by Don Prichard
“Or at least offer dignity until death.”
Mendoza swiveled his chair to gaze out the window. “I will look at your plans when they come.” Without looking at Jake, he dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
There had been no resistance, but Jake’s footsteps weren’t light. Instead, he felt the warden’s pain. The pain of a forgotten man who yearned for recognition.
***
Christmas in Detroit. Eve snugged her heavy coat closer and puffed away a snowflake on her half-frozen nose. Of all the places in the world they could have gone on holiday, Crystal had voted for Detroit.
“It’s a lovely house, honey. You sure you don’t want to go inside?”
“No. I don’t want to see where they burned to death. I just want to see it one last time now that’s it’s sold.”
Ten frozen toes later, Eve walked with Crystal back to the taxi. The ride to the cemetery was long enough to thaw out nose and toes, but was no defense against the next bite of sub-zero temperatures.
In spite of the snow obscuring gravestones more than an arm’s length away, Crystal had no trouble finding the two she sought. “Grandma and Grandpa.” She pointed to a gray marble headstone, stood briefly in front of it, then stepped to one beside it marked Betty Lamar Parker. “Aunt Betty,” she said. She removed her glove from her right hand and ran her fingers over the stone and the etched name. “Pink Rosato marble was her favorite. It’s pretty, huh?”
“Very pretty.” Sadness seeped in with the cold’s icy teeth sinking into Eve’s skin in spite of her heavy clothing. Betty Parker had written a sweet note trying to make contact with her. Things might have turned out differently if only they’d gotten together.
“The firemen said Aunty was trying to pull Grandpa out of the fire. I’m sad he’s dead, but I’m glad it’s you and not him I get to live with, Mom.”
Mom. It had been two months since Crystal had used that name. Eve put her arm around Crystal’s shoulders and snuggled the child against her side. “I’m glad too.”
More than anything, she wanted her memory back. Wanted all the puzzle pieces of her life in place. Wanted to control her present and her future through knowledge of her past.
Who was she? Deep down and wide across, where the treasures and monsters of her life lay hidden and her secret self dwelt, what had made her who she was? And how were they influencing her, even now, on the pathway her feet unwittingly took?
At least she had Crystal. Someone to love and be loved by. Someone who bridged the gap between past and present. She mustn’t let anything—or anyone—come between them.
Including Jake Chalmers.
Chapter 53
January - February 1984
With every day a carbon copy of the one before it, and promising equally monotonous ditto marks for the next day, Jake sought to make good use of the eight weeks before the architectural documents arrived. In January, a letter from the firm updated him on advances in prison design, and he shared the information in increments to entice the warden.
Hot tea and three small cookies always accompanied their meetings in the warden’s office. Jake timed how much data he shared by how slowly or quickly Mendoza consumed his treat. In January, Jake barely got to dispense crumbs. “‘Direct supervision’ marks state-of-the-art prisons now, Warden. As you know, prisoner surveillance has typically been linear—jail cells lined up one after another, guards patrolling the walkway alongside them. They can only see what’s happening with the prisoners when they walk by.”
“Salonga is not linear.”
“No, but the men can’t be observed except in the courtyard.” Entombed zombies, out of sight, out of mind. “Almost fifteen men a month die in your prison, half of them because of prisoner violence where you can’t see it to control it.” The fact wouldn’t tug at the warden’s heart, but the loss of men affecting trade income might tug at his wallet.
Jake’s crumbs fared no better at the next meeting. “State-of-the-art prisons use circular pods now. Jail cells are placed around the perimeter so guards stationed in the middle can see into all the cells all the time. Prisoners are safer, and remotely controlled doors keep the guards safe. More prisoners can be managed by fewer guards. A money-saver.”
The warden’s face with its one eye on Jake was a disinterested mask, and the tea, three cookies, and Jake’s crumbs were swallowed in silence.
