The Pink Panther Clique

by Wahida Clark

  “Nah, I don’t know nothing about that. Can I go now?” He smiled.

  “I admire you, Ms. Williamson. I do. I’ve kept my eye on you.” He was definitely a nice-looking man, and I purposely avoided looking him in the eyes. “I see how you move around here. I respect it. But my job is to avoid any lawsuits, and if we have a pregnant woman being taken advantage of in any way, I need to know about it. I run a clean prison. First, as a warden, and also as a man and a father. It’s my personal responsibility.”

  “Well, I haven’t seen anything inappropriate. But if I do, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thank you! You can go now.”

  That was extremely weird. First of all, investigations into officers were handled by the SIS department. Not the warden. Second, there was just something about the look on his face that didn’t sit right with me. And I would definitely figure out what the hell was going on.

  “Prego!” I called out. She was sitting in the television room watching a movie.

  “What’s up?” she said, wobbling over to me.

  “Listen, I’m telling you something, and you better not say shit. I don’t know what the hell is going on with you and Lieutenant Longwood, but the warden has been asking questions. I’m not getting all in your business, but just be careful.”

  “What kind of questions?” she asked nervously.

  “He just wanted to know if there was anything inappropriate going on with you and the lieutenant. I told him no. Somebody is telling him stuff. So just be on point.”

  “There’s nothing to be on point about. I mean, I can tell he likes me, but the lieutenant is cool.” She couldn’t lie to me. I saw them fucking with my own eyes. And what type of man fucks a pregnant girl? She came into the prison pregnant, and it was just disgusting to me for one man to be nutting on another man’s baby. But whatever. To each his own. It wasn’t my business.

  “Count time!” the guard yelled out. I went back to my bed and stood in front of it for the 4:00 p.m. count. I’d been counted five times a day every single day since I got here. It was depressing. We were like cattle. It usually took about five minutes to clear count. But rather than yell “count,” they hollered, “recount!” They counted us again. After the third time, they told us to take out our identification cards. Something wasn’t right. What the hell was going on? They walked up to each of us and matched our IDs with our bed numbers.

  Lieutenant Longwood and the captain ran into the unit and whispered to the unit officer. “It’s confirmed. Glads is missing. We think she escaped. Lock the place down now!”

  Chapter 24

  Eshe

  * * *

  We’d been on lockdown for an entire week, and finally, just a few minutes ago, the restricted movement was lifted. It was horrible. First, the U.S. Marshals came in and put yellow crime scene tape around Ms. Glad’s room. We didn’t know what that meant. We just knew that we were suffering because of it. Second, there was a mandatory lockdown, and we were on emergency protocol. Every count was a census count, and there were too many guards on each unit. It was a pain in the ass.

  We didn’t shower for days, so most of us smelled like old onions. We didn’t have bathrooms in our cubes because we weren’t in cells. They just locked the shower room and had controlled bathroom movements. As the days went on, the smell in the unit turned into more like rotten sewage. We didn’t get to eat in the dining hall. We had flight meals, which were box lunches that they gave out on the plane when you flew on Con-Air, the airline they used to transport prisoners. Each prison had stockpiles of old flight meals for emergency purposes. It usually consisted of either melted peanut butter that was more like peanut oil, or old cheese and “mystery” meat, with some pretzels and a pack of poison known as prison Kool-Aid. Everybody knew: don’t drink the Kool-Aid!

  Not long after we were released from lockdown, information started to flood the unit about what happened. Of course, my girl Sun-Solé had the inside scoop. She came running over to my room in her robe.

  “Where’s Milla?”

  “She’s on line for the shower. Same place I’m going, and your ass needs to be going too.”

  “I am. Why you think I got this robe on? I just had to tell you what’s going on. Rumor has it that they found Ms. Glads, and she’s . . . dead!” My hands covered my mouth.

  “You’re kidding me. Oh my God!”

  “Her son’s death was just too much for her. They say she had made it to the mountains about three miles from here. And she passed out because she didn’t have her insulin. They said a black bear got her up in them mountains because the way her body was mutilated was horrific. They say it looked gruesome.”

  “That is unacceptable. She had all the signs. They wouldn’t let her go to her son’s funeral. She didn’t have money to use the phone; she was a keg of gunpowder, and his death lit the match. Sad. And these people should be liable in some way. She wasn’t well.” Once Sun-Solé had the drop on something, it was usually accurate. We jumped on the shower line and informed Milla.

  “How sure are you about this?” Milla asked Sun-Solé.

  “I’m 100 percent positive. I heard it from the warden myself. I saw the preliminary death certificate. It said she escaped by death.”

  “Escaped by death?”

  “Yes, if any of us die before our sentence is up, our death certificates says ‘escaped by death.’ How sick is that?”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “I’m telling you, I saw it myself.”

  “Wait a minute. How did you see it? How did you . . . When did you see him? We’ve been on lockdown for days.”

  “He called me out yesterday,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “I don’t know if H would appreciate the warden coming to see his queen so often.”

  “Girl, bye! Ain’t nobody thinking about that man. I just communicate with him so we stay on top of everything going on around here.”

