There’s no such thing as chance. Especially in prison. Everything is counted, from the cutlery to the minutes in the visiting room to the group dynamics of each wing. The prison leadership had the power to alter the fragile balance of our microsociety. I could define the unstable power relationships in terms of chess. Chess is intelligent, like Russians. Russian women are blond, hot, and sensual, and they basically just wear black lingerie, this is well documented on the Internet and in specialist magazines. But I’m getting distracted—back to chess; black versus white, you’re already getting the picture.
On one side we had Colossus, the black king, who had a powerful rook in Louis-Honoré and a pawn named Philippe the Filipino. Opposite, King Big Dick still had the upper hand, supported by a knight and a bishop. Smack my bishop, as the Prodigy sang, was a perfect fit for Denis, with his all-seeing gaze and excellent connections. As for me, the knight, I still hoped to make a conquest of Queen Edith and surprise everyone with a timely sidestep.
They could have tried to keep the existing balance. But since they had the chance to shuffle the cards—and the cages—they took it. Instead of bringing in reinforcements for the two existing gangs, they chose instead to swell the ranks of Pedo’s clan. And they didn’t just bring in two replacement crazies—filling the space left by Giuseppe too, they brought in three in one go.
Why make something easy when you can make it complicated? With this generous addition to our wing, which was already on the point of exploding, the management destroyed morale. This new Holy Trinity of morons was made up of Beanpole, Melon, and mathieu. It’s important to use the right words: unbearable parasites sounds weak, but it’s the only thing coming to mind. We’d need to ask a writer. Or a dictionary of synonyms.
The tall skinny guy was the most seriously affected, he was as stupid as a Czech ballet. And they put him in a cell with Pedo. The worst that could happen was that they’d drool on each other and invent a primitive language. Poor Beanpole, another victim of overmedication. He was a long way from being a schizophrenic in remission—in fact, you only had to mention Jesus and he broke out in a sweat. Whenever he was getting on our nerves, we brought up Satan. That’s all it took to make him run back to his cell, where he intoned a hundred Our Fathers to recover.
He was twenty-two and had no name at all, we didn’t care, we just called him Beanpole, and he doesn’t even deserve your attention. He’s not important in this story, and he’s not the one I killed.
The second reinforcement, the big Melon, was called Steven and claimed he had Indigenous ancestry. What a liar: he had an American first name, his obesity was down to American junk food, he’d shot his wife with an American rifle, and he was an evangelical Christian. Humming along to Kashtin or buying a dream catcher isn’t enough to lay claim to a many-thousand-year-old culture.
And he had a squint! Have you ever heard of an honest man with a squint? It’s not well documented though. Some university ought to waste taxpayers’ money on researching it.
Steven, the pudgy melon, stank, which was an important detail in this confined environment. Some people smell like swing. He was worse: he reeked of jazz. He never spoke and was always laughing to himself for no reason. But I sniffed out his hypocrisy right away. He’ll be less of a smartass when I shove a knife into his ribs.
Last and most definitely least came mathieu, no capital letter. A drifter who took a wrong turn. Prison is full of sons of bitches, but the authorities don’t allow any dogs. And a young guy on the streets without a dog is lost. He was so anxious and introverted that he never even lifted his head. Poor kid, that wasn’t enough to let him go unnoticed. The very day of his arrival, I heard Louis-Honoré calling dibs on him. We could hear him moaning morning and night. Luckily for him, Louis-Honoré was speedy with his little peashooter, which limited the damage.
Little mathieu attempted suicide a few times during his stay with us. In my opinion, you might as well kill someone else as yourself. Your attacker, let’s say. But mathieu had fewer balls than a eunuch. Or at least that’s what he let us believe when he arrived. Another hypocrite whom I’ll make pay for it one day.
* * *
I was listening to Melon jerking off on my right when Denis came and stood under the shower to my left. Denis wore black lycra swim shorts in the showers, Ocean Mist brand with fuchsia stripes on the sides, very tight. He was never without his swim shorts. He must have been saddled with some little embarrassment, I guess. Heteromasculine intimacy doesn’t turn every inmate on.
