Fat Mireille was a woman in the broadest sense. Massively obese, borderline morbidly so. She could have worn an asteroid belt. And no refined finishing touches. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see her scratching her balls and growing a beard. There was no doubt about it: she was equally ugly everywhere. You could guess at her varicose flesh under her coarse grey uniform. I followed her irritated and mumbling body with a smile. The more I thought about Mireille, the more beautiful Edith seemed to me. The grass is always greener when you’re inside.
Edith had tied her hair back, another sign. She wanted me to take her seriously, to know that she and I were solid. A surprise meeting between two follow-up appointments, that’s not nothing. Girls—especially women—are sly. Once they pass twenty and are old, there’s no spontaneity left in them, only calculating and seducing. I could see her game. She was talking to me about my time in prison so she could get some information in her files and look all professional, but all she really wanted was to spend more time with me. I fascinated her.
We aren’t allowed CCTV, we don’t have enough staff to monitor you all properly; we need you! Silence. I need you!
I cleared my throat. I need you av well, Edith.
She recoiled in her chair, unsettled. She tried to take back control by changing the subject. It’s impossible that Butterfly would attack Thomas-Olivier without any reason, it was all just a diversion, I’m sure of it. Tell me what’s going on in this wing, we can stop something bad happening.
My beautiful love was all excited, hyped up at the thought of talking crime with a real criminal, a genuine tough guy. She was actually trembling when I told her there were rumours going around about riots and about how major accounts would be settled in the chaos. Edith was sniffing after promotion like a pig hunting out truffles, she was wriggling on her chair. Tell me what, tell me who!
I told her enough so she could shine at the team meeting, now it was her turn to give me something. If I had to leave thif privon, if I wav tranffered fomewhere elfe, would we fee eacf other again, Edith?
Leaving me in no doubt about her affection for me, she assured me she’d be allowed to visit me in a professional capacity, inside federal prisons, and so on and so on. She’d follow me even if the mission went badly—that was the subtext of what she was telling me. But she refused to get carried away by the romance of the situation and immediately switched back to interrogating me about what was being plotted, about the preparations for this riot. I immured myself in silence and moodiness; women love brooding men. The talentless actor Johnny Depp has sold billions of posters solely on the basis of his brooding good looks. She questioned me, but I avoided all her interrogations, playing cat and mouse with her. I was a very mysterious mouse.
Edith knew that Butterfly assaulted me, and she wanted to know what role he would play in the upcoming events. He’d be playing the corpse! I have no idea.
But she wouldn’t let it drop. She must be unstoppable in bed once she gets going. You seriously want to take it in the neck for him after everything he’s put you through? She wasn’t well-versed in the nuances of prison hierarchy.
If it wavn’t him, it would be fomebody elfe. I wasn’t ashamed. I pointed out to her that sexual sacrifice wasn’t just the prerogative of bosses’ secretaries. And I was willing to bet that a colossus sting was worse than a butterfly sting. She didn’t understand my animal metaphor. Butterfly hav an average white male penif, but Coloffuf probably comev from a long line of big prickf. I’m not faying that becauve I’m rafift, it’f got nothing to do with rafe, it’f juft geneticf.
She was totally gobsmacked by my spot-on analysis.
Nowadays we’re all so uncomfortable talking about race. But the real racism is wanting to make everything equal without recognizing any differences. Black people like math, Asians like sports, brown people like carpets, and white people like expanding their territory and exterminating everyone else. It’s well documented.
And your cellmate, would you take a bullet for him? I hear you’ve been having an argument over some tattoo he did for you.
What a flirt, she was certainly taking the long way round to get me naked. She was pretending to want to see the work of art on my flesh so she could get a good eyeful of the curves of my body. I can fyow you if you want! I stood up, ready to take off my shirt and get the foreplay started.
No, wait!
Wait, wait, I’m not a tea bag, for fuck’s sake! She was letting me steep a little too long for my liking, I was probably going to develop a bitter aftertaste.
Tell me if he’s in danger!
