The Killdeer Connection

by Tom Swyers

  “Look at this cracker they sent in to clean up,” one prisoner screamed.

  “Every man in here, you either a sheep or a wolf,” another prisoner shouted through his meal slot. “Let me introduce you all to Mr. Sheep.” He baaed loudly for emphasis.

  Laughter echoed down the corridor.

  David had been the focus of their insults since day one in the SHU. He didn’t take personal offense at their trash talk. He realized that he was a target of convenience. Anyone cleaning the corridor was fair game. Besides, he had already learned that what the prisoner said was true: in jail, you were either classified as a predator or a victim. David knew he wasn’t a predator, so that clarified his place in the grand scheme of things. The only shield between him and victimization was protective custody.

  It’s not that he wouldn’t have fought back. He hadn’t made a habit of taking crap his entire life. It’s just that this time, he would lose in the end. He knew that for a fact. The aggressor’s element of surprise was too much to overcome. He knew he would surely take the brunt of the punishment. And if there were more than one attacker, forget about it. He’d be lucky to survive.

  The thing about protective custody was that it was aimed at your physical well-being. The walls between David and the other prisoners might offer him a geographic shield, but the mind was the most vulnerable organ of a man doing his first stint inside. He had learned that much was for sure. What frightened him most about the Rikers Island gang was that he saw them as the harbinger of things yet to come in his own life if he was forced to do time in prison.

  The men in the SHU had nothing to lose. They knew it, so it guided the way they acted. One day, a SHU prisoner had yelled at a guard, “Treat us like animals, we’ll act like animals!”

  They had lost all hope of ever achieving a different life for themselves. Their fate had been cast. The only thing they were free to use was their mouths. So they tried to inflict the same pain they felt on anyone who had to listen to their rants. The only defense against such verbal thrashing was to not listen or to pretend not to hear. To engage them was to play their game, a losing proposition the second you said one word.

  David silently moved down the hallway as quickly as he could, picking up feces and putting the waste in the can he carried, then mopping up the urine. All the while, he played deaf. He got all of the mess cleaned up and reported back to the guard, who gave him a dry mop and told him to get the floor as dry as possible. When he returned with that job completed, David saw that the guard was joined by six other guards dressed in full riot gear. The guard who’d brought him there told David to stand by his side at the corridor entrance.

  The guards dressed in riot gear worked their way down the corridor, stopped at every cell, and asked each prisoner to return the meal tray. Each refused. The guards then opened one door at a time. One guard pulled out his yellow Taser and took aim at the prisoner dressed in his yellow SHU jumpsuit. If he resisted, he got zapped. After the first prisoner got tased while clinging to his meal tray, that set the bar. David knew all the rest were going to get tased, too. No one wanted to show that he couldn’t take the Taser. That was a sign of weakness, a sure sign of a sheep. This yellow-on-yellow violence made David hate the color. For the first time since his arrival, the shelter of his cell looked appealing.

  The thumping sounds of the struggle were followed by screams of agony echoing down the corridor. Armed guards blasted the resisting prisoners with 50,000 volts of electricity—one cell at a time, one man at a time. In the end, the jail’s biggest and baddest gang had their way with the Rikers Island gang. David understood that the guards had no choice but to show the prisoners who was boss to keep the upper hand. Force and power were the only things these men still respected. But at that time, he wasn’t sure why they’d allowed him to witness it all.

  Once the SHU tier was secure, the guard at his side allowed David to clean up in a washroom before escorting him back to his cell. Somehow it felt as if it would take a whole lot more than liquid soap to wash away the morning’s experience.

  David looked over his shoulder. “Is it okay if we stop by the phones so I can make a call? It won’t take but a few minutes.”

  The guard took a few steps while he thought it over. “Okay, just make it quick.”

  “Thanks.”

  When Annie and Christy visited, they brought phone messages from his law practice. On their last visit, his wife had told him that Amber Remington had called. She had questioned David about Amber and their relationship. Her radar had been activated. Uh-oh, red alert.