Jake proceeded at their next meeting as if there had been no interruption. “Disease takes the other half of your prisoners who die. Each jail cell in the new prison has its own toilet and sink, with plumbing handled by the prison’s own sewage disposal plant. No more drums to drag out and empty, no more flies to spread disease, no more stench to flavor the air.” Jake figured that alone was a winner, but the warden’s face remained stony, his tea-sipping and cookie-crunching unaffected.
“No resistance says your fish has swallowed the bait but not pulled on the line,” Puno said. “When the documents arrive, his belly will be ready.”
The first week in February, Jake didn’t bring up the prison. The next week, the warden surprised Jake by agreeing to tromp through vegetation to the new prison’s most likely site. “When the topographical map arrives, it will show how many pods you can have.” Jake waved his hand at the farthest distance of the prison lot. “I think there’s even enough land here for trades like farming, livestock, and fish ponds. That would save on your food budget.”
Still no response from the warden. Not one word. Not one question. So once again, Jake ate the next meeting’s treat with no mention of the prison.
Finally, the week arrived when Detective Lee brought the documents. Jake could hardly breathe as he waited for Lee to open the doc-tube and unroll the plans. In spite of Jake’s growing friendship with the guards, they weren’t about to let him touch the suspicious-looking tube. It took sharp words in Tagalog from the detective before they allowed even Lee to shake out its contents.
“Good, the topographical map and schematic design.” Jake longed to grab them and run. He allowed himself a glimpse of each page before asking Lee to deliver them to the warden. “Better you than the guards,” he grumbled.
He contented himself with letters from Crystal, the twins, and his sisters while he waited for Lee to descend the stairs from the prison offices. “Let me guess,” he said when he saw Lee’s irritation. “He didn’t say anything.”
“Just set them to the side of his desk.”
Jake couldn’t help grinning. “I suspect the tube set the hook, and I’m going to feel tugging on the line soon.” He handed Lee a list of materials. “Now that we have the map and schematic design, we can start a fast track on the foundation and canopy—assuming the warden agrees.” Jake shook his head. “Man, I’ve been dying to order these and get going.”
Dying. He laughed. He was the zombie architect, wasn’t he? Giddy with a dream he hoped was about to come true.
***
With the floor plan spread out on the warden’s desk, Jake explained fast track. “Once you okay the schematic design, we don’t wait for the next stage of documents to arrive. Instead, we go ahead and put in the foundation wherever load-bearing walls and columns are called for. Pouring concrete and smoothing it—easy for the inmates to do. Along with that, we set the poles for the canopy roof and attach it.”
Mendoza nodded. “No waiting.” After days of studying the documents by himself, he had found his voice. “March and April is weather still dry and cool. Perfect.” The gleam in his eye and the cock of his head witnessed to his confidence that he was back on the rung above Jake. “Construction can proceed under canopy when rains come in May and after.”
Jake was pleased the warden particularly liked the idea of the canopy roof. True, it provided shelter from the rain and shade from the sun. But best of all, it allowed air movement from the floor up through the vented ceiling to an attic pocket under the canopy and on out to the atmosphere. Instead of the ceiling receiving the brunt of the sun’s heat, the canopy
took it. Simple and cost-effective, the physics of the layering made a difference of twenty to thirty degrees inside the prison.
Convincing Mendoza to offer incentives to the construction workers was not easy. “Why should they leave the income of their trades to work for nothing on the prison, Warden? There are morning and afternoon prison teams that work in the fields. How about more food for those who are willing to use the other half of their day to do construction work—maybe throw in a can of pop and a candy bar too?”
The warden’s jaw muscles jumped, and his lips tightened downward. “They can have more food, no free pop or candy.”
Jake grunted an unhappy consent to hide his smile.
“We can get prison workers besides the field teams,” Mendoza said.
Exactly what Jake didn’t want, but it wasn’t wise to put down the warden’s suggestion. “Theft of rebar—the steel reinforcing rods we put in the concrete—could be a problem among the more militant prisoners. Are there enough guards to oversee them?”