I was getting annoyed. Ftop afking me if I’m going to attack fomeone, I’ve told you everything I know, do you truft me or not?
Testosterone was flowing to my head, I was expressing myself too strongly and banging on the desk. In less than two seconds, Fat Mireille showed up. Yes, Mireille, everything’s fine, we’re all good. Obviously Edith had to break up our meeting so as not to attract suspicion. And I went away once more without any affection.
* * *
I was chasing the dirty pigeons when my doves touched down. A robin perching on the fence watched us. It was beautiful, yellow, luminous. Gilbert came over to admire it as well, deciding that it was a goldfinch. What an idiot, everyone knows that robins are yellow. He stuck to his guns, but my stubbornness was stronger than his stupidity. A robin iv a robin iv a robin.
My pair of doves slipped between the chain links. Leaning over to offer them a few bread crumbs, I opened my hands. Eventually the female landed on my wrist. I could feel her beak pecking my palm. Keeping guard, the male stayed on the ground, close to her, picking up the crumbs she dropped. When we were called back inside, I chased away my visitor by waggling my fingers. I was feeling emotional. With the murder I was going to commit in the next few hours, we might be cooped up for a long time. Goodbye, my dovev, we’ll fee eafh other foon. Rhoo, rhoo, rhoo.
* * *
Louis-Honoré was waiting for me in my cell. Last day, fucker, tomorrow’s your last day to pay, in case you’ve forgotten.
You poor idiot, if only you knew what was coming.
No, I haven’t forgotten anything. All my accountv will be fettled tomorrow, maybe even thif evening!
The feevning?
Sigh. THIF! EVENING!
Haha, sure, fucker, this evening.
When he worked out what I was saying, he seemed surprised and disappointed. You’d think he liked the idea of beating me up more than the idea of getting the money. But he wouldn’t be getting cash or a fight. It was going to be child’s play to cut the grass from under his feet and roll myself a joint with it.
Pedo went into his cell when Butterfly came back from the hole, just before the trays were collected. He took the last one and sat down, for the last time, next to Big Dick and Denis. I thought: Warm up my spot, you jerk! I was trembling but I was ready. Very subtly, I tapped the shank on my groin. All that was left to do was wait for the signal, wait and pounce, like wild hyenas in the jungle.
The scene was set; the shift changed at eight on the dot. Edith left the wing, Tony came back on duty. BANG! BANG! BANG! My heart was beating double time, ready, set, go. Fat Mireille signalled to Gilbert to follow her into the office for his follow-up meeting. BANG! BANG! Tony stationed himself in front of the guard’s office, blocking the view of the entrance to the showers. BANG!
Denis nodded at Colossus. Colossus murmured in Timoune’s ear. Timoune headed toward the showers and looked over at Butterfly. Butterfly got up from the table and followed him… Big Dick smiled at me.
My heart was leaping between my throat and my guts like a yo-yo on speed. I was walking, but it was like I was subject to excessive gravity, it felt like crawling, my body was so heavy. Each step took an eternity. Time was stretching out like chewing gum under the July sun. I had to go and meet my destiny, but an unknown force was holding me back, stopping me
from moving forward. I noticed Tony’s panicked eyes as he stood by the box. With all his silence, he was yelling at me to turn around, not to go into the showers, not to go in there with Timoune and Butterfly. He was a mere grain of salt in the cogs of this assassin; I could hear neither his distress nor the unknown energy that you might, I suppose, call conscience. I had a date with history.
* * *
It was all over in a few seconds. As soon as I turned the corner into the showers, I realized Butterfly had been lured there by a drug deal. You don’t need honey to attract flies to shit. Leaning over a washbasin, with the outer section of a ballpoint pen in his hand, he was getting ready to snort a line of powder. With an old druggie’s reflex, I lost a precious nanosecond wondering what substance it was and how to get hold of some. Next to him, Timoune was giving me a scornful look, amazed that I’d dared to join them. I needed to act quickly. If I took the blade out of my underwear, Timoune might think I wanted to lay into him and might block me. If I didn’t make the most of Butterfly being distracted, he might get the upper hand. Action!
