Trusting Evil

by Mary Leo

  I know he’s smiling, reflecting on the power of it all. “Can I depend on you? Or am I playing the chump? I don’t know. Once you get that tape in your hands, who knows what you’ll do. Why should I trust you today, when I couldn’t yesterday?”

  I drop my towel and step into the shower with him. “Because I said so, that’s why.” I tease.

  He smiles that little boy grin and pulls me in close. The water rushes over me. Warm silk. I’m at once aroused. Makes me feel all tingly and new.

  “Yeah? Well, okay then. Whatever you say, Ginger,” he says and twirls me around.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Can’t seem to shake all that lovemaking loose. I keep hitting the replay button in my head trying to figure out what it was all about. Why I’m feeling so good? Why I’m thinking about kids and houses? I find myself drifting back to various moments of the night and the morning and not paying much attention to the now. As if now is an intrusion. Who cares about inmates and movies at a time like this? We could be back at the motel, lying in bed, whispering romance. I keep watching Mike. The way he moves, walks, laughs, speaks. And how absolutely handsome he is: the curve of his neck, that prominent jaw, his soft lips. The way his face glows when he smiles, his muscular shoulders, chest, and his hands…those long sensual fingers, his soft touch. Maybe we can go back to the motel during our lunch break.

  We’re in F-house, waiting around in between takes. I’m sitting behind a small table we set up just in front of the long ramp down to the showers.

  Mike’s been restless all morning. Pacing. Arguing with an AD. Guess all that sex has made him jumpy. Captain Bob approaches. “Afternoon, Captain,” I say, smiling. He ignores me. Maybe he didn’t hear me. “How’s it going, Captain Bob?” I ask, louder now, staring right at him, he at me. Still no sign of recognition. He continues on by. Probably has something on his mind. I’m anxious to find out when he’s going to pass me the tape so I can get it out of here. Drive back to the city. Make some phone calls. Set up meetings.

  Vivian walks over to me carrying a stack of magazines. For some reason I don’t have the need to cringe every time she comes near. We’ve been having a conversation about some magazine that she loves called Country Living. She went off about an hour ago to get me a copy from her office. I guess she found more than one.

  “Here we go,” she announces, carefully placing each one down on the folding table in front of us. “Sorry it took so long. Had to sort through a couple stacks to find my special issues. And look what I found. Some of these are my most favorite ever. My kitchen looks just like the one on page forty-seven of the May issue. As soon as I saw it, I knew I just had to have it.” She opens the magazine to the right page. I have to admit it’s a pretty nice kitchen: open cupboards, yellow and white tiles, wooden floors, window over the sink. Always thought there should be a window over the kitchen sink. A daydream window.

  “My husband and I had to break out a wall to put in the window, but I think a woman needs a window over her sink, don’t you?”

  This is getting pretty spooky. “Yes,” I answer, almost delighted by our being in sync. “And this is for you, Vivian. I thought you might like to hang it in your office.” I hand her an autographed picture of Arnold.

  “Oh my gosh!” she squeals. “Oh my gosh! This can’t be for me. Oh my gosh!”

  “Yes, Vivian. It’s even got your name on it, if you can read his writing.”

  “Oh it does.” She stares down at the black and white 8x10 glossy. “This is so very wonderful. I don’t know what to say. Thank you so very, very much.” She gives me a hug. I actually hug her back. Feels kind of good. All this euphoria over a picture.

  “You’re welcome, Vivian.”

  “Oh, my gosh!” she says and clutches it to her heart.

  I got the autographed picture this morning while she was off looking for magazines and I was thinking about what I could do for her. She’s been so helpful to us. No big deal. Just a little token.

  Mike suddenly appears behind me. “We have to talk,” he grumbles.

  I turn to look at him. At once, I can tell by the look on his face that something’s wrong. But then Mike always overreacts.

  “Take a deep breath. Everything’s going to be fine,” I tell him and reach up to brush away his hair from his forehead. He pushes my hand away.