Mendoza frowned and switched topics. “Order the next level of documents from your firm, and what we need to start the foundation and roof.”
“I’ll get Detective Lee right on it. I’ll also set up a ‘critical path schedule’ to define what’s most important to work on at any given point in time. With the schedule, you’ll always know what’s going on, and what happens next.”
Trouble was, so would Emilio if he got access to the plans through the warden. Even worse would be Mendoza allowing Emilio’s group or the vengeful Muslims to work on the construction. Stolen rebar would make a formidable weapon against Jake and his men.
Chapter 54
April - May
“I knew it was too good to be true. We almost made it through April without problems, and now this.” Jake, accompanied by the warden and his rifle-bristling retinue, surveyed the cables sprawled like dead snakes over the five prison-pod foundations. “One man with bolt cutters could do this in twenty minutes.” He wanted to say a guard—bribed—but left the warden to accuse his own men.
They examined the five cranks that fed cables to a system of pulleys controlling canopy extension and retraction over each pod. The canopies, which yesterday had lain fully extended, now lay folded like accordions on their frames. No shade from the sun. No shelter from rain.
“How long before more cable can arrive?” The warden’s question was unusually gruff, probably not because he cared so much about shade for the workers as he did about delay in the construction because of rain. Everything was set to go. The design development drawings had arrived yesterday, and last week all the materials necessary for laying the concrete block walls and inserting electric power conduits and plumbing lines had been delivered.
“Weeks, probably three,” Jake grumped. “I suspect Smiley may know something about those bolt cutters. They aren’t part of our tools.” C’mon, Warden, take the hint, he wanted to yell. Let’s see some justice here for once.
As if hearing Jake, the warden lifted his chin. “I will question him. Order the cable and tell the prisoners to keep on schedule. Rain in May is not frequent.”
It was a week before Smiley’s next delivery and consequent confession, another week before intermittent rain interfered with construction for three days. The warden gave Jake no details on solving the cable-cutting, but Puno, with his back-door connections, found out what had happened. “Smiley caved in when the warden threatened no more prison deliveries.”
“Was the culprit Emilio?”
“Smiley knew only the guard, who conveniently vanished before Mendoza got to him.”
“Convenient,” Jake snarled. “Do you think Mendoza is covering up for Emilio?”
Puno shrugged. “A bribe in one hand, versus a few days’ labor lost in the other … what do you think?”
“I think another dislocated shoulder will help.”
Puno held out his hands, palms up. He raised his left hand. “Jake’s retribution, or”—he raised his right hand—“God’s retribution?”
Jake huffed. “You’re right, Puno. I don’t want my impatience to let Emilio off God’s hook.”
“Setbacks do not mean God is failing us.”
Jake ducked his head. Is that what, deep down, he believed? That God was failing him, falling short as the Just Judge? Jake’s eyes were focused on circumstances, weren’t they, and not on the One sovereign over those circumstances. Guilt smote him like a sword to the heart.
Father, I know You are Master in all things, not man, and yet I keep flunking when tested. Center my eyes on You and my confidence in Your goodness, so that circumstances neither rule nor rattle me.
A sweet peace settled over him. He would be tested again. And again. Life was like that. Prison was like that. Emilio was like that. He snorted. God was like that.
And it was good.
***
Eve smoothed down her dress and checked out its fit in her full-length bedroom mirror. Rock had promised to make her birthday tonight unforgettable. It would have to be amazing, as already the past three months of dating had been like clinging to a raft shooting down canyon rapids. Once she had given the nod to begin a romantic relationship, Rock had pursued her with zeal.
Every day was touched in some way by his attention. At first with simple gestures like her favorite candy bar in her mailbox, or a single Easter lily tucked under a windshield wiper, eventually moving to gifts of Swiss-imported petit fours wrapped in gold foil, and perfume-exhaling bouquets of long-stemmed roses delivered to her door. He didn’t bug her with daily phone calls or surprise visits. They saw each other only on weekly dates. He salted her, made her feel special, coaxed sweet awareness of him.
