Part 21 (1/2)

But the voice on the other end was Melinda Reizner.

”I thought you should hear it from me,” she said somberly.

I asked her what, and a dozen possibilities seemed likely, all of them bad, but it was none of those things.

”Our reasons for keeping Roy Duckett in dissociation”-she hesitated for the right word-”collapsed. I'm glad I didn't make more of the suspicion you told me about.”

”What happened?” I asked.

”We asked Joshua Riff for a formal statement, and he recanted. Actually, worse than that, he claims he said no such things to you, that you're lying.”

We were shackled together, it seemed, this little miscreant and me.

”He must have been put under pressure,” I said, pulling myself together, talking my way back to rationality, arguing my own lie. ”You saw him in the infirmary. They kicked the s.h.i.+t out of him.”

”No doubt, but that doesn't help my case. It's my fault. I shouldn't have put you in the position. You need training and years of experience to make those kinds of professional a.s.sessments.”

I could no longer listen to her superior put-downs. Outside in the cold, my lungs had opened up. I breathed freely, and thought, Melinda Reizner, Josh Riff, two more I couldn't trust.

39.

Josh got delivered back to B-3 on the same day Fenton and Roy were returned as well. To Josh it seemed as if the range didn't know what to do. Roy and Fenton, Fenton and Roy. Fenton went inside his drum and stayed there, sulking. Roy limped the range hall talking to people here and there. He was loud. He made bad jokes. He complimented some of the boys and humiliated others. For a whole day he didn't visit Josh's drum, just walked right on by. Screen Door told Josh everything was going to be okay. He listened because Screen Door had such an earnest and concerned twist to her face. But Josh didn't trust anyone. Whenever he left his drum, he paused an extra second at the doorway to see what moved at him from outside. In the range hall, he maintained a distance from others, though he knew they could always jostle or swarm him on the stairs. He kept his hands in his pockets, like everyone else, but he gripped a two-inch piece of filed-down toothbrush in his left fist. Unlike metal, the plastic didn't go off whenever he walked through one of the detectors.

He pledged other new habits. He was determined to keep his drum spartan and tight, not a speck of dust, not a crease in the bedsheet, the blanket tucked, his boots lined up, his clothing folded precisely, his letters and the two books he'd managed to scrounge stacked spine out. He wanted to understand the exact condition of his drum at a glance before he entered it, to know if anyone had been inside, jack or con. Even when everything looked safe, he would still check under the cot before sitting down. He wouldn't shower. He would wash his clothes in the sink with a bar of soap and wash his body by hand. He would relax only when the big lock jammed across the door at key-up.

By the end of the next day Roy had them all cowed. He engaged in head-bowed conversations with hardened men. He clapped backs and moved on to others. He nodded sagely and burst out laughing. Josh started to relax when the laughter became more frequent. Fenton was invisible. Fenton was sulking. Screen Door told him it wasn't over yet. Josh understood what she meant when he heard a great roar of noise that evening and stepped out of his drum to see what was happening at the rec tables.

Past the shoulders and heads he could see Roy bouncing, literally bouncing, like a spring-loaded thing. Then he saw a stick rise up in the air and swing around, and he heard a whoosh of appreciation from the crowd. Despite his anxiety in tight groups, Josh squeezed through until he reached the edge of the cleared circle. A thick-chested, long-haired inmate Josh had seen around but never talked to stood with his back against the railing, trapped and feral. Roy bounced. Josh had never seen such lightness in him, such energetic spring, and then Josh realized that Roy had detached his peg leg and held it in his fist like a sword. Rather than crippling Roy, it was as if detaching the false leg had freed him to s.h.i.+ft forward and back with frightening leaps. The other inmate held a lightbulb, of all things, in his hand, and thrust it forward like a weapon. Roy swung the peg leg around again, thwacking the hand so hard the bulb smashed and the fragments flew through the air, spraying liquid in a quick burst and a smell of turpentine everywhere. Then Roy came around with another swing of the peg leg, a crack to the side of the head that brought the man down. He planted his peg leg in the man's back like a flag and spoke to the group.

”There ain't no reason for us to be so uptight. We're all men here, and we all need each other to get by. Doesn't matter whether you're friends with me or friends with the other fellow. Me and him get along fine, so it's about time you do, too.”

Pa.s.sive faces staring back at Roy, then some nodding, then more talking to one another in reasonable tones. Roy spotted Josh and gave him a big wink. When the crowd cleared, Josh remained. The only thing he could think to ask was why there was water in the lightbulb. ”Homemade napalm.” Roy laughed. ”A gasoline and dish soap c.o.c.ktail. Explodes when you turn on your light, and those flames stick to your skin. I caught Gabe there trying to fix it in my drum when I wasn't looking. f.u.c.kers don't know when to give in.” Roy snapped his peg leg back on, a kind of hook or wedge underneath the stump.

Screen Door dropped Josh a note that night and said the big talk between Roy and Fenton was on, kites flying between drums like mayflies.

