He couldn’t think of anything about juvie that was bad enough to make him swear off any activity that might see him back here, especially if that activity put money in his pockets. In two years he’d be looking at time in an adult prison if he got caught. He figured it couldn’t be much different, and if he kept building his body up the way he was doing then he wouldn’t have too many problems. It was all about the image, the attitude. You showed them big and muscles and gave off confidence – without arrogance – then you weren’t likely to be hassled much. Not that he wanted to spend all his time behind bars, no, not at all; but it was an acceptable consequence.
Paul sat back on his cot, which was little more than a metal frame and a couple of blankets, the slightly thicker blanket was supposed to be a mattress, and thought about where he was going to start once he was released. He’d spent time in the city, not enough to begin to be a player, but enough to get his face known. He could start there, but there was something cold and impersonal about a lot of those crews. Their soldiers were disposable. He didn’t want to be cannon fodder; he wanted a place to belong. He wasn’t sure he knew how to do that, to be a part of something like that, but there was something in him that wanted to try.
There was something else that appealed to him, too, ever since he’d first made the move to leave the shitty trailer that he’d called home for so long. The day he’d left had been an endorphin rush of epic proportions. Walking away and knowing he could go anywhere and start from scratch. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain. He was free. Paul thought he might actually be able to become a little addicted to that feeling. And that was something that was beginning to factor into his thought process.
There was maybe one person in the world that Paul would call an actual friend. He’d known Charlie Davis since forever. They’d grown up in the same trailer park. In appearance they couldn’t be more different. Where Paul was dark, Charlie was blonde and blue-eyed; their neighbors remarked on it all the time. The other big difference was that Charlie’s mom was the one that had abandoned him and his remaining parent, his dad, seemed determined to keep an honest roof over their heads.
Charlie’s dad was a genius with anything that had an engine and he worked at the auto shop owned by the local MC. The two boys spent some time hanging around there; no one minded as long as they stayed out of everyone’s way. Paul and Charlie were more than happy to stick to that rule because they were picking up a hell of an education just by watching and listening, and not just about fixing cars and bikes either. Paul definitely preferred bikes to cars. He’d never do anything as stupid as boost something in town, but he had when he’d been elsewhere. Especially since that growth spurt, he felt awkward in cars. He didn’t really fit in them. Bikes, however, that was something else entirely. That feeling of freedom, of being a part of the world as he rode through it, oh he loved that, alright.
That train of thought was leading him to the Rabid Dogs MC, the club that owned the auto shop that Charlie’s dad worked for. They owned a couple of other businesses in town as well, but the garage was their main legitimate front. It made sense; it gave them the space, the time and the tools to keep their bikes in order. There were rumors about some profoundly non-legit aspects to their income, but Charlie’s dad wasn’t involved in that and the patches didn’t gossip, so Paul didn’t know a lot about that side of the club. Yeah, that was where he would start. He’d go to the club and see if he could get work in the garage. He wanted in on the club eventually, but no one else needed to know that just yet. Paul did not want to spend the rest of his life living in a shitty trailer fixing other people’s crap until he croaked. He wanted a little excitement, and he wanted the brotherhood, the family, that he’d seen in the MC.
Making the decision, settling on a plan for his future, lifted a weight he hadn’t known he was carrying. Paul settled himself as comfortably as possible on his cot and picked up the copy of The Outsiders he’d been reading. He wasn’t used to optimism, to anticipation, but he found that he liked it.
1992
Ashleigh looked around the yard at the girls lounging around on the plastic furniture having their finger and toenails painted in bright colors by her Aunt Dolly and the girls from her salon, Divine Intervention. Her momma had asked Aunt Dolly if she had any ideas for celebrating Ashleigh’s ninth birthday party, and Aunt Dolly had got that look in her eye and got all excited and had pretty much decided that Ashleigh would be having a princess pamper party and that she’d be inviting all the girls from her class.
Ashleigh had thought it was a bad idea, but there was no changing Aunt Dolly’s mind once she got it set on something. Ashleigh hadn’t wanted a birthday party, and she definitely hadn’t wanted one which meant inviting the girls from school. All she really wanted was her daddy to be home. It felt wrong to be having another party without him here. It seemed like her daddy had been in prison for forever, at least as long as Ashleigh could remember. She’d never really thought there was anything wrong before, it was just how it was, but recently she’d noticed it much more.
It had started before Christmas at the Father-Daughter dance at school. The dance happened every year between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and every year Uncle Terry went with her. She’d always had a pretty good time before, but this year Tanya and Melody and their little gang had been talking in the bathroom. At first Ashleigh had thought they hadn’t noticed she was in there too, but then she’d thought that maybe they had known and had said all those mean things about her daddy being in prison for the rest of his life anyway. Now it seemed that every time she passed them at the lockers in between class that they were saying things about her or her daddy and her uncles.
