by Lee Taylor
“When this place first opened, prisoners were brought in by horse and buggy. They actually wore those striped uniforms back then, and leg ligatures. Couldn’t do nothing and got beat or confined every time they did something wrong. Treated like the scum they were. Now they got rights. They got support groups. Can’t touch the pricks or your ass is on the line. They got their own world in here. A guard can’t get too tough or he’ll end up dead like the guard did over at the other facility yesterday. Had a problem over there in Menard. You hear about it?”
“No.”
“Happens every now and then. The inmates want to send out a message. One of us gets killed. Sometimes we’re lucky and can get a shot off and put one of them down before they get us, but then we hear about it from the Governor who catches heat from some prisoner civil-rights group. We’re as much a prisoner in here as the inmates. But we don’t have no groups out there fighting for our rights. We’re surrounded by guys who’ll stick a knife in our backs if they decide that we’re keeping out too much of their shit.”
“What kind of shit?”
“Drugs, cash, knives, whatever. You name it and they can get it in, and they’re all innocent. Like Speck. Never admitted to nothin’. Lives like the pig that he is and loves it. Wouldn’t want to be out. Those pathetic families of his victims drive in for his parole hearings like there’s a chance the man will try to get out. Never happen. He signs those papers weeks before the hearing. He don’t want to leave. If the place burned down he’d probably burn with it. Got his lovers, his hootch, his drugs and he knows how to play the warden for just about any privilege he wants. Like I said, a good inmate.”
“All this time I thought he was rotting. Thought his life was a terror. Hoped that each day was his nightmare. So you’re telling me that he actually likes it in here? Why should I believe you?”
“You can see it.”
“I saw a man painting a cell, that’s all.” I sit down at a table. Getting tired of standing.
“You know he’s got actual tits?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Yeah. Took hormones for a while. Grew ‘em just like a woman. Got a pretty good set. Likes to show ‘em off whenever he can. He’s a real sweetheart.” The Captain takes a seat across from me.
“I don’t…what are you saying?”
“He never liked sex with women. Loves it with men, though. Got himself a few lovers. Thinks it’s all funny. They all think it’s funny. Can cop a feel whenever they want and pretend they got their own female whore locked up in the same room.”
“Why are you telling me this? Tell it to CBS. I don’t care about Speck’s sexual preferences.” I turn in my chair, thinking he’ll stop. Thinking I’ll bolt if I hear another word.
“Yeah you do. I can tell. I knew it from the first time you saw Speck. Most other people come in here and don’t give a shit what goes on. But you’re different. Your father was a cop, a cop who cared, that’s why he died. He couldn’t take what goes down on the streets. What happened in that townhouse. You’re the same way. You care, only you can’t do nothin’ about it and it drives you crazy. Makes you full of hate. I bet you were a sweet little girl, just like my girls at home, but Speck took that sweetness away from you and you’ll never get it back until you get even with the bastard for what he did.”
“The only way I can get even with that fuck is if somebody puts a bullet into his head and I provide the gun.” I stand up again, agitated.
“Then you’d be servin’ time. Wouldn’t get the sweetness back, but I have an idea. Got it when I saw all that camera equipment come in here.”
“What? You want Paramount to make a movie about Speck? I know… Speck, the Prison Years.”
“Something like that. Maybe a documentary on what these guys get away with inside this so-called maximum-security prison. Richard will be the star attraction. Everybody in Chicago knows who he is. He’ll get the attention I need.”
“And so? Who’s going to make this little show-and-tell?”
“You are.”
We stare at each other for a moment, sizing each other up. Checking for backbone, for grit. I can feel my heart beating, racking my body with each pulse. “I don’t know jack about shooting a documentary. Wrong job description. You need some up-and-coming director type who’s trying to make a name.”
“Don’t know nobody who cares about Speck like you do. Wouldn’t be the same.”
