C Box: In Plain Sight

He took a quick look in the mirror, smiled at his reflection, and followed. The old couple walked so slowly he overtook them at the entrance to the building. The man flinched a bit when he darted in front of them and grabbed the handle to the door.

The old man snorted, said, “What in the…?”

But instead of rushing inside, the man who had driven all night opened the door for them, stepped aside, and said, “Let me get this here heavy door for you.”

The woman looked from her husband to the man, and smiled. “Thank you,” she said.

“My pleasure.”

WHILE HE WAITED for the old couple to check in at a desk inside the waiting room, he read the notices on the bulletin board. The room was clean and light, built of cinder block painted pale lime green. The check-in desk was on one side of the room and a row of lockers was on the other.

The couple gave their names while the woman in uniform behind the desk found their names in her notebook.

The guard handed them a key and told them to remove all metal objects and to put everything in one of the lockers before going through the metal detector.

In order to visit, a sign posted on the bulletin board said, visitors shall be MODESTLY DRESSED to be permitted inside. The following will not be allowed: bare midriffs, see-through blouses or shirts, sleeveless shirts, shorts, tube tops, halter tops, extremely tight or revealing clothing, dresses or skirts above the knee, sexually revealing attire …

He glanced over at the old couple while they emptied their pockets. The woman seemed flustered. She clucked at her husband, asking him whether he thought her thick old nurse’s shoes would be okay. The old man shrugged. She wore a billowy print dress that did little to disguise her bulk. Thick, mottled ankles stuck out below the hem of the dress and looked stuffed into the shoes. Nothing sexually revealing there, he thought, and smiled.

… Visitors must wear undergarments; children under the age of ten may wear shorts and sleeveless shirts. No rubber slippers or flip-flops will be allowed.

It took the couple three tries to get through the metal detector. First, the old man had to remove his suspenders because of the metal clips. The second time, the woman had to confess that the bra she wore to hold up her massive breasts contained wire. Then, the man had to remove his work boots because of the hobnails in the heels. Finally, the guards allowed the old couple through provided the suspenders be put away in the locker.

He watched the old man close his locker door and noted the number: 16.

He approached the check-in desk, smiling.

“You are…?” the guard asked.

He said his name.

“Give me your ID so I can hold on to it here.”

He handed his driver’s license to her. She looked at it and matched up the photo.

“That’s quite a name,” she said, and the corners of her mouth curled up a fraction. Was she amused? Contemptuous? Flirty? He couldn’t decide.

He said, “It never bothered me none.”

“All the way from Mississippi. And you’re here to see…” She paused, following her finger across the page, then said it.

“That’s right.”

She handed him a key to locker number 31, and gave him a speech about metal objects she had memorized. He’d heard it before down South.

“All I got with me is this,” he said, digging in his pocket for a can of Copenhagen chewing tobacco. “I want to give it to him.”

She took the Copenhagen from him and screwed the top off. The strong smell of powdered black tobacco filled the room. He felt his stomach muscles clench, but he tried to keep his face expressionless. He could not smell anything other than tobacco, and he doubted she could either. So far, so good.

“I guess that will be okay,” she said, handing it back.

“Oh,” he said, smiling his warmest smile and letting his eyes drip on her a little, “and I ain’t wearin’ any underwear.”

This produced an amused shake of her head. “That’s just for women visitors,” she said.

“I shoulda figured that out,” he said. “You live around here?” He’d be willing to take her home, even though she was a little too heavy and plain in the face. Or at least he’d take her out to his car. She had a nice full mouth.

“Of course I do,” she said, sitting back in her chair, looking at him closely, making a decision. She voted no, he could see it happen. Maybe it was his beard. “Where do you think I’d live if I work for the Department of Corrections in Rawlins? Hawaii? Now please proceed through the metal detector.”

HE PLACED THE locker key in a plastic basket and showed the two guards at the metal detector the can of Copenhagen.

“She said it was okay,” he said, gesturing to the waiting room.

“She did, huh?” a guard wearing horn-rimmed glasses said, taking the can and opening it. Unlike the woman, the guard stuck his bare finger into it and swirled it around.

“What are you looking for?” he asked. “You’re getting your germs in it.”

The guard looked up, not sympathetic. “People try to smuggle things in here all the time,” he said. “How do we know you didn’t mix something in here?”

He felt his neck get hot. “But she said it was okay. It’s a gift.”

“Nope,” the guard said. “Leave it here. You can get it on your way out.” The guard replaced the top, and wiped his finger on his uniform pants.

Go wash your hands… Don’t put your finger in your mouth, he wanted to warn. But all he said was, “Oh, come on…”

The guard shook his head no. It was final.

“For Christ sake,” he said. His plan was already going a little awry. But he had a backup.

“Keep Him out of it,” the guard said. “Do you want to go inside or not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then leave it here and go get in the van.”

He nodded, figured he’d better shut up. As he went down the hallway where another guard was waiting at an open door, he heard a metal clunk as the tobacco was tossed inside a metal waste can. He let out a breath and walked ahead. A van was outside.

He settled into the first seat behind the driver. He was the only visitor in the van. The driver climbed in after him, turned on the motor, shut the door, and did a slow U-turn. He looked outside the window at the bare, rocky hills. There were wisps of clouds in a high blue sky and nothing, absolutely nothing, else. Except some antelope, up there on the hillside. Hiding in plain sight.

IT WAS A mile from the Administration Building to the prison. The driver said, “First time?”

“Yep.”

“You want to know what you’re looking at?”

He really didn’t care, but to be friendly, he said, “Sure.”

“That’s the ITU,” the driver said, nodding in the direction of a boxy gray building behind a fence topped with razor wire. “Intensive Treatment Unit. Ultra-rehab. That’s where the drug addicts get sent when they arrive. Or if an inmate needs extensive psychological treatment.”

“That’s probably a lot of them, I’d guess,” he said.

“You’re right about that.

“This is a state-of-the-art prison,” the driver continued, saying it in a way that suggested he had repeated it a hundred times, like a tour guide at a theme park. “It’s a city unto itself. Everything is on premises, cooking, laundry, hospital, everything. It would continue to function if the rest of the world didn’t, at least for a while. We have six hundred and eighty inmates in A, B, C, and E buildings, or pods. The inmates are segregated based on their crimes and their behavior, and you can tell their status by the shirts they wear. Yellow means newbie, or rookie. Blue shirts and red shirts are general population. Orange means watch out, that man is in trouble or he’s dangerous. White means death row.