The Weight (29 page)

I don’t know much about cars, but I could tell the Lincoln had
a real soft ride. I guess that’s why everyone uses them for the baby limos you see all over New York. They’re like cabs, only they don’t have meters and you’re not supposed to pick up passengers from the street, only off calls.

Three hours later, I still hadn’t even seen a place that looked right. I didn’t want to try the strip clubs yet—I figured I could run names past Rena and she’d be able to tell me something about them. Not what went on inside or anything, just their price range. I couldn’t see this Jessop going into a place where you’d look wrong without a suit and tie.

I tried four poolrooms, but they were more like singles bars than the kind of spot I could see this Jessop in. The tables were all different colors, waitresses walking around between them, everything lit up, music playing.

The last one, I figured maybe I’d stay around awhile, see if anyone came over to talk to me. I can shoot a little. Not great or anything, but I wouldn’t embarrass myself. If it cost me a few bucks to get some kind of lead, it’d be worth it.

I smelled them before they came up to me from behind, one on each side. A blonde in a yellow top, cut off just below her boobs. A Chinese girl—something like Chinese, anyway—with long black hair. She had on one of those outfits divers wear, only hers was red, and it zipped down the front. They must have used the same perfume.

The blonde kind of bumped me with her hip. I looked down at her.

“I made a bet with my girlfriend. Jasmine, that’s her. I’m Angel.”

I looked from one to the other.

“Your turn,” the Chinese girl said.

“Wilson,” I said.

“This is the bet,” the blonde said. “Jazzy is always saying she weighs exactly a hundred pounds. Does she look like she weighs a hundred pounds to you?”

“I’m no good at that. Guessing, I mean.”

“See?” the blonde said. “Didn’t I tell you?” She jabbed her finger
into my left biceps, like she was checking to make sure it was real. “You do free weights, don’t you?”

“Sometimes.”

“How much do you curl?”

“I don’t pay much attention. I’m not trying to set any records.”

“But you’ve got
some
idea. You must have. Like, benching a hundred pounds, that’d be a joke for you.”

“I guess so.”

“That’s why I asked about curls, see? I mean, you could bench my girl here, even if she was a total heifer. But curls, like off a preacher bar, a hundred would be a serious lift.”

“You know a lot about that?”

“I know a guy, built like you, walks in here and leaves his jacket on, he’s not trying to impress anyone. That’s not even a tank top under your jacket. So I say to Jazzy, ‘That guy, he’s the one to settle our bet.’ ”

“You want me to curl … her?”

“If you can. That’s the bet. If you can curl her, she wins. If not, I do.”

“I never curled a person. That wouldn’t—”

“You’re worried about where to grab her?”

“I … No, what I meant, a person, that’s live weight. Not the same.”

“But I’m wearing clothes,” the Chinese girl said, like that would fix things.

The two of them were standing side by side, facing me. The blonde was way taller than the other one. I looked down to see if it was their heels.

“Can’t you guess?” the blonde said.

“Not just by—”

She pointed at her chest. On that cutoff thing she was wearing, one boob had a little “R” over it; the other had a “G.”

I just shook my head.

“Real,” the blonde said.

“Good,” the Chinese girl said, like they’d done this a hundred times.

“I wasn’t—”

“Well,
now
you are,” the blonde said. “Come on, big boy. One lift.”

“How much did you bet?”

“Oh, we don’t bet money. When you play pinwheel, the one who gets to go first has the best time.”

“What’s pinwheel?”

“If you stop asking questions and just try and curl this cute little slut, you’ll see for yourself.”

I held out my arms. The Chinese girl jumped up against my chest. I cupped the back of her neck in my right hand and wrapped my left around her calves. She made herself straight as a steel bar.

Then I kind of rolled her until she was at the end of my arms. I brought her down to the top of my thighs, sucked in a breath through my nose, and let it out as I pulled her all the way back to my chest. She nipped at my neck, so quick I didn’t even feel it until I was putting her back down.

“Less than a hundred,” I said.

They didn’t want me to stay the night in the motel. “Why ruin it?” the Chinese girl said.

“She means, it’s not going to happen again,” the blonde told me. “Ever.”

They didn’t have to spell it out—I could see they couldn’t wait to get at each other.

Crazy bitches. They thought they had everything covered:

Told me to follow them to a motel they’d never go back to. Didn’t give me their real names or phone number. Even if I grabbed the license-plate number, it’d turn out to be a rental, under a fake name. Probably never pulled their act in the same place twice, either.

Like I said: crazy bitches. It was just a matter of time before they dialed a wrong number. They
had
to know that. Maybe that was part of the kick.

There’s all different ways to be that kind of crazy. I knew this girl, she wanted me to choke her until she was almost out. “Edge-play,”
she called it. “That’s where all the best things are, out on the edge.”

Probably the same way the guy who killed her a couple of years later felt. It made all the papers, how he carved her up while he was doing her. That “sex game gone wrong” defense, it’s no good when you play it with razors.