  Mike turns to Vivian, “This is private. Would you mind?”

  “Oh, dear me, no,” she squeaks, and picks up her precious magazines. “I’ll just put these back in my office where they’ll be safe. Carly, you can come by anytime and I’ll show you the September issue. It’s my new living room. And thank you again for the autographed picture of Arnold. I never could have asked him myself. You’re such a little doll.”

  We watch her waddle off. When she gets a safe distance away, Mike scolds me. “I warned you not to trust him. It’s gone. Can’t find it anywhere.”

  The words stick in my mouth, don’t want to say what I’m thinking. “What’s gone?”

  He looks panicked. Never seen him so tight. He speaks with a deliberateness I’ve haven’t heard before, “The videotape is missing and the Captain’s suddenly playing dumb. Won’t even talk to me.”

  My stomach tightens. Can’t believe what he just said. There must be some mistake. “What do you mean?”

  “We kept it hidden in that room you were in, behind one of the old filing cabinets in a crack in the wall and now it’s not there. I even looked in the camera thinking that I must’ve forgotten to take it out, but no go. It’s just fucking missing.”

  “Lower your voice. The Captain probably moved it. Maybe somebody was getting wise. I’ll go talk to him and straighten everything out.”

  “Shit, Carly. Do you know how dangerous this is? I should have never agreed to this. What the hell was I thinking? Fuck!” Mike smashes his fist into the table. A couple people look over at him.

  “Calm down. It’ll be all right.”

  But he doesn’t change his mood. Instead, he paces.

  I walk away, stumbling on my first step. Not quite sure of the next. Trying for certainty, finding only distrust and doubt.

  The Captain and another guard stand in front of the doorway. They’re laughing, perhaps over a joke. They both look at me as I approach.

  I nod to the other guard and ask, “Captain Bob. How’s it going?”

  “Can’t complain,” he says still smiling from the round of laughter.

  The other guard pats him on the back and announces, “Why should you complain with that promotion you just got.”

  “You got a promotion?” I ask.

  The Captain doesn’t answer me. Just smiles. His buddy continues, “Got hisself a big promotion. Assistant Warden over at Danville. A nice cushy job.”

  “Congratulations. When did all of this come about?”

  Still nothing from the Captain. The other guard continues, “Heard the news yesterday. Had no idea the man was bucking for a promotion.” The guard smiles over at Captain Bob.

  “Good, that’s good. Ummm, I’m having a problem with one of my extras. Could I talk to you about it for a moment, Captain Bob or is it Major Bob now?”

  “Sure,” he says but doesn’t move. There’s an awkward moment while the two guards wait to hear what I have to say. “Actually, it’s Mike who’s having the problem. Do you think you could come over and talk to him about it?”

  “Maybe Jose here can help you. Have to report to Warden and sign some paperwork.” He pats Jose on the back, turns and walks away from me down the tunnel. I try to follow him, but Jose stops me after I pass the open side door. “I can’t let you through this way, Ma’am. You’ll have to go around, through the main office building.”

  “But I need to talk to the Captain.”

  “Sorry. Can’t let you go through.”

  “But—”

  “Sorry, Ma’am. Can I help you with something?”

  I don’t answer. I watch as Captain Bob disappears through the metal sliding gate.<
br />
  I’m dumbfounded by his reaction to me.

  “Ma’am? Can I help you?” Jose repeats.

  “No, thanks. I’ll just wait for the Captain to return.”

  “I think he’s gonna be gone the rest of the day. Lotta red tape when you get a promotion.”

  Turning around, I head back to Mike. Walking fast now. Anger in my pace, the taste of disdain in my mouth. I start talking as I approach. “Can’t get him alone. Won’t talk. He got some big promotion. Did you know anything about it?”

  “No. He never said a word.”

  “Made him a Major. He’s moving to Danville.”

  “Danville. Fuck. This is not good, Carly.” Mike shuffles his feet and runs a hand through his hair. Tension turns his face crimson.

