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I watch him closely as he walks away, fighting the urge to go after him and ask for clarification on his not-so-thinly-veiled threat before I beat the fuck out of him. I watch him walk across the rec area and up the second set of stairs leading to the cellblock directly across from mine.
He slips into a multi-person cell. That tells me he’s here waiting for judgment, or he’s only serving two years in lockup. He shakes hands with a guy I don’t know or recognize. Must be new. So, I reach out to one of my bunkmates.
“Hey, man?”
The kid looks up from his comic book. “What’s up?”
I nod across the way. “Do you know that ugly motherfucker who just walked into cell D?”
It’s never a good idea to ID your enemies, even to the man who sleeps in the same room with you. You never know where anyone’s loyalties lie, so I keep my questions vague.
The guy looks like he’s in his twenties, early thirties, but with enough prison tats that I know he’s not new to the system.
He says, “They’re Latin Mafia, one of the biggest gangs in Central California and here in lockup. Looking to get a toe into Southern California, too. I’ve been here about a year, and when I first landed, there were about twenty of ’em. Now? More than a hundred.”
I listen as he talks, absorbing the information and trying to make sense of it while I watch the two men interact. They smile, shake hands, and keep their heads close while exchanging information. Whoever they are, they’re close. More than gang members, which I find interesting.
“Thanks, man.”
“Anytime. Can’t imagine they’re too thrilled with the way you fucked up Manny.”
My brow shoots up. “Is that his name? Don’t know the asshole from Adam.”
He shrugs. “In the real world, that might matter. In here, it only puts a target on your back. Good luck.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I grumble, keeping my eyes on those two. They’re talking about me. I can just feel it, but they’re trying really hard not to look over here, almost like they can feel my gaze on them.
“Rutherford!”
Instinct kicks in, and I stand tall when I hear my name, turning to see one of the corrections officers coming my way.
“What’s up?” I turn and fold my arms, a protective gesture that does nothing to soothe my nerves.
He sighs, scraping a hand down his face as if he doesn’t want to say whatever he tracked me down to say.
“Just wanted to let you know that nothing’s definitive yet, but you’re probably gonna catch charges for that fight with Olivera.”
“Manny Olivera?” I ask.
“Yeah. You know him?”
I shake my head. “He bumped into me right before lunch, but otherwise, never saw him.”
“Yeah, well, prepare yourself because it can go either way.” He shakes his head. “Tell your lawyer to check the mess hall tapes.”
I nod, and without another word, the officer walks away while my hands ball into angry fists. Any sign of weakness can and will be used against me, so I sit on my bunk and shift gears, thinking about Sophie.
Yet, it’s pointless to think about her when I might be facing additional charges.
Noelle might pull some lawyer magic to clear me for that kid, but this fight? That’s on me. System forced my hand, and I played right into it.
“One other thing, Rutherford.” The same C.O., his nametag reads Johnston, walks back and slips a tiny square of paper in my hand. “This came for you a couple days ago.” With a curt nod, he’s off again, returning to the booth that lets him oversee the entire block.
I wait until he’s out of sight before sitting up and unfolding the slip of paper. It’s Sophie’s neat, slightly slanted cursive writing.“I need to see you, Tank. Please put me on the list. Please.”At the bottom of the note is her phone number as if I could ever forget it.
Every part of me wants to see her, but I know it’s a shit move. I’ve got to guard myself, especially here. Thinking with the wrong head will only make me a bigger target.
Still, as the lights dim and the cell block settles, a tempting thought crosses my mind…one more time couldn’t hurt, could it?
