by Greg Barth
We then went by a fast food drive-thru adjacent to the gas station. I could smell food.
Again, I wasn’t offered anything. Had they offered, I would have refused. It smelled horrible, and—while my throat was dry—drinking something would only mean needing to go to the bathroom in short order, and I didn’t want to have to decide between being uncomfortable or soiling myself.
I didn’t know the men driving the van, but I started to hate them.
Then we were back on the highway again. As the miles wore on behind us, I felt numbness in my fingers and hands. My feet felt swollen from the restricted circulation. I felt a sense of panic. The van felt much smaller than it had, like it was shrinking around me. I closed my eyes, focused on my breathing, and tried to remain calm.
I tried to think of a pleasant memory. My mind brought up images of Kurt Dello after his head exploded from my shotgun blast. Harvey’s head blown apart outside of the Apple Valley Inn. I pictured the tire tool puncturing the throat of Crazy Joey Faranacci.
It worked.
I felt calm.
I brought up an image of my mother in the kitchen baking a scratch-made cake, a glass of brandy in her hand. I stayed in that moment as long as I could.
I would never have opened my eyes again had the van not decelerated for another exit.
I looked out the window. We were on a two-lane road with tall, dead weeds along either side. We followed this road for several miles then turned onto another road.
I looked backward, not where we were going but where we had been, so our destination wasn’t obvious. We followed roads that were increasingly populated and dense—first with houses here and there, then more compact, then we were in town. The buildings grew taller as we got into downtown.
Obviously we weren’t going to a prison, which would be in the middle of nowhere. Almost certainly not a federal institution. No, this was more likely a county jail.
The van pulled into a parking lot and we sat idling. I had no idea where we were.
I hoped I’d be able to get out, stretch my legs, get a drink of water, and use the facilities. Then settle in my new home.
We sat there for what seemed like an hour. My hopes sank.
Finally the door opened. I was blinded by the sunshine that spilled into the van. I squinted my eyes against the burst of light.
Two men dressed in orange jumpsuits were ushered into the van. They were fastened in on the bench across the compartment from me. Both were younger than me. One had tight rows braided in his dark hair and black whiskers for a goatee. The other, younger, had a shaved head. They were settled in, and the transport crew backed out of the van.
“Excuse me...” I said.
They ignored me and shut the doors.
The two men fidgeted as they got comfortable across from me. I noticed that neither of them had been affixed with the black box on their handcuffs like I had.
“Damn, yo,” the older one with braids and goatee said. “This shorty’s in for some serious game. They gave her the stiffener treatment.”
To me the other man said, “You getting some diesel therapy?”
“Diesel therapy? What’s that?” I said.
“Fuck, yo. You don’t know, you’re about to find out,” the other said.
“Manners, nigga. They’s a lady in the bus. Damn.”
“What lady?” I said.
“That’s straight,” the younger man with the shaved head said. He nodded his head for emphasis. He grinned. I was impressed with his bright teeth. “Name’s Hornival. This here’s Harry.”
“Carson,” I said.
“Fuck that prison name shit,” Harry said. “We on the bus now.”
“Okay, Selena,” I said. “So what’s this diesel therapy shit?”
“Fucking torture’s what it is. My cousin, that nigga did five days on the road. Pissed himself the whole time, he said.”
“The most commonly used form of legal torture in America,” Hornival said. “You got something they want, Selena? You best get used to the road, girl. They gonna wear you down with it.”
“Now just wait a minute,” Harry said. “Wait a motherfucking minute. Did you say Selena? Selena Carson?”
“I did.”
“Shit. You fucking hear this, man?”
“Who the fuck’s Selena Carson?”
“Yo. This is that hot little shorty that killed all them motherfuckers. You watch the news, dog?”
“Nah, man. Sharonda? She fuckin’ hate the news. Not like I care. I watch the fucking game. Fuck that bitch.”
