Эйс Аткинс - Kickback

Jane Corbin was short and plump, with a round face and reddish hair chopped to the shoulders. She wore a tweed skirt and a red V-neck cashmere sweater, a stylish scarf wrapped around her thick neck. I sat and tried to look worried. I screwed up my mouth and tried to imagine sitting through a movie based on a Nicholas Sparks novel. “I don’t really know where to begin.”

“Your son.”

“Yes,” I said. “He’s a good kid who’s had a tough year.”

“It happens,” Jane said. She looked so sincere. So sincere that I thought she actually might be. She pursed her lips and nodded with great understanding.

“I guess I don’t know what to expect,” I said. “What exactly is it that you do here?”

She smiled. She’d answered this question many times before. She placed the flats of her hands together on the top of her desk. She licked her lips and said, “First off, we are not a prison.”

“But one gets sentenced to spend time at MCC?”

“Yes,” she said. “We are contracted by certain counties as alternatives to traditional juvenile jails.”

“Oh,” I said. “Thank God.”

“This isn’t just punishment,” she said. “We have classes at all MCC facilities. Your son. What is his name again?”

“George,” I said. “But we call him the Gipper.”

“Well, George can continue on with his schoolwork,” she said. “His education will continue. We have a full staff of teachers who will help him earn class credit. And if he’s looking toward college, we can even help him study for the ACT or SAT.”

I nodded. I tried to look interested and pleased. I thought of huevos rancheros with homemade salsa on top. I smiled. In my heart, my enthusiasm grew. Method acting.

“Most parents are worried about the stereotypes of juvie jails or work camps they’ve seen in movies,” she said. “That’s not the case here. We have classes and sports activities. Does your son play sports?”

“He’s very good at football.”

“Wonderful,” she said. “He’ll have plenty of time outdoors. We also have nature activities, like hiking.”

“Should be lovely this time of year,” I said. “It was almost twenty degrees yesterday.”

“The wind in the harbor isn’t as bad as they say,” she said before emitting a funny little laugh. “We make sure all the offenders—I mean teens—are well dressed for the nature walks.”

“Well, I know I’m feeling much better.”

She beamed. I tried to beam but wasn’t very good at it. I tried to think of a lobster roll for lunch, but it wasn’t working.

“Parents worry this is just punishment,” she said. “But the whole philosophy of MCC is based on balance and restorative justice principles.”

“Which are?”

“We provide programs of supervision, care, and rehabilitation, with balanced attention to competency development, victim awareness and restoration, and community protection. George will receive structured, individualized treatment from a supervisor with no less than a master’s degree. He will also receive individual counseling, group therapy, family therapy, and take part in psych educational groups, and life- and employability-skills groups.”

“Whoopee.”

“You don’t seem pleased.”

“On the contrary,” I said. “I’m thrilled. George has been so upset, he’s bedridden. He might need a pep talk.”

“We have a multidisciplinary team approach to working with youth,” Jane said, smiling hard and tight. “We work closely with contracted medical services and licensed psychologists. Our employees who have direct and regular contact with your child receive eighty hours of training before they are in the dorms with him.”

I whistled with awe. The whistle was convincing as hell.

“And if George isn’t interested in college, we have life-skills classes, such as culinary arts, upholstery, Lego robotics, and lab volt work.”

“Lab volt?”

“Home electrical wiring and cable installation.”

“Wow.”

“So this isn’t at all a bad thing, Mr. Rockne,” she said. It’s a—”

“Win-win?”

“Yes.”

“Somehow I knew you were going to say that.”

“When does George begin his time with us?” she said.

“Two weeks,” I said, taking a long breath and shaking my head. “I have to say he’s not thrilled. This fall was going to be his big year on the team.”

“He’ll be fine,” she said, standing up, signaling a close to our nice chat. “I assure you. The food is good. There is a nature club, a media club, and even a talent show in every season.”

“You make it sound almost like summer camp.”

“This isn’t the old days,” she said. “We’re a team here, too. That’s why what we do works better than anything the state can offer. We want to intervene with children before they turn eighteen. This is the crucial time to make it work for all of us.”

I smiled and stood also. “Quite impressive,” I said.

She smiled. I smiled back. There was a long silence as we flexed our facial muscles.

“But is Mr. Talos around?” I said. “I feel like I should thank him in person. You know, for the forethought.”

“Mr. Talos isn’t here today,” she said, walking to the door and standing in the frame. I didn’t move. “But I’d be glad to pass along your kind words.”

“Who runs things in his absence?”

“Mr. Talos runs a great many businesses,” she said. “He just happens to be out this morning. But he is the individual in charge.”

“Perhaps I might stop by later?”

“I promise to pass on your thanks,” she said. “And if you have any other questions about your child or our award-winning programs . . .”

I smiled and passed her in the narrow frame out into the hall of the old schoolhouse. The perky black woman and Jane Corbin exchanged hard looks. The hall was long and empty, every glass door shut, people going about their own business. Beside the art and the framed MCC posters, there was a lonely copy machine. The black woman then scowled at me. I smiled and turned back to Jane.

“Win-win,” I said.

Jane was no longer smiling. She looked doubtful of my story and swallowed a couple times. Her cheeks had a touch of red. I winked and showed myself out. As I turned to the elevator, both women watched me go. They were pros.

They knew a troublemaker when they saw one.

Do you really want to get off this island?” Dillon Yates said.

“Hell, yes,” the boy said.

“Then you got to drink their Kool-Aid,” he said. “You have to act like the MCC way is the real way. Say ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ and get into all the speeches and pep talks they give. Sing their songs. Dance their dance. When you fill out the forms about your progress, quote shit they’ve said. You tell them that they’ve done something good and they’ll take time off.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Are you freaking kidding?” Dillon said. “This place is Looney Tunes . All they do is feed us, work us, and let us sleep and watch TV. The classes are a joke. The activities are a joke. The pep talks are downloaded off some kind of religious website. The people they hire are fuckups. They couldn’t get work at a decent place. Two of the guards spent time at Walpole, for crissake.”

“Can’t you tell somebody?”

“Like who?” Dillon said. “The freakin’ governor? The guards like to watch us fight like we’re dogs. Or see us fall on the rocks by the beach when we race. They think all the crap we get into is funny. The more dangerous it is, the funnier it is. Haven’t you noticed they don’t carry guns? They want to do something to you, they’ll just beat the crap out of you. They’ll report that you did it to yourself.”