I didn’t dare speak to him, but I dragged out the washing process so I could stay beside him. He was pretty charismatic, and I rarely had the chance to be close to one of my fellow gang members. I was washing my armpits for the third time when he spoke to me. Tomorrow…
I jumped and dropped the soap. Melon thought that was funny; I threatened him with my fist to show him it wasn’t. He laughed anyway. I picked up my little bar of soap and stood back under the shower. Denis, annoyed, started up again on his long-winded speech. Tomorrow at dinner, you’re going to sit with us.
Finally! July was almost over; three weeks had melted away since I’d cut Butterfly’s wings off.
Yef, yef, I’ll come and fit with you.
Denis was warming up his voice. We need you. It’s something bigger this time. Stay ready.
Bigger than Butterfly? Did they want me to tear Colossus limb from limb with my teeth? I’m ready for anything, Denis! I was so excited I could have hugged him. But I don’t think he would have been comfortable with that in the showers. Instead, I soaped myself up vigorously, smiling to infinity and beyond.
12
The Pardon
Edith wanted to make up. It was about time! She’d been sulking with me for almost a month, which wasn’t serious, even for a woman. I showed up to our meeting with a flower. A paper flower. Even if it was a fake flower, women like the thought that counts.
What is it? she said, as if she couldn’t tell what it was. She’s very playful, my Edith.
It’f a flower, a paper flower. It’f like love, it doevn’t fade.
She twirled it on its stem for a moment. Thank you. It’s the thought that counts.
Bingo! Ten points to me.
I’m going to be honest with you. I feel like you lied to me. I don’t know how much you were involved in the attack on Butterfly, but you weren’t there for no reason. Especially as you claimed to know that there was a plan that involved you. You should never have been there.
I put on my innocent little virgin face. I wav juft there by chanfe, Edith. I wanted to tell her the truth, to be open and honest, tell her the whole story. But all the beauty of impossible love stories lies in those shady zones. I didn’t do anything! I fwear, Edith, you have to believe me, I only have you to tell the truth to!
Her expression softened. I don’t know if I should believe you. The other agents think Big Dick set the whole thing up, that it wasn’t Timoune who did it but you.
I suspected that the screws suspected me. No, no, tell them, you have to ftand up for me, Edith, we truft eacfh other. You promifed me!
She didn’t let me take her hand. No, hang on, I didn’t promise anything.
I insisted. But truft iv a promife…
I wasn’t expecting her to stand up and flaunt her enormous hips. Even seen from the front, she had a big ass.
What was Denis saying to you in the showers yesterday? Why did you sit with Big Dick at lunch? Don’t take me for an idiot, I know you’re working for them now.
I was disconcerted. How could she have known that Denis had invited me to lunch while we were in the showers? Was Melon a double agent? I had to speak to the boss, and fast. Maybe we were bugged.
Egvactly, Denif invited me to eat with them, that’f all. I think they were lonely, he and Dzilles.
She burst out laughing. Give it a rest with your “Gilles.” You can’t tell me that Bi
g Dick just wanted to hang out with you instead of that goon, what are you doing for him?
I needed to give her a crumb before she snatched the whole loaf away from me. Sometimes you need to sacrifice a small truth to hide a larger one.
I juft give him my medicafion, that’f all.
She paused and wilted a little. I suspected as much, but I’m sure that’s not the whole story.
I rearranged my face into an expression of repentance. Yef, Edith, I fwear, I’m doing nothing wrong.
Like a slab of veal beneath the hammer of fine words, she became more tender. And what’s this tattoo?
I’d let my arm rest on the desk in full view, hoping that she would see right through the chaos, that it would take her breath away, that she’d walk around the desk and finally consummate our passion. You do know I could send you straight to the hole for that, nobody’s allowed to get a tattoo inside these walls, and now you’ve done it twice.