And he was going to top that tonight?
The evening was to begin with dining and dancing. She had shopped long and hard before she found what she wanted to wear: a deep-violet Victor Costa cocktail dress with huge cabbage-rose sleeves and a tightly fitting, ruched torso that hugged her curves. Four-inch spike heels she might need to shed for dancing, big hair, and big earrings to complete the drama, and she was powered for the night.
Crystal’s response was gratifying. “Like, rad, Mom!” Then it must have dawned on her that Eve was decked out for Rock. Her shoulders slumped, and her mouth followed suit. Between Crystal and Eve stood the Unmentionable One. Jake Chalmers. Eve continued to monitor their correspondence, but beyond that, he didn’t exist.
Eve sighed, wishing once again Natasa hadn’t moved so far away. Surely the two girls would like each other and become fast friends. Rock would have a chance in Crystal’s heart then.
Rock surprised her with dinner and dancing, not at any old expensive restaurant, but aboard an exclusive skyline cruise along the Chicago lakefront. She had worried she might be overdressed, but her fellow diners wore fashions from every top designer Eve knew. Women exchanged compliments and showed off their dresses for each other, boosting egos and everyone’s delight in the evening. Another ego-boost was Eve’s discovery that she was a skillful dancer. So, some of those suitors from her past must have been proficient dancers as well. She and Rock rarely sat out a dance.
“I didn’t know how you could possibly do it, but you truly gave me an unforgettable evening.” She cuddled up to Rock on the taxi ride home, and he put his arm around her shoulders. “I don’t know when I’ve had so much fun.”
“Oh, but there’s more.”
“More? Impossible!”
“I know you don’t like coming to my apartment, but your birthday demands one last addition.”
Eve quirked her mouth to the side. “I can’t stay. Church tomorrow morning, and Crystal won’t sleep until I’m home.”
“Fifteen minutes max.”
Eve laughed. “All right.” He had piqued her curiosity. It must be a gift of some kind.
Chapter 55
Eve had been in Rock’s apartment before, but an addition to its décor was immediately apparent. Before she even stepped inside the door, the scent of rose
s drifted into the hallway. Multiple roses. Their perfume was just short of inducing a migraine. A trail of crimson petals led from the front door into the living room and straight to the couch. Attending the petals on every side were vases of different sizes, all containing crimson roses. A lone long-stemmed rose sat on the coffee table in front of the couch. Next to it lay a gift exquisitely wrapped and ribboned in, yes, red.
“Oh my!” She blinked as Rock turned overhead lights onto the dim setting. She slipped off her heels, put her purse next to them, and walked to the couch. The rose petals, cool from the air conditioning, placed silky kisses on the bottom of her feet.
He sat next to her and placed the gift onto her lap. “Happy birthday.”
The wish was spoken so soberly that she decided to follow suit and not make light of the situation. No giddy for me? No shaking the gift and making a silly guess. She simply unwrapped it.
Inside was an elegant gold box. Clearly one designed for jewelry. She swallowed. If it was pricey, she couldn’t accept it. She didn’t know where the moral came from, except that it was part of who she was.
“Go ahead, open it.” Rock gazed at the box as if curious himself.
She removed the lid. An indigo pouch with a pale sliver of ribbon for a drawstring lay inside. The velvet of the pouch caressed her fingertips as she picked it up and emptied its contents onto the palm of her left hand.
Her heart lurched into her throat. It was a ring. A diamond ring. The diamond was at least three carats. She stared at it.
“Eve.” Rock took the ring, turned her hand over, and slipped the glittering rock onto her ring finger. “I love you. I’ve never met a woman as amazing as you. Will you”—twice, he cleared the hoarseness from his throat—“will you marry me?”
She didn’t know what to say. I don’t love you. But her heart was headed that direction, wasn’t it?