  “Well, I think he likes you.”

  “And if he does, better for us. But I wasn’t the only one he came to see. He also checked on Prego to make sure that she was being properly cared for while we were on lock. He’s not a bad dude,” Sun-Solé said.

  “Not bad at all, with his fine self. But he sure takes a lot of interest in her too,” I added.

  “Maybe he’s just a real man who cares about a pregnant woman,” Milla said. Milla always tried to see the good in a person. Regardless of their position.

  “Or maybe he knows that she’s fucking Lieutenant Longwood,” I said.

  “Oh, he definitely suspects it, but he has no proof,” Sun-Solé informed. “He asked me if I’d heard anything and told me how he doesn’t tolerate none of that shit in his prison.”

  “Well, now that we’re out, after we get freshened up, let’s see if we can head down to the studio. I did some writing while we were on lock, and I’m tired of talking about the warden.”

  Kiera Johnson lived two cubes down from me. She was a nice girl but got caught up in a drug conspiracy that had nothing to do with her. Her boyfriend was a big supplier from Chicago. And when he got charged, they wanted her to snitch on him. She refused, so she got hit with ten years. She was coming up toward the end of her sentence. But for some reason, she didn’t look happy to be getting ready to go home. She seemed stressed out. I ran into her at the law library, and I sat down next to her.

  “Kiera, what’s up? You been looking down, girl. Everything okay?”

  “Not really. After all these years, the end is the hardest. They’re only giving me two months halfway house. And as you know, without halfway house time, we get stuck in prison doing almost all of our time here. I got a ten-year sentence, and I feel like I deserve a year halfway house time.”

  “What about the Second Chance Act? Isn’t that legally binding them to give you up to eighteen months? One year halfway house and six months home confinement?”

  “Nothing binds them. They do what they want. I don’t have any place to go. I don’t have
any money, no job lined up. I’ve been gone for eight years. I had a couple fights and lost my good time. But that has nothing to do with halfway house time. I’m just so frustrated. They’re gonna let me out of here and expect me to catch up with the world in just sixty days? That’s not even realistic.”

  “What about Becky Wickers? The white girl from Massachusetts? She only had a two-year sentence, but I hear she’s getting eleven months’ halfway house. Let’s ask her what she did,” I suggested.

  The two of us left the library to go find Becky. After good-time and almost a year halfway house, Becky would only end up doing ten months. I don’t see how that was fair. Halfway houses were for people who needed help to get readjusted and reacclimated back into society. Why would a girl who just came to prison take up space, blocking other inmates who really needed that help? It just didn’t make any sense.

  We found Becky in the recreation room, running on the treadmill and reading a magazine. She was a petite white girl with long, blond hair and large breasts. She looked like a typical hostess at Hooters.

  “Becky, can we holler at you for a minute?” I asked. She looked me up and down, and then smiled. She was one of those inmates everybody wanted to stay away from. Always complaining about her time. It was funny how short-timers always cried, and us chicks with the longer sentences took it like Gs. We realized nothing came from crying about water under the bridge. We fought our cases, but we didn’t let the time do us.

  “So what’s up?” Becky said, stepping off the treadmill and drying herself off with an institutional brown towel.

  “I’m just curious, and you don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to, but how did you get almost a year halfway house with such a short sentence?”

  “I didn’t ask for it. They offered it to me. I don’t know.”

  “Who’s your counselor?” I asked. Kiera stood there listening.

  “Ms. Cheiders.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said to Becky. I pulled Kiera to the side. “Come on, let’s go to her open house.”

  “I really don’t want to. Ms. Cheiders used to be an officer before you got here, and she’s a real bitch. She’s racist, she’s mean, and she hates her job. I’ll just deal with the two months.”

  “No, fuck that. We don’t get far in life by being complacent and laying down. Go explain your case and make sure that they do right by you. You’ve done too much time to be slighted at the end. I’ll help you if you’re willing to help yourself.” I finally got Kiera to agree.

  We arrived at Ms. Cheiders’s office during her open house hours. I told Kiera I couldn’t go in there with her, but I equipped her with what she needed to say. I also pulled policy so she could quote it and make sure they didn’t do her wrong.

  Kiera came out of there crying. I instantly felt bad for putting her in this position to ask this woman for anything.

  “Just forget it, Eshe. She did everything but laugh in my face.”

  “We’ll write her up. Don’t get discouraged.” We started walking back toward the unit, and we ran into Becky.

  “How did it go?” she asked, now drying her blond hair with the same towel from the rec.

  “It didn’t go. She’s a bitch. I don’t know how you got her to give you all that time, but that shit isn’t fair. What’s good for one is good for all. Especially somebody who’s done five times the amount of time you’ve done. Nothing against you, but I’m just saying; these people are racist.”

  Becky pulled the two us, Kiera and me, over to the corner and talked in a hushed tone. “Look, if you want a year halfway house, I can make it happen. Don’t say shit about this, but come up with $20,000, and she’ll do it.”

  “You trippin’, girl. And get caught up in some bribing-an-officer shit? Nah!” Kiera said.

