American Criminal (21 page)

    “Which is?” Ray asked.

    “After a year of good behavior, you will be transferred out to a medium security prison.”

    “I think I can handle one more year in this shit-hole,” Ray said. “It certainly beats the alternative: being dead.”

    “The only thing is you need to keep your nose clean during the next year,” the IA Chief said. “We can’t cover up any more of your fuck-ups. It will look suspicious. Do you think you can walk the straight-and-narrow for awhile?”

    Burnside locked eyes with the IA Chief, then the Warden, and then the IA Chief again.

    “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be a model prisoner.”

    Burnside worked out a few more details with the Warden and the IA Chief and was escorted back to his cell. He now had a strong hope that he would eventually leave the hellhole. All he had to do was keep his nose clean. Which, in this place, was easier said than done. He asked the Warden about getting access to the prison library. He figured he needed to immerse himself in constructive activities if he was going to stay on the straight-and-narrow. The prison library might provide just the distraction he needed to keep him sane for the next year.

    Burnside was impressed by the Warden’s efficiency. He was only in his cell a few hours when two guards showed up to take him to the library. He had to be handcuffed, of course, but there were only two guards. Two guards! Clearly, things had changed dramatically since he arrived at the prison.

    The library consisted of two small rooms near the infirmary crammed with bookcases packed full of books and magazines. There was barely enough space to walk the narrow aisles. A studious-looking, bespectacled inmate sat near the door of the main room at a beat-up-looking desk, immersed in a book,
Beyond Good and Evil
. He looked up as Burnside entered with the guard.

    “Looking for something in particular?” the balding inmate, who could easily have been mistaken for a college professor if not for the orange prison jumpsuit, asked Burnside.

    “Anything to help distract me from this place,” Ray said.

    “Well, there’s plenty to choose from,” the librarian/inmate said. “Feel free to look around and let me know if you find something. I will warn you ahead of time that we don’t have any of the current bestsellers or horror-thrillers. Most bestsellers and thrillers contain sex and violence, which the prison administration views as unhelpful reading material in our volatile environment. I’m afraid you will have to choose mostly from educational texts or classic literature.”

    “That’s all right. I remember liking some of the books in my high school and college English classes,” Burnside said.

    The bespectacled inmate raised his left eyebrow. Clearly, he didn’t believe that Burnside had been to college. Ray understood why. Eighty-percent of the inmates in the place probably never graduated from high school.

    “That’s good. Then you should be able to find something,” the inmate said. “If you’re not into the classics, you can always check out our magazine racks in the back room. They’re the most popular reading fare in this place.”

    “No, I definitely need a book,” Burnside said. “A magazine isn’t going to cut it.”

   
I’ll leave the magazines to my Cellie
, Ray thought.

    The guards stood like statues at the library’s single entrance as Ray explored the aisles. He wasn’t surprised that an entire bookcase contained law books, considering the inmate population’s interest in the appeals process. He understood why many inmates might be interested in finding a loophole to set them free, but the last thing he wanted to think about was the corruption of the law that sent him to this hellhole. Another bookcase contained science texts. Another, history and philosophy. They were mostly beat-up, obsolete-looking, hard-covered texts that appeared to have been donated by local high schools, colleges, or libraries. He eventually found a bookcase containing books that had plots and characters.

    Burnside was amazed at the variety of classic books, ranging from American writers like Mark Twain to ancient European writers like Voltaire. Once again, most of the texts looked pretty beat up and must have been donated. He was further amazed that one of the shelves contained the complete works of Shakespeare. He remembered he hated reading Shakespeare in high school, but he liked it in college when he finally figured out how much sex and violence was contained in the works. A title caught his eye:
Julius Caesar.
He remembered despising the book in high school, but he thought he might have a different perspective now. He remembered Caesar was a warrior king who conquered everything in his path. Maybe he would be a good role model to have in this place where it was dog-eat-dog.

    Burnside returned to the “librarian” and told him he found something.

    “Julius Caesar,” the inmate commented. “Great book. Very good choice. I’m surprised you would be interested in it. Do you know it’s written in old English?”

    Burnside realized that his appearance did not convey that of an intellectual. He still had visible scratches and bruises on his face and hands. His muscles had been built up from all the push-ups and action of the recent weeks. He had about a millimeter of hair on his recently shaved head.

    “I appreciate the warning,” Burnside said, grinning. “But, I’ve read it before and I think I can understand most of it.”

    “That’s good,” the inmate said, smiling as he went to retrieve the book.

    The inmate handed the book to one of the guards to carry because Ray’s hands were still cuffed behind his back.

    “I appreciate your help,” Ray said to the librarian as the guards escorted him from the room.

    “No problem. I hope you enjoy it,” the inmate said, re-immersing himself in
Beyond Good and Evil
as they left.

    The guards brought Burnside back to his cell, undid his handcuffs, and handed him his book. Ray sat on his bunk and began pouring through it. Halfway through, he found he could especially relate to Marc Antony’s prophetic speech as he stood over Caesar’s slain body.

