Eleven days following Willie's release he was drinking in a bar south of Broadway in Phoenix talking to a whore. A stranger cut in. Willie retrieved a gun from his car and shot the man in the back then calmly finished his beer and waited for the cops.
At age twenty-eight Willie was convicted of first degree murder and once again sentenced to death. For three years he sat on death row until the United States Supreme Court overturned all death penalties and he was released to the general population to begin serving a life sentence. At age thirty-seven, after nine years, he made his second parole hearing and was released.
Seventeen days later, in a Tucson bar Willie objected to another man talking to a whore sitting beside him. Willie got a rifle and shot the man dead, in the back, ordered another beer and waited for the police.
At age thirty-eight he was sentenced to die for his third murder conviction. The sentence was commuted to life and at forty-four Willie waited for his next parole hearing due in some three years.
A solitary man, he survived without assistance. No one who knew him or of him crossed his path though he never showed anger. He viewed the world through coal black eyes, never smiling except
to josh a guard for a favor; a lean, rock hard, slightly stooped figure, an inch above average height, hair cropped short.
Willie had no friends and wanted none. Although he didn't play basketball he had served as captain of the team at an honor camp because he was even handed to all and feared equally by all. Willie's code was simple – never cross him. If you did he remained silent then obtained a weapon and killed you. He had only killed two men in prison. There had been no need for others.
Howard Aldredge knew Willie, perhaps even liked him in his way but Aldredge never, ever gave the con cause to be upset with him. Willie Half Mouth gave as much attention and thought to stepping on a cockroach as he did to killing a man.
~
Ernie Luft hated CB Two. Oh, he hated the other cell blocks, even the modern one, CB Four. He hated prison, his cunt wife, life. For three years he had survived in prison by looking to the day of his release and by taking what power and pleasure could be had.
Luft had been a motorcycle gang leader at nineteen when he was sent up for a mandatory five calendar years following an armed robbery of a convenience market. Prison had been a homecoming for him since so many of his gang were already there or arrived not long after him. It was inevitable in a society that required strength that gangs were a part of prison and inevitable that Luft led his gang, an offshoot of the Aryan Brotherhood. It and the Dixie Mafia were the two rival gangs of the White population and warred with each other as much as with the other gangs.
Luft had always been sexually athletic, bragging about his prowess and the size of his organ. Prison had come as a rude shock for him but he had quickly decided not to do without. It was a strange perversion of his supposed masculine sex drive that compelled Luft to turn to his fellow inmates, preferably young, feminine ones unwilling to cooperate. They were enough like the type of sexual
relationship he preferred outside the walls to be satisfying.
Oral and anal sex were readily available. At first Luft would pretend he was with a woman but after two years he came to enjoy the pleasure alone with no thought at all of the other party. Luft never sucked cock or let anyone fuck him so in his eyes he was not queer. His sex acts were simply an accepted adjustment to reality. A necessary outlet which in its own perverse way asserted this form of masculinity.
His cellmate, a fish new to the prison, was a pretty thing, barely eighteen sent to the prison to “teach you a lesson” as the judge had decreed from the bench. A cute, curly headed blond, Luft had beat the boy senseless his first day alone with him then sodomized the youngster. Now Luft's cellmate was a willing partner and for Luft a lot of the fun was gone. It would be time for a new cellmate soon.
Nevertheless, Luft hated CB Two, hated it. If it hadn't been for the fucking and leading the gang he couldn't have stood it. Just two years, he thought, leaning against the bars, only two years to parole.
"Hello, Ernie," Aldredge said passing the inmate's cell.
Luft nodded, hands through the bars, sucking in the smoke from a cigarette. Fucking pigs, he thought.
~
Burgoyne had Virginia place the call through to the State Supreme Court to L. Emmet Snell, Justice of the Supreme Court. Burgoyne and Snell were long time associates, dating back to law school. They shared many traits, though on the surface they appeared to have little in common.
Snell was a third generation Arizona native, heir to a Mormon heritage dating back to the founding of Mesa in l876. His grandparents had been devout followers of Brigham Young, a non-polygamous couple who made a prosperous livelihood tilling the desert thirty miles east of Phoenix. Snell's father had higher aspirations and was one of the earliest graduates of the University of Arizona law school in Tucson. He had sold most of his parent's extensive farm land and reinvested in business and down town property. By the time his only son Levi Emmet Snell was born the senior Snell was doing quite well. He served three successful terms in the state legislature but ran repeatedly and unsuccessfully later in life for the state's single congressional seat.
Levi Emmet Snell had followed resolutely in his father's footsteps; law school, a lucrative practice. By the time the senior Snell died though, Emmet was a jack Mormon, that breed of Mormons by birth who refused active participation, drank their coffee and beer and enjoyed discreet extra-marital sex.
