Keeplock: A Novel of Crime

by Stephen Solomita

  The shotgun was so old it was impossible to tell the make. Morasso picked it up and began to fondle the dual triggers. His eyes were glowing.

  “Man, you could do some shit with this,” he hissed. His fingers found the release and he broke it open. It was unloaded.

  “You get two shells when we’re at the site,” Eddie said matter-of-factly. Morasso started to protest, but Eddie slammed his fist on the table. “Don’t say a fuckin’ word. I had enough bullshit from you already. You do the job the way I tell ya.”

  “All right, Eddie. Whatever ya want.” Morasso was cradling the shotgun in his arms.

  “That ain’t a fuckin’ baby.” Eddie shook his head in disgust. “It’s not gonna suck ya tit. Why don’t you tell us what you’re supposed to do with it.”

  Morasso grinned like a proud schoolboy. He’d been taking a lot of abuse for the last two weeks, but tomorrow he’d be the star of the show. “Okay, here goes: the two security guards come outta the cab of the truck and walk up to the platform. You and Pete step out in front of them and I come outta the van behind ’em. We take their pieces, then I drag one of them back to the truck.”

  “Which one?”

  “Yeah, I almost fuckin’ forgot. First I take a look at the guard who’s still locked in the back of the truck. If he’s a nigger, I pick another nigger. If he’s white, I pick a white guy. If there’s no match, I pick one at random. Then I drag his ass to the truck and put him up against the window in the back. I make sure the one inside can see my face and the shotgun. Then I tell the one inside to open the fuckin’ door or I’ll blow his buddy’s brains all over the parking lot.”

  “What happens if he doesn’t open the door?”

  “I whack the first guard and grab the next one.”

  “How long do you wait?”

  “I wait until you tell me to shoot.”

  “If you gotta whack the first guard, what do ya have to be careful not to do?”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “You gotta be careful not to pull both triggers at the same time. The shotgun only holds two shells, right? If you pull both triggers, ya got nothin’ left. See how the trigger on the right is in front of the one on the left?”

  “Of course, whatta ya think, I’m stupid?”

  “Yeah.”

  “C’mon, Eddie.”

  “If you pull the first one just right, you can fire one barrel without firing the other. I want ya to practice. Tomorra morning you could show us all how good you are.”

  We spent the next few minutes trying to make slices of pork small enough to swallow. All of us except for Tony. He kept dry-firing the shotgun, pulling one trigger, then the other. I’d never seen him happier.

  THIRTY

  EDDIE MADE US GO through every detail, outlasting even the pork chops in his zeal. I didn’t mind reciting dutifully when my turn came. It figured to be a long night, anyway. Avi delivered his lessons with military precision. Parker rambled on enthusiastically, describing the devilish concoction he’d created for Chapman Security’s central dispatcher.

  “What I did,” he explained, “was record ten minutes of computer transmission, a message I sent out and had the Chapman computer send back. The message is, ‘We’re robbing your truck!’ Of course it doesn’t sound like that when the computer receives it. The computer hears a series of high-pitched squeals and squeaks, like a power saw going through plywood. I’m gonna broadcast it at four times normal power and keep it coming until the job is done and we’re ready to take off.”

  It was ten o’clock when Eddie dismissed us. Avi followed me back to my room, but he didn’t step inside without asking permission. This was my space and he couldn’t disrespect it without insulting me. I don’t think he would have bothered with the formalities if he’d come to visit John or Tony.

  “You have perhaps a moment?” he asked.

  “There’s gonna be a lotta moments. tonight. I’m not expecting to sleep.” I nodded him into a chair and closed the door behind him. “What’s up, Avi?”

  He crossed his legs and took a second to think about it. “This job, you are liking it?”

  I shrugged. “Whatta you mean by ‘like’?”

  “It seem to you good? Acceptable?” He was struggling to find the right words.

  “You asking me if I think we can pull it off?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think we already talked about this.”

  “Still, please, tell me your feelings at present time.”

  “What can I say, Avi? It’s as good as a job can get, but that doesn’t mean it’s guaranteed. You want a guarantee in life, check out a casket.”