By the time I walked out of that room, it was real late. So much for my bright idea. I’d figured, after it was over, the girls would want to … I don’t know, exactly, but … talk, or something. Me being a stranger, they might want to tell me about all kinds of places where I might look for this Jessop.

I was wrong about everything. And now it was way late. This Jessop, he wouldn’t be a street guy. Even with it being so warm out, he’d be inside, someplace. Maybe a bar.

Rena was right. Small town or not, it was way too big for me to find anyone in it.

That map worked just like she said it would.

When the garage door closed behind me, I left the key in the ignition, so I wouldn’t have to walk through the house looking for the right spot to put it.

The clock was showing 4:57 with a blinking sun when I closed my eyes.

When I opened them, the clock said 1:01 with a moon. While I was under the shower, I was thinking, this part was kind of like solitary, too. That’s the only place where you can take a shower by yourself. You put your back against the cell door, hands through the slot. That way, they can box-cuff you before they have to open the door. Two guards walk you down, give you maybe five minutes, and back you go.

That’s in Ad-Seg, not PC. The cons in Ad-Seg, they’re supposed to be dangerous, I guess. PC, protective custody, the only way you get in there is if you ask for it, or if they decide you wouldn’t be safe in Population.

Only, that isn’t how it really worked. I was never in PC, but I
know for a fact that the shot-caller of any gang, he can ask for volunteers to go there.

At least the Spanish ones can. I was still out in Population when this skinny young boy tells the guards he’s afraid of getting raped. That’s an automatic PC. But that skinny kid, he was in for murder. Not some drive-by, either; he’d used a blade.

Some of the weak ones, they run to a gang for protection when they get Inside. But this kid, he was already a Latin King on the street. That’s where he picked up his charge. Word was, somebody owed money for dope, and the kid collected in blood. He was never going home.

Another reason to ask for a lockup is if you’re a rat. A known rat. That skinny kid, he was in PC maybe two weeks before he shanked a guy who’d ratted on a whole bunch of Latin Kings.

He must have been quick—there’s no blind corners in PC. And a real artist, too. Most of the time, a guy gets shanked, they can save him. I’ve seen guys stuck like a pincushion—two, three cons doing the work at the same time—and they still live through it. They know how to handle stab wounds in prison. But this Spanish kid, he hit the rat a perfect kidney shot, spun him around, and planted the spike in his neck before the guards could get to them.

I know the story because, by the time they transferred the kid to Ad-Seg, I was already there.

For me, landing in there was just pure luck. I don’t know why those two black guys jumped me. I saw them coming in plenty of time to call for a CO, but I didn’t do that. You can’t do that.

I got cut a few times. Not stabbed, sliced. It’s a big, big difference.

I wasn’t dumb enough to think I was going to win that hearing they have to give you before they toss you into Ad-Seg. Everybody in the whole joint knew it was self-defense: What kind of maniac’s gonna jump two guys, specially when they’re carrying? But one of them had a fractured skull, and the other got a splintered rib that tore a lung, so they had to lock me up.

I still don’t know why they went after me—it wasn’t that I made some first-timer’s mistake, like I had with the weights. They were
real young, so maybe it was some kind of initiation. But a lot of the white guys thought it was me, representing.

And the guards—in Ad-Seg, I mean—they gave me a lot of play. Treated me good. Nothing out-loud special … maybe a few extra minutes in the shower, not tearing up my cell when they searched, calling me by my name. Doesn’t sound like much, but in there, that’s a lot.

Truth is, I kind of liked it. I didn’t have any friends out in Population, and I wasn’t going to make new ones.

“Do your own time,” is what they always say, but that’s no good anymore. Probably never was. I just caught a break, is all—if it’d been white guys who jumped me, I’d’ve been screwed.

Different color could mean a random shot. But a same-color hit, that couldn’t be random. So it’d look like I was locked down for
some
kind of wrong reason—snitching, not paying a debt. Or, even worse, being what the Aryans call a “race traitor.”

I just wanted the five years to go away. I didn’t need to play dominoes or work some two-bit racket. I had a little radio, with earphones and all. And those books and magazines Solly had sent in.

I didn’t even miss working out. You don’t need equipment to do that, and I never skipped a day.

The only really lousy thing was the food. Even with my heavy commissary draw, I didn’t have a whole lot of choices. I just stayed with what I knew, drank lots of water, and let every day fall into the night.

I woke up one morning when they key-slapped the slot and told me to roll it up, all the way. I guess they were a little surprised that I didn’t get more excited about it.

That’s prison for you. I’m too dangerous to be put in a population of nothing but criminals, but they kick me straight out into a much bigger population. What, I’m not dangerous to the public?

A couple of the guards wished me luck. The way they say it, it’s always the same: “I don’t want to see you back here, Sugar.”

Like I’d be trying to break into the place.