Hard Time (9 page)

I was happy to see Billy return. He sat on the toilet. ‘So they finally caught up with you, eh?’

I told him about the raid and my charges. ‘How about you?’

‘I was on the news about six months ago. I reported a burglary at my house. The cops came out and got suspicious. A few days later, they sent SWAT to arrest me.’

‘You called them out and they ended up arresting you?’ A mosquito whined by my ear.

‘I refused to be arrested. I was in a standoff for hours. It was all over the news. I’ve been here ever since. Haven’t even done a crime.’

‘That’s outrageous! You shouldn’t be here. I hope they let you out soon.’ I thought about Kingston and decided Billy had suffered even more misfortune. I needed information: ‘What’s it like in here?’ I hoped to make sense of the violence, so I wouldn’t fall foul.

His expression darkened. ‘You’ve gotta be very careful, Shaun. Watch what you say to people. Don’t let anyone bulldog you, ’cause if anyone gets anything out of you, it opens the door for everyone else. If anyone calls you out – like says you’re a punk-ass bitch – you gotta fight or else you automatically get smashed by your own race. Fights break out all the time over stupid shit. I’ve seen people get smashed over an orange or a brownie. I had nine fights in my first three months, so I quit doing meth, started working out, and I gained sixty pounds.’

Nine fights in three months! I need to get bigger.
‘With this bloody rubbish food how can you possibly gain weight?’

‘You gotta have your people put money on your books.’

Claudia. Must call her again.

‘There’s a store list you can shop from once a week. Had red death yet?’

‘What’s that?’

‘The evening meal. Slop with mystery meat in it.’

‘Oh no! Sounds worse than green baloney.’ I was hungry for information on greater threats than food. ‘I’ve got a question.’

‘Go on.’

‘What’s all this head-of-the-race stuff about?’

‘Each race has a head. Mexicans. Chicanos. Blacks and whites. Each head has torpedoes – usually youngsters looking to prove themselves – who smash people for their head, no questions asked. That’s how they earn their tattoos. If the head of your race holds a meeting, you’ve gotta go or else you get smashed for failing to represent your race. The head of the whites is usually some Aryan Brotherhood dude here from prison. Outlaw is our head. So far we’ve not had a race riot under his rule. That’s good. There’s always someone getting smashed, but just try to stay away from the drugs, drama and politics and you’ll be all right.’ ‘OK,’ I said, worriedly trying to digest his advice.

‘I’m glad I’m off meth. Now I just smoke weed and do these pills called Pac-Mans. Some guy who has seizures sells them to me. Hopefully, I’ll be out of here soon and not have to deal with this bullshit. There’s a lot of meth in the pod right now. Some of them have been up for days. So just be careful, ’cause when they’ve been up like this they start sketching out on each other and shit gets crazy. You’ll be all right in this cell, though. Troll’s a good celly, and so is Schwartz.’

‘Schwartz?’ I asked, imagining a neo-Nazi.

‘Yeah, but don’t be fooled by the name. Schwartz is a Chicano, a youngster, a cool little dude. And Troll spends a lot at the store every week. He’s a rich kid from Cali. Anyway, man, you’re trying to settle in, so I’ll leave you alone. If you need anything just come down to D14.’

‘Thanks, Billy,’ I said, comforted by what he’d said about Troll and Schwartz.

I had to wait almost an hour in the day room before a phone became available to call Claudia.

‘I’m glad you called again,’ Claudia said. ‘It sounded so crazy in there last time.’

‘I’m much better. They moved me,’ I said. ‘I met someone I know, and it’s much safer where I am now. How about you?’

‘Not good,’ she said, starting to cry.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘What do you think’s the matter? You’ve been arrested!’

‘Look, I’m all right. You’ve got to be strong. We’ve both got to be strong.’

‘I feel so scared for you in the jail, especially after that last call.’

‘I’m OK. What happened didn’t affect me.’ Again, I saw the image of David on a stretcher, his head leaking fluid. ‘How’re you?’

