by Nesly Clerge
“That’s not why some of the guys in here usually end up in there.”
Luke needed no clarification. His body shivered harder.
The CO stopped at an open cell in Block D. “Here we are. Your new residence. Unless we move you.”
“Move me to where?”
“Another cell.”
“You mean, in case I have problems with my cellmate.”
“Or just because.”
“Because of what?”
The CO shrugged. “I do what I’m told. Don’t need to know why for something like that. Top bunk’s taken. Bottom one’s yours. Get settled in. And don’t cause any shit.”
“I don’t intend to.”
“That’s what they all say.”
The guard left him standing in the otherwise unoccupied cell. Luke dropped his items onto the bed and sat next to them. The thin plastic-covered mattress flattened under his weight, allowing him to feel the hard surface that did a poor job of mimicking a bed.
The space comprised of concrete blocks painted dull gray was larger than the master bathroom in the house he’d shared with Brandi, but not by much. One window a few feet high and a few inches wide, centered in the back wall, provided minimal natural light.
There was a shelf on the wall at the foot of his bunk, and two small plastic desks and chairs squeezed into the space. One of them was being used by whomever occupied the upper bunk. He wanted to know who that person was—to get the introduction over with, but also dreaded it.
Luke groaned at the sight of the stainless steel toilet located at the entrance end of the cell. Noted the missing lid and seat as part of the design, as though lack of privacy wasn’t punishment enough.
Atop the toilet, as an all-in-one fixture, rested a stainless sink that might hold a quart of water. The contraption had been bolted to the floor, as well as to the small wall portion where most of the electronic gate was housed when open. Above the sink, a tiny mirror, held in place by heavy screws in the concrete wall, hung at a slightly crooked angle. He backed up to the distance he’d have to go if he ever wanted to see his entire face at once again.
Luke shuddered and began to put his items away, clothing on the shelf, toiletries on the desk.
“They told me I’d get a new cellmate today.”
Luke swiveled and took in the short, scrawny man with a blond crew cut and light brown eyes. Unsure about handshake protocol, he kept his hands at his side. “Luke Thompson.”
“Chris Cage. People call me Chunky.”
“No offense, but you’re anything but that.”
Cage chuckled. “I know, right? People here got a twisted sense of humor, if they got a sense of humor. Some of them got none. Best to learn who they are, fast, and avoid them, if they let you. What’d you do before you landed in this oasis?”
“Author. Novelist, to be specific. What about you?”
“Jockey.” Cage sauntered to his chair and plopped into it. He propped his feet on Luke’s bunk. “Who’d you kill?”
“What makes you think I killed anyone?”
“You’re here, aren’t you? Okay, I’ll go first. I took out another jockey.”
“Why?”
“He was screwing my wife. Your turn.”
CHAPTER 158
Luke stalled giving an answer. He continued placing items on the desk, as though their exact position was paramount. If he lied and was found out, it could mean trouble. If he told the truth, he might get the same result. Cage was half his size. Unless the guy was some kind of Ninja or knifed him in his sleep, he could handle him. But Cage might have large friends. Better to get it over with. No harm in fudging the truth a bit, for safety’s sake.
“I contributed to the death of the estranged husband of the woman who was the love of my life. He’d already hurt her and had killed his brother in a fit of rage. I wasn’t going to wait for him to do that to her.”
“You’re a writer, all right. You used a lot of words slanted to your advantage. So, you’re that guy.”
Luke stopped what he was doing and faced Cage. “You know about me?”
“Some of us watch the news and read the papers. We like to be informed about who might be joining our exclusive club here.”
“Should I expect trouble because of what I did?”
Cage grinned. “Not from me. I try to stay out of trouble, but I’m usually around when there’s a show.”
Luke leaned against the desk. “Should I expect a ‘show’?”
“Guess we’ll see.”
“Who here would have a reason to confront me? I don’t know anyone here.”
“Ever heard of Frederick Starks?”
“The name is vaguely familiar.”
“It may become more than familiar.”
“Why? What reason could he have to be concerned with me?”
“Hall was his friend.”
CHAPTER 159
Luke stood at the entrance to the cell and peered into the corridor. Several inmates watched him—one smirked at him. Others ignored him. “Is Starks in this Block?”
“Next one over. Block C.”
“That’s something, at least.”
“Don’t mean shit. And don’t stand there looking around. Damn. You got a lot to learn. Guess it’s up to me to teach you so you don’t invite trouble into my cell.”
“You said Starks and Hall were friends. Good friends or casual acquaintances?”
“Pretty good, from what I understand.”
The loudspeaker crackled and an authoritative voice barked, “On the count.”
Luke looked at Cage. “What does that mean?”
“As I said, you got a lot to learn, fish.”
“Fish?”
“New inmate.”
“Why fish?”
“’cause new guys are like fish in a barrel. Easy to get to. Follow me.”
Luke bumped into Cage when he stopped just outside the cell.
Cage pointed. “Stand there. The count is when they count heads. Unless you got official permission to be somewhere else, you gotta be right here at eight, eleven, three, and six every day. They do a count at ten, once we’re locked in for the night.”
