“Well, I feel a lot better,” Burnside said, stretching his arms above his head until his fingers brushed against the concrete ceiling. “Now I need to get back in shape.”
Ray dropped to the floor and started doing pushups. The physical exertion felt great after three days of doing nothing. He hardly noticed his old cuts and bruises. As far as he was concerned, they were healed. Ray marveled that in his former life, he would be resting and feeling sorry for himself if he felt the same amount of residual pain he felt now. At this point, he was so used to pain that it was nothing to exercise through it. As long as the pain wasn’t incapacitating, he felt he could do anything. When he reached a hundred push-ups, he stopped and resumed pacing.
“So, what’s going on with the gangs?” Ray asked Frank. “Are the Skins out of the picture?”
Frank glanced up from his magazine, smiling conspiratorially.
“The Skins are history. They’re done.” He widened his grin like a cat that had just dined on the family hamster. “The ones that are still alive or not in critical condition are scared shitless. They’re trying to blend into the normal prison population, hoping no one will notice them. The Bloods are on top now. They even took over the weightlifting area.”
“Are you serious?” Ray asked, stopping his pacing for a moment.
“Oh yeah. They run the show now. Even the Goodfellas kiss their ass.”
“That’s great,” Burnside said, resuming his pacing and then stopping suddenly. “Isn’t it?”
“For us it is. The Bloods boss, Troy Jones, can be a ruthless bastard, but he doesn’t forget a favor. He’s plenty grateful to us for our role in taking out the competition. You even have the added bonus of saving his life.”
“That’s what I was hoping,” Ray said.
“We’re due to go to the yard soon,” Frank said. “You should meet up with Jones ASAP so he can explain the new pecking order. Let me put it this way. We’re not exactly members of the gang because that’s simply not a possibility. But, we have a free pass. They will protect us, as if we are members. Like I said, Jones never forgets a favor.”
“That’s beautiful. That’s even better than I hoped,” Burnside said, accelerating his pacing.
“Cellie, you’re stressing me out,” Frank said. “Take one of these and chill.”
Frank threw a magazine at Ray’s feet. Ray reached down and picked it up. It was a three-month-old Newsweek. He couldn’t remember the last time he read anything substantive. He sat down on his bunk and scanned the pages, voraciously, soaking up the words like a man in the desert drinking a tall glass of water after weeks of thirst.
Ray consumed the words in the magazine like a crazed drug addict snorting a mountain of coke. He was on the last page when the bell rang, signaling the move to the yard. The usual procedure followed and they arrived in the yard without incident. This time, Frank walked into the yard with him, side-by-side.
“We’ll talk to Jones together,” Frank said.
“Okay,” Ray replied.
After a short walk, they spoke briefly to a muscular black inmate guarding the periphery and then entered the Bloods new turf. The eyes of many of the Bloods were on them as they passed. They found Jones in Price’s old hangout in front of the decaying universal weight machine in the center of the yard.
“Well, well, well,” Jones said, chuckling. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
Jones approached them and shook hands with Frank first, then Ray.
“How can I help you gentlemen?” Jones asked.
“Ray wanted to see for himself how things had changed,” Frank said, grinning.
“How do you like the New World Order?” Jones asked.
“It’s very nice,” Ray said.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Jones said. “Feel free to avail yourself of the equipment at any time,” he added, gesturing, magnanimously, to some of the various machines in the weightlifting area. “Just check in first with a guard and then use anything you want.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Jones,” Burnside said.
“Mr. Jones? Where did you find this guy, Frank? A country club? You can call me Troy,” Jones said, grasping Ray’s hand in a tight grip for a second time. “It’s the least I can do to return the favor I owe you. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some business to attend to, so you gentlemen can make yourself at home.”
“We appreciate it,” Ray said.
Jones’ grin widened and he winked at Burnside as he turned and walked away. He met with some of his lieutenants on the other side of the universal machine.
“You feel like working out?” Frank asked.
“Hell, yeah, I haven’t touched a weight since I was brought to trial a half-year ago. The jail didn’t have anything remotely resembling exercise equipment,” Ray said, smiling genuinely.
“As of three days ago, we didn’t have them either,” Frank said, walking toward a nearby bench press. “How about some benching?”
“Sounds great. But first, let’s put some more weight on,” Ray said, counting ninety pounds already on the 45-pound bar.
“You got it,” Frank said, reaching down to pick up a forty-five-pounder.
They threw two more forty-fives on the bar and Ray went to work. He felt ecstatic to be working out again. They lifted weights until the bell rang, signaling for everyone to leave the yard. The return trip to the cell was uneventful. Ray borrowed another magazine, this time U.S. News and World Report, from his cellmate and read until he felt tired. Then, he lay back on his bunk, closed his eyes, and thought about all the incredible events that had transpired since he arrived at the prison.
They went to dinner a short time later and Burnside was surprised to see everyone giving himself and his cellmate, Frank, a wide berth.
