Grizz
1988, Prison, North Florida
It was almost two o’clock in the morning. Grizz carried himself in a sure and confident manner through the prison’s dimly lit halls, not noticing as the janitor and laundry attendant, also inmates, avoided eye contact with him.
He was the only man on death row who was given free rein to take a stroll through the maximum-security prison in the middle of the night. He rarely took advantage of this privilege during the day. He didn’t like calling attention to himself. But at night, he needed to get out of his cell. To stretch his legs; try to feel a little normal. In the short time he’d been here, he’d discovered the library was his refuge. He usually visited it sometime between eleven and midnight, but tonight he had been so engrossed in the book he was reading he hadn’t realized the time. Eleven? Two? It didn’t matter. The room was always empty after hours, and he liked taking his time perusing the bookshelves. He’d recently discovered he loved to read. Shit, what else was he going to do in this place? Blue was handling things on the outside and usually called him or made the trip for a face to face for any important issues. He had no pending responsibilities, so he needed an occupation—reading it was.
It was getting harder and harder to get messages to Blue unnoticed. Even with his clout, Grizz didn’t like to be obvious about some things. Communicating with Blue was one of them. Carter would have her animal ministry set up soon enough, and he would use the dogs to get messages to her, and she would, in turn, get them anonymously delivered. She was a smart one, and he was glad he’d stepped in all those years ago and helped her with the man who’d been stalking her. He’d done it for Kit, not realizing then how useful it would prove to be.
He quietly let himself in the library and immediately noticed he wasn’t alone. He silently ducked behind a shelf and peered between them to see another inmate who sat behind a large glass window in the tiny library office and typed on a computer. Grizz could hear the keys clacking as the screen illuminated the man’s face. Grizz looked closer and recognized him as a kid from the chow hall. Grizz didn’t know his name. “Pretty” is what the other inmates called him. Grizz could understand why. He had very soft, feminine features. He was tall and slender and had eyebrows that seemed more naturally arched than most females, and he had very little, if any, facial hair. He also had a full head of brown hair that curled on the ends as it framed his youthful face. Yeah, he was a real beauty by prison standards.
One of Pretty’s jobs was to stand by the garbage cans to sort and dump the trays after the inmates were finished and headed out of the chow hall. He never spoke to or looked anyone in the eye. Grizz wondered what he was in for, and now wondered what he was doing in the library in the middle of the night. Grizz swiped a hand over his smooth head, mourning the long locks he’d purposely shaved, then tugged at his beard. Didn’t matter why the boy was here. After tonight, he would belong to Grizz.
He left the library as quietly as he had entered and returned to his cell.
The next day, Grizz was sitting in the chow hall. It wasn’t his habit to eat with the general prison population, but he had on a few occasions. Today he used the time to sit back and observe. It was his prison, his turf, and he liked to watch, to listen, to be a presence. It didn’t take him long to establish himself as the penitentiary’s new inmate authority. He sat at a table that was close to Pretty but kept his back to him. He listened to the comments from the other inmates as they handed Pretty their trays. Some were engaged in conversations with each other. Some didn’t say anything. Others used the opportunity to taunt the young prisoner.
Grizz observed through his peripheral vision as the line started to build up. It was time to make himself known. And he wanted an audience.
Purposely, he went to the back of the line, then wordlessly made his way to the front as the other men stepped aside and let him pass. As he got to the front, he listened as two men who hadn’t noticed his approach spoke to Pretty.
“You still taking care of that rodent you call ‘Buddy’?” One of them, a heavyset dark-haired guy, leered at Pretty.
No answer.
“Awwww, Pretty is embarrassed that he doesn’t have any friends, Psycho. He’s like that weirdo in that movie. What was it called? The one about a kid who fell in love with a rat.”
There was some snickering, and Psycho crossed his arms. “Ben. The movie was called Ben. You sing your little rat buddy lullabies like Michael Jackson did?” He took a step forward. “You can sing ‘em to me when I get you in the shower later.”
Still no answer.
Grizz had heard enough.
“Move the fuck out of my way,” Grizz said slow and low, shoving the two inmates out of his path.
Grizz tossed his tray at Pretty and purposely took his time perusing the young guy from his head to his feet. He noticed Pretty’s nametag read “Petty.” So that was his last name. Grizz could understand how it had eventually turned into Pretty.
In a voice that made it clear there would be no challenges, he said for those within earshot, “He’s mine now. Only mine.”
Pretty's face turned pale.
Without making eye contact with any of them, he headed back to his cell.