46

Adamsville State Penitentiary

Gladys poked her head into Thomas’s office. “Got a minute, Reverend?”

He followed her to her cubicle outside the warden’s office. Yanno was out.

“The boss thought you might want to see this,” she said, handing Thomas a beat-up videocassette that appeared to have been used several times. “Documents the Guatemalan’s extraction and transfer to isolation.”

“Jorge? What’d he do?”

“The usual.”

Gladys led Thomas into the warden’s office, where an ancient combination TV–VHS player sat atop a small stand in one corner. Thomas pulled a chair away from the conference table. “Have you seen it?” he said.

Gladys shook her head and emitted a low chuckle. “No, thank you. Got my initiation years ago. One is enough. I don’t know these guys and don’t want to know them. I don’t feel any sympathy, I can tell you that. And I don’t want these images in my brain.”

Thomas smiled sadly. “And I do?”

“Mr. LeRoy said you recently talked to the man, that’s all. Thought you’d be interested.”

Thomas shook his head as he shoved the cartridge into the machine. He couldn’t understand why they didn’t record these things on DVDs.

Gladys left and shut the door as the video came to life.

The bored voice of the videographer announced the date of the action, gave the prisoner’s full name and number and the location of his cell. Each of the five corrections officers was shown and identified as well. “Subject assaulted an officer through his meal slot with a feces bomb to the face constructed from toilet paper and remnants of a juice box. Officer had not been wearing a face mask due to no incidents in this pod for more than six months. Extraction commenced at 2:10 p.m.”

Every member of the team wore a helmet with face mask, rubber gloves, and all the protective gear they seemed to have been able to amass. One carried a huge Plexiglas shield. The team leader instructed Jorge to back his way to the meal slot to be cuffed. He remained passively on his bunk at the back of his cell.

“Don’t make us come in there!”

Jorge responded with an obscene gesture.

“Show your hands.”

Jorge hid his hands behind him.

“Could be armed,” the leader told the others. “Watch yourselves.” Then, to the prisoner, “Last chance.”

Jorge let loose a stream of expletives, whereupon the team leader pressed a can of gas through one of the openings and filled the cell with a white cloud. Through the haze Thomas could see Jorge cover his face.

“He’s unarmed!” the leader shouted. “Come on, Jorge. Just back up to the slot.”

Jorge just sat there, gagging and coughing.

“One more,” the leader said, reaching behind him and accepting another canister from a teammate. This one made Jorge stagger to the door and thrust his hands through.

“No! Turn around. We’re cuffing you in the back!”

Jorge would not move.

The leader shrugged and cuffed him in front, then released the manual lock, thrust his key into the main lock, and nodded to the officer in the pod, who tripped the remote so the key would work. As soon as the door was open, the team surged in.

Jorge swung his cuffed hands and kicked and tried to bite the officers. One circled behind him and wrapped a spit mask around his face while the others each grabbed a limb and the one with the shield drove him to the back of the cell.

When Jorge hit the bed, he crumpled to the floor with the shield and the officer atop him, but still he thrashed and screamed and grunted. Someone rolled in a gurney, and he was soon strapped down, legs also shackled.

“Subject transported to isolation,” the videographer said.

Thomas pressed his lips together. When would he learn to read these men? He could easily have been the victim of the initial assault, but who could have predicted it?

And why did Frank LeRoy think Thomas wanted to see this? Just because he had chatted with Jorge at the prisoner’s request? Or was Yanno still trying to educate him? Thomas figured he’d been in the system long enough to understand that these things happened. He guessed the warden would always consider him the new guy, even after all these years.

Thomas emerged and gave Gladys the tape.

“He wants to see you,” she said.

“Jorge? In isolation? He knows better.”

“When he gets out.”

“When will that be?”

“Who knows? This will be the end of any hope for parole for him. Ever.”

“Well, let me know. I’ll talk to him. As long as there’s a window between us.”

“I heard that.”

Serenity Halfway House

Brady began to live for Thursdays, when the outsiders came in for group therapy. Katie North would rush from the van and straight into his arms, though they kept their embraces short and friendly so they would appear simply like old friends. Bill and Jan both seemed encouraged by Brady’s rekindling an acquaintance. Brady was hoping for a whole lot more than that.

Katie seemed to make sure to sit next to Brady, and they whispered asides and winked at each other throughout every group session.

One Thursday she leaned close and said in his ear, “I have a gift for you, but it’s contraband.”

Brady didn’t want to even wonder if it was something unhealthy. Surely she could see he was doing well. He had kicked every addiction except nicotine and was determined to stay straight. For the first time in ages he felt hope that he could really turn his life around. He didn’t ever want to go back to the joint, of course, but the truth was, there were people he wanted to impress. Bill and Jan, to start with. His aunt and uncle too, though he wearied of their efforts to get him to their church and to introduce him to their friend. Even his mother. He didn’t care if he ever saw her again, but something in him wanted her to hear—at least secondhand—that he was succeeding.

