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PRISONER & HIS CELLMATE – Chapter 1
The hooker was flat on her back, legs spread, knees in the air. Eddie, who had taken off everything but his t-shirt, knelt in front of her, his short horn stiff. At the age of 23, less than two months shy of his college graduation, he was preparing to lose his virginity with the proceeds of a gas station robbery that he had taken part in a few hours earlier.
A loud knock on the door interrupted him.
"Police! Open up! Now!"
Eddie rushed to put his clothes back on. Just as he buckled the belt of his jeans, the bedroom door came ripping off of the hinges and fell to the floor in the thundering crash.
"Hands behind your head! You're under arrest! Move and you're dead!"
The room was full of Ninja-clad SWAT team members. The whore was rushed from the room, while Eddie's hands were plastic-cuffed behind his back. He heard his rights being read to him, and the words, "You are under arrest for armed robbery and murder, you fucking punk!"
Murder?! His mind reeled. All he had done was drive the car. No one had even flashed a gun, much less told him about a murder. This was supposed to be an inside job.
Scratch a criminal and you'll find a hard-luck story, and Eddie was no exception. His criminal history resembled a lottery more than a career on the wrong side of the law. In high school, two friends had roped him into driving the getaway car in a series of convenience store stickups. They were caught, and one confessed. They went to juvenile prison, and Eddie, who had no record, was given a suspended sentence on two felonies.
Because the crimes had occurred so close to his eighteenth birthday, he was required to stay out of trouble for the next ten years. Get pinched for a violent misdemeanor or any felony, and those suspensions would be revoked and he'd do hard time. Now, six years later, he stood accused of murder.
The night's events had started badly enough. Eddie's college girlfriend had dropped a bomb. At some level he had expected her to break off their engagement, but he wasn't prepared for the shock. They fought, and he accused her of stringing him along while two-timing him. He was correct about that, but the one truth was a deflection from some other truths that he hadn't wanted to face.
He drove away into the night, covering miles and miles. He ended up in a sketchy area of town, ducked into a bar, and, entirely by chance, ran into his high school partners in crime. A few beers were drunk, and he told his story, and soon it was old times. Before long, mesmerized by their rough and easy confidence, Eddie once again found himself agreeing to drive the getaway car in a heist.
They assured him they'd learned from their old mistakes. This was a sure thing, an inside job that would be made to appear to be a robbery. Five minutes would net him a thousand bucks. "No one drives like you do, Eddie," the taller one said, smiling and looking into his eyes. "You're the best."
That was an appeal Eddie had never been able to resist, and against his better judgment he joined the plot. But the insider's boss had appeared unexpectedly. The partners murdered him, and took care of the insider. After Eddie dropped his friends off, they argued over the loot, and wound up killing each other. Eddie was left as the only participant in the robbery-murder, and found himself the target of an ambitious young prosecutor. The end result: A sentence of 25 years to life, to be served in the state's maximum-security penitentiary.
"You don't belong here, but that wasn't my decision," the warden said. "You're here now, so you need to understand exactly where you've landed. So I am going to tell you a few things about our community of 550 inmates, 91 corrections officers, and 13 other staff.
"Your records show that you were close enough to graduation for the university to slip you a diploma," the said. "Most of the men in here are violent and uneducated. We think at least one-third have serious mental problems. Most of them are bored and horny. We cannot control the flow of drugs and other contraband. We don't have much influence over how inmates treat each other. As a young, educated, short and slightly built inmate with no prior experience in the prison system, your life will be at risk from the very first hour you arrive."
The warden paused to gauge the effect of his words. He could see that they had the desired impact on the cringing youngster seated before him. He went on to explain that the prison had a diversion survival program for inmates like himself. It was voluntary, and in some ways would make him even more of a target inside, but even with the additional risk it would allow him a month to grasp his situation and develop his own strategy to handle himself. He would be placed in a cell with a trusted inmate, who could be counted on to not assault him while he was there. That "trusty," and other "trustys," would give him a sort of orientation in that first month. Some inmates would resent his special protection, but it was a lighter price than he'd pay if he went directly into the general population.