She’d half hoped that no one would want to come to the party. Everyone seemed to think that her daddy being in prison was just about the worst thing and that it made Ashleigh some sort of criminal too. That was one of Tanya’s little jokes; she liked to say in a really loud voice whenever Ashleigh was around that everyone should hide their stuff in case the jailbird’s daughter stole it. A lot of the girls in her class had said they couldn’t come. Ashleigh knew it was because their parents thought she was a bad influence, not just because her daddy was in prison, but because her daddy and her uncles had their club and liked to ride their Harleys. For some reason everyone thought that was real bad. Of course Tanya and Melody and their friends had wanted to come. They acted like it was some big thing, that they were so brave for coming to her house, like they’d be murdered or shot at or kidnapped or something.
Her mama had been so happy when the girls had arrived and Ashleigh hadn’t wanted to make her sad by telling her that she didn’t actually like any of them and that they certainly weren’t her friends. Her mama and Aunt Dolly didn’t seem to have noticed that Ashleigh had barely said more than hello to any of her guests all afternoon. When she saw her daddy next, Ashleigh wouldn’t tell him how much she’d hated all this. She’d tell him it was the best birthday party she’d ever had and how much she’d liked the cake that her mama had made and how pretty the yard had been decorated.
Her brother Dean had spent the afternoon in the treehouse in the old oak at the end of the yard. He said he was keeping out of the way of all the skeevy girls but Ashleigh knew that really he was looking out for her, making sure that Tanya and Melody didn’t say anything too mean. Dean knew how much she hated all this fuss, but he wouldn’t say anything to their daddy either. He was eleven already and he knew how to lie real good so even their mama couldn’t tell.
When her mama had first asked her what she wanted to do to celebrate her birthday, Ashleigh had answered honestly that she really wanted to have a barbeque with all her uncles. She loved it when they had barbeques at the clubhouse, even if she and Dean weren’t allowed to stay much after six ‘o’clock. She liked it when they all came over here to the house too. When she’d said what she wanted, though, her mama’s face had got all funny and twisted and then her mama had said that no, she had to do something prop
er for her birthday, something girly.
Ashleigh knew for certain she wasn’t going to have another one of these dumb parties ever again. Even if she had to misbehave for a month and not have a party at all, that would be better. There were going to be some arguments, ‘cause now Mama would start asking why she never invited any of these girls over for tea or sleepovers and there was no way that Ashleigh was going to invite Tanya or Melody over for a sleepover, even if it made her mama mad or sad.
Uncle Terry and Uncle Dizzy and the others would probably come over later. They’d already said they wouldn’t turn up while the party was happening, that giggling girls broke them out in hives or something. Maybe if she asked him really nicely Uncle Terry would take her out for a ride on his bike, just a short one. Uncle Dizzy would, but not if everyone knew about it. Her momma didn’t like Ashleigh being on a bike; she said it wasn’t safe, which Ashleigh thought was pretty dumb considering everyone they knew rode.
Uncle Dizzy was cool, though, he took her out on the back of his bike on Sundays when everyone thought she was just watching him tune it up in the garage at the clubhouse. He did do some tinkering on it. He’d show her what he was doing and he’d let her help while they sang along to the radio. Sometimes he had to work on one of the cars that was in to be fixed if it was an urgent job and he didn’t get time to play with his bike, but he’d always make time to take her to Gina’s Diner on the edge of town. Ashleigh didn’t know who ‘Gina’ was, but they’d have a piece of cherry pie each and then Uncle Dizzy would take her back to the garage, and no one knew. Uncle Dizzy was twenty four years old. He was old but not as ancient as Uncle Terry. She wanted to ask Uncle Dizzy to take her to see her daddy, but he wouldn’t; it was too far away. It was a real long drive to the prison where Daddy was.
A commotion by the back door made Ashleigh turn around. Her mama was bringing her birthday cake out and everyone was starting to sing Happy Birthday. Even Dean had come down from the tree house and was singing too. The cake looked so pretty. It was chocolate flavored with white frosting, and it had tiny silver sugar stars scattered all over the top. Mama had stayed up late baking it and icing it last night.
Ashleigh made herself smile a huge, bright smile like she knew her mama wanted her to. She didn’t want her mama to cry tonight; it made her heart hurt when she heard the sobbing coming from the room that her parents should be sharing. She blew her candles out when everyone had finished singing and wished really, really hard for her daddy to be home for her next birthday. She’d have to ask Dean what she had to do to make that wish come true. Dean knew everything; he’d be able to tell her how to make it happen.
1993 – Part One
“Lights Out!”
The guard’s voice echoed up and down the corridor as he called the announcement. In due course the lights dimmed to nothing more than a sickly glow. It was never completely dark, just as it was never completely quiet. Samuel Carter had learned over the course of his various incarcerations to sleep despite the interruptions of both light and sound. He was almost done with a six year sentence for Second Degree Battery. It would have been less; the cops hadn’t cared too much about the junkie dealer he’d laid the beating on, and he’d only been using his fists, but this was his third strike. He’d already done time for Arson and Witness Intimidation; now he only had a few months to go before he’d be home.