There was still some gristle left in her steak. But I had no choife, EDITH, if I wanted to furvive infide I had to get theve letterf written on my fkin. It reminds me of fomeone very important to me…
She remained unmoved. I don’t know why you’d be stupid enough to get a tattoo, but for now, the only name you should be focusing on is your own. What with the company you’re keeping and Jocelyn having you in his sights, along with everything else going on in this wing, you should just be thinking about protecting yourself.
All women are mothers deep down. Even those whose uteruses are useless or unused. They always want to protect the ones they love, the one they love.
I reassured her, promised her I’d take care, if only for her sake, but Edith was already opening the office door wide and asking me to leave. She wanted to carry on playing, draw out the pleasure, let me stew in my desire. The higher you jump, the harder you fall, as James Dean murmured in an excellent film I’ve never seen. I had lots of momentum. I was going to hit it hard when the time came.
* * *
As it happens, there was no reason for Edith to make a meal out of my team lunch. I was expecting to be entrusted with an important mission, to chat business or to undergo a rite of passage. But life is a letdown, and humans take pride in being disappointing. Denis made me sit down between him and Big Dick, then they ate in silence. For a long time. As if nothing was up. I suppose it was just to show me off, let people know I was one of theirs. So at least there was that.
I looked around between two mouthfuls of stew, savouring the other inmates’ jealous looks. Especially Colossus and Louis-Honoré. I didn’t dare imagine what they’d give to be sitting right in the spot occupied by my little white ass. Some people might have thought they were glaring at me aggressively, or even with hatred, but an analyst like me knows how to spot jealousy under the frowning brows.
I was picking my bottom teeth with a fork when Denis broke the silence, imbued with the solemnity of Christ breaking the host. From now on, you’re going to eat with us two, you’re going to talk to me alone, and you’re not going to do any more tattooing nonsense or anything else. Got it?
Yef, but…
No buts. Denis signalled that I shouldn’t add anything. Big Dick didn’t add anything either, adjourning our first official meeting with his last mouthful of pudding.
* * *
I hoped the library would have a copy of the Karma Sutra. We can barely get any porn in prison. It’s unacceptable, it ought to be considered a basic right for all men from the age of twelve all the way to death. I told myself that with the famous Indian sports manual in my hands I’d at least be able to stimulate my imagination. But no, Fat Mireille and I walked all the way along the two endless corridors for nothing.
The library was closed because the librarian was being evaluated by the parole board to see if he could get early release. My chunky escort swore as she tried to catch her breath. I hoped they’d refuse to liberate the Sage. He was the only member of my book club. And we’d become friends over the months; you can’t be disliked by everyone. Sometimes he recommended interesting books to me. He explained the plots I didn’t get, and corrected me when I quoted the wrong author, which rarely happened. But most of all he listened to me and never insulted me. And that’s not nothing. I really liked him; I could only wish that his hopes would be dashed.
* * *
On the way back, Mireille asked me if she could see my baseball tattoo. I told her to take a hike and pointed out my skin was decorated with a samurai, not a batter. She apologized but insisted on seeing it, she’d been assured that it was worth it. But she was wasting her breath. I wasn’t going to get undressed just to satisfy some obese old woman’s curiosity, and I wouldn’t fail to denounce her to her colleague. Sparks would fly when Edith heard Mireille had been trying to turn her man in to a stripper.
Back in my wing, I immediately noticed that something was off. It wasn’t Beanpole on all fours and patting the floor. It wasn’t the turned-off TV. It was the peace and quiet, rarer than fair-trade cocaine. There was a monastic silence. Only Pedo and Beanpole were in the common area.
Dany, the guard who’d recommended my dorsal masterpiece to his colleague, cast a distracted glance at the crazies. Why was everyone in their cells? More cunning than Geronimo himself, I gave Mireille the slip and sneaked over to my own cell. Bingo! I could hear whispering. To avoid attracting attention, I pressed myself up against the wall, a few inches away from the door frame, pretending to clean my nails. I was trying to be more discreet than a fruit-fly turd.
