Tiny looked him straight in the eye. "Only when people mess with me."
Atkins' self-confidence began to desert him. This kind of convict he feared, a man with nothing to lose. Lifers, especially natural lifers, generally caused the least trouble. More times than not, they kept the other cons in line. This was their home, and that would never change. And because of that they could be volatile. Indeed, the penitentiary was their home, and they didn't like anyone who made life unduly difficult in their home. That included prison staff.
Atkins decided to shift gears. "Let's get back to my list," he said. "I always got room for more."
"Man, keep your punkass list," spat Tiny. "I just got done tellin' you 'bout respect an' you turn around an' ask me to be a snitch."
Atkins regarded him, and reached for the intercom.
"Mister Mullins, bring me the folder on Clarence Evans."
Then he asked Tiny, "What's your register number?"
"93702-101."
"...register number 93702-101," Atkins added.
A moment later, a young guard in a pressed yellow shirt and blue slacks brought in the folder, handed it to Atkins, then quietly left.
Atkins opened the folder, then looked at Tiny and said, "Excuse me, Clarence while I get to know you."
Tiny shrugged and looked out the window.
When Atkins finished, he closed the folder and laid it aside. Tiny watched him closely, looking into his eyes to see if they registered any newfound respect. They didn’t.
"You're a real bad ass, Clarence. Did your first eight years in Atlanta, killed a man in a fight, and got transferred here. That's on top of the two stick-up guys you killed in that drug deal. And now you're in population for three months and you threaten a man. One I happen to like, by the way."
"Can't imagine why."
"I look out for my own," said Atkins flatly.
"Yeah, I'11 jus' bet you do."
"Clarence, you and I both know you have no intention of cooperating with me, so I'm not going to waste time with you. I'm going to let you spend a week in the hole for threatening Cabot out there in the yard. Maybe next time you'll be more polite to him."
Atkins reached for the intercom, again. "Mister Mullins, send two officers to escort this man to the hole."
As he was being led from Atkins's office, Tiny met Bumps on his way in. Bumps saw the handcuffs and smirked.
"Going on vacation?" he taunted. "Ain't that a shame."
"That's all right," said Tiny calmly. "My credit's good."
"Oh yeah? What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I pay my debts."
"Oh yeah? Maybe I’ll give you a debt you can’t pay."
He took one final glance at Tiny, and closed the door behind him. Swaggering in toward Atkins, he said, "Hey, man, what's up?"
"Just a little something I thought you'd like," said Atkins, taking a package from his desk. "Here."
Bumps removed the lid and looked appreciatively at the wide selection of candies, sausages, cheeses, and bags of nuts. There was also a jar of hot peppers.
"All right, Jimmy," said Bumps, grinning. "Thanks for looking after me."
"Hey, it's the least I can do. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. This is yours, too."
Atkins took a bag of marijuana and rolling papers from his pants pocket and handed them over. Bumps took it, smiled and tucked it down the front of his trousers.
"I want you to do me a favor,” Atkins continued. “There's two pouches in that baggie. Give one to Guttierrez, over in D cell house. I owe it to him for keeping an eye out over there for me. I'll square with you first chance I get."
Bumps nodded arrogantly. "Sure, no sweat. That it?"
"Yeah, that's it." Atkins ushered Bumps toward the door. "I hear they got heroin up in B. Find out who's doing it. Okay?"
"Sure. I know a couple of guys up there, I'll get back to you. Thanks for the stash."
***********
Adrian dumped the bucket of ice cubes on the grill and stood back, watching them sizzle and spit. It was a trick he had learned from Woodstock. Once the ice had nearly melted, he took a pancake flipper, scraped the grill, and wiped away the grease that had accumulated from the last batch of steaks he had just cooked for the noon meal. As he was about to leave for the dining area, Donovan, the chief steward, joined him.
"You look right at home,” he said. “Getting the hang of it?"