Luke glanced around, attempting not to return the stares aimed at him. Two correctional officers came around the corner. One held a clipboard, the other carried a small box. As the CO with the clipboard checked off names, the other CO handed out mail. Or didn’t.
Cage received a letter. Grinning, he waved it at Luke. “From my wife.”
“She stays in contact with you?”
“You bet. Says I proved my love for her.”
“Do you get conjugal visits?”
“Nah. Only a few states allow them. This ain’t one of them.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah. I should have thought of that. What about the Hall widow? She going to visit and write to you?”
“I hope so.”
“Long as her name’s on the calls and visitors’ lists, she can see you and you can call her. If she visits, and Starks is in the room, I’d pay money to see that.
“Good. Count’s over. We got about a half hour before we amble our way toward the chow hall. You’re in for a treat, there.”
Luke started to follow Cage into the cell but stopped. “There’s an inmate at the end of the corridor watching me.”
“Does he look pissed?”
“No. Just intent.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Between my height and yours. More slender than not. Dark wavy hair worn short. Dragon tattoo that runs from his hand up under his shirtsleeve.”
“That would be Starks.”
CHAPTER 160
If three weeks already seemed like three years, life was going to be unbearable. Luke had asked about the possibility of parole. Maybe in ten years, maybe in twenty, he’d been told, if his record at Sands was blemish-free.
It had taken only a day to discover money, even inside a maximum security prison, was a necessity. One trip to the cho
w hall had changed his mind about ever going there again, or at least, for as long as possible. Not only was the food inedible, the energy of the dining hall crackled with pent-up negativity.
Sandwiches sold through the commissary, with their thin slices of white bread and one paper-thin slice of ham or turkey, was what he chose to make do with. He’d never eaten so poorly in his life. Even in harder times, he could get a bag of beans to simmer and fresh fruit, even if bruised and dented, at a local open market.
Extra money or exchanges for packaged foods, toiletries, or other goods had kicked into gear soon after some of the inmates learned he was a writer. His skills were respected, as well as needed. The demand for assistance with letters to loved ones, enemies, lawyers, and more created a near-constant stream of inmates to his cell.
His goal of working on a novel crashed and burned when he found out Starks worked in the library, the only place where computers were available for inmates’ usage. Until he learned which days Starks didn’t have a shift. Even that was tricky, because the schedule could be inconsistent. So far, he’d managed to delay what he believed to be inevitable interaction.
Luke kept to himself as much as possible. He went to the commissary when it was necessary to restock food items, checking first to make sure Starks wasn’t in there. The shower room was avoided altogether. It took only one time of getting as far as several feet past the entrance to hastily turn around. The two inmates engaged in a sexual act hadn’t so much as flinched when he’d walked in. Not to mention the strong bleach odor, which Cage informed him was the only way to clean the blood off the tiles that resulted from fights and executions that sometimes occurred.
It was the same for the laundry room, which was no safer than any other enclosed space in the building. There was a prominence of brown splotches on two walls in a corner of the room that had yet to be painted over. He recognized dried blood when he saw it, but tamped down any curiosity about how it got there.
Body and clothes were washed at the tiny lavatory in his cell. Cage told him he’d have to get over himself eventually, or risk being marked as a wimp, and wimps didn’t do well inside.
Luke lay on his bunk, thinking about what he would have been, should have been, doing instead on a typical Saturday morning. He’d usually be getting ready to go to his restaurant shift that would last into the evening, when diners were plenty and tips were generous.
Cage yawned and jumped down from the upper bunk. “I’m going to see what’s happening in the yard. Maybe someone’s got a basketball game going. What about you?”
“I’ll stay here.”
“You’ll have to mix with the guys eventually.”
“I mix with those who need my services. And so far, my self-imposed near-isolation is working for me.”
“Only a matter of time before someone approaches you to see what you’re made of. Or for sex.”
“I’m not interested in either.”
“Never said interest was a requirement.” Cage stretched his arms over his head. “Later.”
Luke sat up and positioned himself at the narrow window. His view included a guard tower and a twenty-foot concrete wall painted white, topped with numerous interwoven strands of three-foot-high steel razor wire.
He reached under his pillow for the letter he’d received from Tim that week. His first and only correspondence with anyone from the world he used to inhabit. The paper already showed wear from being read first thing every morning, multiple times while in his cell, and last thing at night.
The knot in his throat returned as he read his son’s words—How could you do this to me, Why’d you leave me alone with Mom. And, Miss you, Dad. He’d tried calling Tim a few times, but Tina prevented him from talking to his son. She refused the collect calls, whether they came to her cell phone or the landline in her apartment. The woman’s cruelty was stunning, but thankfully, could last only until Tim was old enough to move out.
He went to his desk, took a sheet of paper from his small stack and began to write. The brief letter went into an envelope, which he sealed. He’d just added Tim’s name to the front when a nightstick struck the cell door.
“Thompson.”
Luke looked toward the entrance. “Yes, Officer?”
