The hands fell on Omar’s arms like claws, rough and angry. He looked up to see the C.O.’s glaring down at him.
“Yes, gentlemen? Need help finding your cajones?”
“C’mon,” one of them said. “No talking during lockdown. You know that.”
He watched Morrow and another officer lead Ribisi out of the room.
“Of course.” He shrugged off the hands and stood. Time for a chat with the warden.
Seven
Marquez followed Morrow and Ribisi into Timms’ office. The head hack had already been inside, no doubt telling the warden all about the throwdown at lunch. Morrow had looked pissed the entire time he’d led them through the prison, and Marquez understood why. The C.O. was a good man, and he tried to do right by everybody, but the rest of his team were a bunch of first class assholes without the slightest hint of sense. The man didn’t want the inmates rubbing the fact that shit was out of his control in his face.
Omar hadn’t been to the warden’s office in a long while, but the place still looked the same. Boring as hell. Maybe the warden thought it was soothing, or maybe he wanted to remind himself his life at Burnham was just work. Either way, it was a failure. Omar had seen slums cozier than this, and even the desk and bookshelves said, “This is your entire world.”
No wonder Timms was such an asshole.
He gave the warden a single, slow nod, not saying a word. From the corner of his eyes, he spotted Ribisi playing it cool, just standing there waiting to be spoken to like he was above this shit.
“How about you two sit down?”
Omar grabbed one of the chairs and sat. He eyed Timms, waiting, following Ribisi’s example. They hadn’t asked to pay this visit. It was up to the warden to get this party started.
Turns out, it didn’t take long. “What’s this shit during lunch? You guys decide to play guardian angel?”
Marquez looked to Ribisi, received a shrug for his trouble. He turned back to the warden. “We had that talk with Father Albright the other day. We’re trying to stick to that.”
“I don’t want you stomping around like vigilantes. You don’t get to be vigilantes in here, okay? If you’re anything, you’re neighborhood watch.”
“Fine, then. About ten minutes ago, a bunch of the Nazis killed a bunch of gangbangers. Please go bag the bodies.”
Ribisi chuckled.
“You think that’s funny?” Timms asked.
“Yeah, I do. You think we’d turn rat? Time to take a vacation, warden. Stress must be getting to you.”
“Look,” Marquez said. “We saw a war about to break loose, and we put a stop to it. You don’t want us to, fine. We’re going to protect our own, though. You can’t keep us from doing that.”
“I can’t? What are your people going to do when you’re both rotting away in solitary for the next ten years?”
“Go on and try,” Ribisi said. “My lawyer will be up your ass so fast you’ll think you sat on a spike.”
“You don’t scare me, Anton.”
“And you can’t fool me, warden.”
“Talk your trash all you want. It won’t change the fact you’re just an old man in prison.”
“Nice talk. I give a fuck.”
“Where’s your smart ass comment, Marquez?”
“I don’t need one. We’re losing people out there, and we don’t want to lose more. So until things settle down, we’re going to keep a lid on the violence.”
“We don’t need your help,” Morrow said from the back of the room.
“Nobody’s talking to you,” Ribisi replied.
Timms jutted a finger at the Sicilian. “That’s enough out of you, Ribisi.”
“Am I getting under your skin, warden? How many people are dead today? How many are missing, and what are you doing about it besides sitting in your own shit like a fucking infant?”
“I said that’s enough! Officer, take this piece of garbage back to his cell.”
“Garbage? I love it when you talk like you have a pair! Why don’t you stop by in a half-hour or so? I’ll let you rub some real balls, see what they feel like.”
Morrow lifted Ribisi to his feet. “Marquez, too?”
“No. Leave him.”
“Show me those balls, warden!” Ribisi called over his shoulder. “Prove to me you don’t have a pussy under those pants! You’re losing this place, you asshole! You’re fucking losing it!”
The door slammed shut as Morrow dragged the Sicilian away. Marquez could still hear the old man’s voice, though, and he almost choked as he tried to swallow his laughter.