"Yeah, now that I've been at it a while."
"You and Albert seem to be working well together."
"Woodstock? He's a good guy."
"Good. I'm glad you like the arrangement."
"Matter of fact, I'm supposed to have dinner with him," said Adrian, not wanting to spend any longer than necessary. Convicts seen talking to staff members for too long came under suspicion, and he didn't want anyone to 'hang a jacket' on him.
"You'll have to postpone lunch, Adrian. You have a couple of visitors."
"Me? You sure?"
"You're Adrian Cabraal, aren't you?"
"Well, yeah, but..."
"Then you're the one they want."
***********
The guard in the Control Center pressed the buzzers to open the two electronic security doors that led to the Visiting Room. As he passed through, Adrian still couldn't imagine who had come to see him. He’d only been there a few months. Yet admittedly, the prospect of seeing a familiar face was exciting. That place was a long way from Lawrence, MA. If he been arrested by the State instead of the Feds, he'd be doing his time back home. With the Feds, he was subject to imprisonment anywhere in the country and, as the bus route had shown him, it was a big country. A very big country with lots of prisons. He had heard that the prison system was an industry so big that it would have ranked among the Fortune 500 had it been a private corporation.
The visiting room was nearly empty, and it took only a glance for him to recognize his visitors. There were familiar faces, but not the ones he wanted to see. They belonged to Russo and Lenny, the DEA agents who had arrested him.
He made a point of sitting next to another inmate who was talking to a woman through the perforated glass partition that divided the center of the room. The man shot him a resentful glance. Adrian understood, but sat down just the same.
"Yeah, right. With all the empty seats, why did I sit next to you? See these two guys on the other side of the glass? They're the guys who busted me, and I want to make sure somebody knows I'm not pals with them. Do me the favor of listening to our brief conversation, and I'11 lay a carton of cigarettes on you later. Fair enough?"
The man nodded, looked at the two agents, then looked back at Adrian and smiled. "Sure. Easiest box I ever made."
"Why don't we sit somewhere else?" asked Russo.
"I like it here," said Adrian. "Besides, we won't be long."
Russo looked at Fernandez. Then, realizing the futility of trying to move, he came right to the point. "You've been locked up for almost four months. How do you like it so far?"
"It was tough at first, but I'm getting used to it."
"Figured you might reconsider our offer now that you've been here a while. Not much of a way to live, is it?"
"It's better than having to hide out for my life. At least I'll go home someday and start over again. Think RJ or Jimmy Hennessey would trade places with me?"
"So you haven't changed your mind, amigo?" asked Fernandez.
"No, I haven't. And don't call me 'amigo.' I got no complaint with you doing your job, but we’re not buds."
“That's too bad," said Russo. "Could have you on a plane to Boston two hours from now. It's autumn. The colors look great."
"I'll see the colors when I get out. Sorry you came out here for nothing."
As he got up, he bent down beside the man who had been seated beside him. "Come to A cell house after supper, ask for Adrian. I'll give you your box."
***********
Later that day he was summoned again, this time to the Control Center. Leaning
close to the perforation in the tinted glass, he said, "You paged me?"
The guard's dour expression didn't change. "I paged a bunch of people. Who're you?"
"Adrian Cabraal."
The guard picked up a dozen envelopes, sorted through them, then extracted a letter and set it aside. After slipping a form through the slot for Adrian to sign, he handed over the letter. Adrian looked at the postmark and return address. It was from the First U.S. District Court, Boston, MA.
His heart was in his throat as he carefully opened the envelope. It could only be one thing: the response from the judge regarding his motion for a sentence reduction. He had already programmed himself for the worst; even so, he couldn't deny himself a small glimmer of hope. He began reading:
RE: The People of the United States of America vs. Adrian R. Cabraal, Docket #86-159
Dear Mr. Adrian R. Cabraal,
It is my duty to inform you that after reviewing all circumstances and conditions surrounding your case, in addition to your recent motion for sentence reduction, that this Court feels that the sentence originally imposed was fair and just, and therefore has decided to let that sentence stand...