I’m churning with a thousand ideas, concerns. Thinking that I must be crazy to even listen to the man. “Suppose I did agree to this. It wouldn’t be professional looking. Just maybe a home movie type of thing.”
“Whatever you think is best. Just so it’s on film.”
“Just so what’s on film? Speck in action?”
“Something like that.”
“Where’s the camera coming from?”
“Don’t tell me you can’t get a hold of a camera. I’ve seen plenty come in here.”
“Wrong kind.”
“So bring in whatever you need.”
“I can’t get my bra past Henrietta. How’s that going to work?”
“You’ll figure it out. You’re smart.”
It’s all going too fast. I feel like I’m falling into something I can’t get out of. Something dangerous. Something that might kill me, but I keep going.
“And what about the warden? Is he okay with this?” He doesn’t answer. It’s all coming together now. The picture’s coming into focus. “So, this is just something you cooked up, right? You’re the whistle blower?”
“Something like that. Yeah,” he answers suddenly all secure in his idea.
“What happens when the warden gets wind of our little game?”
“He won’t find out. Not now. Not ever.”
For some reason, as I look into his eyes, I believe him. He continues. “I’ll provide you with a secure room. No one will find you. I guarantee it. I want you to ask Speck some questions for me. I wrote ‘em down. If I know Speck, he’ll brag about hisself and his life here. That’s what I want. That’s what you have to get out of him. How much he likes it here and why. You can add to the questions if you got any of your own. But the answers to mine are what can change things. Get rid of some of the gang activity, some of the drugs, the privileges. Go back to the way it was when my father was a guard. Those guards didn’t take no shit from nobody”
Memories of Cool Hand Luke flash up on my inner screen. “What we got here…is failure to commun’cate.”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he disregards my pathetic attempt at humor and continues. “Maybe the prison will go back into the hands of the guards instead of the inmates. When you’re all done taping, you can get the video out easy and give it to some big shot reporter type. I can’t get it out. Guards check each other. Don’t know who to trust.”
He stands up and walks over to me. Gets in too close. Almost whispers, “I know you’re connected. Give it to whoever you want as long as it gets on the six o’clock news.”
I take a step back. “Got it all figured out. Me, alone in a room with Speck. Asking him questions, listening to his answers, putting it all on tape. How do I know he won’t kill me? He likes to do that to women, or have you forgotten?”
“I won’t be far away.”
“And who are you? Just because you wear that badge doesn’t mean shit.”
“You can bring in Mike if you want.”
“Now there’s somebody who’s threatening. Why don’t I just hand you the camera and let you figure it out? How’s that?”
“I did figure it out, that’s why I’m asking you.” He casually sits on the end of the table and continues. “You can either go along with my plan or not, but whatever you choose, remember you got the chance to make Speck’s life shit, but you joined those other bleeding hearts and turned it down.”
My thinking is all jumbled up. I turn my back towards him and pace. The Captain continues with his barrage of distressing information. “You know
he has pictures of them nurses taped up on the walls in his cell. Articles and pictures. His victims on stretchers. The survivor. And he keeps all the articles from his parole hearings. You ever hear about his other victims? The cocktail waitress he kicked and stabbed to death and left naked in an old hog’s pen? Or the older woman he burglarized and raped? What about them three teenage girls who disappeared from Calumet Beach the same time Speck was in the area? Never heard too much about them ‘cause nobody never did find those girls, only their bathing suits about five miles away. Authorities said they ran away, but you and me know better. Did you know Speck gets love letters from women who think he’s innocent and want to have his baby?”
I yell out, “Okay,” and cover my ears so I don’t have to listen anymore.
He waits for me to calm down. I do. He starts in again. “One other thing, that gang the Gangster Disciples? We can’t do nothing in here without ‘em. One of their guys will be in the room with you. Speck won’t do it without him. They’re a dangerous gang, so we gotta be careful. They want money off this tape.”
“How much money?”
“Few thousand.”
“And who’s going to give them this money?”