Snell had been appointed Assistant State Attorney General on the basis of party politics and succeeded to the Attorney General’s job when his predecessor resigned to successfully bid for the U.S. Senate. There his political career might well have ended for Snell was not especially bright nor particularly driven enough for politics if the lettuce pickers had not struck.
The farm labor union movement relocated from California to Arizona following its initial successes. It was determined that the lettuce growers were vulnerable and so the last six months of Snell’s tenure as Attorney General the strike reached its peak. The union movement was stalemated once the lettuce crop wilted in the fields and in a bit of minor genius the leaders determined to go after the one man who was in a position to force a settlement.
They began to circulate recall petitions against the governor.
The movement threatened for several months to work. The governor refused to force a settlement and was nearly unseated. The recall petitions were collected and duly filed and according to the state constitution the election should have been held in ninety days. Polls indicated the election would be very tight.
The petitions were the key. The Secretary of State had turned them over to Snell at the Attorney General's Office to rule on points of law. Snell's actual ruling was unimportant. The United States
Supreme Court was to overturn it the following year as patently unlawful but by then it was too late to force the election and win the day for the union.
Attorney General Snell, due to leave office in just two months, saw his opportunity and in a rare assertive step met with the governor's administrative aid and laid down his demand. He would invalidate enough petitions to block the recall drive but he wanted appointment to the recently vacated seat on the State Supreme Court.
The aid squirmed and wiggled but Snell had him by the balls. Appoint Snell or face a recall election. Thirty-five days following the invalidation of the petitions Snell was appointed to the Supreme Court of the State of Arizona.
"My dear Emmet, how are you?" Burgoyne cooed into the phone.
"Fine. Just fine." The voice was hesitant, uncertain but friendly. Burgoyne was, after all, a friend to be trusted. The two spoke briefly and agreed to meet the following day at the country club for lunch. On the surface he and Snell had little in common but in actuality both dearly loved money.
Burgoyne hung up satisfied. Very satisfied.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Killian arrived at his office as usu
al and found a message that made no sense: “Chris 555-3452”.
Try as he might he was unable to come up with a Chris with whom he was having any dealings. He dialed the number.
"Hello?"
"Chris?"
"No. Who's calling?"
"Detective Killian with the Phoenix Police Department."
"Oh. In that case she's here. Just a minute."
"Hello?"
"This is Detective Killian. You called me Chris?"
"Yeah. How you been?"
"Alright. Who are you?"
"I'm Chris. We met, last summer. You gave me your card. Out at Bud's place. Remember?"
Bud, Bud Everhart. The flower salesman.
"Sure I remember. You'd be the cute, blond girl I talked to on his porch."
Giggle. "That's me. You don't like Bud do you?"
"What makes you say that?"
"The way you were. I remembered that and kept your card. That's why I got it to begin with."
"What do you want with me? I thought you were tight with Bud."
"No, not really. When I ran away from home I spent some time with him. It was O.K. but I never liked him. They picked me up yesterday, my juvenile P.O. let me go home today. She says I don't have to go to Adobe Mountain so that's good. I'm calling about Bud."
"What about him?"
"I want to get him. I got stuff a cop might like to hear."
"Why would you want to get him? I thought all you kids had a code – never talk to cops."
"I don't like him. He's got dope at his place – right now. And," her voice dropped low, "he's been screwing me. That's against the law, isn't it?"
"How old are you?"
"Fifteen last week."
~
Justice Snell took his seat and smiled at his old friend, Burgoyne. They met at the country club in a semi-private area where the two would not be disturbed. The attorney was sitting with his back to the wall, a new briefcase on the floor beside his chair.
"How have you been, Emmet?"
"Oh, fine. Just fine, Alex." The judge was uneasy and uncertain as he sat across the table but then that was how he always looked.
The old friends discussed mutual interests and shared a decanter of wine. After the judge was sufficiently lubricated Burgoyne moved into his pitch. "It's not looking good for the pay raise is it, Emmet?"
"Ah, no, it's not. It's been three years now since they last raised judge's salaries and I just don't see how in the world they expect us to make it, not with prices going up like they are everywhere else."
"It's shameful the way the legislature treats its public servants, particularly the judiciary. I've often thought that something ought to be done about it but for the life of me can't imagine what. Perhaps justices should be permitted to continue receiving fees from their old firms rather than being forced to give them up. I don’t know. Something like that would be a lot fairer."
Snell nodded his head in agreement.
"Oh, by the way, Emmet, have you had an opportunity to examine the appeal I filed on the Pratt’s matter?"
"Ah, well, not really. I did look it over you know."