The other price would be an additional set of rules for his dealings with his temporary cellmate and others in the prison. But most of the rules would in some ways benefit him, the warden explained, and in any case would be largely common sense. If he was interested, now was the time to say so. Otherwise, he could enter the general population immediately like any other inmate.
"I'll take the program," Eddie said.
"Good decision, son," the warden replied, crisply. "You will be placed with Jack Haines. He has been here for 16 years for committing two murders. His sentence was modified to life without parole for the murder of an inmate shortly after he arrived. He is the lead trusty, known and respected by everyone. On a daily basis, he has much more influence over the lives of inmates than I do. His word is the law where you're going. Follow the rules with him, and you will be safe. Break his rules, and you will be transferred to general population so fast you'll break your neck looking back at his cell. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir," Eddie said, nearly whispering.
"Good," the warden replied, handing the youngster a sheet of paper. "Here are the additional rules. Breaking any of them will endanger your life."
INSIDE THE CELL
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Call the trusty "sir."
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Everything in the cell belongs to the trusty. Obtain his permission before using anything in the cell, including whatever you bring with you.
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Keep the cell and its contents clean and arranged as the trusty prefers.
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Respect and obey the trusty at all times.
OUTSIDE THE CELL
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Trustys (including your cellmate) are called "trusty."
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Do not leave your work area unless accompanied by a trusty or corrections officer.
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Minimize contact with other inmates, except as directed by a trusty.
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Do not offer or accept gifts or favors, no matter how small, from any inmate other than a trusty.
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Do not argue with, contradict, or judge anything anyone tells you.
The warden paused to let the young inmate read the paper.
"Do you have any questions?" the warden asked.
"What if the trusty tries to rape me or something, sir?" the young inmate asked.
"That will not happen," the warden answered. "Jack Haines and the other trustys will keep you from being raped while you are in the diversion program. Any other questions?"
"No sir," the youngster replied, somewhat relieved.
"Since you mentioned sexual assault, I want to emphasize the need to decline favors or gifts. The slightest gesture will put you in debt," the warden said. "Nothing comes free. A cigarette, or an extra helping of food, an offer to share a book or a magazine – anything at all – will be used as a reason for a sexual demand at a later date. If you dispute even the smallest matter with an inmate, it will be used as a justification for violence later. This danger is especially high for you because of your college education. If you correct another inmate for any reason, it will be taken as a challenge."
"Yes sir," the young prisoner replied.
"I cannot emphasize what I just told you strongly enough," the warden said. "If someone tells you two and two is seven, and the sky is green, say nothing. Even agreement is dangerous. If someone asks your opinion, do not give it. Never, ever settle an argument, even if the correct answer is obvious to you. This will be a matter of life and death. If you give even the slightest favor, you will be seen as challenging the authority of other inmates. If you accept even the slightest favor, you will incur a debt, most likely a sexual one. I hope I have made myself crystal clear."
"Yes sir," the prisoner replied. "You have, sir."
"Good," the warden said. "Just remember, this is a very different place. The logic of the outside world doesn't much apply here. You will be living with people who operate on instinct, not reason. Never forget that."
"Yes sir," the worried young inmate said.
"When you are taken to the trusty's cell, remove your shoes and sit on the floor with your back against the wall until he gets there." the warden said. "Keep your possessions, including your shoes, in a pile on your lap. Do not touch a single thing, and let nothing that you are holding touch the floor. When the trusty arrives, stay seated on the floor until he tells you to get up."
"Yes sir," the youngster said.
"Alright, that's all," the warden said. "Good luck."
A guard appeared at the cell door. Standing next to him was an inmate holding a bucket and a mop. The guard inserted a key in the lock and opened the door. The inmate strode into the cell, tall and confident, and set the bucket onto the concrete floor hard, with a "clunk."
The guard closed the barred door with another "clunk," and said, "I'll give you an extra hour today."