  He shook his head. “I am sorry to be disagreeing with you, but job could be better. Problem is Tony Morasso. This man is crazy. There is no knowing what crazy man will do. I am thinking about time in Israeli army. We are doing patrols into Syria. Sweeps to find terrorists before they cross border into Israel. If I am given such man as Tony Morasso in my squad, I would refuse orders. Missions are dangerous and I must know how all others will act in dangerous situation.”

  “So what do you wanna do, Avi? Resign your commission? Eddie’s made up his mind and that’s that.”

  “I want to go right now and kill him.”

  “Who? Eddie?”

  “Please to stop busting balls.” Avi managed a grin. It had all the warmth of skull in a bag of maggots. “I am saying to go this minute and kill Tony Morasso.”

  “Just like that?”

  He looked at me strangely, as if an invitation to murder carried no more weight than a stroll to the supermarket. I wondered how many he’d killed in his life. Ten? Twenty? A hundred? Avi had told me about the treachery of politicians and superior officers, but he’d never told me exactly what he’d done to capture the attention of those who’d rather not know.

  “This is what must be done. Why is to argue? World does not need Tony Morasso.”

  “Avi, this is bullshit. If you kill Tony, Eddie’s just gonna call the job off. You’re a military man, right? Then you should know that you waited too long. Parker dumped the computer yesterday We’d have to start all over again.”

  “This is true. If I kill Tony, Eddie will not go ahead. But if we kill Tony, he will think differently.”

  It was disgusting, really. I thought of Ginny. A single bad experience had convinced her that she understood what it meant to be “outside the law,” but she had no idea what it was really like. What it was like, for instance, to solve your personnel problems with a bullet.

  “Enough, Avi. You’re disrespecting me here.”

  “How so?”

  “You’re disrespecting me because it’s my job to control Tony and you’re saying I can’t do it.”

  “I did not know this.” He looked surprised, then contrite. “You must be careful with this man. You cannot know in advance what he will do.”

  “Well, I’ll try to stay behind him. If it’s any consolation, by the way, I think Eddie knows he made a mistake. He’s just too stubborn to admit it. Or do anything about it.”

  “This is Eddie’s problem. He is stubborn. Like army officer. He cannot be wrong.”

  “Yeah? Maybe we should kill Eddie? Eddie, Annie, and Morasso. Forget the cop. You, me, and Parker could do the job ourselves. Make for a nice split.”

  He thought about it for a minute, then shook his head. “You are joking with me.”

  “Am I?” I took the 9mm and put it on the table. “We could take care of them, force Parker to hold up his end, then take care of him, too. Probably end up with half a million each.”

  I lit a cigarette while he thought about it. Wondering what I’d say if he accepted.

  “I am joking with you, Avi. You gotta forgive me. What I really need is some sleep. How ’bout we do the lines the way they’re written? Morasso’ll hold up his end. I guarantee it.”

  He looked relieved. “Yes, this must be the way. Morasso would be easy to kill, but I think Eddie will be prepared.”


  “Right. He’ll probably have Annie come all over us.”

  Avi left a few minutes later. I watched him go down the hall, noting that every door was shut and the lights were off downstairs. It was almost eleven, but I wasn’t close to sleep. What I’d told Avi was true enough. I needed rest, but that didn’t mean I’d get it.

  I dutifully pulled the bureau across the door, then began to work out. I didn’t want to think about Ginny, about Condon and Rico, about Eddie’s reaction when he figured out who set him up. I didn’t want to think about how ugly it was or that there were no good guys and no honorable course of action for anyone.

  One more day. That’s what I thought about. One more day and I’d be out of this jam. I’d move in with Ginny, into a world where “shit happens” means the car won’t start on a rainy morning. Or somebody left the coffeemaker on. Or the nine o’clock showing of this week’s hot movie is sold out.

  I worked myself as close to exhaustion as I was likely to get, then lay down on the bed. I dozed off around one o’clock, but couldn’t even get deep enough to dream. The job kept running through my mind. I tried to imagine the look on Eddie’s face when the cops made their move. Sometimes the shock froze him as stiff as a block of ice. Sometimes his face contorted with rage and he grabbed for the pistol under his jacket. As I saw it, my one and only job was to prevent him from carrying out the latter course of action. If the cops opened fire, we’d both go down.