‘I can’t sleep properly since they knocked our door down. One night, I was laying in my mom’s bed with Floppy and – remember how I used to bother you to hold your hand while we were sleeping? – I did that to my mom. At first she thought it was OK ’cause she was half asleep, but then later on I held her hand so tight she jumped up and threw my arm away.’

I laughed. ‘That’s—’

‘It really scared her. I don’t know exactly what she said, but it was something along the lines of, “What the fuck are you doing? You’re weird! Stop snuggling me!”’

Imagining her short, tough, beer-loving mum saying such things, I laughed hard, and Claudia joined in. ‘What time are you coming to visit tomorrow?’

‘I’m gonna try and get there for 9 a.m. ’cause that’s when they open.’

‘How’d you find all this out?’

‘I called the phone number and went through all the different prompts, where you press different numbers. It gave the visitation schedule and all that stuff. What do you think I should wear?’

‘Anything. I just need to see you.’

‘I can’t wear sexy clothes.’

We both laughed.

‘It doesn’t matter. I just need to see you. And please find out how to put money on my books before I starve to death.’

‘Are we going to be able to hug each other, hold hands, kiss each other?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll have to ask my cellmates. I hope so. I really need to hug and kiss you right now.’

After calling Claudia, I lay on my bunk, my mind bobbing around on the swirl of events. Staring at the ceiling a few inches from my head, I wondered how much of the brown splatter was blood and whose blood would be up there next. Every now and then I slapped away a mosquito with its landing gear out. Then the voices started again, rising from the chatter downstairs, insisting I get smashed. Other voices joined in, led by Billy’s, defending me. Concluding it was a rerun of yesterday when I’d charged onto the balcony for no reason, I took no action. But I continued to hear voices, one minute getting frightened and convinced they were real, and the next, telling myself I was going crazy and shrugging them off.

Troll entered with a baby-faced Mexican American. ‘Here’s our other celly, Schwartz.’

Glad of Schwartz’s warm eyes and smile, I leaned onto my side and dangled my fist for him to bump.

‘Viddy well, little brother. Viddy well,’ Schwartz said, imitating a working-class English accent. ‘I heard you’re from England.’

‘That’s a great
Clockwork Orange
impression,’ I said, looking down at him from near the ceiling.

‘We were all feeling a bit shagged and fagged and fashed, it being a night of no small expenditure.’

‘That’s the best I’ve ever heard an American do it,’ I said. ‘How the bloody hell did you learn all that?’

Schwartz sat on the stool. Troll took the bottom bunk, so I was looking down on the top of his head.

‘I watch it all the time. It’s one of my favourite movies. I practise Alex’s lines at home
.
’

I was thankful for all things English that were novelties abroad.
Maybe my Englishness will continue to help me in here.

‘Aren’t you wondering how you ended up in a cell with a Chicano called Schwartz?’ Troll asked.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Got a Mexican mom,’ Schwartz said. ‘Pop’s American. His parents are German.’

‘Then we’re fellow Europeans,’ I said.

We discussed our charges. Troll had Class 2 felonies, including fraudulent schemes and artifices; Schwartz, a petty drug possession.

Schwartz demanded I climb down from my bunk so he could demonstrate something. On the tiny steel table, he placed a black pawn on a chessboard. ‘I’m getting bonded out soon, but I’ll be right back. Compared to you two, I’m just this little guy.’ He pointed at the pawn. ‘In the real world, this is how people like me get pushed around.’ He knocked the pawn over with a white castle and surrounded the castle with black pawns. ‘The only way the little people like me can push back against the big people with power and money is when we gang up like this.’ He moved the pawns closer to the castle. ‘But when we push back, they call the big guns in, and we can never ever win.’ He circled the black pawns with the larger white pieces and knocked the pawns down with a white knight and bishop.

I laughed at how well Schwartz had summarised a subject I’d struggled to understand in economics: Karl Marx’s theory of class conflict.

‘It’s the same in jail. They’ll do us dirty, and we’ll take a stand, flood our cells and shit, but then they’ll send the goon squad in.’

‘The goon squad?’ I asked.

‘Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s goons,’ Schwartz said. ‘They’re massive dudes who come in, throw us around, make us get butt naked and blast us with Tasers and shotgun rounds.’

