Fish: A Memoir of a Boy in Man's Prison by T. Parsell (ready to read books TXT) 📕

those guys at Jackson, back in '75," someone else said. "For smuggling guns into the prison."

"Guns?"

"You didn't know about that?" B.C. said. "That's why they're at Riverside. They turned on a guard and two civilians who helped-thinking they'd get an early parole."

"How'd they get the guns in?"

"Laundry baskets," he said. "There were some cons in on it too. They were planning an escape from the North Side of Jackson. Every one of 'em caught a case over it." Meaning, they were prosecuted for a new crime. "Except for Chet and Taylor."

Inmates talked about catching a case like it was the flu.

"Shit, there's a bunch of people like to see those two motherfuckers dead."

"It wouldn't be a bad thing," I said, thinking about what Chet had done to me.

"I heard that," B.C. chuckled. "I definitely heard that."

I smiled, picturing Chet's teeth floating in a cesspool.

It was hard to believe I had been there only three months. I'd been through so much. Remembering that Riverside was a close-custody prison for protection cases, I wanted to ask B.C. if he knew why Slide Step was there, but I didn't want to know. Slide Step was different from the others, and that's all I needed to know.

I couldn't bring myself to tell Slide Step I didn't want to come back here. My lawyer said after I'm sentenced for the Photo Mat, I'd probably go to minimum-security. To a camp, where I wouldn't need a Man to protect me, since everyone there would be short-within a year or so from parole. But I wasn't out yet. I still had the rest of the day, and night, ahead of me.

If something bad had happened to Slide Step, I decided I'd lock up for protection or even do something that would get me thrown in the hole. If Slide Step wasn't in the infirmary, maybe I could holler to him from our cells in solitary.

Just as I was about to piss in my cup, the guards yelled "Clear!" and released us from the cells.

Some inmates kept jars in their rooms, and I'd see them in the mornings carrying their piss to the toilets. I thought it was disgusting. I'd rather go down to the bathroom in the middle of the night than smell stale piss in my room. When I came out of the head, Slide Step was waiting for me in the hall.

"Slide Step!"

"Hey, Squeeze." He smiled at me, though his eyes looked sad and tired.

"I'm so happy to see you," I said. "I thought you got hurt or something. There was a stretcher and medics, and I saw Chet and Taylor and Red and Manley taken to the hole. When the sirens went off, I got scared, and I asked about you but nobody knew where you were and . . ." I managed to stop and catch my breath for a second, as I noticed others looking on. "I'm just glad you're all right-that's all."

"C'mon," he said. He put his hand on my back and walked me into the day room. Although his demeanor appeared serious, there was a touch of gentleness in the way he looked at me. We went out to the back porch again, past the loose brick in the wall where he'd gotten out his shank earlier in the day.

Slide Step was able to escape the round up, because someone had tipped him off before the guards made their move and starting searching everyone. The medics on the floor, was just a decoy. Manley and Red were caught with shanks.

"Yo, Sims," he said to a con smoking a cigarette on the bench. "How about givin' me and my boy a little privacy, huh?"

"Sure, Slide Step, whatever." He tossed his cigarette in the can and left.

"What's up?" I asked, trying to sound calm. The smoke from the cigarette continued to smolder in the can. Before Slide Step answered, a guard came to take him to the Control Center. "Inspector wants to see you," he said. Slide Step looked at him and nodded. "I'll be back," he said to me. "They probably want to find out if I know something. Hang out in the dayroom till I get back."

"Is everything OK?"

"Just hang loose," he said, "We'll hook up later." He gave me a sly glance that indicated sex. It was a look in his eye, a raised eyebrow, and his nostrils slightly flared. He gave me a wink.

I sat in the day room, as instructed, but a dumb soap opera was on TV. When I was a boy, my mom stood behind the ironing board and sniffled at her stories. I never knew why she cried, but it always made me sad. I looked over at the poolroom. Brett was sitting alone, starring out the window.

"You all right?" I asked.

He nodded.

I racked the balls and chalked my stick. "Sorry to hear about Chet," I lied.

He didn't respond.

I broke the balls with a loud crack.

"It's not Chet I'm worried about," he said.

"Do you want to play?" I asked, offering him my stick.

He shook his head, no. His blond hair almost glowed in the light.

I felt sorry for Brett, not sure what would happen to him now. Chet and Taylor were being held in Administrative Segregation, indefinitely, for their own protection. Word was out that they were snitches, so they weren't coming back to general population. Brett would need a new man. I even felt a tinge of guilt about the mean thoughts I'd had about Brett. It's not like he had any more control around here than I did. I leaned over and banked a ball in the side pocket.

"Nice shot."

"Thanks." I smiled.

He looked at me for a long moment.

"I can talk to Slide Step, if you'd like," I said, trying to reconcile any ill feelings between us. He shrugged and returned his gaze out the window. "Are you sure you don't want to play?"

He shook his head again. "Thanks, though."

When Slide Step returned, we went immediately to his room and under