Tortured Teardrops

by P. D. Workman

  Exchanging favors for Glock’s protection hadn’t been the same as putting up with Mr. Baker’s abuse. It was Tamara’s choice and she was getting a benefit in return.

  What’re you going to give me in exchange for protection?

  Tamara dragged her hand up to her face to wipe away a bead of sweat. Her stomach was starting to shake inside, but she wasn’t going to tell Durham that she was sick and couldn’t go. She had just finished telling him she was fine.

  Durham looked at her sharply at the noise of her wrist chains clinking, but didn’t say anything. He checked the ankle shackles and stepped back. Gomez was the second guard there to verify that Tamara was secure for transport. He stepped forward and checked the locks and the chains with easy familiarity.

  “You’re gonna be fine,” he told Tamara. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  Tamara nodded without speaking.

  No one’s gonna bother you if you’re my girl. Whether you’re with me or not, you’ll be safe. But that comes with a price tag.

  She had made a choice. She hadn’t had to pair up with Glock. She could have chosen one of the gangs. She could have tried to go it on her own, even if she was a naive greenie who had never even been in a fight before. Smaller than anyone else, a mere twelve years old.

  How else was she supposed to survive? She needed someone to shelter her, to teach her the unwritten protocols and politics of the block. She needed someone to show her how to hold herself, to talk, to fight when she had to. Tamara didn’t know the simplest things about eye contact, how to talk to the others when they approached her, how to deal with the constant jockeying for position in the social hierarchy at juvie. Under Glock’s protection, she’d had the time to learn all of those things.

  There are safer people to make friends with. Zobel had been the one to warn Tamara right from the start. He’d seen the bruises on her and knew where they came from. But being with Glock hadn’t been about friendship. It had been about safety. And Tamara couldn’t exactly back out of it once she understood what she’d gotten herself into.

  Being with Glock had been a choice. Tamara’s choice. Not like with Mr. Baker, where she was trapped and had no other options.

  “French.”

  Tamara startled away from the touch on her arm and looked around. She had walked all the way to the prison bus without even realizing it. Durham motioned impatiently for her to enter ahead of him. Tamara went up the stairs and he let her select her own seat, anchoring her in as usual and then going up to the front of the bus to sit where he could watch her and the other juvies headed over to the courthouse.

  Tamara stared out the window, taking deep breaths to try to ground herself in the moment. What point was there in going over the past? The choices she had made as a twelve-year-old newbie couldn’t be undone. She’d lived with the consequences. It hadn’t turned out so badly. She’d toughened up, learned to fight, learned how to stand up for herself and her rep. She never would have been able to stay out of the gangs on her own before.

  She felt sick. Gomez hadn’t let her get away with not eating before her court appearance. Not after what had happened the last time. And he forced her to drink as much water as she could, ignoring Tamara’s protests that she was going to spend all morning peeing.

  “Better than ending up in the hospital with dehydration again,” he said unsympathetically.

  He didn’t have to pee in front of strangers, locked in an open-barred cell.

  Her breakfast and all of that water was just sitting in her stomach, sloshing around when she moved. The transfer bus didn’t exactly have world-class suspension, and would bounce her around all the way to the courthouse. She was sweating, even though the morning air outside was cool.

  Tamara shifted, trying to get comfortable in the hard, beaten-up bench seat. Her chains rattled and Durham’s eyes focused on her, waiting for her to settle back in. Tamara rolled her shoulders and tried to regulate her breathing. A couple more girls were escorted onto the bus and anchored in place. The other guards left, but Durham remained watching them.

  Gomez poked his head in the door. “That’s it.”

  Durham looked at the list on his clipboard. “What about Perez?”

  “Sick. Not coming on.”

  Durham nodded. He stood up and walked down the aisle, checking each of their chains again to ensure they were anchored securely. Tamara flinched away from his touch, her stomach tight.

  “Calm down, French.”

  Because she had pulled away from him, he checked each individual chain and lock to make sure she hadn’t been trying to hide something. He couldn’t do a proper pat-down with her sitting down chained, but he did a quick check anyway, even making her take her shoes off so he could make sure she didn’t have a shiv or tool hidden there. He straightened up, looking her over once more.

  “You gonna cause me problems?” he demanded.

  If he thought she might be a security risk, he could delay the bus, take her off, have her thoroughly searched and x-rayed.

  “No, sir.”

  “What are you so jumpy about?”

  Tamara swallowed. She shrugged. “Court didn’t go so good last time. And seeing Glock.”

  “Ah.” Even though he hadn’t been there when Glock was, he had heard about her. Everybody knew about Glock and Tamara from what had happened when she was out on parole. “Not so sure about seeing your old cellie?”

  Tamara’s skin itched. She wanted to shower. She wanted to get up and move around and just shake it off. But the more she moved around, the more she attracted Durham’s attention and made him nervous about security.

  “Not just seeing her,” Tamara said. “Testifying…” She couldn’t finish the sentence and say she was testifying against Glock. She wasn’t doing anything against Glock, wasn’t trying to hurt or accuse her. Tamara was just confirming what the police already knew, that it had been Glock who had attacked McClure and Tamara was just a witness. She wasn’t there to accuse Glock, just to defend herself.

