March 28, 2003
“Beecher.”
The C.O. s booming voice catches Toby by surprise, as he visibly startles, causing Mad Dog Mack and his cronies to snicker.
“Shower time,” the guard announces, as he steps to the cell door and unlocks it.
“But. . .I. . . .” Toby is flummoxed for a moment. Since coming to Oz, he has rarely stepped out of his cell without Keller at his side. The other man’s constant presence is both degrading and annoying, but even he has to admit, that Keller’s company has been a comforting security blanket in a dangerous place like the East Pen.
“He’s afraid to move without his daddy,” Mad Dog tells the guard in a mocking tone.
The guard smirks with scorn, well aware of Toby’s status. “Well, princess, your daddy is currently being questioned about that ruckus in the prison yard yesterday. It’s very possible he’ll be going to the hole or solitary, so you better get used to doing things on your own. Although. . . .” He gives Mad Dog a meaningful look. “A good looking prag like you will probably attract a new daddy in no time.”
“Fuck you,” Toby mutters under his breath, as he stands up and grabs a clean set of clothes and a towel. Exiting the cell, he gives the guard a defiant stare, as Mad Dog and the other three cell mates make their farewells by snickers and kissing sounds.
Walking to the showers, Toby realizes that it’s the one place that no one should be caught alone in, and it’s too much to hope that the guard will keep him company while he washes up. Sure enough, as soon as he steps through the door, the guard turns and leaves.
“Okay, Tobe, first rule, show no fear.” Toby gives himself a pep talk while quickly scanning the showers. If his group is now scheduled for shower time, then other Oz inmates should be in the vicinity. “O’Reily, where are you?” he continues to talk to himself, as he slowly makes his way through the shower room, or rooms, as the showers in the East Pen take up a huge area, one large room opening up to another.
He searches all three areas without coming across one friendly or even semi-friendly face. The guard either made a mistake, or, or. . . . Toby doesn’t want to think about that or. Seeing a few sideways glances directed at him, he resists the urge to flee because running only inflames the predators. Looking around he see an empty row and quickly takes position under a nozzle head. With luck, no one will notice him, and he can clean up quickly and made a fast exit. Undressing, memories of prison jokes about bending over in the shower pop into his head, and he smiles slightly.
“Don’t ever lose your sense of humor, Tobe,” he tells himself, as he turns on the water and picks up the bar of soap carefully. “Don’t want to drop you because that would mean bending over,” he continues to joke to himself. It calms him slightly, and he hopes that it keeps the fear from showing.
Hair first and then the body, Toby expels a grateful gust of air, as he turns off the water. Almost home. He just needs to dress and make it to the exit. “Toby,” he begins talking to himself again, as he dries off. “You just dodged a. . . .”
His sentence is never completed, as Schillinger, accompanied by five other skinheads approach him.
“Beecher,” Schillinger greets him with a wide grin. “I was hoping to run into you.” The smile immediately disappears, and the effect is chilling. “Soap up, boys because you’re in for a real treat. Beechball, here, has the sweetest, tightest ass; it will just pull the cum right out of you.”
“Fuck you!” Toby spits out, as he backs away. He had experienced rape many times at the hands of Schillinger but up until now, never gang-rape, and fear courses through him.
“”No.” Schillinger shakes his head. “I’m not the one, who’s going to get fucked here,” he says with a patient tone. “You are. Boys. . . .” He turns his head to give the command, but right at that moment, Miguel Alvarez and Alonzo Torquemada, accompanied by a crew of both Latinos and Gays squeeze past him.
“Hey, Beecher.” Miguel gives Toby a friendly shove. “Long time no see.”
Utter surprise has immobilized the Aryans for a moment, but Schillinger soon finds his voice. “You Spics, get the fuck out of here. This is none of your. . . .”
The doors to the showers swing open simultaneously with a bang. “Time!” the guards shout. Their arrival is greeted with jeers and complaints.
“I’m still showering here,” Alvarez shouts out, as he quickly strips off his shirt and ducks his head under the spraying nozzle.
“Ladies! Last chance because I don’t want to have to repeat myself for a third time!” One of the guards steps in and takes out his billy club. As other guards enter the showers, the inmates begin to quickly file out.
“This is just a reprieve, Beecher.” Schillinger leans toward Toby and mutters the threat. “I’ll find you again.”
“Get the fuck out of here.” Alvarez pushes the Aryan away, as he and Schillinger exchange hostile glares.
“Hands off, Spic!” Schillinger manages to spit-out just as a C.O. walks up to them. “Ladies, what part of time, did you not understand?”
