Psycho Save Us (18 page)

“How could ya
disappear, money?  I mean, the hacks
had
to know yo face after ya beat
that cop’s ass an’…ya know…
bit his fuckin’ nose off
,” he finished with a
nervous laugh. 

Pat handed over
his fancy lighter, and Spencer lit up.  He inhaled with relish, blew it out,
shook his head.  “Naw, man.  Only the feds workin’ the case of my robberies
knew me.  I had a bit o’ local fame when I attacked that cop, sure, but a few
months had passed and I’d been at CRC for a while.  By the time I got to
Leavenworth only Brummel and Warden Plink made time to talk with me.  I got the
same twenty-two-page book with the prison’s rules an’ regulations that
everybody else got, had a short talk with ’em about how things would go—I say
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, you the boss, man, nobody but you,’ and then I’m
on my way.

“I was shown to
my cell.  Ended up in A cellhouse with a pedophile named Martin Horowitz for a
cellmate.  That was a bit o’ good fortune, because all he wanted to do was stay
low-key, just like I had planned to do myself.  Ol’ Marty actually glommed onto
me pretty fast because I was the only person who would pay him any mind and who
didn’t judge him.  I didn’t
like
the guy, mind you, but I knew a Santa’s
Little Helper when I saw one.  I struck up conversations with him at
night—never in plain sight of anyone else, never while jogging the blacktop
track in the prison yard or anything like that, because I didn’t wanna be
openly associated with him, because ya know what targets pedophiles make in the
joint—an’ was glad that I did.  Turns out, Marty had been in for nine years,
an’ had survived with his own asshole intact by kissin’ the hacks’ asses, as
well as providing Warden Plink on the goings-on of other inmates.  He was a
snitch.  And sometimes, he helped out with filing work for the prison.  He had
earned that privilege and liked it very much.  He lacked one thing: a friend. 
I was his answer to that.

“So I listened
to what he had to say.  We would talk for long hours at night.  At first it was
just this an’ that—do you have any family, where are you from, how much longer
you got on your stint—but eventually I got some o’ details about Leavenworth
from this fat prick.  There were exactly five hundred and three employees at
Leavenworth, all of ’em broken up into groups,” Spencer explained.  “Three
hundred and fifty of ’em were hacks, but the rest were cooks, hospital workers,
maintenance men, psychologists, counselors, teachers, an’ administrators.  I
learned a lot from him.  I learned that the hacks earn less than anybody else
in the prison, but the hacks have more clout—their word is Law.

“However, I also
learned that the hacks were also complaining about how much they’re left outta
the loop.  Marty told me that they despised oversight committees from the BOP
who sent inspectors to check everything from the fire extinguishers to the
inmates’ well-being.  I heard about a hack named Pembry, who was getting a
divorce.  I heard the hacks were gettin’ pretty tired of unannounced
inspections from the BOP.  I heard about a secretary named Connie Ayers who got
a transfer over to ADX prison in Florence and wasn’t happy about it.  I heard
about a hack named Middleton who the other hacks secretly hated because he was
always kissin’ BOP ass, lookin’ for a promotion.  But that’s all mostly
tangential.”  He added, “That means only slightly connected.”

“I know what
tangential
mean
, muthafucka.  You ain’t the only one reads books.”

“The important
part is that Marty an’ me became close at nights,” he went on, blowing out
another cloud of smoke.  “Close enough that he tried to get freaky one night.  I
pushed him away, told him that I wasn’t ready for that kinda relationship yet,
but that I was open-minded to it.  This kept his interest in me, and in our
talks, for a good while longer.  Long enough to get all that I felt I needed.

“I had been
assigned to laundry duty and cleaning work inside the prison, but I cordially
volunteered for the crafts shop of the prison, which Marty had told me had a
shortage of volunteers since no man liked to sew all that much.  I was willing
to learn and I picked it up fast.  Did ya know that the furniture an’ clothing
manufacturers inside Leavenworth have built chairs and clothes that presidents
an’ politicians have worn?  As gifts from the wardens, of course.  Some o’ the
prisoners there become quite the craftsmen and seamstresses.  John F. Kennedy’s
rocking chair was made there.”

