Riley Lynch awoke to the shuffling of a little girl's sensible patent leather shoes along the gritty sidewalk outside his second floor apartment window. At first annoyed by the interruption of the first good sleep he had enjoyed in a year, he smiled and a warm wave of contentment enveloped him. Other children were gathering outside his window, too, tittering and chattering, no doubt waiting for the arrival of the morning school bus.
Riley's roommate, Mikeé, was not as sentimental. Also rustled by the noise, he groaned, rolled over, and muttered unintelligible obscenities to himself.
Riley had just enjoyed his first night outside of Massachusetts's maximum security Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center, or SBCC. His unexpected release caught everyone by surprise -- he had been sentenced to 35 years to life for the murder of a business associate and didn't even have a parole hearing listed on the prison docket. He was hustled to the prison administrative offices late in the afternoon, told to sign some papers, and was whisked out the prison's rear gate in a private car before he had a chance to absorb what was happening. It wasn't until last evening when he checked into the room with Mikeé at St. Peter's Center (sort of a halfway house to house recent parolees waiting for a permanent residence) that the veracity of his unexpected freedom began to sink in.
The colder than normal November air gushed into the room when he opened the dirty window to watch the kids at the bus stop. The air, rich with car exhaust and a bitter urban dust, filled his mouth and lungs with purpose, and he welcomed the frosty twinge deep in his chest. There were a few surprise snow flurries in the air as one of those cruel Alberta clipper cold fronts was pushing through New England, reminding everyone of the harsh winter that was assembling its legions just over the western horizon. The kids didn't seem to be bothered by the cold air or biting wind one bit, and wrestled through it like a litter of cavorting puppies. All their moms huddled together clutching Styrofoam coffee cups, each one wrapped and bundled with more vigor than the next, and had they brought along their Sherpa guides, they would have been prepared to survive any Himalayan expedition. They hopped up and down together like players in a choreographed amateur community ballet. To the moms' relief and gratitude no doubt, a yellow bus appeared and approached them from the corner.
"What the hell are you doin'? Close the damn window! I am freezing to death over here," Mikeé exclaimed.
"Oh stop your whining, this is a glorious day. A great day to be alive."
Mikeé Evans was a beast of a man, over six and a half feet tall and appeared to many to also be six and a half feet wide. He made the cheap cot he spent the night sleeping on look like it belonged stashed away in a little girl's doll house. The sight of the top of his big, bald, black head protruding from beneath the epic mound of his snow white blanket created a frightening sight, as if a coroner had thrown a body blanket over a dead giant. A stranger might find it hard to believe there was just one person inside the mound. Riley and Mikeé had become good friends as part of the morning kitchen crew in the prison cafeteria. They were both clever enough to figure out on their own that volunteering for the unpopular, pre-sunrise work shift in the kitchen meant they had access to the prison's food supply when it was still fresh off the supply trucks, offering a chance to enjoy the not so spoiled parts, and before the first shift guards took all the blueberry muffins. It was by sheer coincidence that they were paroled and assigned to St. Peter's at the same time.
"Come on and get up, Mikeé... I smell breakfast and we're not cooking."
"Oh that does smell somethin' sweet now, don't it?"
Never known to be late for any meal, Mikeé glided downstairs first, and joined a rag tag collection of a dozen other recent parolees for breakfast in a community room that served as the St. Peter' Center's place to watch TV, play cards and enjoy a meal. A large, new, widescreen HD-TV sat in the corner and babbled on about traffic, stocks and the unseasonably cold weather. Mrs. Cavanaugh was St. Peter's house mother and program supervisor, a spry elderly woman in her mid seventies so full of energy she outpaced women half her age. Her "boys" (as she preferred to call them) huddled around a breakfast table too small for half of them, and the sight of the arrival of Mikeé and his girth caused a collective groan. Mikeé took his seat between two of them, and with one purposeful deep breath, spread his elbows, and moved all twelve men at the same time. Mikeé's sheer size, giant white teeth, bulging white eyes, and ear to ear grin, were the only things preventing a fresh, new murder.
Mikeé enjoyed an evil chuckle, "Heh... heh... heh."
"Oh, my," Mrs. Cavanaugh said, "what a big boy you are!" And from behind, Mrs. C put her head on Mikeé's shoulder and gave him a wide, creepy bear hug. Her pale, wrinkled arms didn't reach all the way around him. Mikeé's back stiffened and he scrunched-up his face. He endured an eerie feeling of discomfort as her hands slid down his thick arms and massaged his biceps. The tone of his chuckle had changed.
"Heh... heh... heh?"
One of the men noticed Riley on the stairs, and all waxed silent as Riley descended. A few of the men stood up.
"Good morning, Mr. Lynch."
"How are you, Mr. Lynch?"
"Here, take my seat, Mr. Lynch.
"A pleasure to see you, sir."
Riley was used to the attention. Before he could complete the act of sitting he was handed a plate overflowing with eggs and hash browns from one direction and an extra large mug of hot, steaming coffee from another. Mrs. C offered him a nervous yet reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"You just let me know what you need, my boy. I'll take care of everything."
"Thank you, ma'am."
All eyes were on Riley as he savored his first home-cooked bite of non-prison food in months. Mrs. C was an exceptional cook, and the rich flavor of the buttery hash browns and fluffy yellow eggs distracted him. The cons continued their polite and silent vigil until Riley opened his eyes and looked up from his plate. He glanced with precision to the right, then glanced with precision to the left, and then with the flair of a 17th century monarch, he instructed the table with a brief expressionless nod that he was satisfied with the offering and it was now acceptable to continue the meal. And as if someone had fired a starter's pistol, the men sprinted into their breakfast.
No sooner had the normalcy of chaos been restored, then the room once again fell into an uneasy silence.
...and now breaking news from Boston's Channel 9 News Center. I'm Marcia Small. Channel 9 has learned that mob boss and convicted murderer Riley Angus Lynch has been released from the Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center. Lynch was convicted in the grisly killing of well-known mob associate and Los Angeles restaurateur Giovanni "The Chef" Marcellino. The Attorney General's office will be holding a press conference later this afternoon. We will be bringing you that press conference live. Stay tuned to News Center 9 for continuing updates as we...
The Kanc Page 4