The Unknown Soldier_a Joaquin Serrano Novel

by Jace Killan

  “Make it two packs,” Joaquin said.

  “You’re on.” Gomez leaned forward in his bunk and looked at his black plastic watch. “Ready, set, go.”

  Joaquin grinned as he began spinning the sides. He had thoroughly examined the puzzle while Gomez spoke. He and the cube were now one. His obsession had taken control and it felt great.

  Joaquin had been eight when he first remembered hearing the word “Obsession.” His father had used it. Before that time, Joaquin never suspected that he might be different than his friends.

  His father had bought Joaquin a snake, a tiny racer. He grew fascinated with reptiles, studying their eating habits and living environments. He made a spreadsheet with his mother’s help, putting each snake as a title to each row then filling in the columns where they lived, what they ate, how large they grew, how often they’d eat and shed and hibernate. He requested books and watched documentaries on Netflix.

  Joaquin’s father tried to curb his youthful enthusiasm toward productivity, helping him apply his studying towards a Boy Scout award or school assignment. It was there that his father mentioned the word, “Obsession.” He had explained that like Joaquin, he too would obsess about things and that could be a terrible problem or a fantastic opportunity.

  Obsessing would consume Joaquin’s mind and be all he could think about. His father suggested that Joaquin needed to understand that at times he might come off as overbearing and he shouldn’t get frustrated with those that did not share his passion. That would push people away. But if he learned how to harness his obsession, Joaquin could accomplish a great many things. He could use that obsession to research and understand. In reality, he’d dominate. That’s what it really meant to obsess—to dominate, control, or to win.

  He had obsessed about snakes because deep down, Joaquin was terrified of the gift given him by his father. He was first fearful of seeing the reptile, then touching it, then picking it up, then accumulating a dozen more, even a couple venomous snakes. Each fear had been a challenge and Joaquin’s passion, his drive — his obsession - demanded that Joaquin control that which he feared.

  Somehow, hundreds of miles away from home, years since seeing his father, Joaquin’s thoughts still found their way to his memory. It pained Joaquin and he tried to forget it.

  Now, he spun the cube’s sides noticing their stiffness. Gomez must have received the puzzle as a gift and only barely played with it. He probably messed it up and then in the attempt to fix it, screwed up the pattern more.

  First, Joaquin identified the white pieces, moving them to the bottom, forming a daisy pattern, four center whites with a yellow in the middle, corners left random. Each of the twenty-seven pieces had their place, identified by their colors, white with green and orange, red and blue, red with yellow and green. Each piece had its set arrangement. That’s why he liked cubing so much. He could fix it, put everything in its place, make it perfect. Joaquin had learned two hundred and thirty seven algorithms that he could use to put the pieces in their right order. Within seconds, he completed the white.

  “No way,” Gomez said.

  Most, like Gomez, would grow tired of the puzzle and abandon it. Joaquin had initially experienced frustration and anger. The thought of something unfixable frightened Joaquin. He had to dominate it, control it. He studied the structure and looked up the patterns in books and online. And he mastered the little puzzle.

  With the completed white side on the bottom, yellow side-to-be on top, Joaquin paired the other sides, putting the corners with their corresponding edges.

  Then he formed the yellow cross, then formed the yellow side. In the home stretch. P.L.L. Permutation of the last layer. It required the U-perm algorithm, but it didn’t turn out right. He walked it back and tried it again. But like before, it didn’t work. What was he doing wrong?

  The time showed forty-eight seconds and Joaquin was about to lose the bet. Worst yet, he didn’t have any cigs to pay up, if he did lose. He’d find himself the recipient of a good beating.

  He cleared his mind and tried it again. His head told him to spin the middle again, but his fingers refused. Was that it? He didn’t turn it again and it looked right. He let his fingers finish the sequence and tossed the cube to Gomez, completed.

  “Fifty-eight seconds, Holmes.” Gomez stared at the time incredulously.

  “Yeah, that sucked. My personal best was twelve point seven seconds at a competition.”