But at the top of his list?

Katie. He knew himself well. She would be worth throwing over the whole reforming thing. In a flash.

She had become all he could think about. She looked better, smelled better, sounded better every time he saw her. There was a hint of danger about her, and she hadn’t hidden her interest in him. And Brady was sure she was as committed to sobriety as he was. He’d seen enough people strung out to know that she seemed clean. And if she wasn’t? Well, with her, he was open to anything.

As people milled about chatting, waiting to board the van, she said softly, “Don’t let anybody see you take this.”

They talked and joked and locked eyes, but she also kept glancing at the Serenity staff. Suddenly she reached into her pocket and then shook his hand. “Get it out of sight right away. I have it set on vibrate. Just don’t get caught with it.”

A cell phone.

“Do they search you, Brady?”

“Not anymore.”

“Still, you’d better keep it hidden in your room. Call me when you’re alone. We can even text each other.”

“Listen, I’ve never used a cell phone. I don’t know the first thing about—”

“Hmm, I never thought of that. I’ll send you a manual. Do they go through your mail?”

“No.”

“I’ll overnight it. Then we can talk every day.”

“How long do the batteries last?”

She swore.

“What?” he said.

“You’re going to need a charger, too.”

“A what?”

“I’ll send you a box of cookies. Everything you need will be in the packaging. Gotta go.”

She cares.

It was all Brady could think about. Aside from ugly Agatha, shallow high school girls who loved the novelty of squealing about the bad boy, and his series of one-night stands, real women had rarely given him a second glance. And Katie North was hot. Not to mention rich. How much must a cell phone cost?

Within a few days Bill and Jan were teasing Brady about having a girlfriend who sent him cookies in an overnight package. He was careful to share them with everyone. He was left with just one, and it wasn’t that great. But it wasn’t the cookies that mattered. He also found the charger and the phone manual, and he forced himself to read it until he figured the thing out.

He plugged it in to a socket next to his bed and kept everything hidden. Several times a day he stole away to his room, locked the door, and checked for messages. Texting was a frustrating chore, but he learned the shorthand and enjoyed keeping up with all of Katie’s exploits. Despite her ankle bracelet, her girlfriends brought her everything she needed and wanted.

“It won’t be long,” she told him one night, “before I’ll be able to use my car again.”

And it wasn’t just any car. She had a Mercedes, the big four-door sedan.

When do they let u out 4 rides? she texted him late in the afternoon one day.

Free 2 come and go, but curfew, he keyed back. Long as ur not a felon.

Make sure. Tomorrow at 2.

Brady met with Jan and Bill. They seemed amused at the budding relationship, but their smiles faded at his request. “We can’t really say no,” Jan said. “But your parole officer needs to know. And we have to know where you’re going and exactly when you’ll be back.”

“Is there any way I can transfer?”

“Transfer?”

“Parole officers. It’d be a whole lot easier if one of you could take over for my guy. He works down by County, and it’s hard to get there. And I don’t think he likes me or trusts me.”

“Trusting you isn’t his job,” Bill said. “He’s supposed to suspect you and keep an eye on you.”

“But you guys always talk about trust and respect, and I feel that here.”

Jan looked at Bill. “You have served as parole officer for a few of the guys.”

“Once they’ve completed the course, yeah,” Bill said. “Never before.”

She shrugged. “Maybe the county would make an exception.”

“I’m willing,” Bill said. “But no promises.”

“I’d sure appreciate you trying,” Brady said. “When I get out of here, I want to find a place to live right here in town.”

“You’re doing well, man,” Bill said. “I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile, why don’t you and Miss North just plan on an hour or so tomorrow.”

“Let’s be specific,” Jan said. “Make it ninety minutes. You’re back here at 3:30 sharp. And where will you be going?”

“Just out for a snack, I guess. No big deal.”

“Good idea. She has to sign some papers, you know. And we have to see documentation that she’s no longer monitored and is free to do this.”

The next morning, Brady raced through his chores, showered, shaved, and dressed in his best and cleanest clothes. Katie showed up early with a letter from her parole officer and signed everything Bill and Jan required, promising to have Brady back right on time.

It was all he could do to keep from running to her car, but she kept telling him to just stay cool. She pulled away slowly, Brady marveling at the interior of the coolest ride he had ever enjoyed.

“First time in a Benz,” he said.

“Really?”

“You kiddin’? ’Course.”

“You wanna drive?”

“I don’t even have a license.”

“Then don’t do anything that would get you stopped.”

She pulled over.

“You’re not serious,” he said. “Are you?”

“As serious as this.” She climbed from behind the wheel directly into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

After a few minutes of passionate kisses, during which Brady worried about dying of a heart attack, she said, “Your turn to drive, bad boy.”

Brady found himself relieved that the car was not a stick shift. “Where to, ma’am?”

“Harley-Davidson,” she said, eyes dancing. “Can’t think of anyplace more fun than that.”

“Got another gift for me?” he said, laughing.

“All in good time.”