He was going flat out. He knew that the people with the power to grant him parole had no love for the type of life he led, the type of man he was. This way he’d be ready to go full throttle from the moment he stepped outside the prison walls, no pussying around with parole conditions. He hated that his wife, Moira, had to bring the kids to see him in prison, hated that those twice monthly visits were the only chance he got to see his children growing up. There was a possibility he’d be out in time for his daughter’s tenth birthday and he was going to make every effort to make sure that he made it.
As the illumination faded, deepening the shadows in the small cell, Samuel tensed, ready for the inevitable. He had been moved to a new cell that afternoon and now he waited for the predictable attempt at a beat-down or rape as he and his cellmate figured out who was top dog. His own attitude was to leave everyone else well alone, if you didn’t start trouble you didn’t get trouble back. He’d managed to keep body and soul whole so far during his sentence and had no intention of giving up now. It wasn’t his first turn on the carousel. He knew the routine well. Still, he’d been relieved to see that his cellmate was a similar height and build, maybe even a little shorter, a little less wide in the shoulders, even if he did have youth on his side.
His new companion, for the next however long, was Latin in appearance. Whether he had an accent or not, Samuel couldn’t tell, since the man hadn’t spoken in the ten hours that they’d been cohabiting so far. The guard had called him Diego or some other Spic name when he’d roughly shoved Samuel into the cell. No, Dias, that was it. Not that it mattered; the guy would have to beat him to a pulp before Sam would submit.
The tramp of the guard’s footsteps faded away to be replaced by the constant low murmur, punctuated with snores, grunts, groans and whimpers; and Samuel waited. A voice thick with a Spanish accent rose from the bunk below him.
“Relax ese. Ain’t gonna bother you none. ‘Less you piss the bed.”
Samuel couldn’t restrain the half chuckle that escaped. “I ain’t that old, amigo.”
A grunt was the only reply. Samuel turned to his side and fell into the closest thing to a state of sleep he could manage.
~o0o~
Samuel hated having the top bunk. It was harder than impossible to sleep on since there was no way to block out any light and there was even less than zero privacy. Not that there was a great deal of that anywhere in the cell, but being on the top bunk was like being under a microscope. He was going to put up with it, though, at least until his cellmate got moved out, if he got moved out. He hated the top bunk, but it wasn’t worth fighting over if he didn’t have to; and so far his cellmate had kept to himself. Samuel didn’t see a need to create animosity where there was none.
His day of backbreaking labor in the cotton fields that made up part of the prison farm and provided occupation for the inmates was over. Whatever it was that they called food had been served and consumed for the evening meal. Now he had an hour until the lights were dimmed. He had nothing to do until then but read, and maybe write another letter to Moira. His girl Ashleigh had written him about the plans for her birthday party; he owed her a letter too. He collected the book he was in the middle of and some paper and a pencil and reclaimed his seat, careful not to disturb the man reading on the bed below.
They continued in their private activities for a while, silence reigning in their cell while the usual chaos held sway beyond its bars. Samuel knew the man lying below him was going to speak when he heard him clear his throat.
“Name’s Eduardo, ese. Eduardo Dias.”
“Samuel, Samuel Carter.”
“They call you Sam?”
“Only if they know me. They call you Eddie?”
“Only if they don’t plan on keep breathin’.”
The silence resumed, but there was a small release in the tension that was a permanent undercurrent of life in prison.
~o0o~
Samuel and Eduardo did not speak as the guard escorted them back to their cell from the visiting hall. It was rare that their visitation slots fell at the same time. Samuel had been visited by Terry, his brother in the Priests MC, his Vice President and the current acting President while Sam was inside. Samuel received one hour long visit a week. They were generally arranged alternately with one being dedicated to Moira, either with or without the children, and the other being open to the club, although more often than not it was Terry sitting at the table waiting for him.
Although the last sixty minutes weighed heavily on Samuel, he’d taken the time to notice Eduardo’s companion. His visitor had been male as well. A quick look at the bo
dy language and intense expressions had told Samuel that Eduardo was in the middle of an update on business, just as he was. It hadn’t been so much of a personal or family visit. He knew very little about his cellmate. Samuel’s instincts for staying out of trouble had earned him a reputation as somewhat of a loner. He didn’t participate in gossip and hadn’t seen the need to change that habit to get the skinny on Mr. Eduardo Dias.
The guard led them back into their cell and locked it behind them without speaking. They both knew the routine and neither had any intention of making waves. Both resumed their places on their respective bunks, in the midst of the detritus that they’d abandoned when their names had been called for visitation. They had been cohabiting peacefully for a month. Samuel was as close to calling Eduardo “friend” as he had been anyone during his incarcerations, but that didn’t mean that they’d shared a great deal of personal information. Neither man had been inclined to gossip about the life they’d left outside the prison gates. As they didn’t cause trouble, the guards were content to leave them be. It made their jobs easier, two less out of thousands to deal with, and there were easier targets for the guards that reveled in making lives miserable.
Blood in the Water (Kairos) Page 2
