Кен Бруен - The Hackman Blues

“What’s this shite?’

He sighed. A thing he got to do often, said, “Man, we gots to get you cool.’

I slung it.

‘Bollocks! My soul’s been on fire since I was five-years-old.’

Come the first Christmas he gave me another book, said, ‘Complements of the season, the white one.’

I gave him the usual — grief. This time the book he gave me was James Baldwin — ‘Go tell it on the Mountain’ — and he said quickly, ‘Yo‘, don’t throw it — you and that dude got something in common.’

“What, he’s unhinged — sorta has black depression?’

*No, he be homosexual.’

I was on my feet ready to bounce him.

‘You have a problem with that, Reed?’

‘No, sir. You’s the one has the attitude.’

‘Have I bothered you... do you feel threatened?’

He gave a rich laugh, ‘Threatened... by you... shit bro’? All the time but not sexually. Wha’s the matter with you boy, yo’ all don’t want my black ass.’

‘Yeah, cos you’re an ugly bastard.’

Easter he gave me the jail journal of Jean Genet. After I finished, I said, ‘That guy’s a bloody pervert.’

‘Whatcha expect mon? He’s white.’

A batch of skinheads were banged on to our tier. At night you could hear them chanting Millwall anthems and mispronouncing obscenities. I’d pass their cells and see them tattooing swastikas on to bald skulls, the bloodier the better.

I had one of them in the mail-room. A sweet-cheeked lad of barely eighteen. After he’d blown me, he asked, ‘Wotcha mates with a nigger for?’

What teeth he had, I knocked out.

They began to shout British Movement slogans and bait the non-white inmates. National socialism nor any other political conviction had nothing to do with it. They liked the hatred, thrived on intimidation.

One afternoon they tried to castrate Reed in the showers. The knives just weren’t sharp enough. Even in that, they literally couldn’t cut it. But they hurt him sufficiently that he was given early release.

I was allowed to see him in the hospital. What a bloody mess. His face was a ruin, both arms were broken, and he was to lose one eye.

He said, ‘You should see the other guy.’

‘Yeah.’

‘It’s nothing, just a scratch.’

‘Makes you better looking.’

‘Roll us a smoke, Brady.’

I glanced round at the mega no smoking signs and he gave the habitual sigh.

‘What they gonna do mon — jail my black ass?’

I put the roll-up between his lips and he took a deep drag. Then a fit of coughing, said, ‘They’ve got a point, these suckers are bad for you.’

I didn’t answer. Then he said, ‘Let it go, bro’ — you hear me?’

Reed had just finished John de Vecchio’s book on Vietnam — ‘The Thirteenth Valley.’ Read it mainly because the guy ended up in prison. In ‘Nam, they had a catch-phrase to deal with the horror. Reed said it now:

‘It don’t mean nothing, drive on.’

‘Like fuck.’

‘Don’t dis me, bro’. I be serious now. Yo’ all go after them trainee nazis, yo’ gonna get your sorry ass killed.’

‘We’ll see.’

He extended his fingers and said, ‘Touch me, bro’.’

‘Get outa here.’

‘Please man...’

I did and he tightened that fragile hold, asked, ‘Promise me Brady — gimme yo’ word, mon. Y’all stay away from those muthas.’

‘I promise.

‘O-kay... when yo’ get released, I be waiting, yo’ hear... in a new set of wheels... take yo’ to de moon.’

‘I’ve been there.’

‘Not with me yo’ ain’t. Yo’ keep that bond... yeah?’

‘Sure.’

Dream on.

The prison shrink had said to me: ‘Manic depression isn’t a complete blanket term. What works for one person may not help another. Numerous other factors have to be clued in. You have a marked pathological aspect to your condition.’

As I was serving time for GBH, how clued in was he? He’d given me some medication — that definitely helped. When a boxer prepares for a bout, he does road work, sparring, weights. Like that. Me, I stopped the medication.

The three who’d done Reed, I called Larry, Mo, and Curly Joe. For obvious reasons. Larry was the one I’d had sex with and he worked in the mail-room (no pun intended). I gave him a nod and he followed me out to the toilets.

I said, ‘Lemme have you.’

His fear gave way to surprise, asked, ‘Yer not bovvered cos of the nig-nog?’

‘Naw... fuck him.’

And I laughed. He gave a less hearty one, said, ‘It’ll cost you... carton this time...’

‘No sweat — you’re worth it.’

‘Cos I’m not bent like, know what I mean?’

‘Course I do, you’re a straight arrow.’

He was nervous again, asked, ‘D’ya want me to take me dick out?’

‘Naw, I’ll take it out...’

And I shot my left hand round his throat, levitated him a few inches, then jammed him against the tiles, reached for the knife, said, ‘Two items to note, Larry. Firstly, this blade is sharpened. Second, sopranos don’t do good in the British Movement.’

Mo was working in the kitchens, stirring a huge pot.

I said, ‘What’s cookin?’

‘Wotcher doing in ’ere — not supposed to be ’ere — is it cos of the wog?’

I looked towards the pot, asked, ‘What’s that then?’

‘Stew.’

‘Lots of veggies?’

‘You what?’

I grabbed him by the two ears, up-ended him and dunked him right in it, said, ‘And here’s the turnip.’

Curly Joe I did the worst thing of all to. I let him think about it. A week later, he jumped off D-wing.

What happened after is what happens ninety-percent of the time in prison.

Nothing.

But I’d got my rep’.

On my release, Reed was waiting. In a white stretch-limo. Was I glad? Jeez I was mortified. He even had a chauffeur’s uniform. Right down to the peak cap.

Said, ‘Your car m’lud.’

‘Pimp-mobile, more like.’

‘Cost an eye and a leg.’

I didn’t want to stare, to look directly and he said, ‘You can look — see it’s not so bad.’

‘I can pop the sucker out, let yo’ all have a close up.’

I felt ill. He said, ‘Let’s haul ass before those muthas change their mind. Get in the back.’

I did. There was enough room for a small Third World family and a fully-stocked bar. Reed put the car in gear and we slid smoothly away. Jackson Browne was on the speakers.

Reed said, ‘I gots to have dis baby back in an hour, so enjoy.’

I didn’t say anything and he continued, ‘See how it works... A dude gets released, he has priorities — get laid, get wasted, like that. But yo’ all is a different drummer.’

‘Cos I’m gay?’

‘Cos you a crazy fuck. See the envelope on the seat?’

‘Yeah, so what?’

‘It’s mullah bro’, cash money. We be working dudes now but I gots to axe yo’ a question, okay?’

‘What, you’ll want a reference?’

‘Lighten up Brady, yo’ all a free bird now. I gots to know... did you mess with dem skins?’

‘Didn’t I give you my word — didn’t I do that?’

‘Yeah... right.’

My phone rang, pulling me back to the present.

‘Yeah.’

‘Brady... it’s Jack.’

‘Lo Jack.’

‘Any progress?’

‘Since I saw you last night?’

‘Oh right — I’m anxious is all. You can’t imagine what that little girl means to me.’

‘I’ll find her.’

‘Course you will. The only important thing is blood, family... all the rest are strangers.’

‘You what?’

‘Gene said that in Wyatt Earp...’

‘Did he now?’

‘It’s the absolute truth.’