  David removed his phone card from his shoe and called Amber while the guard sat on a chair and waited out of earshot.

  “Hello, Amber, this is David Thompson, returning your call.”

  “Thompson, is that really you?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m a guest of the government at county correctional, or haven’t you heard?”

  “Yes, I heard, but didn’t know prisoners could make phone calls.”

  “Yes, we can, but I can’t indulge in a long conversation. What’s up?” David knew full well what was up.

  “I’m calling about the scheduled deposition of Donovan Kincaid in the Ben Prior case. It’s set for Monday.”

  After a dramatic pause, David said, “Okay, what about it? I’m still allowed to practice law. I haven’t been convicted of anything.”

  “I . . . I assume you want a postponement.”

  “No, let’s go ahead with it on Monday.”

  “But you’re in jail.”

  “Yes, we’ve established that fact already, Amber.”

  “You know the deposition is scheduled at our office. We can’t do it in jail.”

  “Yes, I know. I expect to be at your office at eleven in the morning.”

  David was acting like a badass, and he knew it. Amber had already asked for two postponements of the Kincaid deposition, and Kincaid had missed the last scheduled deposition date by canceling at the last minute. David let those slide, knowing he could use all that later if needed. Now that time had come.

  Amber was skating on thin ice with respect to the judge’s discovery order. She knew better than to ask for a postponement. It might subject both her and her firm to sanctions. She was counting on David to ask for a postponement; that way, she wouldn’t have to do it. But David realized he had nothing to lose by saying he’d be there. What were they going to do if he didn’t show? Put him in jail?

  David had come to realize that he had nothing left to lose with respect to a lot of things in his life, now that he was in jail. He could identify with the Rikers Island gang on that point. He was trying to get into Amber’s head, just as the Rikers Island men had tried to get into his.

  “How is your appearance at the deposition going to magically happen?” Amber asked.

  “I have my detention hearing this Friday. Unless they plan to hold me without bail, I’ll be there for the deposition.”

  “You sound pretty sure of yourself, Thompson.”

  David wasn’t confident of the detention-hearing outcome. He just wanted to show her that he was not some sheep she could shear at will.

  “You know, your mug shot is all over the news as a terrorism suspect,” she added.

  Now he knew Amber was trying to get into his head. His mug shot was a good one. He knew that much for sure. He believed the Black Widow was hard at work again. She was definitely a wolf dressed in ewe’s clothing. “You must have me confused with someone else. The judge didn’t read a terrorism charge to me.”

  “You know they’re going to file other charges.”

  David felt a surge of anger. Amber was implying his life was in jeopardy. “No, I don’t know that. How do you know that, Amber? Did Pottenger have you dig up some dirt on me at the US Attorney’s office?”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Never mind. What’s it to you, anyway? All you have to do is get the r
esult of the detention hearing on Friday to know if I’ll be there on Monday. Didn’t Pottenger tell you to be at my hearing or to send someone over to watch? The guy must be losing his touch in his old age.”

  “Why do you keep bringing his name into it?”

  “I call them as I see them, Amber. I have to go now. See you on Monday.”

  With that, David hung up and headed back to his cell for lunch—strawberry Pop-Tarts. He’d loved them as a kid, and he’d become reacquainted with them in jail. When he saw his reflection someplace in jail and saw the red filling stuck between his teeth, he felt like the biggest badass at county correctional—like he could bite the heads off killdeers and eat them alive.

  THIRTY-THREE

  David had stopped eating the prisoner-prepared meals after the first day of his incarceration. The food was bad enough when it left the kitchen; by the time it reached his cell, it was not fit for human consumption. He became the poster child for all those safety warnings about how bacteria grow in room-temperature food.

