Chapter 19
Ashe paused as his eyes fell on Grub, who was shackled wrists and ankles by metal shackles. Grub was standing by an open doorway, which led to a back area of the prison, a place from where inmates were transported to and from the correctional institute. Even though his head was drooping, Grub managed to glance back at the psychologist, a melancholy mask covering the man’s face, his emotions low, lower than Ashe had ever seen. The psychologist couldn’t believe how innocent and child-like Grub appeared, like a kid who had just gotten his ball taken away because of bad behavior. Grub didn’t resemble someone leaving a dangerous prison for greener pastures, but a person who was in the process of being moved from one hell to another. Was that how it was for him? The psychologist wondered. From one prison to another? Ashe had considered the transfer a small win, but he never took the time to consider what the move would mean for Grub. How would the man’s simple mind translate the situation?
“How are you holding up?” He asked the hulking inmate.
“I am good,” the bulky man replied.
The two transportation guards were to the side of Grub, wearing bulletproof vests, shotguns sternly in hand. They were not taking any chances, Ashe figured, while escorting a dangerous man out of a secured and solid stone building and into the open world outside of it. Anything could happen during the drive and any smart and experienced guard would be alert and ready the entire trip. Also, they didn’t know Grub from Steven. To the men, he was nothing but another possibility of violence, violence that a shotgun blast to the head would abruptly put to an end.
Ashe took a step forward and extended his hand to the men. “I’m Dr. Walters,” he introduced himself. “I am this man’s psychologist.” The two men gave the psychologist a minute to exchange handshakes, but were obviously ready to move out. They wore their impatience on their sleeves, both of them. Ashe didn’t let the guards simply turn and walk. Instead, he asked. “Which one of you is in charge?”
One of the guards, a young man with pale, pasty skin spoke up, his voice deep and confident in his role as transportation leader. “I am. William…William Workman, sir.”
“Good to meet you, William,” the psychologist greeted. “I know that you guys are in a hurry and I hate to slow you down any, I swear. But I would like to ask permission to join you guys on your ride. I’ve already cleared with the warden,” which was a lie. With being distracted by Scott crisis, he had forgotten to ask Warden Chase for permission to accompany Grub. He then added, “And you do not have to find me a ride back…I have my ways.”
William at once announced his disagreement, “We can’t do that, sir. It is against regulations.” His voice sounded like it came from the belly of a bullfrog. “Sorry.”
“I won’t interfere, I swear,” Ashe replied, putting his palms out to show his docility. “You won’t even know that I am here. I will be quieter than a fly on the wall, a crab in your pubes.” He hoped the joke would lighten the mood. But he failed miserably to even conjure a smirk or smile from the pair of correctional officers.
William shook his head. The other guard then took his turn to disagree with the psychologist. “Sorry, sir. Even if we were allowed, there isn’t any more room in the front of the van.”
“Your name?”
“Ben.”
“Well, Ben,” Ashe continued, “I would like to ride in the back, anyway.”
“With the inmate?” Ben asked, caught off guard. “No offense, sir. But are you fucking crazy?”
“Jury is still out,” the psychologist joked, again, and failed, again. “Okay. Listen guys. Grub is still my responsibility and I wish to ride with him and be with him until he gets to where he is going. My presence will make the ride a little smoother, if you know what I mean.” He glanced back forth from man to man, keeping strong eye contact with both. He then took a second to gather another thought. “Besides, Dr. Sheth is a close friend of mine. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I tagged along. Why don’t you give him a call and we can make some plans. Okay?”
“Dr. Walters,” William said, “you are making us late. Dr. Sheth will be in charge of the inmate whenever we arrive there, but he is not in charge of the transfer. The prison system sets up and carries out the transfer…not him.”
“I knew that,” Ashe replied, kicking himself in the ass. He then hastily got out his cell phone and called Warden Chase’s office. It rang once and then he heard her loud feminine voice at the other end. “Warden Chase? Ashe. I know. I know. I know. I am dealing with my issues but I have something else come up that brought me back to Wilson temporarily. Grub. Yes. Grub. I promised him that I would go with him during his transfer, remember? You gave me the green light?” He took a chance that the warden, being always piled onto with work and things to remember, might actually believe that she had forgotten Ashe’s request, a request that she had never in fact received. And it worked. “I did. I know. You will have to okay it with these thorough guards, here. A good pair of men, I tell ya. Yes. Yes. Thank you.” He turned and handed the cell over to William. He listened for nearly a minute before handing the phone back.