“Anton’s, got a temper on him,” he told the warden.
“No shit.” Timms smoothed his tie and leaned back in his chair. “The lockdown’s not ending. You get meals, but that’s it. Don’t agree? Tough shit.”
“You can’t find the bodies. You don’t know who killed them.”
“You have any information?”
“Nobody’s seen shit. If they had, I’d know about it. Ribisi hasn’t heard anything, either, and if that’s the case, it’s safe to assume it isn’t even an inmate doing this.”
“Please. You expect me to believe the staff is killing inmates?”
“I don’t even know what I believe. Why the fuck should I tell you either way?”
“Now isn’t the time to play cute.”
“Who’s playing? Bad shit’s coming down, warden. Hell, I can smell it. I could smell it on the first day. You ain’t getting this one under control. It’s too wild.”
The warden’s brow furrowed. “What are you even trying to say? I sense a point to all this. I’m just waiting for it to show up.”
“You superstitious?”
“No.”
“I’m Catholic, so it runs in my blood. My mind. There’s bad shit out there, warden, shit people like you and me ain’t ever seen before. Now, we might not want to believe in that shit, but that doesn’t make it just disappear.”
“Are you trying to tell me ghosts are killing prisoners?”
“I’m trying to tell you I think it’s something bad. That could be anything, but I’ll be good and surprised if it turns out to be one of us.”
“But like I said, I’m not superstitious.”
“You should be.”
“Think so?”
“Yeah. I am, and it’s kept my head above water.”
“But you’re in here.”
He smiled. “I broke a mirror the day before I got pinched.”
“No shit?”
“It’s true, and I’m up for parole when I hit seven years.”
“Now I know you’re lying.”
“Believe what you want. See where it gets you. We done?”
“Yeah. Stop the cowboy stuff, though. I run this place, not you guys.”
“Like I said, warden, believe what you want.”
***
“I think that went well, don’t you?”
Morrow didn’t respond immediately. He feared if he did he might wind up yelling at Ribisi, and that would be a bad idea from start to finish. So he kept walking beside the inmate, eyes forward, and searched his brain for something, anything, to say.
“Your tongue shrivel up and die, Morrow?”
“No,” he answered. “I just… You thought Ron was being an asshole before you went in there and took a shot at him. I can’t wait to see what he pulls now. He’ll have this place in lockdown until both of you are dead.”
“Please. We both know I’m going to live forever. Besides, I got no reason to give a fuck about lockdown so long as I got you running errands for me.”
“Right.” The word tasted like bile in his mouth.
“Speaking of which, you swinging by Unit A anytime soon?”
“Right after I get you back in your cell.”
“I can find my own way back, y’know.”
“My ass, Anton.”
“You’re being one pissy little shit. You know that?”
He bit down on the words that t
hreatened to spill out of his mouth. It felt like Ribisi was poking him with a stick, jabbing at him just to prove he could do it.
“Sorry,” he finally said. This word tasted worse than all the others.
“Don’t mention it. I get that you’re pissed, Officer. You just been smacked over the head with the fact that I got your ass in a sling. On top of that, now you know I can run this fuckhole better than you could ever dream. You gotta feel like your balls just shriveled into raisins.”
“Did I just not notice how much of an asshole you are?” He hoped it sounded friendly, like he was just breaking balls.
“If you just now noticed, you must be a fucking retard. Damn, a retard with no balls. I feel sorry for your wife, Officer. Maybe I should have her picked up just to put her out of her misery.”
Morrow froze in his tracks. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands into fists, clamping down so hard he though his body might explode. Blood roared through his ears, sounding like an angry ocean in a conch shell. He held his breath for a long moment, letting the anger boil inside him, and then he let it all go. His muscles relaxed, and he opened his eyes.
Ribisi was staring at him. “Ice cream headache?” he asked.
“It was nothing.”