The next morning after chow Roy appeared in front of Josh's drum door. It could have been an echo of that other time, so long ago, but everything had changed since then. Josh's face was a ma.s.s of lumps and ridges, sore spots and gaps. Roy was less a clown then a king revealed. Roy gave Josh's drum a long look, then nodded almost solemnly.

”s.h.i.+tty digs,” Roy said. ”They used to use this drum for bugs and junkies. You been rolled.”

”It's all right,” Josh said. It was a h.e.l.l of a lot better-looking than when he'd found it, and he sort of resented Roy looking down his nose.

”You need to spruce it up a little,” Roy insisted. ”I'll get one of the boys to come by with a can of paint and give these walls a coat. Get you some cardboard furniture, too. You'd be amazed what Sykes can make out of cardboard.”

After lunch Fenton stood there with a small television set in his arms. Josh waited for the hammer to hit. But Fenton just nodded politely and stuck the TV up on the shelf. It was an old model, the kind that had a black casing. The newer TVs were slightly larger and had clear casings so that an inmate could not hide something inside the box.

”Wobbles mentioned you didn't have a pot to p.i.s.s in,” Fenton said. ”One of the boys moved on and left this behind.”

Josh didn't flinch, didn't move. Fenton was not his old self. His edge was less sharp. Then he met Josh's eyes.

”Don't take it personal,” Fenton said. ”I know you got rolled and I know you were stand-up about it. The other guys just jumped to a.s.sumptions. We're all good now.”

Josh nodded. The beating, the con job that had suckered him in. All good now. When Fenton left, he allowed himself to stare at the TV. He'd wanted one for a long time, and the longing surged in his heart. He eased himself up off the bed and moved toward it, then turned around rapidly when he saw Fenton at his door again, knowing it had been a trick.

”Forgot the cable hookup,” Fenton said, tossing Josh a snake.

Before evening jug Jacko arrived with an armful. ”I took up a collection,” he said, unloading the belongings on Josh's bed. A blanket, a homemade hot plate, a p.o.r.n magazine, a book of matches, a half bag of beef jerky, a metal coffee cup, a bottle of shampoo, a pair of socks. ”Since I'm one-quarter Indian, Wobbles says I ought to know all about welfare.”

The chow bell rang, and all drum rats still walking and breathing lined up for the forward march. Josh felt like a new man, reprieved, bewildered, visited upon by angels, like Job restored, but also wary, still waiting for the hammer. Screen Door must have hung back in her cell until Josh pa.s.sed, because she fell in behind him. ”You can take your hand off your p.r.i.c.k now. n.o.body's going to sneak up on you anymore,” she whispered cheerily in his ear. Josh, holding the sharpened toothbrush tight in his left pocket, reduced his grip and wondered whether he had been that obvious all along.

40.

I worked the eight-to-four and got through the routine fortified by stoic bitterness. In any emotional sense, I was no longer of the COs, but among them, sharing a range of similar duties. The conversation in Keeper's Hall tightened up when I entered. There was no open mockery as with Ruddik, but the vibe was real, as though they were afraid of being turned to stone by the snake-haired Medusa walking by.

In the parking lot, a little more sunlight to the end of the day, maybe winter finally creeping off. I noticed my door was unlocked. Had I forgotten? Nothing seemed missing. I sat in the cab, turned the motor over and the defrost on high, listening to the radio. Bad weather coming, according to the talk on the radio. I watched the fog on the winds.h.i.+eld transform into streaks and the streaks become words.

It dawned on me as my heart knocked around my chest that you tell yourself to be careful, but you can't sustain the vigilance. Eventually you relax. You stop paying attention, and that's when they show up behind you, their breath in your ear.

I dialed Ruddik's number on my cell automatically, hardly taking my eyes off the winds.h.i.+eld. I didn't want to be alone. We met in the parking lot of a Home Depot after the store closed that night. Ruddik parked beside me, walked over, and climbed into my truck.

I pointed at the winds.h.i.+eld. The words and the upside-down fallout shelter symbol were gone. I'd washed it all off with the side of my hand and a bit of spit.

”It said, 'Home Delivery, Tues Night, 9.' I think they want me to deliver the drugs to Fenton's cell tomorrow night. I was waiting for a phone call.”

The weather had gone colder again. Brisk particles of ice hung in front of the headlights. I was exhausted, and barely hanging together. I longed for a drop off in tempo, a return to lull, a day when I did not dread an unexpected happening.

Ruddik agreed with my interpretation, but he seemed more interested in the means of transmission.

”Someone painted the words into the winds.h.i.+eld with water,” he said. ”You couldn't see it until the defrost went on. Primitive invisible ink, like lemon juice on paper, something a kid would do.”

”They wrote it from the inside,” I said. Did he not understand why this rattled me so badly? ”It was a CO. It had to be. Who else would break into my truck in the middle of the day right in front of Ditmarsh?”

”Probably,” he said. ”I've got some more unpleasant news, unfortunately.”

”I already know about Roy and Fenton back on the block.” I did not need his calm.

But Ruddik shook his head. ”Not that. It's Hadley's lawyer. He's gone missing, but they found his car in a ravine half covered in snow.”

My throat went all tight, and I stared out the window. ”You think that's got something to do with me?”