Adrian's heart sank, and he felt himself shudder. All the preparation in the world couldn't have conditioned him for this. He let the hand holding the notice drop to his side and made his way back to his cell in disheartened silence.
When he entered, Nazareth and Warren could tell by the look on his face that something was wrong.
"Hey, boy," asked Nazareth, "you get bad news from home or somethin'? You look like the blues just came to town."
"Something like that," he answered listlessly, holding out the letter. Nazareth took it, and Adrian sank down on his bunk, resting his forehead on his palms.
Nazareth opened the notice, read it, then read it again, and looked quizzically at Adrian. "You sure you read this?"
Adrian looked at him. "Of course I read it."
"The whole thing?"
"Yeah, up to the part where it says they won't change my sentence. The rest of it doesn't matter."
"The hell it don't! If you had more patience, you'd know that. Here, read the whole thing."
Adrian frowned, took the letter and began reading from where he had left off. "...has decided to let that sentence stand.
"However, after reviewing your background, specifically your clean record, family life, and your meritorious military record, this Court feels justified in changing your two five-year sentences from "consecutive" to "concurrent." Furthermore, this Court hereby orders this change retroactive to the original date of sentencing. Written verification of this will be sent through proper channels to the U.S. Bureau of Prisons..."
Adrian looked at Nazareth in disbelief. “Why didn’t I see that?”
“Because you were too busy feelin’ sorry for yourself, ya big baby. Damn, boy! You got to start payin’ closer attention around here. They just cut your sentence in half!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
- The Second Year -
As he and Woodstock tossed their dirty aprons in the laundry basket, Adrian asked, "You going to be around tonight?"
Woodstock looked at him as if he were crazy. "No, man. I thought I'd fire up a blunt, grab a limo, and have one of the hacks drive me to a strip joint. Of course I'm gonna be in."
"Good, because I snuck a guy an extra steak today, so he laid a couple of fatties on me for my troubles. Thought you and me and Tiny and Warren could catch a buzz. Of course, if you're gonna be out in a limo and looking for strippers..."
Woodstock held up his hand. "Forget it, I’m staying here."
"Good, I'll see you tonight."
***********
Back in his cell, Adrian lay down on his bunk and smiled with excitement and anticipation. He had a letter from Jennifer. Although they spoke on the phone regularly, talking to her too often brought to mind how much he had forfeited by traveling the path that led him here. It was the same with Andy. It was the end of those conversations that was the hardest. Hearing them say 'I love you' without being able to see their faces or the look in their eyes when they were saying it drove a stake through his heart. Having his relationship with them reduced to long distance installments with a ten-minute curfew was both frustrating and heart breaking. And in there he was unable to discuss that pain with anyone. Stuff it, resist it, deny it; just don't let anyone see it. Letters were different, though. They could be suspended and resumed later, or read over and over again. Whatever the case, he loved getting them and reading them at a pace that allowed him to savor every word.
As he opened the letter, Warren commented from the lower bunk, "You better read that and hide it, so me an' every other love-starved convict in here don't go in one of the stalls with it. That paper she used has more perfume on it than a high priced lady of the night. Even the hacks'll jump on it."
Adrian smiled. "Hey, what can I say? She knows how to treat her man. Now leave me alone so I can read. Go hang with Kristen, or something." His response from Kristen was, "UGH!"
He held the letter to his nose, inhaled deeply, and absorbed the aroma that filled his nostrils. It was the same perfume that she wore especially for him because she knew it made his knees weak.
As he opened the letter, several photographs of her and Andy dropped onto his stomach. He picked them up, looked at them, and shook his head. She looked beautiful, and Andy looked like his smiling, enthusiastic, charismatic self, only now he was a year older. He carefully looked at the photos, then unfolded the letter and read it.