  22

  Joaquin dipped his finger into a small waste bin, filled with water, poised on a veneer tabletop. Ericson had purchased four coffee makers from commissary and removed the heating elements, which he’d placed in the waste bin to warm the water.

  “It’s working,” Joaquin said. The liquid’s temperature slowly rose.

  Guzman often invited Ericson into his inner circle because he paid with money instead of loyalty. Joaquin didn’t bring anything of value to the table, but Guzman usually had him along all the same. The three did quite a lot together.

  Ericson carefully opened a sack of six bagels, handing two to each of them. Following Ericson’s lead, Joaquin pulled his apart, removed the inside layer of bread and ate it.

  Joaquin opened several Lunchable packs, taking the small pieces of ham, turkey, and cheese. He made certain to leave enough for the other two. If there were extra, it would go to Guzman.

  “Want my ham?” Ericson said to Guzman.

  “You don’t like it?” Guzman already scooped the pieces out with his finger.

  “Nah, you can have it.”

  Joaquin layered the inside of the bagel with the meat and cheese slices and topped it with nacho cheese. He put the two halves back together of each bagel and handed them to Guzman who slid them into the plastic bag with his own and Ericson’s bagels. Then wrapped the bag inside a couple garbage sacks.

  “Make sure it’s tight,” Guzman said.

  Ericson laughed. “Don’t worry, my friend. We will eat well tonight.” He tied a knot in the sack’s end, then placed the package into the hot water.

  “How long does it take?” Joaquin asked.

  “About four hours.”

  Joaquin’s stomach protested.

  “Trust me. It’s worth it.”

  The four hours past incredibly slow. Joaquin spent the time solving his Rubik’s cube. The group had made some money but mostly cigs and added commissary from running the hustle. It would start with someone fiddling around with the cube, getting frustrated, in a small group of five to ten inmates. They’d throw out an offer to the group, a promise of paying something if anyone could solve it. Eventually Joaquin would take his cue to say that he could solve it within a minute. Others would bet against Joaquin, provided they could mix up the cube.

  They’d pull what Ericson called a “take-away-close.” Joaquin would hesitate, expressing doubt, which would only make the other party bolder. The most they had won from the hustle was two months commissary. From their spoils, Ericson suggested they try something he had learned from his stint in Oklahoma.

  “It’s time,” Ericson said.

  Guzman pulled the bag from the waste bin, the sack fogged over from the moisture inside. Guzman removed the plastic exposing six steaming sandwiches. Joaquin’s were surprisingly crispy on the outside and hot. His brain acknowledged it was a bad idea to bite into the sandwich but he couldn’t resist. The smell called at his hunger. He burned his tongue, but fully committed, bit through the sandwich.

  Something warm drizzled down his chin, probably cheese. Inside, the sandwich was moist and scorching. He sucked in air, trying not to abandon his prize. Eventually it cooled enough to swallow. His mouth ached from the heat, but he had tasted enough to identify it as the best meal he’d eaten in prison. Even better than Guzman’s enchiladas.

  “What do you call them?” Guzman asked, his mouth full.

  “Fat Bastards,” Ericson said. “Buen provecho. Enjoy.”

  “These are delicious,” Joaquin said.

  Ericson g
runted in agreement.

  “Well worth the wait, no?” Guzman said. “Most things in life are.”

  Ericson laughed.

  “What’s so funny,” Guzman asked.

  Ericson’s laughter turned to a smile. “Nothing. Just remembered something, that’s all.”

  Guzman’s demeanor changed like a shower running out of hot water. Ericson noticed, and not wanting to offend expanded on his comment. “My dad use to say that to me all the time.”

  “It’s good advice, no?” Guzman said. “Kids today want everything and they want it now.”

  “Oh, I agree,” Ericson said.

  “So what’s so funny?” Guzman looked impatient.

  “Well, I kind of applied the advice to my alleged criminal activities.”

  This peeked Guzman’s interest.