  After he’d eaten the prison food that day, he spent most of the afternoon blowing it out the other end on the can in his cell. Everyone on his cellblock could hear the echoes from his intestinal spasms; the accompanying odor stunk up the joint. It wasn’t exactly the kind of first impression he wanted to make with the men in the neighborhood. David had sworn he’d never eat anything from the kitchen again.

  Since then, he had consumed only packaged food sold by the commissary. His stash was neatly stacked in a Tupperware box that fit under his cot. He survived on a diet of strawberry Pop-Tarts, Swiss Miss hot chocolate, Cheerios, trail mix, Sour Patch Kids candy, Cheetos, peanut butter and jelly, ramen noodles, and Doritos. It wasn’t exactly a health-food diet. He had gained five pounds in a week. But at least he wasn’t getting sick. Besides, the commissary delivery was one of the two things that he looked forward to in jail. He wasn’t about to give that up for anything.

  The other thing he looked forward to was visitors.

  His family was limited to two visits per week, provided he wasn’t on the naughty list. But lawyers could visit as much as they wanted. That afternoon, he was scheduled to meet with Jim. It had become almost a daily ritual to meet to go over his case. He’d slip notes to Jim on the important items that he did not want anyone to overhear, and Jim would slip him notes in return. He’d tried to get Jim up to speed on all that had happened and asked him to do some research. He’d told Jim how Harold’s laptop was stashed at the post office and filled out the paperwork that would allow Jim to retrieve it.

  But David was going to have two visitors that afternoon. Julius Moore also wanted to talk. David had agreed to the meeting as long as Jim could sit in as his attorney.

  David walked into the lawyer meeting room. Moore told the guard that it was okay to uncuff him. David shook hands with both Moore and Jim. He sat down next to Jim, both of them facing Moore across the table.

  “Julius, Jim said you wanted to meet with me. What’s on your mind?”

  “I wanted to give you both a heads-up that the US Attorney is talking about trying to hold you here without bail.”

  Jim erupted. “That’s outrageous! The indictment is for one charge: lying to the federal government. When has anyone been held without bail on that single charge?”

  “Don’t shoot the messenger,” Moore said.

  “Do you think David is a flight risk?” Jim asked.

  “Doesn’t matter much what I think, though he did flee to North Dakota.”

  “There’s no law against going to North Dakota,” Jim said.

  “Trust me, I don’t plan to go to North Dakota again anytime soon,” David said.

  “Why not just restrict him to travel within New York State as a condition for release?”

  “Not my call. The US Attorney is running the show.”

  Jim said, “Well, I got a copy of the pretrial service officer’s report this morning, and his recommendation is to set David free with conditions. He didn’t see David as a danger to the community or as a flight threat.”

  “You’ve got that on your side,” Moore said, “but you know it’s up to the judge in the end. She doesn’t have to follow the report, and she hasn’t in other cases. Don’t forget, this is a high-profile case. Everyone is watching.”

  “Let me ask you this, Julius,” David said. “Who else have you arrested for this terrorism spree?”

  “I think you know the answer to that question. Nobody.”

  “Did you track down Ali Rahman Yasin?” David asked.

  “We’re working on it. Agents from our Fargo office say they have evidence that he was in North Dakota at the time of the explosions, but that trail went cold.”

  “Here’s what I think is going on, Julius,” David said. “And you don’t have to respond. Just hear me out. Don’t take it personally; it’s not aimed at you. I think when all these explosions went off, there was panic on your side. You said that when people die, you have to act first and sort it out later. I think someone on your side gave orders to arrest me for something—anything—and to shake me up by showing me the inside of a jail. That might explain why I experienced the SHU up close and personal this morning. Anyway, someone on your end figured that they would’ve arrested my supposed accomplices by now. Then you’d either indict me on terrorism charges, or you thought I’d eagerly take a plea bargain in return for testifying against them. You figured that after you scared the crap out of me, I’d be ready to deal. But your plan hasn’t panned out yet. You’ve got nothing to link me to terrorism, and you can’t locate my supposed accomplices. Your time is up come Friday.”