I struggled to make out all the voices. I recognized Philippe, the current tenant. I was amazed to hear a voice I didn’t recognize. Then I identified the third as Colossus. But the second one wasn’t Louis-Honoré. Then the mysterious man snickered. It was Melon! I recognized that hideous cackle from the showers. Here was the evidence: not only was he pretending to be a non-verbal crazy, he was also a double agent—or, who knows, maybe even a triple agent—working both for the prison and for Colossus. This was a plot twist straight out of the best kind of novel!
I was burning with impatience to report this intel back to Big Dick. Going through Denis, obviously. They’d be so proud of me, maybe they’d even touch me. I was hoping for a pat on the back, but I’d be happy with a handshake. But for now, at risk of bursting, the balloon of my surprise was getting strained. They were still talking.
The big traitor was talking about managing the hooch and bringing all substances under one system. Philippe replied that with a monopoly they could inflate the prices as much as they wanted. Colossus mumbled some vernacular Creole phrase before ending by whispering, We’ll have free run once Big Dick’s gone. I was having heart palpitations. This was a serious plot, they were legit going to take out the head of my organization.
I had enough information to run to my gang’s HQ cell. But curiosity and my weak legs kept me pinned to the wall for a few seconds longer. A few nearly fatal seconds. Colossus was talking about September being a time of reorganization when Louis-Honoré came out of the cell and stood right in front of me.
By the grace of God and fashion, Louis-Honoré was concentrating on shifting the elastic waistband of his jogging pants lower down on his ass. Since he had his head bent down during this operation, it gave me the time to take three quick steps backwards. Very subtly, I then started moving back toward my cell while singing that old Sex Pistols hit: Clang clang go the jail guitar doors, Bang bang go… Oh! Sorry, Colossus. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’d put on a relaxed look, but hardened criminals are suspicious by nature.
Colossus grabbed my neck. What do you want, fool?
Quick thinking. Well… it if my fell.
While Colossus was gripping my face just a few inches away from his, Louis-Honoré came into the cell and stood behind me, grabbing me by the neck for good measure. Is there a problem, Colossus?
I felt as squeezed as a peanut butter sandwich being sat on by Mireille
. What with Philippe, the obese guy with the confusing identity, and the black guys holding me down by my neck, the tension was rising.
Asshole don’t have no problem, right? Colossus said.
I accept that it’s important to affirm your virility in an all-male environment, but I was starting to think that maybe Colossus didn’t respect me enough. No, no problem.
I could breathe more easily once my Afro-Haitian assailants released me. It was just my cellmate left. Unlike his employers, he knew how to ask a question clearly. Hey, man, do you think you heard something when you came in that it would have been better if you hadn’t been here to hear? Shakespeare would have beamed with pride.
Philippe’s shot was on target but he didn’t score a goal. I took possession of the ball again and ran back to the other end. I didn’t hear a thing, I wav finging a fong. But that wav a weird meeting, in our fell, what’f going on?
Pretending to rummage in a drawer to avoid my perceptive gaze, he tried to shake me off. No, no, it wasn’t weird, Colossus was looking for somewhere to talk with Fat Melon. He gets these horse pills, you know. He’s gonna have to give them to the black guys… Huge doses of Klonopin, the good stuff.
I agreed. Yeah, but I don’t underftand why you were meeting here.
In a final attempt to show off, Philippe insinuated that he was the mule, he had to keep his boss’s medication and marijuana in our cell.
Yef, right, that makef fenfe. And a million winged pigs were getting ready to fly right out of the prison.
This was serious, and I had no biteable nails. My gang was under threat. I had a sense of belonging deep in my gut. I hadn’t often had a chance to show it, but I had a real sense of family. Denis and Big Dick were my fathers and my brothers at the same time. In a family you have to stick together and fight to protect yourselves. Out of pure love, like the Hiltons, those famous boxers and Montreal hotel moguls.
Mama's Boy Behind Bars Page 11