  “I pulled the long con,” Ericson said. “I had this one client, a billionaire that borrowed lots of money. I placed his loans with banks. I’d usually shop them out to a bunch of my bank contacts and then subordinate the loans to those banks.

  “Well this one time, a bank had already wired me the money for subordination, so the deal was done, I got the money and signed the papers and everything...” Ericson took a bite. He didn’t bother swallowing, just continued with his mouth full. “Another bank called me up and said they wanted to participate in the loan.” He swallowed and sipped a water bottle. “So I signed their paperwork, more curious than anything, just to see what might happen and sure enough they sent over 1.2 million dollars, just like the other bank.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Joaquin said. “A bank just sent you an extra 1.2 million dollars?”

  Ericson laughed. “Hand to God.”

  Joaquin thought about Thompson in cell block three who had robbed a bank with a sawed off shotgun. Thompson was shot in the process and now paralyzed from the waist down, and doing thirty years. Had he been successful, he would have made about ten grand. And here, this bank wired Ericson a million dollars. “What did you do with the money?”

  “I leant it back out to another client. I figured the bank would catch on to the mistake after a while and so I might as well make a little interest. You know, bank error in your favor, collect one million dollars. But that was just the start. You got to understand that banks were full of cash because the lending rates from the Fed were so low. So everyone wanted to place their money, and why not lend it to a billionaire investor. The most I ever got was on a property in California. My client was asking for five million dollars and I was able to get four banks to sign on the dotted line.”

  Guzman seemed lost in thought, his forefinger lightly tapping his cheek.

  “Twenty million?” Joaquin asked.

  “Yeah. Well fifteen extra. I knew I was going to get caught sooner or later, so I went all balls out if you know what I mean.”

  “Why’d they charge you with a ponzi scheme?” Joaquin asked. He’d thoroughly vetted Ericson’s charges when he transferred to Graham.

  “Well, most of the money I leant out to clients. And it would have been great if the economy hadn’t turned. I could have paid back all the loans and no one would have ever known of my indiscretions. But when the loans came due, I didn’t have the funds to pay them, and I couldn’t refinance the properties to get new loans, so I was screwed. They called it a ponzi scheme because I was technically using other banks money to pay back earlier bank notes. In the end, they said I owed seventy two million dollars.”

  Joaquin almost lost his mouthful of the fat bastard. Seventy million. He couldn’t even fathom that much money.

  “What happened to it?” Guzman finally spoke, his tone stern, direct.

  “Um. Well, the FBI seized all of my assets and took over all the notes, so they went after everyone I had leant money to.”

  “All your assets?” Guzman raised an eyebrow.

  Ericson smiled. “I might have stashed a little away down south for retirement.”

  Guzman nodded. “I thought so. You’re not as dumb as they think you are.”

  Ericson seemed confused at that assertion. Joaquin took advantage of the awkward silence to start on his second fat bastard.

  23

  Joaquin looked forward to Chili Night. It happened twice, maybe three times every month. The chili, like most prison food, tasted bland and could’ve used some Tapatio. But the cornbread recalled many fond memories from Joaquin’s childhood. Tonight, he planned on eating the cornbread in a bowl with milk.

  “You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?” Ericson said.

  Joaquin only shrugged.

  “What are your plans?” Ericson sat across the table from Joaquin. “I mean, after you get out of here.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “School?”

  “I’m working on a bachelor’s degree now but I haven’t any idea what I’m going to do with it. I’ll probably end up flipping burgers.”

  “Is that what you want?” Ericson smiled.

  “No. I’d like a normal life, but I kind of screwed that up, killing my girlfriend and all.”

  Ericson took his plastic spoon and dipped it into the chili. “Alright, hold it right there. You need to get over that. What step are you on?”

  That caught Joaquin off guard.

  “Look,” Ericson said. “I completed the steps twice now, the first time for my alcoholism and then again to work on resentment. Do you have a sponsor?”