  Jim looked at David in total disbelief. “Makes sense to me. How did you figure this out?”

  “I only figured it out because my head isn’t pounding from the concussion anymore, and because I have a lot of free time on my hands to think about it.”

  David turned to Moore. “Here’s my offer to you. Like I said, I’ve had more time than I could ever want to think about what happened. I have a hunch—”

  “All right, I’m listening,” Moore said.

  Jim said, “David, maybe you should just be quiet—”

  “Maybe you’re right, Jim,” David said. “I’m not telling you guys anything as long as I’m sitting in jail. What’s the point? I’ll just use what information I have to defend myself when I go to trial.”

  Julius said, “You’re putting other people’s lives at risk—”

  “Really? What about my life? You guys have been screwing with my life since day one. Oh, I forgot, you people need to weigh the lives of many against the life of one—me. But here’s the problem with your math now. I’m willing to work with you to save those other lives, but I can’t and won’t do it from behind bars. You have to weigh the lives of many against taking a chance on me. I’m not asking you to drop the charge now. If you don’t drop it eventually, I’ll beat that charge in court. All I’m asking is that you don’t oppose bail at the detention hearing.”

  “What guarantee do we have that you’ll work with us?”

  David moved to the edge of his seat and leaned toward Moore. “The best kind of guarantee—it’s in my self-interest to do so. I need to find the people who did this, or you’ll never leave me alone. Eventually, your people will come after me with terrorism charges and will want to slip me a lethal-injection needle if you can’t find anyone else to pin this on. I need to clear my name to save myself.”

  Moore stood up slowly and paced the length of the room with his hands in his trouser pockets.

  “What do you think, Julius?” Jim asked.

  Moore stopped in his tracks and looked David in the eye. “If it were up to me, I know what I’d do. But it’s not up to me, so I can’t make any promises. I’ll see what I can do. That’s the best I can offer.”

  David nodded and exchanged a glance with Jim. They couldn’t expect more than what the agent offered. He obviously didn’t have the authority to make such a deal singlehandedly.


  “Fair enough,” Jim said. “Hopefully, your people will see the light come Friday.”

  Jim got up to leave. “I’ve got to get going. I’ve got work to do back at the office.” He shook David’s hand but couldn’t make eye contact. “Hang in there, David.” For ten years running, both of them had shared a drink at Patty’s Bar & Grill on Thanksgiving Eve before going home to their families. If Jim had hoped that David had forgotten that tradition, he was mistaken.

  David shook hands with Moore, too. He was sorry to see both of them go. He wanted company to pass the time, to help put his mind at ease. Christy and Annie weren’t allowed to visit until Friday. That’s the day when last names starting with T were scheduled next to receive visitors.

  David had never missed a holiday with his family. The thought that he would not be with them for Thanksgiving hit him at his core.

  When David got back to his cell, the corridor was dark. November gray gripped the skies, making every moment of every day feel like dusk. What faint light there was coming in cast a soft silhouette of the window bars onto the brown-linoleum floor down the entire length of the corridor. They buzzed open his cell, and David entered. He then walked to the rear to peer out his tiny window.

  Outside the jail, the wind gusted with such force that it made the razor wire vibrate. He could see a pigeon huddled on the roof, behind a vent.

  David had to go to the bathroom, so he stepped out of his sneakers and jumpsuit. His toes curled at the chill on the floor, and he felt gooseflesh rise on his arms as he sat on the cold, stainless-steel toilet. He could hear voices echo in the hallway; then he heard laughter. It was followed by the sound of someone singing off-key. Then he heard a long painful, scream.

  He heard footsteps heading his way from one end of the corridor. They stopped and started again several times. When they arrived at his cell, a guard stopped and shined a flashlight in David’s face while he sat on the can. David put up a hand to shield his face from the light. No point in covering anything else; they had already seen it all repeatedly. He felt like an animal in a zoo.