Intelligence put into action bypasses reflection. There’s a proverb about that: carpe diem. It’s of Latino origin. It means make the most of it while it’s there.
Counting on the effect of surprise, I ran the three steps between me and Butterfly. Timoune leapt backwards, astounded. When I reached my victim, I jumped and brandished my two fists in the air and let myself fall with all my weight, hitting Butterfly’s skull with both fists. Kapow! I still wonder if he had time to snort the line.
Just as I’d hoped, the plastic tube had plunged through his nasal wall, his sinuses, his prefrontal lobe, and then got stuck in his corpus callosum. In other words, Butterfly had a pen jammed in his brain. But instead of dropping dead or at least dropping to the ground, he leapt suddenly to his feet and started to yell like a pig with its throat being cut. A pig with incredible vocal cords.
Frrrrroooouuuuuuuiiithhh! His eyes rolled back in his head, which he was shaking in all directions, beating the air with his arms, Butterfly wanted to fly away. He was twisted with pain, his face frozen into a simian grimace. Oh my God, I thought. Oh my God, I said. It was pretty terrifying.
Timoune was swearing in Creole, pressed up against the wall, kneading the floor with his feet as if he wanted to sink into it. He was in shock. I was seriously disturbed, Butterfly was too agitated to be properly stabbed, the whole wing must have heard his screeching right out of the ninth circle of hell. The cavalry would be arriving any minute. What should I do?
I grabbed the shiv out of my tighty whities and threw it at Timoune as hard as I could. Black guys have excellent reflexes, it’s all down to their intergenerational sporty genes, that’s totally scientific and well documented. Timoune had excellent reflexes. He caught the weapon I’d just thrown, shouted like some sissy with PTSD, then dropped the weapon on the floor.
I chanced one last look at Butterfly. His body was covered with blood, which was pissing out of his nose in great floods. He was emptying fast. I raced out, crashing into Tony, who was on his way in, and I yelled at the top of my lungs, Timoune killed Butterfly, fucking hell, guys, Timoune’s killed Butterfly!
9
Discretion
In the isolation cell, in the hole, the only company I had was graffiti. Since we are relieved of our belts and laces, I guess it was all carved with fingernails or dentures. Even if you’ve already read them a thousand times, you read them again, just to pass the time and recognize the artists’ talent.
Your mother blows… Prison iz all in ur head… Seven yeers left to go… Christian Mistral was here… Fuck Fat Mireille… Black Power fucks yo mama… Life’s a bitch… and tons of pictures: hearts, knives, women’s bodies, and birds.
Since I was the main witness and a secondary suspect in the attack on Butterfly, I got put in the hole for a week while the police investigated. The two inspectors on my case were young and buff. They could have been police stripograms! It’s kinda pointless having big muscles when you have a gun, but I think being ripped made them feel good about themselves. Bodybuilding is very homosexual.
I had to meet Detective Jalbert and Detective Vivier, young men in their thirties, but old-school police officers. Jalbert played good cop and Vivier played bad cop. It was cute. I was going to fool them with one hand up each of their asses. Or tied behind my back, whatever turns you on.
I stuck to the basic story: I showed up in the showers, Timoune was holding a knife in his hand and attacking Butterfly. I didn’t really see what was going on, they were wrestling each other. No, I don’t know what he hit him with. Yef, he had the knife in his handv. No, I have nothing againft Butterfly perfonally. Yef, I saw Timoune attacking him with my own eyev. No, I didn’t jump on Butterfly. No, I wasn’t in on it. For everything else, I stuck to the basic principle of every criminal worthy of the name: deny deny deny. I mean, it should hardly be up to us to provide all the evidence!
I guessed from the questions they asked that my victim was dead, or unconscious. They had Timoune’s version, claiming he hadn’t been the attacker. But they also had Tony’s version, which corroborated mine. As the meetings went on, I learned that they’d got fingerprints off the blade. Timoune’s, obviously. Well caught, dude!