                               A curse shall light upon the limbs of men;

                               Domestic fury and fierce civil strife

                               Shall cumber all the parts of Italy

                               Blood and destruction shall be so in use

                               And dreadful objects so familiar

                               That mothers shall but smile when they behold

                               Their infants quarter’d with the hands of war

    All he had to do was change
Italy
to
New York City
and Antony’s monologue accurately summed up his feelings toward Devlin, Pierce, and the rest of the conspirators who put him away. Although, he doubted that the women who gave birth to Devlin and Pierce would be smiling after he was done with them.

    Time went by and Burnside read many books. He found that Shakespeare’s character, Macbeth, described his situation the best:

                                Tomorrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

                                Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

                                To the last syllable of recorded time,

                                And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

                                The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

                                Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player

                                That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

                                And then is heard no more: it is a tale

                                Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

                                Signifying nothing.

    Burnside thought the phrase “creeps in this petty pace” was an accurate description of doing time in prison. Endless days that “lighted fools the way to dusty death” was also relevant. Counting the days was probably just a wasteful prelude to his own destruction when he was eventually loosed on his enemies. Life in prison was truly like “a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage.” All the inmates’ posturing and power plays meant nothing to those on the outside. Prison was like a shadow world that only palely reflected the real world. It was certainly full of sound and fury, and to those on the outside, it signified nothing.

    Six weeks after the bloody massacre in the exercise yard, Burnside was approached by a messenger from the
Goodfellas.
He was working out at the bench press in the weightlifting area when one of the
Bloods
escorted a
Goodfellas
enforcer over to him. A
Blood
enforcer remained standing behind the mob guy, eyeing him with suspicion.

    “The Boss wants to meet with you,” the enforcer, a muscular, six-foot-eight, three-hundred-pound monster, said to Burnside.

    “Okay. When?” Ray asked, wiping his forehead with a towel as he sat on the end of the bench.

    “He said any time that’s convenient,” the Italian said.

   Things certainly have changed. These guys are actually showing me some respect.
Burnside thought.

    “How about right now?” Burnside asked.

    “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

    “Okay then. Let’s go,” Ray said, standing and throwing his towel on the bench. “Lead the way,” he added, gesturing for the enforcer to walk ahead of him.

    The mob guy silently led the way across the
Bloods’
turf. They entered the yard’s common area and waded through the stragglers toward the bleachers in the back left corner. They reached the bleachers and the other enforcers moved out of their way as they ascended. The
Capo
sat alone in the center, like before, and Burnside’s guide hung back while he approached the boss.

    “Have a seat,” the obese, balding
Capo
said in his deep, scratchy voice, gesturing to the open bleacher beside him.

    Ray sat down.

    “You’ve been keeping a low profile since all the excitement of your first month here,” the mob boss said.

    “I’m just trying to keep out of trouble,” Burnside said, smiling.

    “Well, you’re doing a good job,” the
Capo
said, smiling back. “I must admit I expected a lot more entertainment out of you after all the chaos you caused with the Nazis.”

    “I’m just trying to do my time quietly without attracting any more attention,” Ray said, turning serious.

    “That’s fine. I’m not going to interfere. That’s why I’ve been letting you do your thing. I understand you’ve become quite a bookworm; you’re practically living in the library.”

    “That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Ray said. “But, yeah, I’m trying to stay out of trouble.”

    “It’s interesting that you didn’t have the same philosophy when you arrived here. You surprised a lot of people with all the destruction you caused.”

    “I got pretty lucky.”

    “It was more than luck,” the fat Capo said, taking out a pack of cigarettes, shaking one out, and lighting up. “You obviously have friends in very high places. Exactly how high they are is a mystery for someone far above my pay grade to solve. I just wanted to let you know you made an impression on my superiors. They would like to offer you a job.”

    Burnside remained silent while he contemplated the statement. The obese
Capo
took the opportunity to take a few drags off his cigarette and blow out small clouds of smoke, which hovered around them in curling tendrils.   

    “At this point I just want to stay out of trouble. I’ve made a…..deal that will hopefully get me out of here soon if I keep my nose clean. I appreciate the offer, but…..”

    “I don’t think you understand me,” the Capo said, pausing to inhale and blow out another stream of smoke. “You don’t have to start right away. Do what you have to do to get out of here, but keep in touch. We’ll have a job for you if you get transferred or get out.”

    “Are you serious?” Burnside asked.

    “As serious as Price’s death,” the
Capo
said, grinning as he crushed his cigarette out on the metal bleacher seat beside him. “I’m not sure if you realize the full implications of what you did by taking out Price and the rest of the Nazis. With them gone, business is booming. And when business is booming, my bosses are happy, and when they’re happy, I’m happy. You get me?”

    “I think so,” Ray said.

    “Good, because we’re interested in hiring your services when you’re ready. You can make a lot of money working for us. More than you’ll ever see doing anything else.”

    “I don’t doubt it,” Burnside said, wondering how he had become so lucky.

    A mob connection might eventually help him to get revenge on the people who put him here.

    Who knows, maybe it could even contribute to reducing my prison sentence? These guys are connected up the ass. They might be able to assist with an escape.

    “All I’m saying is keep us in mind when you’re looking for work. Here’s my number,” the
Capo
said, handing him a small folded piece of paper. “Don’t lose it.”

    “I’m guessing that your organization has a long reach,” Burnside said, considering. “I’m thinking maybe it even exists in other prisons.”