The arrival of the guard disperses the group, and Toby can only give Alvarez and Torquemada a quick smile, as he jerks on his pants and heads of the door. He has no idea why Alvarez and Torquemada just saved his ass.
The cell doors are open and as he arrives, he’s relieved to see that his roomies are leaving. Pulling a shirt over his head, he stows his towel and grabs his prized paperback. A once-in-a-lifetime moment, he has the cell to himself. Throwing himself down on the bunk, he opens the book, but to his surprise, his attention keeps wandering.
He wonders where Keller is, still being interrogated, or has he been thrown in the hole or solitary. He wonders how long it will be until his Mad Dog and crew return, which has him feeling under the pillow for the hunting knife, but even its presence doesn’t reassure him. Even armed with a knife, the odds still favor his cellies, who outnumber him.
“Face it, Tobe,” he speaks to himself. “Without Chris Keller, you’re screwed.”
**
An hour later, his cellmates return, but to Toby’s surprise, two of them immediately pack up their gear and are escorted away by the guard. Sitting up, he puts his hand under the pillow and touches the knife, eyeing Mad Dog and associate warily. But Mack’s thoughts are not on him, as he is ignored, and his two cellies spend their time muttering to each other quietly.
Taking in a deep breath, Toby folds himself back into the bunk, trying to keep himself out of the other men’s line of sight with the hope that they continue to not notice his presence. He wonders again where Keller is, and again is reminded of how naked he feels without his daddy watching his back.
Barely an half hour goes by, when footsteps and voices are heard entering their cellblock. Toby looks up from his book eagerly; he prays that it’s Keller. But he’s disappointed and then taken aback, when a guard approaches with Alvarez and Torquemada, both carrying a bag of belongings, blanket, pillow, and a roll of toilet paper.
“How crazy is this?” Miguel greets him with a friendly grin. “We don’t see each other since we came to this hell-hole, but now we’re roomies.”
Toby has never been butt-buddies with Alvarez or Torquemada, but their arrival is a happy surprise, since he’s never had any quarrels with them either, and sees the odds swing in his favor. They now outnumber Mad Dog Mack four to two.
“Yeah, funny how that works,” Toby replies, as out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the other two cellies are none too pleased with their new roommates.
“So, where’s Keller?” Miguel asks, as he stows his belongings.
Toby shakes his head; it seems that everyone, even inmates he’s had no contact with, know about him and Keller. “Not sure. He’s either still being interrogated, or he’s been thrown in the hole or solitary.”
“Keller.” Miguel grins again. “Still up to his old tricks.”
“Yeah,” Toby agrees, as he glances at Torquemada, who has not said a word, but is watching him intently, his blind eye shimmering in the fluorescent lighting. The other man’s forceful stare unnerves Toby, and suddenly, warning bells go off in his head. In Oz, he and Torquemada’s paths had never crossed; he had never had any reason to give the flamboyant homosexual a second thought. But now he wonders and wishes Keller would return.
**
Dinner hour goes by without any kind of major incident, except for the brief appearance of Schillinger, who gives Toby a death glare while passing by the table. But he says nothing, an unusual occurrence, but perhaps it is because Toby is once again surrounded by Alvarez, Torquemada, and a crew of both Latinos and Gays. He has no idea why the group is including him, but the continued stares of Torquemada tell him that there is an ulterior motive behind their friendly gestures. In prison nothing comes without a price.
Returning to his cell, he is extremely relieved to see Chris, although, the sight of him, relaxing in the bottom bunk, exchanging pleasantries with Mad Dog and looking no worse for the wears after a grueling day spent with prison administration, has Toby grinding his teeth.
“Hey,” Chris greets him with a grin and then looks around him at Alvarez and Torquemada. “New roomies, and old pals from Em City. So what’s the news?”
“Same old, same old,” Alvarez replies, as he throws himself down in the bottom bunk. “We were transferred here because of McManus. He’s trying to put all the Oz prisoners together.”
“So that’s how the old boy has been earning his pay lately.” Chris sprawls back on the bunk, motioning Toby to lie next to him. “Must be like making a seating chart for a wedding, except using prison cells instead of tables.”
“For once, I’m thankful to McManus,” Toby comments, as he crawls over Keller. “Grouping some of us from Oz together will make our lives easier.”
“Maybe.” Chris shrugs. He isn’t convinced that McManus has such a pure heart. “But he could have just as well put us with Schillinger and a few of his Nazi pals. Then where would we be?”