  “You’re not listening, girl. How do you think I got my halfway house time? Money talks and bullshit walks!” Becky assured.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Twenty thousand dollars for halfway house time? Something the law already made provisions for? Man, this was exploitation at its finest, and I wasn’t about to let this shit go down. Oh yeah, she was gonna give Kiera her proper due, and it wasn’t gonna cost Kiera a dime either! Not as long as I had anything to do with it.

  Chapter 25

  Milla

  * * *

  “What now?” I said out loud to myself, as I was awakened from my sleep. The captain and the assistant warden were on our unit screaming at the top of their lungs for us to get out of bed and report to the middle of the recreation floor. I looked at my watch. It was only six in the morning. This was too much. What the hell did they want?

  “Okay, I am going to make this as clear as I possibly can. I do not tolerate cell phones in my prison!” the captain said. “I am going to give whoever has the shit a chance to fess up. Otherwise, everybody will be punished.”

  “Bullshit! Y’all stupid,” one chick hollered.

  “Fuck you! Do whatever. I’m going to sleep!” someone else screamed.

  “That’s not fair!” I said, adding my two cents. But, of course, with all the hollering, I was the one that he heard.

  “Excuse me? You got something you wanna say?” Assistant Warden Pulls asked. He had a lot of nerve. I guess he needed to put on a show since he was the one who actually snuck us in all that studio equipment and was probably the one responsible for bringing in the same cell phones he’s tripping about.

  “Nah, I don’t have anything to say . . . clown,” I muttered.

  “One by one, we will call each of you in. Do not leave this area.” While they questioned us, they searched our units, literally tearing the place apart. Everybody was pissed. I mean, we knew we were in prison, but it was such an invasion of privacy.

  Prego wobbled over to me. “Hey, Milla. Sun-Solé was looking for you. She’s over by the phones.”

  “Girl, you’re getting so big. Shouldn’t you be delivering soon?”

  “Yeah. Soon.”

  “What’s your due date?” I asked her.

  “Oh damn. Hold up. I gotta use the bathroom,” she said and walked away. I noticed that about her. Every single time I asked her, or anybody else, for that matter, about her due date, she found a way to either change the topic or walk away. It was weird. We all knew she was pregnant; she was as big as a house, and she was coming up on at least eight months now. I didn’t understand.

  It was looking like being pregnant here was the way to go. Prego had a double mattress; she got double food portions, and she supposedly went to the doctor’s office every week, even though my girls and I were all pretty sure that she was going with Longwood for long nights. I wasn’t hating on the sister, but damn, it was a messed up situation. Maybe her husband abandoned her. He never came to visit her, so maybe there’s more to what appeared in front of the naked eye. Who am I to judge? It’s not my business anyway. I have bigger issues to deal with. My man is dealing with a life sentence, and I couldn’t front like that didn’t bother me.

  I checked myself once again for referring to him as my man. He was, but this situation deaded all of that. I had to accept it and move on. My thoughts were interrupted by the guard calling out my name.

  “Again . . . Inmate Davison, report to the unit officer.” What the hell did they want with me? I spotted Sun-Solé and Eshe chillin’ by the phones, and I waved at them. Eshe held up her hands to ask me what was up. I just shrugged. They were still in the middle of an intense search, so why they were calling me was a mystery.

  “Whassup?” I asked the officer standing next to the captain overseeing the entire search.

  “We just searched your room. What is this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh? You don’t know? It was in your room, but you don’t know?” the officer said.

  “I have no idea.”

  “It looks like a cell phone charger.”

  “Well, if that’s what it is, somebody put it there. And it wasn’t me.”

  “I
need a female officer to Unit B4,” the officer said as he radio called someone to come to the unit. This was some bullshit. A few minutes later, two female officers arrived.

  “What you need?” Officer Hayts asked him.

  Great, the worst of the worst. I couldn’t stand her. The weave thief.

  “I need you to strip this one out and make sure she’s not hiding anything.”

  “My pleasure,” she said, looking at me. Still rocking that same old weave. It took everything in me to keep from laughing.

  “Come with me, Milla Davison.” She took me to a private strip out room in a part of the prison I had never been to before. “I knew you would be trouble. Clothes off,” she said. I ignored her comments and began stripping down until I was butt-ass naked.

  “Pass me your socks . . . now your pants.” She checked every pocket and crevice. “Now give me your shoes.” I was standing on the cold-ass floor, barefoot. All I kept thinking about was getting in the shower once I left this stankin’-ass room. She checked the inside of my shoes. “Okay, now pass me your panties.” She ran her gloved hand across the crotch of my underwear, and then placed them with my other clothes on a dirty, dusty table. “Now, bend at the waist, and squat. Cough three times.” I did as I was told. “Now get dressed.”

  I put my pants back on, no panties. I would never put those on again. They’d been in her hands and on a dirty table. “Can I go now?” I asked once I was dressed.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “What’s the problem?” I asked, cocking my head to the side and frowning.

  “You didn’t put your panties on. You put them in the trash.” She went to the trash can and pulled them out, passing them to me. “Put them on.”

  “No! They’re contaminated now. You touched them; you laid them on a dirty table, and now they are in the garbage.”