‘Shotgun rounds!’ I said, hoping he was joking.

‘Non-lethal. You’ll see them soon enough,’ Troll said, chilling me more. ‘You play chess?’

‘Not for about 20 years,’ I said.

‘Let’s play.’ Troll started setting up the board.

Schwartz stood up. ‘I’m outtie. Later, cellies.’

‘Whoever draws white or wins a game gets to sit on the stool. The other stands.’ Troll held out two fists. ‘Pick one.’

‘The left.’

He unclenched a black pawn. ‘Unlucky, dawg.’

Troll listened to his tiny black radio via earplugs and sang during the opening stage of the game. I was rusty, and it showed. But my rustiness lowered his guard, and he made some careless moves. He turned the music off too late to stage a comeback. Heckling me into losing concentration didn’t work. I won by a narrow margin. He said, ‘Ain’t that-about-a-bitch, ’ abandoned his radio and continued to talk trash, probing for chinks in my psyche as we started the next game. I complimented him on his chess ability, hoping to throw his game off. Playing Troll taught me a lot about his crafty side. We ended up tied 3 – 3.

‘You’ve got game, dawg,’ Troll said, returning to his bunk.

I stayed on the stool. ‘You too. How did someone as intelligent as you get busted?’

Troll rested his elbows on his thighs and steepled his fingertips. ‘I was going in banks with fake IDs and cashing cheques. I’d take out small amounts, get to know the bank staff, and when I felt comfortable, I’d withdraw a large sum. The crazy thing is, on the day I got busted the cops had already let me go.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The bank called the cops. The cops came and questioned me, and I bullshitted my way out of it. I left the bank and was on my way to my car when the Feds stopped me. I tried to bullshit the Feds, but they were having none of it.’ He pressed his palms together as if praying to erase his arrest. ‘That was a year ago. I’ve been here fighting my case ever since.’

‘I can’t imagine what it must be like to be stuck in this hellhole for a year,’ I said, clinging tighter to the hope I’d be released somehow. ‘I’d go insane.’

‘Last year, they offered me five years, and I refused to sign the plea bargain. I’m from Cali. You have to kill someone there to get five years. So what did they offer me the next time? Eighteen fucking years! This state’s the worst to get caught in. Arizona ain’t nuthin’ nice, dawg.’ He dropped his chin onto his palms and stared at the concrete as if at a funeral.

‘So now what?’

His eyes met mine, and sparkled irrationally. ‘I’m fighting back, dawg! I’ve filed a Rule 11.’

‘Rule 11?’

‘It means you’re not competent to stand trial. If you file a Rule 11 and they determine you’re crazy, they send you to the nuthouse and let you go after a few years.’

‘A lot of people must be filing Rule 11s then.’ I added filing a Rule 11 to my list of legal options.

‘They are. But not many get it. It can take them years to run all the tests while you sit rotting in here. I’ve got to act like I’m nuts every time I see the doctors. That’s why I don’t shave or take care of myself and I look like a troll. Some guys go in to see the doctors and eat their own shit. Would you eat your own shit if they’d let you go tomorrow?’

‘I don’t want to think about it.’

Troll grinned like a juvenile. ‘If they said all you had to do was suck off the judge and he’d let you go, would you?’

‘You are a Rule 11!’

Cackling, Troll slid a brown paper bag out from under his bunk. ‘Hey, wanna candy bar or something?’

‘I’m bloody starving,’ I said, salivating.

‘Snickers?’

‘Hell, yeah!’ I demolished the Snickers in record time, appreciating it more than anything I’d ever eaten.

‘In here, he who controls the food, controls the prisoners. And I’m talking about store food, not state food like red death. I used to get $500 worth of store a week. They had to bring two trolleys with store on them: one for the rest of the pod and one just for me. Then they decided I must be getting extorted for the money on my books, so they changed the rules and now the limit you can spend on store is $100 a week.’ His eyes latched onto the control tower. ‘Looks like swing shift’s here. The whole atmosphere changes when Mordhorst goes home. We’ve got Mendoza and Noble.’