“It’s a whole new ballgame now, Burnside,” Frank said, as inmates moved out of their way as they approached the food line.
“I can see that,” Ray said.
My God, Burnside thought. The situation really has turned around 180-degrees.
After dinner, they returned to their cell and Burnside finished reading the U.S. News and World Report. He couldn’t believe what was going on in the world. He felt like he had been out of the loop for years, although it was really only about seven months since he was brought to trial.
Eventually, Ray started reading one of Frank’s Field and Stream magazines in a desperate attempt to avoid boredom. A short time later, an unknown pair of guards showed up, unexpectedly, in front of the cell.
“The Warden wants to see you, Burnside,” one of them said.
“No problem,” Ray said, caught off guard.
He stood up from the bunk and approached the bars. One of the guards opened the cell door. Ray nodded at Frank before leaving. As he exited, he placed his hands behind his back. The guards snapped cuffs on him and led him down the walkway. They took a service elevator to the third floor and went to the Warden’s office. Burnside was admitted while the guards waited outside. The Warden leaned back in a reclining office chair with his polished black shoes resting atop his wide desk. A younger man in a suit, the IA Chief, stood to the right of the desk with his arms folded.
“If it isn’t my very own terminator returning to the fold,” the Warden said, removing his feet from the desk and smiling like a Cheshire Cat. “I must admit, you’ve been a busy man, Ray. Have a seat.”
Burnside sat in the small folding chair placed in front of the Warden’s desk. The Warden leaned forward intently.
“Ray, when you make a deal with someone, you don’t fuck around,” the Warden said, turning serious. “The Skins are history. They are all either dead, injured, or hiding out with their tails between their legs.”
“I just gave you what you wanted,” Burnside said, smirking.
“Yeah, right,” the Warden said. “You even gave us a bonus by taking out Price.”
“That’s no loss to the world.”
“There was only one problem with your work, Ray,” the IA Chi
ef said, uncrossing his arms and putting his hands on his hips. “The body count.”
“You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs,” Burnside said, stone-faced.
“You broke more than a few,” the IA Chief said. “The state commissioner is going to be up our ass now.”
Ray turned to the Warden.
“What’s with this guy? Did he expect that I would resolve the situation peacefully like the U.N.?”
“Not at all,” Warden Mackey said. “He’s just making you aware of the down side. The body count was high, but we can justify it. The video surveillance cameras in the yard picked up the whole thing.”
“Oh fuck,” Ray said, scowling.
“No, it’s not like you think,” Mackey said. “The footage makes it look like everything you did was in self-defense. Even taking out Price. Remember, you started your meeting by letting the Skins beat the shit out of you. The footage is harsh. It’s hard to believe you got off the ground afterward.”
“It wasn’t easy,” Burnside said.
“The video surveillance camera caught all the details of the beating, but it was less clear with the details of your killings,” the Warden said. “Price’s back was to the main camera when he went down, so it’s hard to tell exactly what happened. After that, the camera records Skins coming at you from all angles, which provides more evidence of self-defense. The camera caught you shanking a Skin in the gut, but it seemed necessary, given that two of them were rushing you. After that, you got tackled and it looked like you were all done until our guy in the tower shot the inmate on your back.”
“Which I appreciate, by the way,” Burnside said. “But what about that trigger-happy yahoo in the second tower? He almost took me out permanently.”
“He wasn’t with us or the Skins,” the IA Chief said. “He was just some officer doing his job. We interviewed him later and he said he went after you because you seemed to be in the middle of the action: a fact we couldn’t argue with. However, he shot you three times, which was obviously overkill. He was reprimanded and that helped your case considerably. The commissioner doesn’t want any Excessive Force lawsuits filed against the prison in the aftermath of the riot. The footage of you getting shot and the infirmary records don’t paint a pretty picture.”
“Sounds like I got lucky,” Burnside said, sarcastically.
“Very lucky,” the Warden said. “We replaced the Skin’s guard in the tower with our own guy at the last minute. If not for that small detail, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“That’s a good point,” Burnside said. “You will have to thank him for me.”
“The good news is that the positioning of the surveillance cameras made all your actions look like self-defense, even the assassination of Price,” the IA Chief said. “From that angle, it was difficult to tell if he was coming after you or you were going after him. That means this incident won’t effect your behavioral evaluation and we can implement the plan we talked about earlier.”
“Which is?” Ray asked.
“After a year of good behavior, you will be transferred out to a medium security prison.”
“I think I can handle one more year in this shit-hole,” Ray said. “It certainly beats the alternative: being dead.”
“The only thing is you need to keep your nose clean during the next year,” the IA Chief said. “We can’t cover up any more of your fuck-ups. It will look suspicious. Do you think you can walk the straight-and-narrow for awhile?”
Burnside locked eyes with the IA Chief, then the Warden, and then the IA Chief again.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be a model prisoner.”
