it out.”
It still didn’t seem real. Nigel refused to let hi
mself enjoy any of the news. He would reserve that for when, or if, he stepped outside the walls and fences that contained him. He looked around the room at all the other inmates that were visiting loved ones. For a brief moment, he felt some guilt, but he decided he would reserve that until he was free. He looked back at his attorney and asked, “So when do I get out?”
“Today.”
“Today?”
Hawkins lowered his voice some more. “It’s an absolute pardon, Nigel. It means the system recognizes your innocence. You committed no crime. And they can’t keep an innocent man behind bars.”
Still in disbelief, Nigel shook his head. “Hawk? How could they screw something up so badly in my favor? How could the Governor accept and grant me such a pardon, if I don’t qualify?”
Hawkins sat back up. He was grinning from ear to ear again. He started gathering up all the paperwork, except the invoice, and packed it away in his briefcase. He handed that to Nigel and said, “You said it best. He’s a fucking moron!”
That was enough to bring Nigel a little bit closer to the reality of being free, and they both busted out in laughter.
Nigel never went back to his cell. There was nothing back there but bad memories and misery, both of which he quickly dismissed and no longer needed. The books were going to stay anyway.
It took a couple of hours for the system to wade through the administrative procedures to release him. Nigel thought that at any minute someone was going to realize the error and say Now hold on one damn minute. But they didn’t, possibly because Hawkins was such an obnoxious distraction. He had the clerks and the rest of the warden’s staff in a tizzy. He never shut up.
Nigel sat with his eyes closed in quiet patience. He tried his best to ignore Hawkins, but like everyone else in the room, he could not deny Hawk’s presence. Nigel cringed when he heard Hawkins say, “Jesus Christ! What the hell is taking so long? Hey you ... over there. Yeah, I’m talking to you. Could you tell me why my goddamn client’s civil liberties are still being violated? He’s an innocent man, dammit.”