The Captain folds his arms on his chest, his badge glistens in the light. “Let me worry about that.”
“When do you want to do this and where?” I ask, still not sure about the whole thing.
“I’ll let you know where. You let me know when they’ll be filming the scene in F-house with Arnold. Everybody will want to watch. That’s when we’ll do it.”
“Why would Speck agree to this? It’ll change his life.”
“He’s too stupid to know that. He loves this kind of stuff, the media coverage he gets every time his parole hearing comes up. Thinks it makes him immortal. Makes him feel like he’s still a celebrity even after all these years. Reads everything he can about it. Would love it if Morley Safer came in and did a story for 60 Minutes. I’ll convince him that this is the next best thing. He’ll think he’s going to be a star of some kind.”
I’m almost numb now, finally understanding what I have to do. What I need to do. This tape might be the one thing that will make it all stop. Send Speck back into his cage. Give those families some peace of mind knowing the prick is actually behind bars and not out there in the courtyard breathing in fresh air and sunshine, free to screw his lover whenever he feels the urge. Stop the voices in my head. Allow me a little peace. Maybe this man, this Captain is right. Maybe we can change the status quo.
There’s a noise behind me. I spin around. Speck walks in like he’s supposed to be there, all confident and reeking from cheap soap. I want to run, but instead I stand firm, looking straight at the bastard. There’s a pregnant pause while we adjust to being in the same room together.
Speck directs his question to the Captain, “You wanted to see me?” His voice rough from years of smoking. He looks old, haggard, his acne-scarred face puffed with the effects of alcohol. Still has that dark blond hair. Still has that look. That look of innocence.
Disgust spreads throughout my body.
“Sit down,” the Captain orders.
Speck pulls a chair over and obeys. He puts his hands between his legs, like a scared cat.
Never looks at me, just at the Captain, as if looking at me might get him into trouble. He asks the Captain, “She’s one of them movie people, ain’t she?” Then, with that false sincerity he looks over at me and says, “You got me a part in that movie?” He chuckles at the thought.
The Captain says, “She has a better idea.”
The words slip from my mouth as easily as if I’m talking to one of my extras, “How would you like to be in your own movie?”
Speck looks down at the floor, then back up at me, shrugs and says, “Sure,” with no expression on his face. “Why not? I got nothin’ else to do.” He looks at the Captain and laughs.
“I’ll let you know the details,” the Captain tells him.
“You gonna be there?” he says, staring over at me.
I clench my fist, forcing my nails into my hand. Grinding. Back and forth. Back and forth. So that the scratching starts to hurt. Starts to take my mind away from who I’m looking at. Talking to.
“I’ll be there. You have a problem with that?”
He pulls out a cigarette from a pack of Kools and a book of matches from his shirt pocket, lights the cigarette and throws the dead match onto the polished floor. “No. I got no problem with that. Got no problems with nothin’.” Speck rubs his face with his right hand, like he’s tired, “What’s this movie gonna be about?”
“You, mostly. Your daily life.”
He laughs. Coughs. His large breasts jiggle under his white painter’s shirt. “I ain’t nothin’ to make no movie about, but if it will get me somethin’ extra like those other guys, then sure. I’ll make your movie.”
Speck turns his attention on me, only this time, his soul is doing the looking. His pale blue eyes encompass my entire body, rendering me at once cold with fear. My eyes well up and I look down at the floor, attempting some emotional control, but he’s already won. Evil has noticed me.
Speck directs his next question to me. “This gonna be on TV?”
“I don’t know.” It’s hard for me to look at him. Hard to watch his excitement over his upcoming starring role.
“Always wanted to see myself on TV,” he says then coughs, laughs a little, shakes his head and looks down at the floor, then up again at me. “What kinda questions you gonna ask me?”
“Something about what life is like in this place.”
