Michael Lister - Power in the Blood

“But you’re the one who said,” Stone said.

“I know, and it may still hold up, but none of this is cut-anddry. It never is. Sometimes things look a certain way and they are not. Sometimes they are.”

“They are, however,” I said, “almost never what one expects.”

The air in confinement was ten degrees hotter than the air outside and lacked the breeze. The body odor hung in the air like a fog. It was so thick as to be almost visible. There was very little volume to the noise, only the occasional yell or scream, with a small but steady hum of voices sounding like bees at my ear. It was too hot to be loud-the heat had zapped the inmates’ energy, drawing out their poison.

The officer at the desk, a thirty-something-looking guy with wavy black hair and a slight Latino accent, said that Thomas was in cell 155. When I reached his cell, he was kneeling at the tray hole as if he had expected me, which he probably did. The inmates’ ability to communicate with each other, even in lock-down, was amazing.

“Anthony, how you doing?” I asked.

He shook his head slightly and stared up at me, trying to focus on me. His movements were slow and unsteady. When his eyes finally came within the vicinity of mine, he grinned with way too much familiarity.

“Hello, John,” he said. It was the first time an inmate had ever called me John.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Top of the world. Top of the fuckin’ world.”

“It appears you may have even left this world,” I said.

He didn’t respond.

“How is Molly?” I asked.

“Molly. Molly. Molly,” he said and zoned out again. Actually he was zoned out when he said it. “Molly is my wife, but you, you are my true love.”

“Me?”

“Sure you are. I really love you, man.”

“Do you have a girlfriend here at the institution?”

“I have lots of friends.”

“Like who?”

“Ike was my friend, but he’s not my friend anymore. He’s dead. He’s like way out there, man.”

“What can you tell me about Ike?” I asked.

“He was,” he said and then paused, “my friend.”

“I think we’ve established that. Anything you can add to the fact that he was your friend?”

“He was a good friend. He was a real sweetheart. I wish they didn’t kill him.”

“Who killed him?” I asked.

“That pigfucker Skipper. If he didn’t do it, he had it done. He’s . . .” he seemed to drift further out again.

“He’s what?” I asked.

“He’s . . .” he said in a near-whisper. “He runs this place. He’s the skipper of this ship.”

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

“He does what he wants to, man. He uses . . . abuses . . . nooobody can stop him. Stoned’s scared of him, too . . . unless he’s working for him,” he said and then looked off into space as if to contemplate a deep thought. “My name should be Stoned, too.”

“How about Molly? Does Skipper use or abuse her?”

He began to cry. At first just small tears and then, gradually, bigger and bigger ones. “That fat bastard pigfucker son of a bitch,” he said and sobbed even louder. “I’m gonna kill him, the prick sucker.”

He leaned his head against the steel door and cried some more. In a few minutes, he was snoring.

I walked back down the hallway toward the desk to speak to the officer seated there. On my way by Jacobson’s cell, I looked in. He was completely naked standing in the center of the cell with a full erection.

When he saw me, he ran to the door and began to shout, “I’M THE DEVIL’S SON. I’M THE DEVIL’S SON.”

“No argument here,” I said and continued to walk.

“Got a question for you,” I said to the officer when I had reached his desk.

“Shoot,” he said.

“Is that inmate on any medication?”

“Jacobson, yeah. He takes sleeping pills. But, between you and me, he doesn’t take nearly enough of them. I wish he would sleep all the time. Maybe even sleep the big sleep. You seen that movie? Bogart’s in it.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it. Good flick,” I said. “But, I was talking about Anthony Thomas in one-fifty-five.”

“Thomas?” he shrugged, “beats the hell outa me, Padre. I don’t know about Thomas. Better ask the nurse.”

“Which one?” I said, finding it odd that he knew that Jacobson was on sleeping pills and didn’t know what was making Anthony Thomas float around his cell.

“Any of them can tell you, I’m sure, but he sees Nurse Strickland the most.”

“Thank you,” I said and walked out.

I was walking back toward the chapel when I saw her. Actually, I didn’t see her. What I saw was a one-ton white FedEx truck. She was headed toward the warehouse on the west side of the institution outside of the fence.

When I reached the warehouse the truck was still there. It was backed up to the loading dock with its flashers blinking. I walked up the ramp and entered the cargo bay. When I stepped inside, I could see her and the warehouse supervisor in his office. I walked over as nonchalantly as I could, which probably resembled running.

“Hello, Chaplain, what brings you out here?” Rick Spawn said when I stepped into the doorway of his office.

Before I could answer, I glanced in her direction.

“Hello, Chaplain JJ,” she said with a big smile.

“Hello,” I said, because it was all I could say at the moment.

“It’s good to see you again,” she said enthusiastically.

“You two know each other?” Rick asked.

“Yes,” Laura said, “I bought the chaplain a pizza the other night. It wasn’t a date or anything, but I think he’s smitten. He’s probably here to ask me out. Do you think I should go?” she asked Rick.

“No, you should go out with me,” he said.

“I don’t date married men,” she said.

“He’s married,” he said, nodding his head toward me. “To his God. Besides, you’re married too,” he said to her.

My heart sank to the depths of my stomach. “You’re married?” I asked, unable to conceal the disappointment in my voice.

“It’s just a joke, Preacher,” she said. “Don’t lose your religion or anything. You almost made him cry, Rick,” she said. “Be ashamed.”

“Listen, you two, I have almost a thousand inmates inside the fence who will harass me anytime. I don’t need two amateurs doing it,” I said.

“Sorry,” she said but didn’t mean it.

“Kind of touchy, isn’t he?” Rick asked.

“Yeah, but he’s cute,” Laura said, “in a discarded mutt sort of way.”

“Okay, that’s it. I’m out of here. I’m going to find some professional harassers.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Rick asked.

“Like what?” I asked.

“Didn’t you come out here for something?”

“I just stopped by to speak to you, you know, making the rounds.”

“He came out here to see me,” Laura said. “When he saw my truck, he nearly ran across the compound. It was embarrassing.”

“Well, let me just say,” I said as I turned to leave, “that if what you say is true, then it was worth it. For the abuse if nothing else.”

As I was walking away, I heard her say to Rick, “I better go and check on him. He seems pretty fragile. Probably doesn’t have a good woman looking out for him.”

“Wait up,” she said as she caught me on the exit ramp. “You’re not going to break your neck running over here and then not even ask me out, are you?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Well then, my mom would die if she heard this, but, I guess I’ll just have to ask you out.”

I didn’t respond.

“Well?” she asked impatiently. “Are you going to allow your wounded inner child to keep you from possibly finding your soul mate?”