Chapter 13: Inside

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Derek

My lunch tray has just touched the long cafeteria-style table when I feel him standing over me. So far it’s been pretty quiet, but I knew it was a matter of time before the population would start to feel me out. Without lifting my eyes I wait as the large form takes a seat across from me.

The food is shit. A flat sandwich, bologna on stale white bread, sits in front of me. A banana and a plastic cup of juice complete the meal.

“We’ve had two new guys since you got here.” My lunch guest pauses, but I don’t look up. “You still have your own cell.”

Silence.

I pick up one half of my sandwich and inspect it. Mayonnaise and what I can only assume is fake cheese join the flat processed meat. My stomach turns and I put it back down.

“You a mole?” The enormous guy isn’t deterred.

“No,” I say, acknowledging him.

“A snitch?”

“No.” My expression is flat. I appear calm, but my adrenaline is ticking up slowly.

His dark eyes inspect me. “You’re white collar.” A beat, another quick scan. “What you in for?”

“Murder.” Returning to the food, I decide it’s probably wise to keep my strength up, even if it’s crap, and take a bite. The meat is salty and the bread sticks inside my mouth.

The fellow across from me bends a dark eyebrow. “How’d you do it?”

Reaching for the plastic cup of orange juice, I pull the foil off and take a sip trying to get the crap food off my teeth. It takes a moment, and in the meantime, I turn my right hand over, palm up.

His eyes flicker down to it then back up to me. “Strangled?”

Shaking my head, I’m able to speak. “Broke his neck.”

Silence falls between us again. He’s studying me. “You Italian?” I shake my head no. “Latino?” Another no. “Irish?”

That makes me almost laugh. “No.”

“Biracial?”

Lifting my blue eyes, I smirk. “What do you think?”

He watches me a beat. “You’re military.”

“Good guess,” I say, trying the banana. Peel off, I break a piece and put it in my mouth. Mealy.

“I can smell that shit a mile away,” he says.

I don’t answer. I break off another piece of fruit.

“Okay, soldier,” he continues. The reference makes me flinch, but I let it go. “You can call me Chairman. I’m your welcoming committee.”

My brow is lowered as my eyes return to his. “I’m not interested in a welcome.”

“Shut the fuck up and listen.” I’m pissed, but his brow lowers as well. I notice he’s expanded a few inches in size, and I decide I’ll check out that weight room after all.

Sitting a little straighter, I decide to hear him out. “I’m all ears.”

“We do things a little different here. You’re not in the joint. You’re only in a holding pattern. We don’t do white versus black, Dago versus Polack, Mick versus Spick.” I resist asking if he writes greeting cards. He leans forward, and his tone turns sinister. “We do bad-asses versus pussies. Looks like you might be one of the bad-asses.”

“You’re smarter than I thought.”

“You want to survive Phase One of your incarceration? Sit at the head table with us.” He nods in a direction behind me, over my right shoulder. “We’ll protect you.”

“If I’m one of the bad-asses, why do I need protection?”

“Because if you’re not sitting with us, you’re one of the pussies. We don’t truck with pussies. Somebody needs to blow off steam...”

Our eyes clash, black iron against blue steel. I guess it’s time to get affiliated. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the table in question.

Another, equally large black guy is sitting hunched over his plate of shit. Beside him is a skinhead white fellow just as big as he is. In the next seat is a smaller, wiry guy with sallow skin and a black buzz cut.

“Who’s the little guy?” I say, turning back.

“Reverend Moon. Rev for short.” Chairman leans back and a look of admiration passes over his face. “Don’t cross that little fucker or you’ll end up in a sling. Or worse.”

Taking another sip of OJ, I look at the man in front of me then I look around the room where we’re sitting. “This is central lockup. We’re not in prison, there’s no culture here. How do you know so much?”