"I think you will see my position when you have an opportunity to examine it more closely. Take my word for it, it's a sound appeal based on solid precedent." Burgoyne sipped the wine lightly making a mental note to take wine more often with lunch and skip the high balls. He had to cut back in some way.
It was unethical and probably illegal to discuss a legal case in this manner but when one was about to give a fifteen thousand dollar bribe – there was no other word for it – one did not feel much concern with such niceties. Certainly Burgoyne didn't. They talked casually through lunch and as Snell waited for his dessert Burgoyne said, "Well Emmet, I must be leaving. Oh, I nearly forgot. I purchased this attaché case for you earlier today, for your birthday. They can't say anything about such a well-deserved, modest gift, now can they?"
"Ah, no, no, I don't see how they could." Snell's eyes lit up.
"Just one thing, Emmet. It's important you rule very soon on this Pratt’s matter. I assume that when you see the merits there will be no trouble getting two others to go along with you?"
"No, I don't see why there should be."
Burgoyne smiled broadly and clapped his old corrupt friend on the back. He liked doing business this way. It was so much easier.
~
Aldrege reached the central office situated just outside the main gate late in the day. His shift was due to end in just twenty minutes.
The week had been a bitch. The lieutenant had called in sick every day and Aldredge had served in his stead – every day. It was now Friday and Aldredge thanked his lucky stars that he had both weekend days off.
"Hello, Howard. How's your baby?" It was Sharon one of the Assistant Warden's secretaries.
"Fine, real fine. What's going on?"
"Not much. Say have you talked to that Pratt yet?"
"The new arrival?"
"That's the one."
"Just a minute or two. He's a strange one alright. I can certainly believe he mutilated that flower girl like the paper says."
"It's too bad."
"Yeah, but at least they put him away."
"Not that. Too bad he's getting out." Aldredge looked at her sharply.
"What do you mean?"
"Do you know Doris? She's in the Phoenix office. I suppose you don't. Well, we were talking a few minutes ago. She was over at the Supreme Court picking up appeals that pertain to inmates and got
to talking to the appeals clerk. He told her that Justice Snell approved Pratt’s appeal and with two other justices has rescinded his conviction. Pratt has been ordered released pending a new trial. Can you imagine? I wonder who his parents know."
"When do we get the papers?"
"Monday I guess. Doris said they were still drawing them up earlier this afternoon. It's a shame isn't it? A person like that getting turned loose probably just because his parents have money. It just isn't fair."
Aldredge agreed then excused himself to make a final round before checking out for the day. He left the Warden's office and strolled across the yard glancing up at the central tower. The sergeant entered CB Four and saw Lopez manning the door.
"Randy, is Pratt still in protective custody?"
"Just a second, sarg." The new guard glanced at a sheet. "Yeah. He still is."
Aldredge stood perfectly still a moment as though uncertain of himself then said, "Transfer him to open population. Assign him to CB Two."
Lopez raised a brow. "O.K. Right away. That's a little tough on the guy isn't it?"
Aldredge shrugged. "He's a con. He's not entitled to special treatment. I've got no orders telling me to keep in lock up so that's it. Transfer him, at once."
"O.K. You got it."
Aldredge didn't move then as if to explain himself said "That little girl in the desert didn't get any special treatment. Nor did the cop he nearly killed. Why should he?"
"It's nothing to me, sarg. You want him in general population in CB Two, you got it. Have a nice weekend and tell Mary hi."
Aldredge left the cell block and headed for the office to check out.
~
Jared was surprised when the guard told him he was going to be transferred. He had accepted the verdict and sentence with a high degree of fatalism. Nothing ever went right for him and he knew nothing ever would. Protective custody in CB Four had been no different from isolation in the county jail in Phoenix. His trip south manacled to seven other new inmates in the back of a van had been uneventful.
Jared felt put upon and let down but these were only vague emotions to which he reacted without understanding. He was not a stupid person though he often behaved like one. So much of his intellect was devoted to defense mechanisms and to his fantasy life that not enough remained for life itself. He had always been a prisoner of his sick mind and now in prison he was no more a prisoner than in his cottage.
Jared Pratt,
ASP#85673, was transferred from protective custody across the barren main yard to CB Two on Friday evening eighty four minutes after Aldredge gave the order. Roger Gillispie, the floor guard that night in CB Two signed for the inmate then locked him in with Rafael Pacheco since Pacheco had the only bed available on tier two convenient to Gillispie.
Pacheco was not a bad sort. He was serving a twenty-five to life sentence for Kidnapping and Armed Robbery. At age thirty-three he had spent eighteen years in institutions and was more at home in, than out. “Out there” frightened him and because he was afraid he did not cope well with freedom. Much as he hated prison, there at least he knew the routine, had friends and respect. “Out there” he was nothing – an ex-con, a loser.
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