Dear Adrian,
How are you, my love? If you only knew how much I miss you. I sometimes fear the void left by your absence will swallow me. I long for your touch. I love you, Adrian. You'll always be my baby, no matter how long they keep us apart.
Well, now that I've got that out of my system, let me tell you the good news! As you know, I've always wanted to go back to school, and I've made the decision to do that...at the University of Kansas, at Lawrence! I'll be coming out there next month to check things out, and I'll be bringing Andy. We'll be able to see you! Isn't that great? The university isn’t that far from where you are. I'll do some advance scouting on Craigslist to see about renting an apartment, and maybe finding a part-time job. Assuming it's workable - and we need to remember that I’m still in the early stages - I'll move out there with Andy, and we'll be able to see you on weekends. I've wanted to tell you my plans ever since I made them, but I didn't want to disappoint you in case they fell through. I agonized over them, and it took a lot for me to reach this decision. I didn't mention any of this before now because you've already got enough on your mind. But now I'm willing to make the move if it's possible. I'm so excited!
I could ramble on, but I want to get this in the mail right away. Take good care of yourself, my love. God, how Andy and I look forward to seeing you!
With all our love,
Jen & Andy
He read the letter again, then put it on the bunk and looked up at the ceiling, his head swimming. This was beyond his wildest dreams. Visits? Weekly? From his wife and son? Face to face? No one other than God in heaven could have sent him a wife and child like them. Who else would be willing to pack up, move seventeen hundred miles, and disrupt their lives just to be near him while he served time in prison? All he could do was shake his head slowly and fight back the tears of joy that crept into the corners of his eyes. God knew, there was only one Jennifer and one Andy. Beautiful, bright, warm, sensuous, she could have had the pick of the lot. But she had chosen him, and stuck with him during the worst of times. A lady like her came along once in a lifetime. Only a fool would pass her up, and he was no fool. As for Andy, Adrian had always told him he was the luckiest dad on the planet. Of all the millions and millions of boys he could have gotten, he got the best boy on the first try. His and Andy's devotion to each had always been the envy of their friends, and he knew deep in his heart that theirs would be a life-long bond.
He leaned over t
he edge of the bed and handed the pictures to Warren. "Hey man," he said. "Take a look at the most beautiful wife and son any man could ever hope for."
**********
Woodstock showed up right on time, and it wasn’t long before the four of them were down in the boiler room, passing a joint. Despite being imprisoned on drug charges, Adrian still couldn't pass up the occasional chance to get high. It occurred to him that the desire for some things faded more slowly than others, and for him smoking pot was one of them. He also wondered why he did it on happy occasions as well as on bad ones. Was he one of those people that couldn't handle success any better than failure? No, he decided this was relief; pure and simple relief from a living arrangement that occasionally became more than he could handle.
He inhaled deeply, held the smoke, and slowly let it ease from his mouth, watching as it mixed with the steam that hung overhead from the boilers. It wasn't the safest place, but it would do.
As Tiny was about to pass the joint to Warren, several guards suddenly emerged from out of the steam, surrounding them before they could react. On the heels of the guards came Jimmy Atkins, a smug grin on his face. Just behind him stood Bumps, barely able to contain his laughter. Steeped in his own invincibility he wanted to make sure they knew he was in on the bust. Officer Convict Cabot, secret agent.
"Don't move," said Atkins, taking the joint held in Tiny's outstretched hand. "My goodness, Clarence. Smoking in the boys' room. And you're not alone. We have good ol' Warren Tyler Gates, and the hippie jack-off from the kitchen. An' sure enough, my ol' buddy, Adrian Cabraal, the Yankee dope dealer from back east. A herd of wild idiots if I ever saw one; damn sure are!"
He glanced at Bumps.
Bumps gave a mock salute, then left. Tiny watched after him, deciding then and there that taking care of their unfinished business had just become a top priority.
Rules of the Game Page 18