He’s off defense, and his chest deflates slightly. “You’re a rookie.” Shaking his head, he acts so wise. “You’ll see when you’ve been around a while, it’s one big circle. Maybe you get out... Well, you’re never getting out, but maybe Rev gets out. He’s just a habitual drug offender. He’ll be back. After a while, we know you. And you know us.”

His eyes laser into mine, and I nod. “Badass.”

“Or pussy.”

Without another word, he stands and takes the tray off the table in front of him. I watch as he goes, thinking this is my life now. I might not like it, but I’d better get ready.

* * *

Stuart sits across the glass from me, holding a phone. My partner’s dressed in a brown tweed blazer over a white shirt, no tie. He’s also wearing jeans. I mentally wonder what it is with the Knight brothers and suits.

“How you holding up?” His brown-hazel eyes assess me through the glass.

“Apparently I’m a badass.”

A short laugh, and he shakes his head. “I could’ve told you that. Anybody giving you trouble?”

“Nah, just the usual shit you’d expect.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I’m sorry you’re in here, brother. You killed a worthless piece of shit. You did the world a favor.”

Shaking my head, I don’t let that continue. “I broke the law. Now it’s a matter of whether I’ll find mercy or whether I’ll stay here for the duration.”

“I’m meeting with the prosecution tomorrow morning,” he says. “They’re going to try and make the case for why you should stay, but we’re ready to fight it. Melissa got you one of the best lawyers in the country, from what she claims...”

“Elaine’s brother.”

“Right. Do you know him?”

Shaking my head, I look down at my hand. “Only by reputation.”

“He’s flying out here tonight. We’ve collected everything you put together on Sloan—good work, by the way—and with Melissa’s evidence, we should be able to build a strong case for ‘defense of others.’”

My eyebrows rise. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“You can thank my little brother,” he laughs. “Seems you’re not the only college graduate in the office.”

“If you weren’t so busy playing soldier, you’d have finished college.”

“Somebody’s got to defend our country.”

It’s our old banter, and it takes my mind off the shit I’m living with now. The America private citizens wonder if we should worry about defending. The America they’d rather kill. My mind drifts to the nighttime. The things I miss most.

“Can you get me a picture of Melissa?” I ask, looking down at my hands. “When they arrested me, I only had my phone, which they confiscated.”

“Of course.” He nods. “You got it.”

“And one of Dex.”

“I’ll get them to you tomorrow. Tonight if I can.”

We’re quiet a moment, and I can’t help saying what’s on my mind. “She has to go on record with what happened to her.” Wincing, I look down at the Formica space between us. “She never wanted anyone to know. She wanted to put it behind us.”

“Look at me.” Stuart’s voice is sharp, and when I glance up, his brow is lowered. “Melissa is more determined than I’ve ever seen any woman. She’s not angry or backing down. She’s doing whatever it takes to get her man home.”

“Yeah,” I say through an exhale. “Because of what I did.”

“You did what you had to do.” His tone is more emphatic, and I can’t stop the label that floats across my brain: Badass. “We’re doing what we have to do. Keep your spirits up. It won’t be long.”

* * *

Dinner. I’m in the line, holding my tray as a blob of what appears to be pulled pork is dumped on it. Turning away, I’m faced with a cafeteria full of men waiting to be convicted, sentenced, and either let back out into the population or sent to prison.

Two young guys who should be in college joke and laugh as they take their seats. An old man who looks too weak to do anything significant passes. He’s probably the worst offender of all, preying on those weaker than him. Then my eyes land on the table in the back, the group of thugs waiting to see if I’ll join them.

I was a Marine. I took an oath. Now I’m one of these guys, a convict trapped in a holding pen while the system either succeeds or fails. Clenching my jaw, I start toward the same spot where I had my lunch earlier, where I’ve had every meal here alone. I’m not a pussy, but I’m not a thug. I might be a badass, but I’m not joining the ranks of the repeat offenders.

Nobody speaks as I take my seat, but I feel Chairman’s eyes follow me. Regardless of what happens outside with Stuart and the rest, I’m on the inside, and I have to establish my identity. Here it is.