Chapter 29
All Our Yesterdays
Burnside worked out a few more details with the Warden and the IA Chief and was escorted back to his cell. He now had a strong hope that he would eventually leave the hellhole. All he had to do was keep his nose clean. Which, in this place, was easier said than done. He asked the Warden about getting access to the prison library. He figured he needed to immerse himself in constructive activities if he was going to stay on the straight-and-narrow. The prison library might provide just the distraction he needed to keep him sane for the next year.
Burnside was impressed by the Warden’s efficiency. He was only in his cell a few hours when two guards showed up to take him to the library. He had to be handcuffed, of course, but there were only two guards. Two guards! Clearly, things had changed dramatically since he arrived at the prison.
The library consisted of two small rooms near the infirmary crammed with bookcases packed full of books and magazines. There was barely enough space to walk the narrow aisles. A studious-looking, bespectacled inmate sat near the door of the main room at a beat-up-looking desk, immersed in a book, Beyond Good and Evil. He looked up as Burnside entered with the guard.
“Looking for something in particular?” the balding inmate, who could easily have been mistaken for a college professor if not for the orange prison jumpsuit, asked Burnside.
“Anything to help distract me from this place,” Ray said.
“Well, there’s plenty to choose from,” the librarian/inmate said. “Feel free to look around and let me know if you find something. I will warn you ahead of time that we don’t have any of the current bestsellers or horror-thrillers. Most bestsellers and thrillers contain sex and violence, which the prison administration views as unhelpful reading material in our volatile environment. I’m afraid you will have to choose mostly from educational texts or classic literature.”
“That’s all right. I remember liking some of the books in my high school and college English classes,” Burnside said.
The bespectacled inmate raised his left eyebrow. Clearly, he didn’t believe that Burnside had been to college. Ray understood why. Eighty-percent of the inmates in the place probably never graduated from high school.
“That’s good. Then you should be able to find something,” the inmate said. “If you’re not into the classics, you can always check out our magazine racks in the back room. They’re the most popular reading fare in this place.”
“No, I definitely need a book,” Burnside said. “A magazine isn’t going to cut it.”
I’ll leave the magazines to my Cellie, Ray thought.
The guards stood like statues at the library’s single entrance as Ray explored the aisles. He wasn’t surprised that an entire bookcase contained law books, considering the inmate population’s interest in the appeals process. He understood why many inmates might be interested in finding a loophole to set them free, but the last thing he wanted to think about was the corruption of the law that sent him to this hellhole. Another bookcase contained science texts. Another, history and philosophy. They were mostly beat-up, obsolete-looking, hard-covered texts that appeared to have been donated by local high schools, colleges, or libraries. He eventually found a bookcase containing books that had plots and characters.
Burnside was amazed at the variety of classic books, ranging from American writers like Mark Twain to ancient European writers like Voltaire. Once again, most of the texts looked pretty beat up and must have been donated. He was further amazed that one of the shelves contained the complete works of Shakespeare. He remembered he hated reading Shakespeare in high school, but he liked it in college when he finally figured out how much sex and violence was contained in the works. A title caught his eye: Julius Caesar. He remembered despising the book in high school, but he thought he might have a different perspective now. He remembered Caesar was a warrior king who conquered everything in his path. Maybe he would be a good role model to have in this place where it was dog-eat-dog.
Burnside returned to the “librarian” and told him he found something.
“Julius Caesar,” the inmate commented. “Great book. Very good choice. I’m surprised you would be interested in it. Do you know it’s written in old English?”
Burnside realized that his appearance did not convey that of an intellectual.
He still had visible scratches and bruises on his face and hands. His muscles had been built up from all the push-ups and action of the recent weeks. He had about a millimeter of hair on his recently shaved head.
“I appreciate the warning,” Burnside said, grinning. “But, I’ve read it before and I think I can understand most of it.”
“That’s good,” the inmate said, smiling as he went to retrieve the book.
The inmate handed the book to one of the guards to carry because Ray’s hands were still cuffed behind his back.
“I appreciate your help,” Ray said to the librarian as the guards escorted him from the room.
“No problem. I hope you enjoy it,” the inmate said, re-immersing himself in Beyond Good and Evil as they left.
The guards brought Burnside back to his cell, undid his handcuffs, and handed him his book. Ray sat on his bunk and began pouring through it. Halfway through, he found he could especially relate to Marc Antony’s prophetic speech as he stood over Caesar’s slain body.
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men;
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy
Blood and destruction shall be so in use
And dreadful objects so familiar
That mothers shall but smile when they behold
Their infants quarter’d with the hands of war
All he had to do was change Italy to New York City and Antony’s monologue accurately summed up his feelings toward Devlin, Pierce, and the rest of the conspirators who put him away. Although, he doubted that the women who gave birth to Devlin and Pierce would be smiling after he was done with them.
Time went by and Burnside read many books. He found that Shakespeare’s character, Macbeth, described his situation the best:
Tomorrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
American Criminal Page 18