  She swallowed. She wasn’t going there to testify against Glock.

  Durham gave her one long, considering stare.

  “Can we just get going?” one of the other juvies demanded.

  Durham shrugged and turned around to walk back up to the front of the bus. He sat down and nodded to Eli that he could get under way. Eli closed the door, put the bus into gear, and they were on their way.

  The bouncing of the bus increased Tamara’s nausea and gave her a headache. She closed her eyes, but that didn’t help. She just kept seeing Glock. Her cellie. Her protector.

  Her tormentor.

  Tamara opened her eyes. She leaned her head against the window and watched the traffic go by outside the bus. A lot of people stared at the bus, goggling at the dangerous convicts on their way to the courthouse.

  Tamara was relieved when they reached the courthouse and she could finally rest from the vibrations and bouncing of the bus. She already had to use the toilet, thanks to Gomez. She waited for Durham to complete the disembark procedures to get them on their way. The other two juvies were off the bus ahead of Tamara. She sat, growing more and more uncomfortable, as they were seen to their courtrooms or waiting areas.

  Durham returned to the bus and looked at Tamara, but he didn’t immediately walk up to her to unlock her anchor.

  “Even when you’re not causing trouble, you’re causing trouble,” he complained.

  “What? I’m not doing anything!”

  “They’re not too happy about having you back here. Say we should have notified them ahead of time because you require an increased security presence. They don’t want you off the bus.”

  Tamara rolled her eyes. “I can’t exactly testify from here. I’ve got court!”

  “Well, as it turns out… you might not.”

  Tamara lifted up and dropped her hands in frustration, making the chains ring out. “You gotta get me going one direction or the other, I have to use the facilities!”
/>   He shook his head unsympathetically. “You’re going to have to wait.”

  “I’ve been waiting.”

  “You’re going to have to wait longer. Cross your legs. I can’t get you off of this bus without clearance and we can’t drive you back to juvie without clearing it on that end.”

  Tamara swore. She stared out her window at the inside of the building’s garage and loading dock. Durham got off the bus, talked to men on the loading dock, waited, talked to some more, and again waited.

  Tamara muttered to herself, in growing pain from having to wait. She’d go right there, but she would be the one who suffered, having to sit in wet clothes all day, or at least until she got back to juvie.

  Durham returned to the bus. “Okay, looks like we got permission.”

  “Hallelujah.”

  He bent down to unlock her anchor. Tamara was eager to get up, but she held herself back, waiting until he had stepped back again and was ready. Standing up right in his face and trying to push past him would only end up with her getting sprayed or tased.

  It hurt to move. Tamara hunched over a little, protecting her sore bladder, trying not to bump or stretch it any more.

  “Get me to the nearest restroom,” she told Durham.

  He looked at her. “You think I can just walk you into a public toilet? You’re going to have to wait until we’ve got you settled.”

  Tamara hunched over, pressing her hands to her thighs and trying to ease the pain and pressure. “Seriously,” she breathed, “I can’t wait.”

  “Then you’d better get moving.”

  Tamara walked with him, her steps slow and painful, knowing that if she walked too fast or relaxed her muscles, she was going to lose control. She swore steadily under her breath. Durham ignored the stream of invectives, leading her off of the bus to where three armed guards were waiting on the loading dock. Apparently, Tamara was dangerous enough to need four guards to protect the public. When all she had done when called on to testify was run away. She hadn’t exactly put anyone in the public at risk. Just one guard who happened to get in the way of her retreat.

  Walking slowly, the little entourage made their way through the dark back hallways and elevators until they reached the courtroom level. The room they entered wasn’t the same one as Tamara had waited in before, but its mirror. Tamara wondered whether it led into the same courtroom, but from the other side. She had no idea how many of the small holding areas they had in the building.

  She was shaking when they finally got her into the small cell, and the three guards plus the two who were already working in the room stood and watched as Durham unlocked Tamara’s chains and then shut the door. He checked that the barred door was latched properly and then had one of the other guards check.

  “All right, paperwork,” Durham announced, and they proceeded to exchange the various bits of documentation required to transfer her into their custody.

  “I gotta pee,” Tamara announced, hoping that at least a couple of them could leave the room. But none of them made any move to do so.

  “Go ahead,” Durham said, without looking up from his clipboard.

  Groaning to herself, Tamara did. If they all wanted a show, they were welcome to it. She wasn’t going to wait until her bladder burst like a balloon.

  Tamara prepared to wait. She sat on the hard bench in the cell, leaned back against the wall, and mentally drifted. She had no book, no TV, nothing to keep her occupied. The memories of Glock and Tamara’s early days in juvie pressed in on her. Those first few days after she was released into General Population had been cruel. She’d felt like a hunted animal, in danger at every turn. No matter where she went or what she did, she was under constant threat.

  “You want some advice?” Nadine had asked, that first day when she was so raw she didn’t even know how to avoid challenging someone with a look that was half a second too long.

  “I dunno.” Tamara had a feeling the girl was going to give it, whether she wanted it or not.

