Bruce DeSilva - Providence Rag

“When I was a rookie,” Shaad said, “some of the veteran corrections officers told me Diggs used to be a real handful. Always bitching about the food, stealing smokes from other inmates, making a fuss when the guards tossed his cell. He was such a big guy that sometimes it took four or five guards to get him under control. But he was just a kid back then, you know? Still learning how to behave on the inside. By the time I came on board in 2001, he’d calmed down a lot.”

“Ever see him assault anybody?”

“No. Nothing like that. He pretty much kept to himself. Spent a lot of time reading in his cell. Never bothered anybody, and nobody bothered him. Inmates don’t much like child killers, so most of ’em have a rough time inside. But Diggs? He was way too big to mess with. Truth be told, I think even the gangbangers were afraid of him.”

“What about his interactions with the guards?”

“He was real polite with us. With Diggs, it was always ‘Yes, sir,’ this and ‘Yes, sir,’ that. Once in a while he’d crack wise and say, ‘Yes, massa,’ but he always smiled when he said it.”

“Do you remember a guard named Robert Araujo?”

“Bobby? Oh, sure.”

“Back in 2005, Diggs assaulted him. At least, that’s what the court records say.”

“Yeah, I heard something about that.”

“What did you hear?”

“Just that Diggs took exception to something Bobby said and got into it with him a little bit.”

“What did Araujo say to set him off?”

“No idea. I wasn’t there.”

“Diggs tells me some of the guards called him names to provoke him.”

“I used to hear some of that, yeah.”

“Pervert?”

“Sure.”

“Child killer?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nigger?”

“Well… maybe sometimes.”

“Were you one of them?”

“Uh-uh. The job is dangerous enough without going around looking for trouble.”

“But Araujo did?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“The day after the alleged assault, Araujo talked about it with other guards in the break room.”

“That so?”

“You should know. You were there.”

“Says who?”

“Others who were present,” Mason said, exaggerating a little because his only source for this was the cokehead.

“Maybe I was.”

“What do you remember about that?”

“Not much.”

“The way the others who were there tell it, Araujo admitted the assault never happened. He said he faked it on orders of the warden, isn’t that right?”

“Look,” Shaad said, “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“ You look,” Mason said. “Diggs is a bad guy. We both know that. But if prison officials are faking charges against him, they’re bad guys too. They laid you off, Chuck. It’s not like you owe them anything.”

Shaad didn’t reply. He picked up his Guinness and drained it. Mason figured he was about to leave. Instead, the ex-guard hailed the barkeep and ordered another.

“Okay,” Mason said. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“And what would that be?”

“The time Diggs was charged with having marijuana in his cell.”

“What about it?”

“I think it’s bullshit,” Mason said.

“Because?”

“Because I’ve seen the security at Supermax. I don’t see any way he could get marijuana in there.”

Shaad studied the head on his beer for a moment, then said, “Neither do I.”

“There are no drugs in the state prison?”

“The other units are loaded with them. Weed. Coke. Meth. Oxy. But Supermax? No way.”

“So the drug charges must have been faked, then, huh?”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Okay,” Mason said. “Let’s go back to that day in the break room.”

“Let’s not.”

“You already told me you were there,” Mason said. “So were Frank Horrocks, Ty Robinson, and John Pugliese. They all heard Araujo admit the assault charge was faked.”

Mason hadn’t talked to Pugliese yet, and Horrocks had refused to talk to him, but Shaad didn’t know that.

“If those guys already told you about this, why are you asking me?”

“I’m just being thorough.”

Shaad took another sip of his beer, stalling for time.

“I don’t want my name in the paper,” he finally said.

“Not for attribution, then,” Mason said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that when I write the story, I’ll identify you as a former Supermax guard but won’t use your name.”

“How can I be sure of that?”

“Because you have my word.”

Shaad studied Mason for a moment.

“You know,” he finally said, “I’m surprised Horrocks and Pugliese told you about this.”

“Why is that?”

“Because they thought Araujo was some big fuckin’ hero.”

He paused, and once again Mason waited for the ex-guard to fill the silence between them.

“It was supposed to be me,” Shaad said.

“How do you mean?”

“Warden Matos came to me first. He wanted me to swear out an assault complaint against Diggs. I told him I wouldn’t do it.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He tried to talk me into it. Said I’d be performing a public service. I told him I didn’t want Diggs running around loose, either. He shoulda got the needle for killing all those people. Three of ’em were just little girls, for chrissake. But no way I was gonna go to court and lie.”

“What did the warden do then?”

“He said not to worry about it. Told me he’d find somebody else. Oh, and he asked me to keep my mouth shut about our conversation.”

“And the somebody else was Araujo?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“Tell me about that day in the break room.”

“Araujo was sitting at one of the tables when I came in. Some of the other guards were shaking his hand, patting him on the back. I thought maybe he’d just had a baby or hit the lottery or something, so I asked what was up. And he told me.”

“Told you what, exactly?”

“That he’d sworn out a phony complaint about Diggs. Seemed real proud of himself, like he’d just hit a grand slam to win the World Series.”

“Do you remember his exact words?”

“No.”

“Who else was there that day?”

“Other than the guys you already talked to?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Let me think… I’m pretty sure Paul Delvecchio was there, too.”

Mason had heard that name before, but at first he couldn’t place it.

“Delvecchio?” he finally said. “Doesn’t he work in the prison library now?”

Felicia Freyer wore her blond hair down today. She’d applied lipstick the color of pink carnations and just a hint of eyeliner and mascara. Diggs gave her an appraising look as she picked up the phone to talk to him through the glass. Mason saw the look and felt a brief flicker of anger.

“We’re making some progress, Kwame. It’s not enough to get you out yet, but we have reason to be hopeful… Yes, I understand you’re frustrated, but these things take time… Why don’t I let Mason tell you what he’s found out so far?”

She reached up and handed the phone to Mason, who was standing beside her chair.

“So, cuz,” Diggs said, “you fuckin’ her yet?”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on. You can tell me .”

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Because she’s totally sweatin’ you, cuz. I mean, the bitch never put on makeup for me, so it’s gotta be for you, right?”

He smirked and arched his left eyebrow.

“I don’t think so,” Mason said, although the thought had crossed his mind.

From anyone else, Mason would have passed this off as crude but harmless banter, but Diggs was giving him the creeps.