Beyond Justice (23 page)

"That you're innocent."

My brow tightened.  "Far as you know, I'm not."

"Oh, you're innocent all right.  I see it in your eyes.  Couldn'ta done it."

I didn't like the fact that I was so transparent to a person I'd known for less than ten minutes.  "Doesn't matter," I said. "I'm a condemned man, in case you've forgotten."

"Eh.  You make do.  Just look at that Tookie Williams guy up in San Quentin.  He's been on the row since '81."  Possum spread his arms wide with open palms as if he were about to offer a benediction.  "Twenty-one years later, they haven't even set an execution date."

"The appeals system might keep me alive just as long, eh?"

"Unless the cons or the C.O's get you first." With his formidable front teeth, Possum nibbled on his lower lip and wagged his eyebrows.  "Me?  I plan on living forever."

Chapter Thirty-Nine

For the next several months I had just about forgotten about C.O. Butch Hurley.  Aside from the occasional scrape with a couple of Crips and a
La Fraternidad
freshman, I managed to keep to myself without serious injury.  Of course I'd engaged in the occasional fist fight, that was a matter of survival.  To lay down and take a beating was inviting much more and much worse.   For good measure, I always landed a few good punches before getting taken down.

Now in my second year at Salton, everyone knew who Sam "Silk" Hudson was, and what he was in for.  Playing into that image was distasteful.  But again, a matter of survival.

Visiting privileges for a Gen-Pop inmates were far better than those in the SHU.  The only people who came to see me were Rachel, Pastor Dave and on the rare occasion, Alan and Samantha, from Jenn's Bible Study group.  Just a few months back, their baby girl entered the world via emergency C-section.  With my blessings, they named her Elizabeth, though I'm not sure they'll ever call her Bethie.  They never failed to show up with albums full of photos.  Beautiful little thing.

Rachel continued her monthly visits and updated me on all the appeals motions and filings, a couple of possible leads by Mack, who I met a couple of times behind the glass wall.   More than the updates, I looked forward to the company.  Rachel, Dave and the others were my only connection to life outside.  Every now and then, they would ask my permission to pray for me.  Sometimes I agreed, other times I declined.  Thankfully, in all the times since I'd met them, they'd never tried to proselytize.  By far, the best thing that came of these visits were the personal items which Rachel brought me.

My cell was now lined with exactly fifteen photos of my family.  Not one more than regulations allowed.  These pictures came along with Jenn's family Bible, which was perhaps the most personal of all her earthly possessions.  Within its memory pages, she kept notes of family milestones.  Aaron's first spoken word, a program from Bethie's first recital.

With her many scribbled-in notes and highlighted verses, reading her Bible was like discovering a side to Jenn I hadn't previously known.  The passages which mattered to her most were underlined as well as highlighted.  Seemed like her spirit inhabited the pages.

One crisp January morning, I brought Jenn's Bible with me to B-Yard.  There I read it while the sun warmed my shoulders.  Whenever we were let out, I tried to keep a distance from Artie the Possum, but he stuck to me like a puppy with a tennis ball.

I turned around.  Walking backwards I said, "Quit following me."

"I ain't following you, I'm just going to the same place you are." 

"Right." 

He was looking at my Bible as our feet touched the soft grass strip that led to the concrete picnic table—my favorite reading spot.  The lawn had just been cut.  Still walking backwards, I shut my eyes, took in the sweet scent.   For a moment I imagined that I was back home, or in Maui.  Anywhere but a maximum security prison.

"Uh, Silk?" Possum said.  I kept walking backwards, letting the sun warm my face.  Wasn't going to let him ruin the moment.

"Silk!" Before I could do anything about it, I backed straight into a cement wall.

Only, it wasn't a wall.

I turned around and there was that hulk I literally bumped into several months ago.  His muscular arms were folded over his chest, his bald pate shining in the sun and his eye twitching.   I dropped Jenn's Bible.   Holding up a hand, I backed up slightly.  "Hey, man.  Sorry, I wasn't looking."

"What are you, stupid?"  He pronounced it
stoo-pid
.   There was that unforgettable tattoo on his arm again, a thorn-crowned Christ, with blood dripping down his face.

Not again.  My throat went dry.  "I didn't see you."

"What's this?" he said, bending down and reaching for the Bible.  Great.

He flipped through the pages and scowled.  "You believe this stuff?"

"I... well...No, of course—" He looked up and glared at me through the one eye that wasn't twitching and squinting. "I mean, maybe some of it," I said.  "Kind of."

For the past year, I'd managed to maintain the air of a dangerous inmate.  Tough talk, tough fists.  All it took was one look from this guy and my knees turned to jello.  "Make up your mind!" He slammed the Bible shut and tossed it back at me.  I caught it in my chest and held on as if it might somehow shield me—like garlic from a vampire.

He trudged away, bumped his shoulder into Possum, who fell consequently on his rear.   When he was gone, Possum got up and started waving his hands around and cussing.  Under his breath of course.  The big guy turned around and glowered, Possum gasped and ducked behind me.

Still shaken, my mouth still bitter, I asked Possum, "Any idea who that was?"  This was the second time I'd seen this guy and lived to tell.

"You're kidding, right?" he said, still behind me.

"Seriously."

Coming out from hiding, Possum looked to the left, then the right, over my shoulder, behind his back, left and right again.  Then he said in a furtive tone, "That was The Bishop."