“What’s it like anyplace you can’t get out of?” He chuckles. “It’s all right. When I first got here, I used to cry every night in the shower. The guys were laughin’ at me. Got over that. Had to. Told my mamma to quit comin’. She did. Made some of my best friends in my life in here.”
I’m into this now, remembering something about his mother. “Your mother is very religious, was that why you told her to stop visiting you?”
“Somethin’ like that. She wanted me to go to church all the time. Can’t. Got kicked out. It’s all bullshit, anyway. God’s bullshit. Probably gay,” he makes a limp-wrist gesture. “Hangin’ around with all them other guys. No women. They were all gay. Jesus, all of ‘em.” He laughs again and snuffs out his cigarette on the floor, then he picks it up and sticks it in his pocket, along with the dead match. Neat. Clean.
“Are you gay?”
“Sure I am.”
“Would you be willing to talk about that on film?”
“Do more than talk.” He laughs, pulls out another Kool, sticks it behind his right ear then he stands. “We done? Got more work to do today on that movie set.”
“Yeah, we’re done,” the Captain answers.
Speck shuffles out, coughing as he goes.
“So is it a go or not?” the Captain asks once Speck is out of earshot.
“Does he want anything in return for this?”
“Not much. Some real liquor, maybe, instead of the stuff he’s used to drinking. A carton of cigarettes. He’s pretty easy.”
I look up at him, “And what do I get out of all of this?”
“Do I really have to answer that?”
I stare at him for a minute. Just what my father would have said. These guys. They’re all the same. Moralists. Always wanting to do the right thing. Dying for a noble cause. Letting the filth in life eat at them. Thinking they can help change it if only the right people knew. If only the average Joe knew what was going on surely he’d help put a stop to it. Like some average Germans didn’t know the Nazis were burning Jews. That the ashes falling on their cars and homes should have made them band together and put a stop to Hitler. That’s the problem with the average Joe, he doesn’t want to know the truth. Not really. All he wants to do is live his life and let somebody else do the dirty work. Let that seventeen-year-old soldier do it. Let the Captain Bobs do it, or Police Officer Rockett, or Speck’s prosecu
ting attorney, William J. Martin. Or in my case…
“They film in F-house the day after tomorrow. Have the bastard and his friend ready.”
My name is Suzanne Farris.
Dad could never talk about my murder. He died in 1969 from a broken heart. Mom died ten years later from desperation. My dear tormented sister had a family of her own to raise and my brother carries me around in his memory. Speck took more than my life that night in July. He took a piece of my family’s as well.
We were a happy lot who enjoyed a good hearty laugh. I loved to tease my quiet little brother and surprise my sister with some silly prank. She was always such a good sport about my quirky humor. I could make her laugh even when she was down.
And Phil, my sweet, handsome Phil. We were to be married that next spring. A big Irish church wedding with relatives from all over the country, tons of flowers and maybe even a bagpipe or two. It might have been fun to zip down the aisle on roller skates while holding onto my dad’s arm, both of us giggling over the stunned faces. He loved a good joke as much as I did.
By now Phil and I would have raised a houseful of kids. Talk about fun. All those nights of wrestling on the floor, laughing over who’s cheating on Shoots and Ladders, dressing up like E.T. and R2D2 for Halloween. Waking up on countless Christmas mornings to see the magic on the faces of my children would have kept me smiling though each day of my life.
I would have named one of our sons John, after my dad. He’d have gotten a kick out of that. Someone to follow him around, someone to spoil. And I would have named one of our girls Mary Ann, after the bestest friend anyone could ever have.
Speaking of children, I would have made a great pediatric nurse. I always knew how to make kids laugh, how to tease and play and tickle. There’s no better medicine than a good belly laugh. I would have given them bushels full of love and care and in return gotten that special smile that only parents can seem to get out of children. It’s all in the way you look at a child, and hold them when they’re sick or scared. If they can trust you when they’re scared, they can laugh with you when they’re happy. There’s no better feeling on earth than to know that you’ve made a frightened, sick child laugh….