  “You got three choices. You join a gang or you get a friend who will protect you.”

  “That’s two,” Tamara pointed out.

  “Third is getting used to being beat up.”

  “Oh.”

  “You need protection if you want to survive around here.”

  Nadine’s counsel was good. Of course, one of Nadine’s functions in TMJ was to recruit new members. Her first approach was the soft touch. Feeling Tamara out and encouraging her to join up. Her subsequent attempts were not nearly so civil.

  She caught Tamara in the restroom, somewhere Tamara avoided going unless she really had no other choice.

  “Frenchie,” Nadine snapped sharply as Tamara headed for the door.

  Tamara froze and tried to figure out an avenue of escape, while remaining a healthy distance from Nadine.

  “Yeah?”

  “You made your decision yet about joining TMJ?”

  TMJ and Sharks had both made offers, both stepping up the pressure as several days passed without Tamara picking one.

  “No…” Tamara said tentatively.

  Nadine stepped forward and shoved her hard into the wall.

  “You a moron, Frenchie? Don’t you understand that I’m trying to protect you? I told you if you wanna stay safe around here, you gotta join one of the gangs. You don’t believe me, or what?” Every few words she emphasized her point with another shove, Tamara’s back, neck, and head growing sore from the abuse.

  “I understand,” she protested.

  “Then you dissing me?” Nadine slapped her across the face. “You think you’re better than me or something?”

  “No.” The slap stung. Tamara’s face throbbed.

  Nadine slapped her again. “You’re joining TMJ.”

  Tamara was ready to give in. The door opened and another girl walked in. Glock; one of the biggest, meanest girls on the block. Tamara’s heart sank. It was two-to-one. She tensed even more, feeling sick. But it was Nadine who reacted. She backed up, turned, and walked out.

  Tamara sagged against the wall, relief washing over her. She just stood there breathing, trying to calm the pounding of her heart.

  When Glock walked back out of the stall, Tamara realized that she was not out of danger. One danger had just been substituted for another. She froze where she was, measuring the distance to the door.

  “You shouldn’t be hanging around here,” Glock said flatly, washing her hands.

  Tamara tried to nod.

  “Don’t you think you’d better go?” Glock demanded.

  Tamara wanted to move. But her body was not cooperating. Frozen in place like a rabbit, hoping the predator would just miss her. Glock turned off the water and wiped her hands on her uniform, moving towards Tamara.

  “You okay?”

  Tamara nodded unsteadily. “Thanks.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You scared her off.”

  “She’s yellow. I got nothing to do with that.”

  “If you hadn’t come in…”

  “I had to take a leak. You can’t rely on dumb luck to save your butt. You gotta be smart and take care of yourself.”

  “I’m not strong enough to protect myself.”

  Glock shrugged and started to move away.

  “Are you in one of the gangs?” Tamara questioned.

  Glock shook her head. Tamara followed her, sticking close.

  “I’m a loner,” Glock said. “I don’t hang with gangs.”

  The conversation was obviously over. But Tamara wasn’t ready to be left behind. She tagged along with Glock. The bigger girl turned to her in irritation.

  “Back off, will you? I’m not looking for a lost puppy.”

  Tamara hung back a little, but still followed her.

  And that was how it had all started. One chance encounter, fortuitous timing, and Tamara had attached to Glock as her new protector. Before long, she’d been transferred to Glock’s cell.

  What’re you going to gi
ve me in exchange for protection?

  Tamara shuddered. She had done what she had to in juvie to survive. Every choice was aimed at surviving one more day. Or sometimes, just one more hour. Just like at the Bakers’, it was all about survival.

  “French, you’re up,”

  Tamara was brought out of her reverie by one of the courtroom guards. She was glad that it wasn’t Blau again. At least one thing was in her favor.

  Lunch hadn’t been offered, so it was still morning, and the room was not as hot and still as its twin had been. She’d eaten breakfast and drunk lots of water, so she would be just fine for the trial. No fainting, no freaking out. She would be able to give her testimony clearly and succinctly, sit through the cross-examination, and be on her way back to juvie at the end of the day, satisfied that she had done her duty.

  She stood up and the guard motioned her to the access hole in the door to handcuff her. Tamara stood looking at him, not offering her hands. His brass name tag said Snipes.

  “Let’s go,” Snipes ordered, with an impatient huff and another motion. “Hands.”

  “I’m just going in there,” Tamara nodded to the door to the courtroom. “I don’t need to be handcuffed.”

  “I don’t care how far it is. You’re not leaving that cell without being cuffed.”

  “I’m supposed to be able to testify without handcuffs or shackles.”

  “After attacking a guard last time you were in this courthouse? I don’t think so.”

  “I didn’t attack him. He just… got in my way when I was trying to get back to the holding cell.”

  “Doesn’t matter why. You’re not getting out of there without handcuffs.”

  “Where’s my lawyer? I’m supposed to be able to testify without handcuffs. Otherwise, people will think of me as a criminal.”

  “You are a criminal.”

  “But they’ll make judgments. They won’t believe what I say. Where’s Ritter? I want my lawyer.”