“Naw, I didn’t
know that.”

Spencer went on,
looking at his solo audience through the billowing cigarette smoke.  “I was
worried that Dr. McCulloch might suspect something an’ deny me the job, but I
suppose he never considered it, or if he did maybe he allowed me to do it out
of clinical curiosity.  Guess I’ll never know.  What I do know is that I was
able to gather the necessary textiles and materials over time to create what I
needed.

“I eventually
volunteered for the kitchen and the metal shop, because there were things in
those areas that I needed, but I didn’t always get those assignments.  Maybe
someone somewhere got suspicious.  If they did, they weren’t in time to stop
me.  Besides Marty, I’d gotten to know a couple o’ guys from the TV room in A
cellhouse who worked in the metal shop.  They got me what I needed, an’ I got
them what they
wanted
.”

Spencer left it
with that for a moment, enjoying another toke while Pat leaned in.  Outside the
office, the grease monkeys were still drilling away.  “So I got what I needed. 
It only had to look passable, I knew.  People aren’t very smart, even police
officers—the cop that pulled me over was the exception to the rule—and
especially not these hacks.  They’re constantly on the lookout for an attack. 
Tension between inmates an’ hacks is so high you can almost feel it inside that
place.  But the hacks’re lookin’ for a surprise shiv in their back,
not
an Uzi.  So, I reasoned, they’re lookin’ for escapees to dig holes under the
fences,
not
a member of the BOP.”

Again, Spencer
went silent, just toking on his cig.  He allowed Pat to sit there with a look
of perplexity for a few seconds. 
Let him figure that one out
.  Finally,
Pat did.  His eyes widened just a tad, and his posture went straighter.  “No
way.”

Spencer nodded. 
“I put on my passable suit with its red tie an’ all.  I’d made it myself from
bits an’ pieces in the crafts shop.  I wore what I’m sure looked like a pair o’
pressed khakis, but was actually made outta the cloth they used for laundry
bags in the prison.  They didn’t look
great
, but they didn’t look like
prison fatigues, either.  I made ’em baggy enough so that my prison-issue shoes
wouldn’t be too noticeable, just the tips.  Hopefully, as long as the first
stage worked out okay, nobody would be lookin’ at my feet.

“So, I walked
right up to Middleton—the hack that Marty assured me was always kissin’ ass an’
lookin’ for a promotion—and I started up a conversation.  Almost none o’ the
guards in that whole place could’ve picked me out of a line-up.  I’d been so
quiet, kept just to myself an’ Marty for the most part.  I’d taken extra
special caution against doing anything unusual in front of Middleton, anything
at all, just so he wouldn’t know my face when it came time for me to walk out. 
So, when I saw him glance at my tie and then at my face, I knew I had him. 
See, the guys from the metal shop had gotten me what I needed—they didn’t know
why
I needed it, but they’d given it to me just the same.  A metal tie clip and a
matchin’ pin that were both shaped like handcuffs.”

Pat slapped his
desk, chuckling.  “Just like when ya walked in as Agent Chalke at the SunTrust
in Ole Miss.”

“You got it, my
brotha.  And I had a clipboard with me, which I actually got from the red-head,
Tommy, who by then was already getting his girlfriend to sneak in all kinds o’
shit and brought him gifts, some of which he was allowed to keep because of his
good behavior.”

“What did ya say
to Middleton?”

“I said, ‘How’s
it goin?’  He looked back at me an’ said, ‘Not bad, sir.  You?’  I had him an’
I knew it.  He called me
sir
, after all.  I told him I was just
finishing up my inspection of A cellhouse, and then we both bullshitted about
how things were going around the prison.  I let
him
ask the question,
‘You from BOP?’  To which I replied that, yes, of course I was.  I quipped that
I wasn’t a nature hiker who’d gotten lost, and we both had a good laugh over
that.  A few more minutes of bullshittin’, then I asked him to please unlock
the door to the prison visiting room.”

“Don’t tell me
that muthafucka obliged!”