“You’re Selena Carson,” Harry said. “I’d shake your hand, I wasn’t locked up like some kinda criminal.”
“I know who she fuckin’ looks like,” Hornival said.
“Who?”
“She looks like Ginny Moore.”
“Ginny who?”
“Ginny Moore. Class of ’07? Greenwood High?”
“What? Who the...? I didn’t go to no Greenwood High, yo’. How the fuck am I supposed to know who this Ginny is?”
“Damn, man. I can’t help who she look like or where you went to high school. That’s your own problem, dog.”
Harry shook his head. “This woman here is famous. And you want to talk about some girl in high school?”
“So you know me?” I said.
“They’s no goddamned wonder they givin’ you the therapy. You’s the real deal.”
“It hasn’t been a good day so far, Harry,” I said.
“So where they taking you?” Hornival said.
“They won’t tell me.”
“Uh huh. That’s part of it. Fuck, man. I told you. Shorty here. Sorry. Selena here, she’s the real fuckin’ deal, dog. Killed more men than fucking lung cancer.”
“Props, yo.”
“Uh, yeah. Props back,” I said. “So where are you guys going to?”
“Shit, man. I hope we get on the plane in Memphis. Then land in Oklahoma.”
“Why Oklahoma?” I said.
“You ain’t heard?”
“Humor me,” I said.
Harry chose to fill in the details. “So in Oklahoma, the federal prison? It’s like the transfer center. Everybody go through there if they got you flying around. Well, there in Oklahoma City? The men’s cells face the women’s across the courtyard. Rumor is the women do a striptease show for the men every night at nine. I’d like to see that shit.”
I’d heard this rumor as well. “I hope it turns out good for you guys. Strippers? That’s gotta be some fun, right?” It was much better on the van having these guys to talk to.
“I’d like to see me some of them fat-ass prison ho’s shaking it,” Hornival said. “Get that ass all up in that window and do some twerkin.”
“Damn, yo,” Harry said. “Fuckin’ rude, man. The lady here?”
“Sorry, um… Selena. I’d like to see some skinny ho’s too. Skinny’s good ass too,” Hornival said, looking at me apologetically.
“It’s all good,” I said with a chuckle.
“Hornival here is all about the trim,” Harry said.
“Shit, man. I live for some trim.”
“So they take it all off? Everything?”
“So they say.”
“You want to go to from Memphis to Oklahoma for the hope that you get to see some pussy?” I said.
“Damn, yo. The hint of pussy’s better than no pussy. They show ass and tits too,” Hornival said.
I grinned. “I really hope it works out for you.”
“So you killed all them motherfuckers?” Harry said.
“Allegedly,” I said. I raised an eyebrow.
“Shit,” Harry said. “Fucking Charlene Manson here or something. You one scary lady.”
“What are you guys in for?” I said.
“Drugs. Allegedly,” Harry said.
I nodded. “What’s good these days?”
“Fuckin’ haze weed, right?” Hornival said.
“Hell yeah, yo. Ghost train’s the shit,”
Harry said.
“Fuck yo’ ass up.”
“Horny weed, girl. Getcha panties wet.”
I smiled. “Haze. I’ll have to remember that. Weed does make me horny.”
“It can have that effect. You get out, you let me know. I’ll hook you up. I know the best shit and I can get it,” Hornival said.
“I know that’s straight,” Harry said.
“Wet trim,” I said, and smiled.
Hornival opened his eyes wide and nodded. “Now you just gettin’ up to some fuckery, girl.”
I laughed.
We passed the time like this as the van moved further down the highway. I was glad to have their company. I was uncomfortable in my restraints, but at least I had the banter of kindred spirits to distract me.
These guys were arrested for drugs? How’s that still a crime?
E IGHTEEN
Selena
IT WAS EVENING and dark by the time we stopped.
The transit team opened the doors and we were allowed to step out of the van. It was the first time that I had been on my feet in sixteen hours. I could barely stand, let alone walk.
