Walter Myers - Lockdown

"I don't want to answer any questions," I said.

"Fine, no problem," the white detective said. "But did you understand the rights?"

"Yeah."

"And you know you're facing twenty years?"

"For what? I've been up in Progress for almost two years, so I couldn't have done anything."

"You were arrested for stealing and distributing prescription pads, right?" the black detective asked.

"Yeah."

"You hooked up with Freddy Booker?"

"Yeah."

"Booker said that you also stole some drugs, which you cut and distributed," the black guy went on. "Is that right?"

"No, man."

"Well, he's swearing to it, and some of the drugs that were involved have caused the death of an addict," the white detective said.

"He said I did that two years ago?"

"I think he's lying," the black detective said. "He's lying to save his ass."

"He's in jail, right?" I said.

"No, he's on parole," the white detective said. "He got some time off for cooperating in another case. But he got busted for distribution, and he said he got the drugs from you."

"Two years ago?"

"He said you stashed them with your brother-"

"Willis." The white detective opened up the folder. "Your brother is Willis Anderson?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Does he use drugs?"

"No," I said.

"So if he's got a stash, he must be selling the shit, right?"

"I don't know what you talking about," I said. "And I don't want to answer any more questions."

"This is what I was talking to you about," the black detective said to the white guy. "He wants to lawyer up because he knows the deal."

"There ain't no deal," I said. "And I don't want to answer any more questions."

"You know, Billy"-the white guy turned to the black detective-"you think Anderson here is willing to take the twenty years because he's looking to beat a murder-one rap? I mean, it makes sense. With the twenty, he gets out in sixteen max; maybe he can manage an appeal or something and get out in ten. If they give him the full bid on murder one, he can get life without the possibility of parole. You think he's just playing it smart?"

"I don't know why he's taking the twenty to cover for Booker, though," the black guy said. Then he turned to me. "You and Booker real tight?"

"I don't even know the sucker," I said. "I just peeped his play around the neighborhood, that's all."

"Look, he doesn't want to tell us if Booker was dealing drugs even if we can offer him a plea," the white guy said. "We can offer him five and he'd be on the street in three. He's got something to hide so he's keeping mum. Isn't that right?"

"Let's not deal with him," the black detective said. "He'd rather do the twenty calendars than talk to us. That's the way these people are."

"Okay, send him back to jail," the white guy said. "We know where to find him, and when the trial comes up, we'll tell them that he don't want no deal. He wants the full twenty. How's your daughter? Did she get to watch the game the other night?" They were headed toward the door.

"No, her mom made her do her homework, but I taped it for her," the black guy said as he was leaving the room.

When I watched television, it never seemed real, because on television, people solved all their problems in, like, thirty minutes. The only thing that was going on in my life was whether the garbage was bad enough that I didn't mind people seeing me cry.

I got to Progress and was put in detention because everybody was too busy to take me to group.

"Two years? They reaching all the way back two years?" Play asked me at supper.

"I told that to Wilson on the drive up here," I said. "At first he didn't say nothing, but then he said it was either about a homicide or they're just fishing."

"Fishing for what?"

"How I know? I haven't heard anything from the guys on the block. I haven't heard anything from the attorney who handled my case. I haven't heard anything from anybody!"

"So who did you sell the pads to?" Play asked.

"I don't even remember the dude's name," I said. That was a lie, but I remembered an old gangster used to sit on the stoop all the time saying you should never discuss your case with anybody in jail because they could be a snitch.

"I can't figure it," Play was saying.

I could figure it some. What I saw was people walking around and anytime they got some crap on their shoes, they needed to wipe it off. Somehow me and Play and Toon and even King Kong wasn't nothing but the crap on their shoes.

After supper, Mr. Cintron pulled me aside and told me he still had faith in me. I didn't believe him. I had messed up too many times. I knew the deal was that he wanted the work program to work. I could dig that. It would have been better if they had taken Play for the program or even Toon. I guessed that Toon was too young, and Play was at Progress for a violent crime.

I didn't go to Evergreen for three days because of an administrative inspection that was coming up. They were long days and I could feel myself getting depressed. It was like a dark cloud was creeping over me and I couldn't do anything about it.

When I got to Evergreen, I was feeling a little better because at least time went faster when I was busy. Mr. Hooft was sitting in a chair in the corner waiting for me.

"It wasn't you, was it?" He was kind of half shouting at me, and his voice, which wasn't too strong from jump street, cracked when he spoke.

"What wasn't me?" I asked.

"Somebody messed my bed up!" he said, jabbing a finger in the direction of his bed. "You going to clean it?"

"Yeah."

Somebody had moved their bowels in his bed, and I had an idea of who it was. I took the sheet and folded it up quick, pulled the pillow out of the pillow case and put the stinky sheet inside, and headed for the laundry room. Simi was in the hallway.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Mr. Hooft's bed got messed up," I said.

"Usually he blames me for it," she said, taking the bundle from me. "Get some clean linen from the nurse at the station desk. And don't forget to see if his pad is wet."

"I was wondering if it was you," I said.

She hit me lightly on the back of the head.

I got clean linen, returned to Mr. Hooft's room, and checked the pad in the middle of the bed. It was dry, but I turned it over anyway.

"They let anybody walk into this place," he said.

"You been outside today?" I asked. "The weather is real nice."

"They don't let me go outside," he answered. "They think I'm going to get a bus and go to California."

"You ever been to California?"

Before he could answer, a guy came into the room. I thought he was a doctor because he was wearing a suit. He didn't say nothing but just stood in the doorway and pointed at me.

"This is Reese," Mr. Hooft said. "He's a criminal. He killed maybe three or four people-I don't know-he won't tell me how many. They let him come to keep the old people in line."

"I'm John Hooft," the man said. "If anything is missing from my grandfather's room, I'll get it back."

"Nothing missing from here," I said. "I just come over-"

"I don't have any time today, Grandpa," the man said, putting his hands in his pockets. "I have to get over to the dealership and straighten some people out. Clara called. She wants to know if you got the check she sent."

"They told me they received a check," Mr. Hooft said quietly.

"Okay, it was for twenty-five dollars, and I'll ask at the office when I come back next week to make sure that every penny of it is spent on you."

"Okay, John." Mr. Hooft nodded as he spoke. His voice seemed to be getting weaker.

John turned and looked me up and down, like he was measuring me. I had seen the look a hundred times, guys thinking they can kick your ass and letting you know it. Then he turned back to Mr. Hooft.