“I know what it was, Officer. If that’s what you need to do to keep from acting stupid, then you go ahead and do it. Long as you remember your spot on the ladder.”
Morrow nodded.
“But you do it on your own fucking time. I’m a busy man.”
They eyed each other for a long time before Ribisi spoke again.
“Well?”
“Right. Fine. Let’s just get you back to your cell so I can head to Unit A.”
“That’s very good. I thought you’d never ask.”
Morrow got moving again, keeping pace alongside the old Sicilian. Dark thoughts of fear, regret, and anger swirled through his mind like a black dust devil, but he kept his eyes fixed straight ahead.
He wondered how long he could keep himself from doing something stupid.
***
“Jefferson? You want to tell me what happened at lunch today?”
Albright hovered just outside the gangbanger’s cell. When Diggs looked up, his expression was one of irritation. Darren tried to ignore it, but he knew how dangerous the man could be if provoked.
“I thought we’d agreed to peace the other day, nobody goes after anybody else. You remember that?”
“Shit yeah, I remember that. You think I’m some dumb fuckin’ nigga?”
“Jefferson, I don’t--”
“Call me Diggs or don’t fuckin’ talk to me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You might be. Don’t change certain things, though. First off, why you come to me?”
“Excuse me? I’m not sure what--”
“Maybe you was too busy talkin’ to God to hear, but I didn’t start that shit at lunch. That was all Sweeny and them Aryan bitches. I was comin’ out of the line, and all of the sudden it’s Night of the Thousand Crackas.”
“You came ready to fight.”
“Fuck yeah, I did! You really do think I’m stupid, don’t you?”
“No.”
“You gotta! You think I’m gonna walk around waitin’ to get fuckin’ holed?”
“Jeff--Diggs, I’m trying to create a peace, here. We can make it happen, but it’s going to take all of us, and both you and Sweeny are going to have to stop this bullshit posturing!”
Diggs climbed off his bed and strolled over to the bars. He leaned in close, his eyes finding Darren’s and holding them.
“Father, I showed up here seven years ago. You know what I did on my first night in this bitch?”
Darren nodded.
“Tell me.”
“You killed your cellmate.”
“That’s fuckin’ right. I musta holed that muthafucka thirty times or more. He never even got outta his bunk.”
“You did more than stab him. I saw the body.”
Diggs shrugged. “Yeah, I fucked him up right.”
“And you got yourself life for it. You could have been out in five years.”
“My life wouldn’t have been worth shit in five years.”
“You don’t know--”
“I do, and don’t you dare breathe that I don’t. What you don’t know is the muthafucka raped me after lights out. He dragged me behind the bunk where I’d be nice and outta sight, then he made me suck his dick before he stuck it up my ass. Every time I started to scream, he’d punch me in the back of the head and knock me out. I’d wake up, and he’d still be fuckin’ me. He musta worked me over for hours. It hurt like hell, but the taste in my mouth was the worst part, like sweat and dirt and old hamburger. I can still taste that dirty sweat, Father, like I still got that nigga’s dick in my mouth. I taste it every goddamn day.”
Darren stomach turned. He felt a sharp twist of sympathy in his heart. “I had no idea.”
“Naw,” Diggs said. “Nobody does, and nobody ever will. Soon as that asshole got tired of usin’ me as a bitch, he fell asleep. I found his shank behind the toilet, and I just started stabbin’ him. Hell, I stabbed him ‘til the hacks came and pulled me off his ass.”
“You should have reported him.”
The man shook his head. “You ain’t getting’ it, Father. If I reported that shit, everybody woulda found out, and I’d be a bitch in this house ‘til I walked out five years later. By then, word woulda reached hood, and I wouldn’t be nuthin’ but a faggot-ass nigga. I wouldn’t last a minute outside with a rep like that. See, in here you useful if you a bitch, but out there you just a body waitin’ to be found. So, yeah, I could get out in five and wait to die. But if I killed that homie and kept hush....”