"Bishop?"  Odd tag.  "I've run into him before."

"So what'd he break, your nose, your arm?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, right," Possum said and clicked his tongue.  "You ran into him before."  He started pacing.  If I didn't know him better, I'd think he was nervous.  He was just being Possum.

I planted my butt onto the cold concrete bench.  "Any idea why he's called Bishop?"  I asked.  But before he could answer, my Bible slipped out of my hand.   It fell open to a random page.  I reached for it and the words seemed to leap out at me.  Reading the first few verses, a chill crept up my spine.  My scalp tingled.  

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me,

Because the Lord has anointed me

to preach good news to the poor.

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,

to proclaim freedom for the captives

And release from darkness for the prisoners,

to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor

and the day of vengeance of our God...

I slammed the book shut and began to breath rapidly.  Possum was too busy standing guard like a meerkat on its hind legs to notice.  Since I started reading Jenn's Bible, there had been a few times the scriptures seemed to come alive, as it had once in Dave Pendelton's house.  Words appeared to lift right out of the pages.  Specific words.  The last thing I needed was to have another one of those weird experiences out in B-Yard.

"Yo Silk.  What's up?"

I shook my head, tried to get my bearings.  "Nothing.  I'm feeling a bit light-headed."  At that very moment, the ground began to tremble.  Another tremor, typical to this part of California.

Possum's agitated shuffling accelerated.   But my head was spinning and I didn't want to get up too quickly.  "Silk, we gotta go."

"What?  Why?  It's just a little tremor.  It'll pass."  This wasn't the first time this had happened since I arrived here at Salton, what was his problem?  Sure enough, within seconds it was over.

He grabbed my arm and started pulling.  "It's not the quake, trust me," he said, his tone rising in pitch and anxiety.  "We need to go.  Pronto."

I got to my feet and I saw why.  Four white guys wearing dark blue CDC sweats were approaching with purpose.  Possum swore in triplicate and whimpered.   We were surrounded.  These guys were the kind that would slash our throats and walk away laughing.

"Don't mess with Silk!" Possum shouted.  From behind my back, helpfully.

The leader of the pack approached, picking breakfast bits from between his teeth with his pinky.  The only hair on his buzz-cut skinhead was the goatee on his face.  He got right into mine.  "Hudson, right?"

"Who wants to know?" I said, affecting a stone cold mien. 

"Don't matter who I am," said Buzz-head, with a distinct southern drawl.  "What matters is who
you
is...Silk."  It was then that I saw the swastika emblazoned on the leader's collarbone.  The Fourth Reich.

"You going to stand around yapping all day?"  I said.  "Get with it!"

"I'll make it simple.  It's all going down real soon.  We're taking down
La
Fraternidad
.   It's time for you to declare your allegiance."

"And here, I thought you had something intelligent to say."

The guy who was next to Buzz-head's leaned forward and said, "Where you gonna stand, son?"

"I'm not standing anywhere.  I'm just going to sit in my cell while you idiots kill each other."

Buzz grabbed me by the shirt and shoved me against the chain link fence. "Don't be a smartass, motherf—"

"Get it through your thick skull," I said.  "I am not going to fight!"  He had me pinned, but I was not about to betray even an ounce of fear.

"Oh, you gonna fight all right," Buzz said.  "Time comes, you gonna fight or be killed."  He let go and rubbed his whiskery chin.  The sandpapery sound made my skin crawl.

"What is this, a public service announcement?" I said.

"Call it a warning, call it an inquiry.  When them shanks start flyin', I wanna  know if you's a friend or foe."  A malevolent grin cracked his features.  "Wouldn't want to slash the wrong person out there."

"Silk...!" Possum was now trapped between the other Reich members.  They were laughing and pushing him around, watching him cower.  I took a step towards him, but Buzz blocked my way.

"See them Mexicans over there?" He pointed to the far side of the yard.  A row of them were exercising, doing martial arts moves, perfectly synchronized.

"What about them?"

"Every day, lined up there, drilling, working out.  Looks like freakin' boot camp.  Think they're doing all that to get into some kinda
Feng Shui
zone or something?"

"I don't really care what they're doing."

"You'd better.  There gon' be a war."

I looked him straight in the eye. "Over what?"

"Territory, respect, control of the yard—how long you been in here, anyway?"

"It's got nothing to do with me."

"So, you with us or not?"

"We'll see."  No way I was going to get involved.  I just wanted to get away, and quickly.

"Where's your shank?"

"Like I'd tell you."

Buzz shoved me back, rattling the fence again.  My stomach tightened in anticipation of a stab wound.  "Watch yourself," he said.  "You so much as fart in the wrong direction, I'll gut and filet you myself."

"Great," I said, with a defiant sneer.  "I like seafood." His boys started laughing.  He fired a warning shot with his eyes.  They stopped.

"Let's go," he growled.  As they left, I was sweating so profusely my shirt stuck to my back.  And yet, at the same time, confidence rose up from within.

"Hey, I've got a question for
you
," I said.  Buzz turned around and returned.  Possum cringed.  "Is Butch Hurley behind this?"

Buzz nodded like a bobble-head dog in the rear window of a pimp's car.  He flashed a wide smile, regarded me through the side of his eye.  "Butch, eh?"