“That takes care of that,” William told Ashe. “Are you sure about this?”
Ashe nodded. He was sure.
“Let’s get this done, then,” the guard replied. “Ben. Let us get the criminal in the van, please.”
The psychologist followed closely behind the guards as they led the inmate to the nearby steel door. William pulled on a laminated badge that hung around his neck by thin string and swiped it across a scanner. A red light turned green and the door locks released. William then moved to the front of the pack and pushed the thick door open. His attention never fully left the inmate and the other men behind him.
Sunlight swiftly flooded into the dark, dank prison causing Grub to become startled, stumbling backward. It was as if he had forgotten the brilliance and intensity of the sun. When was the last time he had been outside? Ashe wondered.
Just beyond the doorway, at the bottom of a set of metal stairs, the guards had parked their armored van. In spite of what people think, a prison inmate was never transferred in a vehicle that would stand out to onlookers. It was important to avoid unwanted attention. There wasn’t any logo spray painted across the side. Even though the sides were made from dense metal, damn near impenetrable, they appeared to be just as flimsy as the frame of any other business vehicle. There weren’t any bars installed into the windows of the van’s back doors, because the glass itself was nearly unbreakable. The front windows were just as sturdy. And the van was not dark or black in color. It was a simple, normal, unimportant white. The van could easily be that of any plumber or any HVAC worker. It was like every other business van that could be found driving up and down the streets of Youngstown or Cleveland or the suburbs in between.
William pulled open the van’s back doors to reveal an empty space. Short, narrow benches lined the van’s walls. The guard turned back to Grub. “Get in,” he ordered the criminal, point the direction with the barrel of his shotgun.
“Let me,” Ashe interrupted, before hoisting himself up into the vehicle. He grabbed a swift glance at where he would be spending the next hour. Nice. Snug. Cold and barren. But the ride wasn’t entirely about his own person comforts and needs. It was also about getting Grub safely to his new home. And it was also about peace of mind for the psychologist, no matter how selfish that was. He needed a few breaths without thinking about where his son was and what he was doing.
The psychologist didn’t fully enter the van but remained in the open back entrance. Taking Grub into consideration, he reached out and offered the big man some help, because he knew that the inmate was often awkward in his movements, sometimes seemingly stumbling over thin air. Gripping the criminal by the shackled right forearm, Ashe pulled and pulled, managing to give the man a little needed leverage for him to make it up and int
o the armored vehicle.
Behind Grub, the psychologist managed to catch sight of the guards and their facial responses to his compassion for the convicted criminal. They had not expected it. And they didn’t appear to know what to think of it. But Ashe didn’t give a shit how a pair of jaded, cynical prison workers viewed his acts of mercy and humility. They were his acts to perform, whether they were to be judged or not. He knew Grub. He knew the killer. But he also knew the man behind the crimes. They did not. And that was all that he needed to comprehend about the situation.
Grub chose the bench to the left, leaving the psychologist with the one on the right. Sitting silently, he watched the guards attach the inmate’s wrist and ankle shackles to an iron bar that ran underneath his seat. Grub didn’t move a muscle while the men did their work and remained absolutely quiet until they left. Once the men were gone and the van door was closed, he finally spoke more freely to Ashe.
“Long ride?” he asked the psychologist as the van’s powerful engine roared to life. The machine was then shifted into gear and began to bounce its way out of the prison grounds and toward the big city of Cleveland.
“Long enough,” Ashe replied. “Too long,” he admitted.
“I am going to a good place?” Grub asked. “Sure?”
“Completely,” replied the psychologist. “I hope you know that. I hope you know that I would never send you anywhere bad. I am going to protect you. I promise.”
“Pinky?”
“Pinky,” Ashe agreed. “Both pinkys.”
Ashes to Ashes Page 20