  Joaquin shook his head. He had been through the steps, but he never could bring himself to open up completely, especially to one person.

  “I see a lot of you in me, Jaqui. Angry at myself. Angry at everyone else. It took a sponsor to help me really understand the steps. Mine was Jones. He helped me find God. And God helped me discover my true self.”

  The two ate in silence for a few minutes. Joaquin slurped his chili pretending he’d added Tapatio.

  “I could be your sponsor if you want,” Ericson said.

  “I don’t think I need one.”

  “Okay, but what are you going to do when you’re out and back in a world with meth?”

  Joaquin shrugged. He didn’t want to think about that.

  “Honesty, amigo. Being honest with yourself, with God. That’s the first step. A sponsor can help keep you accountable.”

  “And you want to be my sponsor?” Joaquin met Ericson’s gaze.

  “Hell yeah. And as your sponsor, the first thing I’d tell you is to stop beating yourself up about your girlfriend.”

  Joaquin cocked his head.

  “It isn’t fair to her and it isn’t fair to you. You’re paying your price to society for her loss and that’s all you can do. Don’t beat yourself up anymore. Got it?”

  Joaquin nodded. “Okay.”

  “You can’t change what happened. So the best thing you can do is change the future.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “By working the steps and becoming your true self.”

  Joaquin chuckled through his nose. “Sounds like motivational B.S.” He took another bite.

  “Maybe. And maybe it’s actually the first step to your new life. Listen, Jaqui, I can help you. I’ve got a lot of connections on the outside and I can hook you up.”

  “What, with a job?”

  “Yeah. And more. I can teach you. Think about it, how many years do you have left?”

  “Just under two.”

  “What a great gift you have, dude,” Ericson said. “Time. You’ve got two years that you can use to learn. You’re smart. Imagine what you can become over the next two years.”

  “Like what?”

  “I can teach you about the markets. Stocks, bonds, mutual funds, lending...”

  “And how you stole seventy million dollars?” Joaquin smirked.

  Ericson shrugged. “Sure. And what I should have done differently so I didn’t get caught. I can teach you about business and marketing. Financial and technical analysis. Think about it. With me as your sponsor, you’ve got access to one of t
he greatest financial minds in the nation.”

  “You think pretty high of yourself, don’t you?”

  “It’s my true self. Hell, who else do you know that would be able to get banks to send them over two hundred million dollars in oversubscribed loans?”

  “Two hundred? I thought it was seventy?”

  “Yeah, seventy million I didn’t pay back.”

  “How did you do that?” Joaquin asked.

  “So does that mean I’m your sponsor?”

  “Sure.” Joaquin raised his plastic cup of water. “I’m all ears. Teach me.”

  “My man. Okay, we will work up to ponzi schemes. First let’s start with something simple.”

  “Like what?”

  “Options.”

  Joaquin couldn’t imagine what that meant.

  Ericson looked around then spotted Joaquin’s coveted piece of corn bread. “You goin’ to eat that corn bread?” Ericson asked in a southern drawl.

  “Yeah.” Joaquin covered it with his hand.

  “No, it’s from a movie. Life? No? Forget it. Say I might want your cornbread and you’ll sell it to me for a thousand dollars.”

  Joaquin pushed his tray to Ericson. “Seriously, take it.”

  “I’m teaching you about options.”

  “Oh.”

  “So your cornbread is going for a grand. And I’m thinking I might want it because I might be able to sell it later for, say...two grand.”

  “Okay.”

  “But I don’t really know if the market is going up or down. I might buy it and then the price drops. So there’s a couple things I can do.”

  “Options?” Joaquin leaned forward.

  “Right. There’s two types of options: puts and calls. Simply stated, a put puts it to someone and a call calls it from someone. I could buy a call, maybe for a dollar that gives me the option to buy the cornbread from you within the next week for a thousand. If the price goes up, then I can exercise the call and make instant money by buying it from you for a grand and selling to the market for more. If it goes down, then I only risked a dollar, not a thousand.”