  “Are you sure it’s gone? Did you really look?” I’m shaking now.

  “What do you take me for?”

  Pacing, I try to understand what’s going on. Try to deal in reason rather than panic. “Maybe he took it out last night. Had an opportunity and moved on it.”

  “Carly, it’s too dangerous for him. Especially now. We’re the only ones who can get it out.”

  I wrap my arms around my stomach, holding back the pain.

  Mike says, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Okay, let’s calm down. Maybe he just moved it or maybe the heat’s on him and we’ve got to hang cool for awhile. I trusted this guy. There’s got to be something to that, right? I’m a good judge of character. For now we should just wait. He’ll come around.”

  “Okay. Calm down.” He takes in a breath. “You’re right. He’ll probably come over and talk to us after he signs his paperwork. He’s just busy right now, that’s all.”

  “Right. Let’s just concentrate on what we have coming up tomorrow. Give him a couple hours.”

  “Okay, let’s see.” Mike rummages through some papers on the table, finds what he needs and starts talking again. That’s all it is now, just talk. “We need four or five guys to be sitting and standing around a couple tables. You want to handle that?”

  “Yeah. Sure,” I tell him, but I’m not really listening to what he’s saying or what I’m answering. I have to leave. Have to find the Captain. Have to talk to him.

  I take off. Mike calls out after me but it’s as if he’s down in a canyon somewhere and I can only hear the last echo. Not his real voice, only an echo. Not going to react to an echo.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  I tried to get information out of some of the other guards about the Captain’s promotion, but they didn’t seem to know anything about it. After a couple hours of waiting around, I decided to wait outside in my car for him to come out. Eventually all the other guards came out, but no Captain

  It’s late now and black as coal dust outside. I don’t like the night. Can’t see my blue sky. Like somebody dropped a curtain over me and I’m trying to peek out through a million tiny white holes. Suffocating.

  Need another smoke.

  I light a new cigarette with the butt of the last one. Been chain smoking for a couple hours now, getting more and more nervous, anxious. Can’t get out of the car. Not safe out there.

  I drive around the parking lot, checking on his car. Still there. Been doing this on and off all day. Looking. Watching. Waiting. No Captain. Have to get out and ask about him again.

  I park as close as I can and run to the Visitor’s Center. Nothing can get me if I run.

  A guard who happens to know something tells me that the Captain left early today. Wasn’t feeling good. A buddy picked him up. Sometime just after the lunch.

  I arrive at the Captain’s house without memory of the drive, pull up to the curb across the street from his house, slide the gears into park and get out slamming the door behind me. Bob must have heard me pull up or been waiting for me, because my feet barely hit pavement when he pulls me back against my car and swings around in front of me. His body forces me in tight against my car. I see rage in his eyes. He says, “Go home, Carly. It’s over.”

  The sour stench of whiskey overpowers me.

  He’s drunk.

  “I’ll go home when I have the video,” I tell him, matching his rage.

  “There is no video. I destroyed it.”

  I lash out at him, hitting his face, scratching at his eyes. “You’re lying,” I scream. He grabs my wrist and somehow manages to open the car door. I’m forced inside then he slides in behind the steering wheel almost crushing me. I move over to the passenger seat. I’m still grabbing at him. Yelling.

  He pulls my hair. My head jerks back. “Stop,” he orders, then slaps me.

  I can’t stop even though the left side of my face is on fire. I pull at his hair with everything that’s in me. He hits me again, hard, twisting my head to the side with the impact. This time I see my blood splash across the back of the seat. Can taste the blood oozing from my nose. I let go of his hair. Everything slows down. Can’t move my hand up to my face. Can’t turn my head around. He pushes me away from him. My head hits the window. I can hear the impact but can’t feel the blow.