“Oh, he obliged,
all right,” Spencer said with a self-congratulatory smile.  “And I was pretty
sure he would tell the guards inside the visiting center that they had a BOP
inspector on the way—Marty had told me how the hacks always gave each other the
heads up, but he didn’t really need to tell me that, because it’s human nature
for employees to warn other employees when a boss-type is comin’ around, right? 
One by one, all of ’em vouched for me to the guards in the next section, opening
doors and waving me right through, and I never had to show any ID.”

Here, Spencer
stopped.  It was a pregnant pause, one where he pretended to be considering how
to tell the next part of his story, but actually he was shaking away a
distracting thought.  It was unusual for him to be thinking about something he
thought he’d completely discounted, but there was the big-armed man in the Expedition,
staring at him almost challengingly, his arm with the crimson bear half hanging
out. 
Was that a warning?  Did that motherfucker think I was afraid of his
biceps or somethin’?

He also
felt…cold?  Yes, cold.  An image came to him of a forest someplace.  He was
barefoot and walking in the woods in the dark.  Was this a memory?  It
certainly felt familiar, like it had happened when he was a child.  Or, rather,
he felt like he was
seeing
it through the eyes of a child.

All at once, it
was gone.  As quickly as the spell had come, it was over with and all that was
left in its place was Middleton the hack and his overzealous ass-kissing.  Spencer
cleared his throat and got back to his tale.

“So, of course,
I got outside of the visiting center thanks to Middleton’s warning.  The hacks here
didn’t ask to check my badge or ID either, because of course Middleton had
already told them who I was an’ I just moved right on through, lookin’ harried
an’ whatnot.  I would stop here and there to make notes on my clipboard about a
fluorescent light that was blinking out overhead and an empty Coke can that
someone had left on the floor, an’ everyone was anxious to open doors for me.

“I walked all
the way out, not really knowing where I was going because I hadn’t ever been
through this administrative portion of the prison before.  So whenever I got
lost I just paused and pretended to jot down some notes, made some conversation
around a water cooler with a chunky woman who’d probably do a fella just fine
in the sack, then continued on my way.  I had to look in a hurry, but not
too
much in a hurry.  The whole time I was just worried about running into Brummel
or Dr. McCulloch, because they were the only two guys who I was sure would
recognize me.

“I made it to
the front desk of the Administrations Annex and said my cell phone had died and
wondered if I could use one o’ theirs.  They were only too happy.  They’d
probably been called and warned that they were getting another damned
unannounced visit from the BOP inspectors, an’ so all I got from the
secretaries were smiles so big you’d think I was the warden himself.  I dialed
411 to get the number to a local taxi service and they sent a cab and had it
waitin’ on me outside within fifteen minutes.

“I walked
outside, waving and smiling and nodding to people as I went.  I made small-talk
with one o’ the hacks by the gate for a few minutes, talking about the Royals
and how they couldn’t catch a break while I waited on the cab.  When it
arrived, I walked out the front gate, hopped inside and told the cabbie to take
me to the nearest town.  I didn’t know what else to tell him because I didn’t
know Kansas at all, and he didn’t care to ask me for clarification, just took
me into town.” 

Spencer put the
cig back in his lips, and took a good, long drag, like it might be his last on
Earth.  Telling the story had invigorated him.  He had never told anyone what
actually happened because he hadn’t known anyone well enough in the intervening
two years to trust them to keep his secret.  Most people didn’t even know who
he was.  That was two years ago, the episode of
America’s Most Wanted
with
his story (most of his escape altered so spare law enforcement humiliation) had
come and gone, and Spencer was mostly a nobody again.

“I was only in
for a few months.  But being inside there…I guess I kind of skipped over what
it was like bein’ in the joint, really.  All I can say is that not seeing a
horizon except in a magazine, not seeing any forests for all the God damn
walls, not seeing any women in bikinis on the beach, an’ not being able to step
outside to go to a KFC whenever I wanted some chicken, even though I fuckin’
hate KFC…well, it felt good to see the wind in the trees again.  To
touch
a tree.  To drive.  To walk in the streets.  To smoke this cigarette here
without havin’ to smuggle it and hope somebody didn’t cheat you.  I saw the
looks on the faces of the guys who’d been in there ten years or more.  An’ I
made a promise to myself that I’m not going back to that place.  Not ever.  No
matter what.”  He took another toke as a reward for finishing his tale.