Andrew Vachss: The Weight

I kept sending the money orders every few months or so for about ten years. Then the girl got a letter at the PO box I was using. One of those form letters. It was a whole page, but all I remember is: “Inmate Deceased.”

In my head, I could see Eddie. Back to the wall, facing slicers and stabbers with his bare hands. Grinning like it was all a big joke.

I learned a lot. Every job, I learned more.

It’s no different from those guys who work high steel. They know they could fall, but the more time they spend up there, the less they expect to. Still, they never forget it could happen.

Even though I didn’t expect to take this fall, I knew how to take it. So, when they put me in a double, I knew what that was all about.

My cellie turned out to be a white guy; skinny, eyes still yellow from whatever he’d been using before they snapped him up. He was probably around my age, but he looked way older than me. Covered in cheap tats, kind of a hillbilly sound in his voice.

“You got a preference?” he said. “To me, they’re all the same.”

He meant the bunks. Me, I always like the top one. Figured the guy was saving face by claiming he didn’t care.

He was good at the game. Pretty much kept to himself. Told me his name was Sandy, touching his hair when he said it, to tell me where the name came from. “Farin,” I said, like I was giving my name, too.

“Like Faron Young? Damn, you don’t look like-”

“I’m not. Born and raised right here. It’s ‘Farin,’ ” I said, spelling it for him.

“Never heard that one before.”

“It’s a nickname. Short for ‘Warfarin.’ ”

“Viking name?” he said, pretending he was asking if I was a White Power guy. But he’d already seen me with my shirt off, so I was even surer I was right about him.

“No. See, warfarin is a chemical. They use it in rat poison.”

I’d been waiting over ten years to use that line, ever since I first heard Eddie tell the story. Now I could tell it, too.

He tried to bluster up. “You trying to tell me something?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. I know why they put you in here. Take as much time as you think you can get away with; that’s fine with me. But you’re not cutting a deal for yourself off anything I tell you… because I’m not telling you nothing. And I don’t talk in my sleep.”

“You got me all-”

“Try and work me, you won’t like what happens next,” I cut him short. “No matter where they put you.”

I learn from my mistakes. I got it down to such a science, I could be one of those counselors’ wet dreams. Learning from your bad choices, they love that stuff.

That’s why I never showed anyone my new shank. I know-I know now , I mean-that you never show a guy who might be a problem for you that you’ve got something for him. If he’s not bluffing, that won’t back him off, just make him bring something himself for next time. And if he was bluffing, showing him steel might just turn him serious. You can buy anything Inside. Even guys to do your work for you.

Whoever wants you, if he knows you’re carrying, he’s going to come in careful. Maybe even bring along some backup. And you never want that.

A guy who’s gunning for you should never know you’re carrying steel, until he feels it go in.

After a few weeks, I started to get steady mail from a woman. The letters sounded like we’d been together for a long time. And she always put in a little note, telling me she’d just put more money on the books for me.

This woman, she was always promising to wait for me, no matter how long that turned out to be. Solly, paying the premiums on his insurance policy.

I knew that much just from the woman’s name. Marcy. That’s what they call the loony bin-where they put you if they decide you’re “criminally insane.” Solly telling me, maybe I wanted to go the NGI route, say I got hit on the head and I couldn’t remember anything, crap like that.

He was just reminding me that I could take a plea to the rape, and nobody would think it was for real. Wouldn’t hurt my rep when I got out.

You pull off a job, every man gets his share. The planner, he’s supposed to take care of anyone who gets caught, make sure they stay quiet. That’s one of the reasons he gets half of the whole haul.

So, yeah, I got the messages. Both of them. I was being railroaded on the rape charge, but there was no point in me taking passengers along on the ride. And my money would still be there when I finally got off the train.

I wondered when that would be.

It took over a month for that slick Puerto Rican lawyer to come by and answer my question. Under his charcoal suit, he was wearing a dark-purple shirt with a white collar and cuffs, silk tie same color as the shirt. On the left cuff, “HSR,” embroidered in thread the same color as the shirt, too. Some woman was dressing him, all right.

“If they max you on the rape, you’re looking at half of twenty-five before you even see the Board.”

The first time up’s an automatic hit, so I had to figure on at least thirteen and a half. That’s a tattoo you see a lot on old-time cons: “13½.” Means twelve jurors, one judge, half a chance.

I shook my head. Not saying no, just… tired, I guess.

“I don’t want to take this to trial,” the lawyer said.

“I’m not gonna-”

“I know,” he said. “But here’s something else I know- they don’t want to try it, either.”

“You said the lineup-”

“I also said the lineup was all they had,” he said, tapping a yellow legal pad with a fancy-looking pen-black enamel, with a touch of gold around the point. “And that’s weak as water.”

“But it’s still a dice roll, right?”

“Right. And they don’t like playing unless it’s their dice.”

“That much I know. But I got nothing to trade. And I wouldn’t if I did. Only thing is…”

“What?”

“How come you don’t like it?” I asked him. Not only did I know 18-B lawyers get paid by the hour, I could tell this guy wasn’t scared of trials.

He waited until he was sure he had my eyes. Then he said, “There’s one kind of client no defense attorney ever wants. You know what kind that is?”

“The kind that can’t pay the freight.”

“Sure,” he said. Meaning, What else?

“I give up,” I told him.

“An innocent one. That’s every defense attorney’s nightmare.”

“So you believe me, too?”

“I talked to the cops who interrogated you. One of them, he as much as said it, flat out. You wouldn’t even need that polygraph.”

“The older guy, right?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see the other one. Detective Woods, that’s all I can tell you.”

“Yeah. Well, if he told you he knows I didn’t do that rape, he must’ve also told you why , too.”

The lawyer nodded.

“So what’s the difference? Time is time. Maybe I can’t beat the rape case, but it’s no slam dunk for them, either. I don’t know why that girl picked me out of the lineup, but-”

“She’s already been in the Grand Jury,” the lawyer said, making sure I understood what he was telling me. Which was, if anything happened to her before the trial, the prosecutor could use her Grand Jury testimony… and that would be a lot worse for me. The jury might do the math, figure I had the woman hit. And even if they didn’t, how was my lawyer going to cross-examine a transcript?