"Thanks, officer," the inmate said, glancing first toward the bucket, then to his cot, and finally to the floor where the young prisoner sat with a stack of things in his lap. The prisoner had removed his shoes, as he'd been told during his intake to the prison. He had been there for more than an hour, waiting.
"Looks like they told you at least some of the rules here," the standing inmate said, gruffly. He was well over 6 feet tall, somewhere in his 40s, with short black hair, a five o'clock shadow, and a scar on his forehead. His tailored prison clothes showed off his muscles.
"Yes, sir," the young prisoner said. "They told me the rules, and gave me a sheet of paper to remind me."
"Fine," the inmate said. "Get up, and I'll show you how you'll be keeping my cell clean."
The young prisoner glanced around the spotless cell.
"It looks pretty clean already, sir," he said. "They said that trustys keep their cells spotless."
"Yep, that's right," the inmate said. "It's clean because it's cleaned every day. I've been doing it, but now you will."
"Yes, sir, I understand," the prisoner replied. "They told me it is one of your rules."
"They put you in here because they want me to tell you how to survive. But I'm not some fuckin' salesman, so it's up to you to ask. You can start asking me questions day after tomorrow. Between now and then, just do what you're told."
"Yes sir," the prisoner replied, wondering what "anything else" might mean.
"Sir, the trusty in the library told me to ask you about the tree," Eddie said. "He told me you'd know what that meant."
"I was wondering how long it would take until someone mentioned it to you," the cellmate replied, with a gruff chuckle. "They tell me the tree has made me into some kind of national prison celebrity. I'll tell you, then.
"It starts and ends with Manhood in the joint," the older Man said. "Everyone in here's got a dick, so Manhood's not about what hangs between anyone's legs. The girls got dicks, the boys got dicks, the baby rapers got dicks, the queens and the punks have got dicks, the snitches got dicks. That don't make 'em Men. So the first thing that happens in here is to figure out who's a Man and who isn't. It's the big fork in the road in the joint."
The cellmate paused to let it sink in, then continued.
"Now we have the tree. There's a trunk, there's roots, there's branches, and there's leaves. The roots suck up water and food from the dirt. The air and the sun give the tree the power to get the food and water. The joint is the tree where we all live. The trunk is Manhood. The water and dirt are subjugation. The air and the sun are violence and threats. The branches are Men, and they feed the subjugation to the leaves.
"On the outside, there are a lot more leaves than branches, but in the joint it's more branches than leaves," the older inmate said. "So the first thing that's gets decided in the joint is whether you are branch or leaf. A leaf's only hope in the joint to find a strong branch to hang on. If a leaf plays his cards right, he can easily last out his sentence. But a disrespectful leaf will die, and so will a leaf that hangs from a weak branch."
The Man stopped, and smiled thinly.
"Any questions?" he asked.
"Sir, the other trusty also told me to ask how the Men here known as Men, and how those who are less than Men are known," the youngster replied. "But from what you said, it sounds like that's decided by violence and threats."
"Well, kinda, but it's a little more complicated than that, or at least it can be," the older inmate said. "First thing to know is there's no secrets. Somewhere along the way, someone probably told you that your criminal record is confidential, but that's bullshit. The warden's office leaks like a sieve. Every warden's office in every joint leaks like a sieve. Everyone's history is known by everyone here before he gets here.
"So a baby raper is known before he gets here. Same if someone was a punk somewhere else. Or if they were in protective somewhere for snitching, or for being a fag," the older inmate continued. "It's also known if someone's in one gang or another. I was made Mafia before I got here, but I came in at a time when they were putting false information in prison files to try to keep people from being attacked. So I got attacked. I killed the fool, and a couple others were found dead in here a little while later. That ended the fake information days.
"Anyway, some people are Men before they get here. Gangs, Mafia, some murderers. Lawyers are automatic Men unless they're fags, but even if they're fags they're not hassled. Baby rapers, snitches, fags, and inmates who were boys or girls or punks somewhere else are automatically not Men. Anyone else gets watched when they get here, and the inmates decide. Usually pretty quick, too."
"How do they decide, sir?" the youngster asked.