  The problem was simple enough, but I couldn’t see any clear solution. If I jumped on Eddie’s back or pinned his arms or knocked him down or made any sudden move of any kind, the cops were liable to misunderstand my motives and put two or three thousand shotgun pellets in my chest. That’s if they even bothered to analyze the situation. Condon and Rico could be hoping for a slaughter. They could be looking for any excuse to start shooting. God knows, I’d given them enough reason to hate my guts.

  I might have drifted in this paranoia until breakfast if I hadn’t suddenly experienced a more basic urge. I dragged the bureau away from the door and made my way to the bathroom, the 9mm tucked safely behind my belt. As I came close, the door opened and Annie appeared wearing a blue terry robe. She gave a little squeal of surprise, then grinned happily.

  “Who’s the lucky guy?” I asked.

  Her hand went to the robe’s belt. “It could be you if you weren’t so uptight.”

  I started to say, “Don’t bother,” but she pulled the robe open before I got the words out. “Annie,” I said (after taking a good look), “I don’t need this. It’s all very nice. Nice pussy. Nice tits. But I don’t want another man’s woman. Even if I have his permission.”

  She slowly retied the robe. “You’re all so fuckin’ high and mighty. You go to jail and fuck boys in the ass. Or if ya too good fa that, you pull your fuckin’ dick. How many years? Six? Eight? Ten? You want us to sit at home like we’re nuns or some shit. That’s why there’s nobody waitin’ when ya come out. That’s why all your fuckin’ wives file for divorce. We’re human, too. We got urges, just like men. Eddie wasn’t stupid. He tole me, ‘I love ya, Annie, and you love me. Do what you gotta do and I won’t hold it against you.’”

  “How could he hold it against you when most likely someone’s already holding it against you?”

  She tried to slap me. Her hand shot out, her weight behind it, but I managed to pull back far enough to let the shot pass in front of me.

  “Bastard,” she shouted.

  My hand went down to my waist. I wasn’t about to shoot Annie, but her voice was still echoing in the hallway. I pulled her into the bathroom and closed the door.

  “Take it easy, Annie. I’m sorry. What I said before was wrong.”

  “You know what it is? Ya look so pretty. Ya look like a fuckin’ altar boy, but inside you don’t give a shit about anybody. Two days after you showed up, I tole Eddie, ‘Let’s get ridda him. He’s no fuckin’ good.’ Eddie says, ‘I known him for a long time. He’s a scumbag, but he’ll do the job. Besides, I’ll make sure to keep an eye on him.’ Some fuckin’ eye. Next thing I know, you’re comin’ and goin’ like the Queen of fuckin’ England. A guy who talks as good as you is liable to be talkin’ to anyone.”

  It was hard for me to work up the expected degree of righteous indignation. I’d already betrayed every one of them. So, instead of proclaiming my loyalty, I slid my arm beneath the robe and pulled her in close to me.

  “Look, Annie, it’s not that I don’t want to fuck you.” I gave her ass a little squeeze and she pressed against my hip. “You’re a good-looking woman. I see you in the hallway and I start thinking how I’m crazy not to take advantage. But me and Ginny have something going. I never asked her to wait for me—never expected that she would—but here she is and, stupid or not, I gotta respect it. You and Eddie have your own arrangement. That’s great. Only the thing is, we don’t wanna fuck up the job. We’re real close to a big payoff and everybody’s tense. One spark and there’s no job and most likely somebody’s dead. Right now, all I wanna do is take a leak and go back to my room, so—”

  “Could I hold it?”

  “For Christ sake, Annie …”

  “Awright, awright.” She stepped back and rearranged the robe. “I gotta go downstairs anyway. If I keep Eddie waitin’ too long, he’ll probly jerk off before I get there.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  IN MY SECOND YEAR at Cortlandt, I got adopted by a young inmate named Zebediah Peters. Most of the prisoners at Cortlandt hail from the Rotten Apple, but Zebediah came from Colden, New York, a small town near the Canadian border. Being inexperienced, he made a big mistake by accepting a pack of cigarettes from an inmate named Burt White. All three of us, Zeb, Burt, and myself, were working in the tailor shop at the time.