“Then a few years later, you run the bangers.”
“Fuckin’ right.”
“But--”
“It wasn’t easy, Father. Don’t get that shit wrong. That nigga tore the shit outta me, and I was bleedin’ into the toilet for almost a month. My ass felt like a bomb had gone off in it for close to a year. I kept my mouth shut about it, though, and I didn’t let none of that pain show. Showing pain can get you killed in a place like this.”
Darren nodded. He swallowed hard, and it felt like cold stones scraping their way down his throat. “I see.”
“I hope so, ‘cause if you do, you know why I’m gonna keep rollin’ with my boys like we might have to get into some shit. I can wait out a fuckin’ lockdown if it means I stay alive. I can do a whole lot more if it means I stay on top of this shit.”
“So you won’t help?”
“I won’t go startin’ shit, but this ‘bullshit posturing’ you talkin’ about is just another line of defense, and it ain’t gonna stop. Not so long as that Nazi fuck wants to throw down.”
“I can talk to Sweeny.”
“He’ll tell you to fuck off. Sweeny don’t care about nuthin’ but killin’ me, and I don’t give a shit about nuthin’ but keepin’ hold of my roll.”
“I understand.”
“That’s good, Father.”
“Is there anything I can get you?”
“Yeah. You can go tell Tree to get off his ass and back on his feet. I need that nigga.”
“Good. And Father?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t go tellin’ anybody what I told you. You treat that shit like confession. Where I come from, we don’t like people spreadin’ talk.”
“Got it. Bye, Diggs. You stay safe.”
“Sure. I always do.”
“I always do.”
Darren watched the inmate return to his bed and stretch out, then he left. He wondered whether he should talk to Sweeny or not. No amount of bargaining was going to make the Aryan anything but an asshole with a pocketful of hatred, just like there was no way to keep Diggs from strutting his stuff and keeping his rep.
Darren moved to the railing and leaned against it, looking down at the cellblock. Normally, there would be pri
soners milling about, huddled together in groups as they talked bullshit or bought and sold drugs. It was awful, some of the things they did. When he’d arrived at Burnham he’d vowed he would use his position to make the prison experience something better than hell.
Had he really made a difference, though? He liked to think so, but seven deaths and eight missing bodies told a different story. Burnham was slipping down the drain fast, and he could only snatch at it with greased fingers. So many years, and in the end it hadn’t mattered for shit.
Albright looked at Marquez’s cell, then Ribisi’s. Had they really wanted to help, or had he just helped them look out for their own interests? He wanted to believe they were allies, but he knew that was only another way of kidding himself. And now with Ron clamping down on Burnham, he felt as though he had no allies at all.
“Except you, Lord,” he whispered. “Just you and me, like Butch and Sundance.”
He hoped God would respond, but knew the Big Man wouldn’t. He never did. It was a test of Faith, just like everything else seemed to be these days. God never came down to burn bushes or part seas anymore. He just expected you to follow His laws, and then He opened a gate for you in the end. But sometimes He’d slam it shut in your face, just to prove he could. The Lord worked in mysterious ways, and sometimes those ways could be downright sadistic. It wasn’t fair, but Darren had learned long ago that nothing ever was.
Darren turned to look across the block, and he found Sweeny staring back at him. The bald man hung from the bars of his cell like a marionette, and the smile plastered to his face looked as evil as Satan’s own. As Darren watched, the skinhead pointed in his direction, then shot him a thumbs up. The smile widened, and Darren had to turn away as a chill grabbed his spine and squeezed.
The image of Sweeny’s face still in his mind, he headed for his office. He needed a smoke and he wanted to go home. Reaching into his pocket, he fingered the lighter waiting there. Somehow, the object comforted him, helped him to hope. There hadn’t been any deaths today, and with any luck the night would pass in the same fashion. As he walked along the walkway he prayed that it might, but all he heard in reply were his own footsteps.
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