“Visitor. Get your shoes on and get going.”
“Who is it?”
“Do you care?”
“I might.”
“That makes one of us.” The guard turned to leave.
“Wait.” Luke slid his feet into the lace-less tennis shoes and grabbed the envelope from his desk. “Where do I go?”
“You go with me.”
Luke wanted to scream at the CO’s unhurried pace. He was desperate to know who’d made the trip to see him.
After what seemed an hour of twists and turns and off-handed comments to inmates and other COs, the guard stopped at the entrance to the visitors’ room. “No physical contact. Behave yourself.”
“Of course.” Luke stepped into the room and scanned the faces of those seated in beige vinyl chairs positioned around beige vinyl tables. He found his guest, next to the wall at the right, waving and trying to look unaffected by the surroundings and the people.
He wound his way through the tables, his smile broad. “James.”
CHAPTER 161
Luke extended his hand then drew it back. “I guess handshaking is considered physical contact.”
James nodded. “I got the drill as I was being patted down after emptying my pockets and being scanned.”
“Sorry you had to go through that. But I’m glad to see you. More than you know.”
“I’d have been here sooner, but the vetting process took awhile. Good thing I’ve kept my record clean. Shit. Sorry, dude.”
“It’s okay. How are things at the restaurant?”
James shook his head. “I’m embarrassed to tell you.”
“That bad?”
“The opposite. People wait hours for a table. We had to start making reservations all the time. We’re booked solid for a couple months. Almost no one cancels. It’s the sensationalism. You know?”
“Because of me.”
“Your regulars aren’t happy you’re gone, but they show up to brag about how they knew you when.”
“If you’re bringing in more money, I can live with that.”
“I warned the wait staff not to get used to it. The novelty will wear off, and it’ll be back to business as usual.” James glanced around. “You doing okay in here?”
“I’m coping.” They sat in silence for a few moments. Luke pulled the envelope from his shirt pocket. “Do me a favor. Somehow get this to Tim. Tina’s preventing me from speaking with him, so I’m not certain she’d give him any letters from me.”
Luke tapped the envelope. “I told him I’ll mail my letters to him in care of you, at your home address. I hope that’s okay.”
“I’ll see that he gets them, whatever it takes. I’ll keep an eye on the little dude.”
Tears welled in Luke’s eyes. He looked away, cleared his throat and said, “Knowing he can rely on you will make my time here easier.”
“I’ll make sure he knows he can contact me anytime, if there’s anything I can do for him. Or if he wants to talk or get away from Tina for a while.”
Luke pressed his fingers against his eyelids. “Talk about irony. I was hard on Tim because I was afraid he’d end up in prison.” He dropped his hands to his lap. “I made the biggest mistake of my life when I decided to end Garrett Hall.”
“That was the second biggest mistake. The first was when you got involved with his wife.”
Luke shook his head. “I’ll never agree with that. You’ll never understand what we had, what we were meant to have together.”
“You got involved in a cluster-fuck, dude. I know you don’t like hearing that, but it’s a fact.”
“When I’m not thinking about Tim, I’m thinking about Chelsea. Missing them is an ache so deep, I can’t reach it. The void inside me exp
ands every day. I’m afraid that one day I’m going to disappear into that emptiness.”
“Man, I tried to tell you that was a pit waiting to swallow you. And it did.”
“It isn’t her fault. It’s all on me.”
“I know you want to believe that. Maybe I’ll let you, if it does something for you. But you have got to get over her. You don’t have a choice.”
A skirmish erupted on the other side of the room. Guards rushed to pull the inmates apart.
James, motionless, watched with wide eyes. “That shit happens often?”
“I don’t know. You’re my first visitor, and I stay as much to myself as possible.”
“I hear that.”
“My cellmate says my isolation has a shelf life.” Luke faced James. “The only time I’m not terrified is when I’m asleep.”
“Understandable. But, you’re a big dude. Bigger than or big as some of these guys or the ones I saw on my way into this room.”
“Size counts for only so much here. I’m not going to repeat the stories I’ve heard.”
“Don’t. It’ll shrivel my boys. Still, you won’t bother anyone. No reason for any of them to bother you.”
“It doesn’t work that way inside, from what I’m told.” Luke leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I said I’m terrified. It’s more than that. I discovered on my first day that Frederick Starks is here.”
“That supposed to mean something to me?”
“He and Hall were friends. As in close friends.”
“Shit.”
“I don’t know that I’ll be given the chance to serve my life sentence. Every morning I get out of bed, I don’t know that I’ll be given the chance to live through the day.”
James rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Give Tim my letter. I need him to know how sorry I am, how sorry I am to have brought shame to our family. He’ll read it, but tell it to him from me. It may make a difference if you say you saw me.”
James shook his head. “I’ll tell him. But, Luke, you gotta get some protection in here.”
“How exactly do I do that?”
“Hell if I know. But you gotta hang in there, man. If the fear keeps you sharp, that’s one thing. If it keeps you from being able to act, if you need to, that’s no good.”