* * *
It looked like plain sailing from here on, all I had to do was hold my course, blow some lies into the sails, and wait to be taken back to my wing. No longer just a simple inmate, but as Big Dick’s lieutenant.
A whole week in a prison inside a prison is a long time. I didn’t have visitors usually, but I mingled with the other inmates and my beautiful Edith, and the other guards could be entertaining too. In the hole all I could do was resist the police questioning and jerk off. That got annoying. After a week of boredom, she came to visit me.
Edith confirmed that I’d be allowed back to my cell before too long.
I’ve been thinking a lot about you. I miff our meetingv.
She’d changed, I think the murder had rattled her, she was serious. You lied to me! You said that they were planning a riot. You knew Butterfly was in danger!
No wonder they call them drama queens: drama is to women like honey is to bees, they produce and consume as much of it as possible.
I didn’t lie to you, I told you what I knew. I warned you that fomething wav in the works, but I didn’t know what. Thove black guyv tried to trap me.
Nervous, and worried for the man she loved, she murmured, What have you got mixed up in?
I reassured her. Don’t worry, I’m in control, I’m not micfed up in anything. They know it wav Timoune who did it, their plan screwed up…
She went away without saying goodbye or touching me. She was angry. Perfect, it’s good for young couples to bicker. Then you can apologize and have great make-up sex, a good hard loving fuck.
A woman is a treasure, a box that just wants to be forced open.
* * *
My two little piggies came back to question me one last time to see if they could squeeze anything else out of me. But I’m not a lemon, so they left empty-handed. While Jalbert tried to tempt me with the promise of putting a favourable note in my file if I gave them more details, Vivier stared at me and wanted to know what kind of relationship I had with Colossus, Big Dick, and even Tony. That put a bug in my ear: I’d have to inform the boss. Our corrupt officer was suspected by the police.
I held firm all morning. Before leaving, they took my fingerprints digitally again, and my picture, and asked me to take off my shirt so they could photograph my tattoo. I didn’t pay any attention to their snorts of derision. Police officers know nothing about the ancestral art of samurai. They wouldn’t recognize an authentic one if they met one, the jerks.
They let me go out at the end of the day. They got me out of the hole, then out of the secure isolation wing to take me back to my protected section, inside a maximum-security prison. I felt like
a Russian doll.
10
Admiration
Butterfly wouldn’t be making out with anyone again. He was in a deep coma. It’s less impressive than a murder, but he was definitely broken. He wasn’t likely to try to fuck the Mafia again, or me. Kept alive artificially in some hospital in the city, Butterfly is going to cost the state even more than he did when he was inside. It’s ridiculous, they should have finished him off instead of intubating him.
I was listening to Philippe with an air of detachment, but in my head there was a raging inferno. I was dreading Big Dick’s reaction. Would I be promoted or punished? I was disappointed that Butterfly wasn’t dead, and I couldn’t hide it. But, man, who gives a shit if he’s not dead, it’s the same thing. You stabbed him in the brain with a pen. You’re a warrior, man, you’re fucking sick. Philippe’s compliments boosted my morale.
I really hoped it would be enough to make the Italians, the valued sponsors, and Big Dick happy at the same time. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to him again, he and Denis were pretending to ignore me since I’d got back to the section. I assumed they were protecting themselves; welcoming me officially as one of their own would have confirmed the plot we were suspected of.
All the same, I’d hoped for a warmer welcome, not a guard of honour but some kind of recognition. But it was glacial: the agents on the floor underlined their suspicions by giving me the stink eye, while Colossus and Louis-Honoré were machine-gunning me with their stares, and Gilbert and Pedo wouldn’t even deign to stop watching a Deal or No Deal rerun. Philippe was the only one to be amazed. So that was something.
Man, I can’t get over it! It was a major deal this week, we all got interviewed like ten times, and we had police in the wing every day. Totally crazy! My new lawyer told me Timoune’s been charged with attempted murder. There’s gonna be a big trial—that’ll give us a chance to get out and about, we’ll have to be witnesses.
Mama's Boy Behind Bars Page 9