Джойс Оутс - Prison Noir

Rick and I turned at the bottom of the stairs, making our way out onto the yard. On his arm were crude tattoos mixed with others showing a degree of artistic talent. I’d done some of the best work he had, covering up some of the shitty stuff from the Youth Authority. Rick stood five ten just like me, and his workouts had put almost as much solid meat on his chest and arms as mine had. We were both blue-eyed and had short, slicked-back blond hair. Rick put a lot into that skin color, but I thought it more of a problem in doing business.

“How much he bust you with?”

The memory was kicking me in the ass. It kept going to where they ripped up my place and carried the containers away. When you’re busted, they toss your cell so bad it’ll take hours to put it back together. My jaw flexed; I’d paid a lot to the kitchen worker for fruit and sugar.

Rick glanced over at me a couple of times. I could see he was waiting for an answer. Finally I barked out, “Ten fucking gallons!”

“Shit, Jason, were you gonna invite me?”

It ain’t as if I owed him anything, so I didn’t respond.

We walked along in silence. Making “good” prison wine was an art, and I had it down. A tumbler of my shit was like two or three of anyone else’s. I’d line up to buy some good weed with what I didn’t drink; even meth if anyone had it. We were moving along in the shadow of the hospital with the yard opening up in front of us. The sounds of basketballs pinging and people shouting and laughing didn’t do much to stir me up. Still, I was going to get a workout.

“Hey, check it out!” Rick said, pointing to the tennis court. Two women were there with inmates as partners. The match had a large audience, and all the attention was for the one young gal. She presented a nice view leaning forward, preparing for the coming serve.

“I didn’t even get to enjoy the shit.” A deep breath brought the salt smell of the Frisco Bay to me; it only made me sigh deeply. “Man, I’m through. The board will hammer me!”

My words didn’t register with Rick; he was fixed on the tight feminine body in knee-length shorts bouncing around on the court. I’d seen a lot more skin on Wimbledon, but this was one hard body. When her return landed in the net, a collective sound, “Oh!” came from every direction.

I stared at my so-called buddy. “Hey, Rick, I heard they’re giving away bags of dope up in North block.”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” he answered, sounding like a dude dumbed-down with meds. He remained transfixed with the tennis court, eyes glazed over. Any other time we’d both be drooling, but I needed my ass covered before enjoying this one.

“Fuck!” I said, thinking of my daughter Sheila. “I’ve got to fix this.” I’d written her for five years before she finally answered. She’d just started bringing in my grandson to visit; we’d even made plans to take him on his first trip to Disneyland. The thought of never seeing her or Jimmy again opened up a pit in my guts.

I looked about the yard, and ahead of me I spotted David, of all people. He wore gray sweatpants and, even in the warm sun, he had on a blue sweatshirt three sizes too big. The billowing sleeves were cut at the elbows. Coming toward us past the cop’s shack, he also turned to check out the girl playing tennis. David had the same stupid grin as Rick. “Hypocritical punk,” I said.

“Yeah, I’m there,” Rick answered. It was bad enough that David would handle the paperwork for this write-up, but seeing how his wife Sherry had gotten close to my daughter, it was certain the motherfucker would rat me out. I grinned. It wouldn’t be a problem to return the favor, telling his wife about him leering at the court cutie.

Another chorus of “Oh!” came up, including Rick.

I smacked him on the chest. “Hey! Come on, how do I beat this shit?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Rick gestured at David thirty feet away. “Go talk with that asshole. If anyone can do it, he can.”

“I’m not speaking to that maggot, he’d tell on me just for asking.”

“How’s it get worse?” Rick asked. His head twisted back to tennis. “You’re fucked. What’re they gonna do, put you in prison for life?”

I stared at the back of David’s head; earbud wires reached up on both sides. I said softly, “A lotta help you are.” Rick laughed, but it was at someone stumbling on the court.

David’s bald head bobbed a little to some tune. My vision blurred as I glared at him. I did some stupid telepathic shit in my head, as if I could make him agree.

“You know he did it already?” Rick asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “he probably did.” I pictured him taking the report written by that snot-nosed cop, laughing as he typed away. My jaw was tight and my teeth squeaked.

“You’ve got that cocksucker in a couple of groups, right?”

My voice came back whiny: “That don’t mean shit.” I pointed at Dave. “In fact, he’ll fuck with me at the next AA meeting.”

“So tell the punk how sorry you are, and you’ll never do it again if he’ll help you this one time.” Rick turned and walked backward, eyes fixed on the tennis court.

“What makes you think he’s got the juice to do shit like that?”

“Come on! I’ve had shit squashed.” Rick turned back around, and we stopped walking. “You mean you’ve never had a clerk make things disappear?”

My head shook, still focused on Dave’s back. “He doesn’t fuck around. This guy’s as square as they get.” My eyes closed, and I turned to peer at Rick. “He’s never done a thing for anyone.”

“What’s to lose? I’ll kick the dog shit out of him if he tells on you.”

Normally Rick and I turned here, and we went down a slope to the dip and pull-up bars. We could see the rest of our workout crew, Ron and Keith, there waiting for us. I really wanted to bust a good sweat, use the buff to distract me from this fucked-up situation. My shoulders dropped. “I don’t want to talk with him!” I looked over at Ron and Keith. From their expressions, it seemed like they knew our talk was about something serious.

“Yeah, whatever,” Rick said. He put his hand on my shoulder and shoved me forward. “Go!” David had just turned onto the main road inside of San Quentin. The road ran all the way from the vehicle gate, up past the top of the stairs we’d just walked down.

I tossed Rick my bag. “I’ll be right back,” I said. The other half of our crew watched; Keith had his arms wide, asking, What? My head nodded toward Rick who was headed down to them.

“Don’t blow it, Jason,” I said out loud. It felt stupid to be talking to myself, but my lips kept moving. “Just play it cool.” From the way David’s head bobbed, I knew he couldn’t hear me. I stepped quicker, almost running.

I caught up to him behind the backstop of the baseball field. He didn’t see me at first. “ Hey Joe, ” he sang, “ where you going with that gun in your hand? ” His head kept moving as he checked out the visiting baseball team from the streets. David played on the San Quentin Giants last year. This year’s team was on the field all decked out in the San Francisco Giants’ old practice uniforms. They stood in groups stretching and swinging bats. “ You know I’m going down to shoot my ol’ lady, you know —”

Catching sight of me, he abruptly ended his bad karaoke. For a moment it looked like he’d taken a bite out of a shit sandwich. “How’s it going, Jason?” he asked while reaching down and turning off the clear plastic radio clipped at his waist. He was close to eye level in height.

“Pretty good,” I answered. “How’re you doing?”

Gray eyes flashed and the same turd-eating scowl came again, but he took a deep breath. His hand waved across the entire yard. “You remember when you got here?” he asked. “What the lower yard used to be like?”