  He starts up my car. I want to stop him, but can’t move. We drive out of his neighborhood, down an expressway and into an empty parking lot. Blood continues to stream out of my nose. My lip begins to swell and my head aches every time I try to move it. Neither one of us says anything until he stops. Haven’t a clue as to where we are. For some reason, I’m not really scared. Too busy dealing with total contempt for this man to fear him.

  “Listen to me,” he says, grabbing my chin and turning my face towards him. I pull back a little. He lets me. “That tape can cause a lot of trouble. I had to destroy it. Do you understand me?”

  I give him a blank stare. He yells, “Do you understand me or do I have to smack you again?”

  “Yes,” I answer, emotion beginning to taking over. Wanting to cry, but forcing myself not to. “But why? You were safe. No one would know you were involved. You could have given it to me. I could have gotten it out.”

  He shakes his head. “Not gonna happen. Not ever. You have to forget about it.”

  I can’t believe he’s telling me this. Don’t want to accept it. “I thought you were different. That you wanted to change Stateville. All that crap about your father and his father. I saw sincerity in your eyes. Honesty.”

  “You saw nothing. I’m not different. Push me against the wall and I’m gonna save my own hide, not yours. Push me further and I’ll destroy what’s pushing me. You hear me, Carly?”

  He stares at me. Sweat on his face. His eyes ablaze with an anger that burns from deep within. I want to spit on him. Spit on the man I thought was like my father. How could I have been so stupid? He’s just another monster like Speck.

  “You’re no different than the rest of them. No feeling. No remorse. You’d kill me if you thought you could get away with it, but too many people saw us together. A neighbor might have seen us drive away. A kid maybe saw you push me into the car. Too bad. So tell me? Did you use that tape to get your promotion? To blackmail the warden? Is that what this was all about? Your fucking promotion?”

  He slams my head against the window again. This time I can feel the glass crack, feel my skin split. I start laughing. He yells, the veins in his neck bulging. “Shut up! You shut up or I’ll kill you. You hear me, bitch? I’ll kill you, and I don’t give a damn about who saw us.”

  I turn to look at him. “You think I’m afraid of you? Afraid to die? You must have me confused with someone else…or did you forget what you read about me?”

  His breathing slows down. He looks out the front window while he talks to me, cool-like. No emotion. “You’re right, you crazy bitch. You’ll take care of that yourself, sooner or later. Just keep your mouth shut and everything will be all right. Your sappy partner’s already agreed to be a good boy. I knew he’d be a sure bet no matter what went down. You were always the problem. But not no more. Not since we’ve been able to talk it all out like this.” He smiles over at m
e. “We have an understanding, don’t we, little Miss Hollywood?”

  I grin back at him as blood drips down the side of my face and onto my clothes. I’m hardly able to keep myself steady, my eyes open. My head aches like a hot stick is running through the side of it. I continue to grin at the prick.

  He gets out of the car, slams the door and walks away. I slide the seat back as far as it will go, turn on my side and curl up in a ball, encircling my head with my hands and arms. I concentrate on The Beatles—getting off the plane at Midway Airport at three in the morning, waving to us, some three hundred teenage girls as we scream out their names.

  “Ringo, I love you Ringo.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  July 13, 1966

  I ran all the way to Sharon’s house screaming at anyone who would listen. Of course nobody understood what I was saying, but that was because they just didn’t understand the significance of my letter. I mean, who else on this planet had a letter from Ringo? A real honest-to-goodness letter from a Beatle. Just goes to show you, it does pay to be a Catholic! What would Elaine Benaki say now? I couldn’t wait to rub it in once school started.

  Sharon lived almost a full mile away and I think I must have flown there because she was just getting back from church when I met her on her front stairs. Of course, she couldn’t understand me. My voice wouldn’t work right. The run had stolen my breath away without me even knowing.

  “What’s wrong?” she said about a couple thousand times. “What happened?”

  “It’s…it’s,” I still couldn’t get it out. Her mother came out on the porch and made me sit down on a stair and breathe into a paper bag. Once I did that a few times, I finally relaxed enough to spit out, “I got a letter from Ringo.”