"It's not always about how big you are. There are little Men here, and big punks," the Man replied. "All I can really say about it is that the convicts decide. I've never seen that decision be wrong. The rapes and fights about Manhood happen when someone won't accept the reality, and thinks he's a Man when he isn't. Everything you've ever heard about someone's Manhood being taken away in the joint is wrong. I've been here for 16 years, and I've never seen or heard of a Man getting raped. It does not happen."
"So you're saying that if I get raped, I wasn't a Man to begin with?" the youngster asked.
"That's right," the trusty cellmate replied, gruffly. "It would mean that you weren't a Man, and that you were too stupid to face up to it. A Man would fight to the death. That has happened in here, but no Man has ever successfully been raped that I know of."
"Yep," the older convict replied. "There are boys in here who are the property of Men. Just like the girls, they don't get respect as Men, but they get treated okay if they're owned by the right Man. Lowest of the low are kiddie rapers, but they're all in protective. You'll get to talk to all of 'em pretty soon."
"I'm going to be introduced?" the young inmate asked.
"Yeah, that's part of this diversion thing you're in," the older prisoner replied. "It's supposed to give you a chance to see how it all works. Things get complicated in here, but it starts and ends with who's a Man and who isn't. Keep that in mind."
"Let's try this differently then," the older inmate replied. "This joint is like a tree in a field. If you look way up top, you see a million leaves and branches. But if you look down near the ground, you see just the trunk sticking up, right?"
"Okay," said the young prisoner, tentatively.
"The trunk of the tree is Manhood. Everything that happens here starts there and leads back there," the older inmate said. "No matter how complicated it gets up top."
The young prisoner remained silent, listening.
"The trunk sucks up water and parts of the dirt. That's sex. If you're a Man, you get sex if you want it. If you're not a Man, you give sex," the older inmate continued. "The sun and the air, that's violence and threats. Without them, the tree won't take up the water."
The young inmate had a mournful look on his face.
"So it boils down to rape?" he asked.
"You are here because of violence, and so is everyone else," the inmate said. "Don't act so shocked. One way or another, you chose to come here."
"I never looked at it that way, but I suppose you're right, sir," the young prisoner said.
"As long as you understand the tree, you can make your choices," the older inmate said. "Manhood. Once that's clear, you go from there."
"But this is a Men's prison, sir," the young prisoner said. "Everyone here is a Man."
"Everyone here's got a dick, but there are plenty here who aren't Men." the older inmate replied, calmly. "This joint couldn't exist without 'em."
"But sir, aren't they just Men who were forced into it?" the young inmate asked.
"No Man would lay on his back, spread his legs, and allow himself to be screwed. No Man would unzip a Man's pants, take his dick out, put it in his mouth, and swallow what comes out. A Man would either fight to the death or kill himself," the older inmate replied. "The ones who give it up here, they didn't have any Manhood taken away. All this joint did was show 'em what was already true."
"So my choice is to die in a fight, or to kill myself, or to get ... " the young prisoner asked. His voice trailed off, unable to finished the sentence.
"If you are a Man, no one could stop you from fighting for your Manhood," the older inmate said. "If you are not a Man, the sooner you face up to it, the better it will go."
"Sir, I was thinking about what you said about this place being a tree, and how Manhood is the most important thing," the young prisoner said.
"Yeah, that's right," his cellmate replied.
"I've never questioned whether I was a Man or not."
"The only difference between outside and here is that no one stuck their dick in you out there," the Man replied. "Maybe they should have. You wouldn't be walking around without a clue like you are now."
The young prisoner took a sharp breath, and the sound echoed off the concrete walls.
"Listen to me. I don't rape and I don't threaten," the older inmate said. "I don't need to, and I don't want to."
"Sir, if you have sex in prison, aren't you just taking advantage of other rapes and threats?" the young prisoner asked. "Aren't they just softening them up for you?"
The Man snorted with contempt, but said nothing. After a while, the young prisoner realized he was snoring.
"Sir, I am sorry for arguing with you last night," the young inmate said. "I didn't mean to do it. Everything is so new to me."