My feet hurt, my bladder, my kidneys throbbed, my hands were numb. Under ordinary circumstances, I would be afraid that I was about to pee myself, but after hours in the van, I knew I could hold it a little longer.
I got out, saw we’d arrived at a small county jail. We were herded through the back door. Once inside, our leg-irons and waist-chains were removed. The black box that stiffened my handcuffs was also removed.
They processed us into the county jail as if we had just been arrested—we were photographed, fingerprinted, strip-searched, and issued blankets for the night. I was separated from the men and taken to a cell that was crowded with other women.
A stainless steel toilet at the back of the room. Right out in the open with no partitions or door to give privacy. It was in use but I stood by until I could take my turn.
I was the only person in the room wearing federal prison khakis.
Once I was finished on the toilet, it was apparent that there was nowhere in the room for me to sit. I took a spot on the floor and sat cross-legged on my blanket. A guard opened the door and brought me a brown paper bag lunch. A bottle of water, an apple, a pack of peanut butter crackers. I sat on the floor and ate my dinner.
After I ate, I tried to find a more comfortable position on the floor. I’d been sitting all day. I spread out the blanket on the cold floor and lay on my side. My ankles hurt, but the thin blanket felt good between me and the floor.
The floor was nasty—chipped tile, dirt, stains that I assumed were urine and shit. Looked as though it hadn’t been mopped in years.
I’d been in jail before, but forgot what it was like. Prison had spoiled me. Prison was clean. Prison wasn’t as overcrowded. Prison was humane.
Rodent droppings lined the wall. A cockroach walked by in one corner.
The county jail was just a shithole. If I wasn’t so happy to be off the van, I would have been claustrophobic just being inside the crowded cell.
A young woman got up from one of the steel beds, and came over, leaned down and looked at me. “Hey. Would you like to come share my bunk?”
She was about my height and skinny. Her brown eyes looked slightly crossed. She had shoulder length, dirty blonde hair that was naturally wavy. Her orange jumpsuit was too big for her small body and her eyes twitched in an odd way when she spoke. I got the immediate impression that she was a little special—maybe a learning disability or something.
She looked more retarded than dangerous. “I sure would,” I said.
She reached out a hand and helped me get up. I took the blanket with me and joined her on the small bed. We sat side by side on the edge of the narrow bunk.
“Everybody calls me Gabby,” she said.
“Gabby? I’m Selena,” I said.
She held out her hand, and I shook it.
“You’re federal, huh?”
“Yeah. Probably just here for the night.”
“You want a cigarette?” she said.
“You got cigarettes here? You’re a fucking godsend.”
She handed me one and lit it for me. It was the first cigarette I’d smoked in months. “I have more, too,” she said.
“You’re an angel.”
“We don’t get many federal prisoners come through here,” Gabby said.
“How long you been in?”
“A few days,” she said.
I nodded. She had an odd way of talking. She sounded younger and more innocent than she was. I got the impression her mind worked a little slower than most. I liked her instantly. Gabby was good people.
“Why are you in here?” I said.
“I was doing a nice thing. Helping a guy out. He wanted to throw a party for his brother who was sad. He asked me to help him sell some pills and… do some things… to raise money.” She shrugged. “It didn’t feel right to me, but I let him talk me into it.”
“Jeez. That must be some party, huh? Getting people thrown in jail before it even starts.”
“I wasn’t even going to get to go.”
“You really got screwed then.”
“Judd—my friend—said I was too old. I didn’t even really want to help him, you know?”
A feeling like ice spread across my chest and face. “Wait, wait, wait a second. Hold on. Did you just say too young?”
“Yeah. I’m only twenty, though.”
“Shit. Judd. Where you from?” I asked.
“Red Creek, Kentucky.”
“Why are you locked up so far away from there?” I shifted around on the edge of the bunk to better make eye contact with her.
“Too crowded, they said. They bussed me and some others out this way.”