  Zebediah Peters didn’t have much money, but he was young and handsome, a perfect target for an aggressive homosexual like Burt White. Burt started in about Zeb returning the pack of cigarettes, the same cigarettes Zeb had been given and which he’d already smoked. Zeb offered to replace the cigarettes with another pack, but, of course, that wasn’t good enough.

  For some reason, boredom, perhaps, I stepped in. I took out a pack of cigarettes and handed it to Burt and said, “You’re even.”

  Burt didn’t argue. Most likely, he figured I was already putting it to young Zebediah. Zeb, on the other hand, attached himself to me like a puppy at the end of a leash. He told me he was the son of a Pentecostal preacher and he believed in justice. Burt White had retreated, but that wasn’t good enough. He had to pay a price.

  I tried to chill Zeb out by explaining that the only way to punish Burt White was to kill him. Anything less would open Zeb up to the threat of retaliation. Retaliation which might or might not come directly from Burt White.

  “Okay,” he responded, “then I’ll kill him.”

  Cortlandt is an enormous place. There are thirteen major cell blocks and more than two thousand prisoners. You often go for weeks without meeting a specific individual. If you have a network of allies, you can usually arrange an ambush. If you’re Zebediah Peters, on the other hand, you have to hold a grudge for a long time before you find an opportunity to act on it.

  It took Peters six months to get it together and he confided in me every step of the way. The first thing he did was settle on the tailor shop as the place. Then he went out to look for a weapon. Not just any weapon, because the tailor shop had a metal detector at the entrance. Of course, we all had scissors, but they were so small they couldn’t be used as killing weapons. Zeb would have to stab Burt fifty times and the hacks never took their eyes off us.

  Zeb found a con who worked in a maintenance shop where they cut Plexiglas sheets to replace cracked Plexiglas around the Institution. The procedure for turning plastic into a killing weapon is simple enough. All it requires is patience. The con in the maintenance shop waited until the C.O. in charge was busy elsewhere, then snatched a small piece of Plexiglas off the scrap pile and stashed it. The next day, after alertin
g Zeb, he tossed it out the window. Zeb retrieved it when he came out on the yard and took it to another con, a gardener, who had access to a grinder which was used to sharpen sickles and hedge shears. The convict-gardener put a handle on one end of the Plexiglas and a six-inch, razor-sharp blade on the other. Total cost for both operations: three cartons of Salems.

  Just before the big day, Burt White got himself caught with a shank in the yard. The C.O.’s gave him the obligatory beating and tossed him in the box. Zeb took the opportunity to smuggle the Plexiglas shank into the tailor shop. Now it was just a matter of waiting.

  I remember trying to call Zeb off. “It’s one thing,” I said, “to whack someone out in a private place. Even if the C.O.’s get your name from a snitch, the most they can do is kick your ass and throw you in the box. There are no private places in the tailor shop. You gotta kill him right in front of the hacks. You’re already doing twelve to life. Is the satisfaction of killing Burt White for something everybody’s already forgotten worth an extra twenty-five years in the Institution?”

  I might as well have been talking to the moon. Zeb began every workday by searching for Burt White’s face. There were six of us who knew what was going to happen and we shared the tension among us. A man was going to die. It wasn’t going to be a sudden, unexpected explosion. We wouldn’t see a flurry of activity in the yard, then hear the details later on. The drama was going to be acted out before our eyes.

  Despite our professed indifference to violence and death, the tension grew sharper and sharper as the days passed. By the time Burt White made his appearance, it had come to dominate our lives. I was sure that Burt would notice the sidelong looks we gave him or smell the crackle of anticipation, but Burt was still in a daze from his three weeks in the box. He’d been beaten pretty badly and seemed twenty pounds thinner. When Zeb came up behind him, Burt didn’t bother to look around. When the shank slammed between his ribs, his eyes widened, but the rest of his face remained calm. His fingers continued to work the sewing machine and the fabric he was stitching for a moment, then he fell gently forward.