The young prisoner looked at the floor.
"If you want to survive, don't argue," the older inmate replied, matter-of-factly. "Do a lot of listening, a lot of looking around, and a lot of thinking."
"Yes sir," the young prisoner replied.
"If someone asks for your opinion, best be damned careful about your answer," the older inmate said. "I haven't seen too many people shanked for saying they don't know."
"Yes sir, I will try to remember that," the young inmate said.
"Now there's something else," the older inmate said. "I figure it'd be better if I mention it right away, because I doubt it has crossed your mind yet."
"What's that, sir?" the young inmate asked.
"Tell me what the three rules are in here," the older inmate said. "The ones the guards gave you before they put you here."
"Everything in the cell belongs to you, and I need to ask permission to use it," the young inmate said. "It's my job to keep the cell clean, and I have to do what you tell me to do in here and outside the cell too."
"Right," the older prisoner said. "This is about the first rule."
"What's that, sir?" the inmate said.
"No beating off," the older prisoner said. "I know you haven't done it yet. Hardly anyone wants to in the first few days."
"I haven't done that, sir," the young inmate said.
"Don't do it without permission, and don't even think of asking until you've been here for a month," the older inmate said. "And even that will be too early. I have eyes all over this joint, so don't try it anywhere else. You don't want to know what will happen if you break that rule."
"Okay sir," the young inmate said, dejectedly.
"Not in the middle of the night either," the older inmate said. "I'm a light sleeper. I own everything in my cell, which includes you as long as you are bunking here."
"Yes, sir," the young prisoner said. "Can I ask you permission for something?
"As long as it's not permission to beat off," the older inmate replied, with a laugh.
"No sir, not that," the youngster said. "It's about my letters. Can I have them back, please?"
"After I'm done reading them," the older inmate said. "By the way, why didn't you ever open the one from your ex-girlfriend? It was dated more than six months ago."
"You opened it, sir?" the young inmate asked, breathing rapidly.
The older inmate ignored the question.
"There's a picture of her and the Man she dumped you for, and a lot about them in her letter," he said. "Unless they changed their plans, they're married now. Some guy named Frank. Before that, she was boning a dude named Cougar. You came from a college with a rodeo, I see. She included his picture too. "
"Married?!" the younger inmate said, moaning. "She married Frank? Oh, man!"
"Damn right she did," the older inmate said. "She'd been screwing him behind your back for more than a year. Got tired of waiting for you to step up to the plate and be a Man. Can't say I'm real surprised after reading the one from your father."
"Jesus," the young prisoner said, glumly. "Jesus Christ."
"And that cowboy dude too," the older prisoner said. "Bitch got real tired of waiting on you."
"She said she was saving herself for when she was married," the young prisoner said, mournfully.
"Did you know that Frank guy, or the cowboy?" the older inmate asked.
"Frank was her study partner in one of her classes, but I could tell it was more than that, sir," the young inmate answered. "Cougar Franklin was one of the best cowboys. She was a big rodeo fan. I saw them together once, and wondered if something was going on."
"From the looks of those two and the looks of you, and from what your girlfriend wrote, I'd say the joint's not all that different from outside," the older inmate said, chuckling. "Out there, if you're not a Man you get two-timed. In here, you get screwed. The only difference is a sore asshole."
"I never screwed or got screwed on the outside, sir," the young prisoner replied.
"In here it'll be one or the other, depending," the older inmate said. "Which brings up something else I to tell you."
"What's that, sir?"
"The argument you gave me yesterday was pretty typical," the older inmate said. "Fella like you comes in here not knowing jack shit, and when he hears how it is he doesn't believe it's possible. No one person can tell him. So starting tomorrow you'll be set up with trustys and inmates who'll tell you how it goes, each in their own way."
"Will they come here, sir?" the young inmate asked.
"Nope, they'll sit with you at lunch and dinner and talk to you," the older inmate replied. "Don't argue. Just listen, and then think about it. Sometime we'll talk about it all, and see where you want to go."