I took a long draw on the cigarette, flicked my ashes on the floor. “Who was the party going to be for?”
“Judd’s brother. Old Man Carson.”
“Goddamn.” I shook my head. “Judd’s my uncle. The party’s for my dad.”
“Oh, well that’s nice—”
I leaned toward her and lowered my voice. “Nice? Honey, you’re in jail because of my stupid fucking uncle. This party… it’s not what you think. You don’t want to be a part of that. These men took advantage of you. Judd isn’t your friend. I’ve seen him hurt girls. He’s hurt me, even.”
“I thought I was helping to do something good.”
“You need to stay away from that man.”
She looked down like she was embarrassed. “I know…I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Jeez… Look… um… let’s change the subject for a second, okay?”
She nodded.
I turned and sat cross-legged on the bunk, facing her.
“How are things for you in here?” I said.
“I hate it. I wish I could go to prison with you. Here it’s just crowded and we’re locked down twenty-four hours. It’s horrible. What’s prison like?”
“Better,” I said. I looked around the cell we were in. Filthy. Graffiti carved and written on everything. “For one thing, prison is cleaner. Federal is, anyway. I’ve never been to state. You have dorms that aren’t crowded or even rooms with only two people. I was in the rooms, so I had a cellmate. She was real nice. You can go to the library, watch TV, go outside, attend programs. They have chapel, education. Lots of things.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
“But you can’t smoke in that prison.”
“But still...”
“Yeah. I was planning on getting my GED even,” I said.
“Really? You can do that?”
“Yeah. Not that I’d ever be able to do anything with it. It’s just checking a box, you know? And even if you get out, it’s hard to find a job. Just a reason to feel good about myself is all.”
“There’s not much room in here. There are bugs and rats on the floor too.”
I sighed. “I’ve had a rough day. I think I’d like to lay down now if that’s ok
ay with you.”
“Here,” she said, moving over against the wall so I could lie on the front part of the bed.
I lay on my side with my back to her. She fixed the blanket over me.
“No pillows,” she said. “But you can lay on my arm.” She put her arm under my head.
“Thanks, honey.”
She snuggled in close to me. After a few minutes, she whispered, “Selena?”
“Yes, Gabby.”
“You’re Tom’s girl. Are you the one that killed all those people?”
I sighed. “I didn’t kill all of them. It just looks like I did.”
“But you did kill some of them.”
“I had my reasons.”
I closed my eyes and tried to rest. As it grew later, the cell was darker and quieter. Gabby and I weren’t the only ones talking. There were lots of other sounds in the room—soft whispers, rustling, someone crying softly, the sound—and smell, unfortunately—of someone either pleasuring themselves or being pleasured by someone else.
My emotional sixth sense picked up on a strong feeling of psychic tension in the room. I knew I was in the presence of at least one, but more likely several, women going through withdrawal as they detoxed from their addictions, their tense bodies aching and crying out for a fix. If you’ve been around that kind of thing, you develop a sense for it.
I thought about my uncle and what he’d done to this poor girl. I thought about my father and gritted my teeth with hatred.
We lay in silence awhile.
“Selena?”
“Yes, Gabby?”
“Can I kiss you?”
I recognized it for what it was. Innocent. A naive young woman with a simple mind who missed her mother. She’d been taken advantage of by my uncle, and now she was in a place that would institutionally destroy her one piece at a time. My heart went out to her. “Just one.” I turned over to face her. She was looking at me. “Okay, close your eyes and pucker.” She did. I leaned in and pressed my lips to hers and made a smooch sound with my mouth, like she was my daughter or something. “Okay, Gabby. Now good night. I’m very tired and I expect you to be a perfect lady while I’m sharing your bed tonight, okay?”
“Yes, I will. No problem.”
I rolled back over and she snuggled against me again. I closed my eyes. As I drifted off to sleep, my body felt like I was in the back of the van while it ran down the highway. I dreamed of being in shackles with my ankles throbbing.