“Is that what today was all about?” Alvarez asked. “You still feuding with that Nazi puto?”
“Today?” Chris turned to Toby with an eyebrow raised. “What the fuck happened today? Schillinger harass you at dinner again?”
“No, it was in the showers,” Alvarez answered helpfully. “He had Beech cornered, but fortunately we showed up.”
Toby silently curses Alvarez’ big mouth, as he meets Keller’s inquiring stare. With Chris’ behavior already being questioned by the prison’s officials, another infraction could put him in solitary permanently. The incident today had been frightening, but in the end nothing had happened. Toby knows that the reality of prison life is, don’t dwell on the past, because you need all your wits to keep yourself alive in the present and the future.
“He and a few of his goons made threats of,” Toby broke-off, trying to look unconcerned. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Wasn’t a big deal?” Alvarez continues to add his two-cents to the conversation, a fact, which has Toby wishing for some duct tape. “Beecher, you consider gang rape not a big deal? You’re mas loco than I thought.”
“Those Nazi fucks were going to. . . .” Chris stops his tirade, as he sees Mad Dog and friend looking over at them with interest. It’s never wise in prison to have others know about your business. “I’m going to fuck-up those Nazi pricks,” he mutters under his breath. “What the hell were you doing in the showers today anyway? Our group had prison-yard time this morning.”
“It did?” Toby can say this with genuine surprise. As far as the East Pen is concerned, there seems to be no rhyme or reason to the group scheduling. In fact the joke is that the person, who made up the group rotation used the eeni meeni mini mo method, which makes it impossible for anyone to figure out what they would be doing when. “How do you know?”
“I was questioned in a room with a view.” Chris raises his arms to put his hands behind his head. “And I saw our group out in the prison yard.”
“Fuck.” Toby exhales loudly. “That fucking guard made a mistake. I was wondering why I couldn’t find anyone.”
“Made a mistake or was paid-off to take you to the showers today,” Chris says with cynicism. “Probably paid-off by that prick, Schillinger.”
“Jesus.” Toby is now remembering what made Schillinger such a dangerous enemy. Not only was he a psycho nut, but he had allies and connections on the inside and out. In the past, Toby had been able to counter some of Schillinger’s advantages by paying the Italians, but here in the East Pen, space and the partial lock-down have separated him from his pseudo partners.
“Don’t worry about it.” Keller pats his leg. “I’ll take care of Schillinger.”
“Chris, I don’t think that. . . .” Toby breaks off, realizing that four pairs of eyes are staring over in his direction. With four cell mates, there is no such thing as having a private conversation, and any discussion on Keller’s future plans for Schillinger should not be overheard by Mad Dog, or Alavarez and Torquemada. It would have to wait for another time and place.
**
April 5, 2003
The great outdoors. Toby raises his face to the sun, feeling the cool breeze wash over. The air has a hint of spring in it, and that lifts his spirits for just a moment. A moment in time when he forgets the hell is living in, the problems with Schillinger, Mad Dog, and now Torquemada.
“So that faggot spic thinks that you owe him, huh?” Chris asked, taking a large drag from a cigarette.
“He needs more mules for his drug trade, and someone, who is sharing a cell with him, well. . . .” Toby shrugs. “Can’t be anymore convenient.”
“Getting involved in the tit trade is just asking for trouble,” Chris muses. “It’s a sure-fire way to make enemies.”
“You mean more enemies?” Toby asks, as he lets out a mirthless snort of laughter. “I seem to make enemies every-other-day, and that’s without trying.”
A slight grin crosses Keller’s face, as he tosses the butt of his cigarette to the ground. “It’s that all-American look; no one can resist it. Anyway, don‘t worry about Torquemada; I‘ll take care of him.”
Toby is silent for a moment, struggling with the temptation to just accept Keller’s offer. After all, if he had to suffer the role of prag, why not enjoy a few of the benefits?
“Going to snap his neck?” he finally asks, his tone cynical.
Chris’ mouth turns up in that oh-so-charismatic Keller smile, but says nothing. His smile says it all.
“Look.” Toby runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t need another death on his conscience. “Don’t do anything. I’ll handle it myself.”
“Oh, yeah,” Chris scoffs. “How?”
“I’ll, I’ll pay him off.” Toby grabs wildly at the first idea that pops into his head.
“With what? Thought your family was still holding out on the money.”
“They’ll come through,” Toby says, but even to his own ears, he doesn’t sound very convincing.
“I’ll take care of Torquemada.” Chris is resolute. “But I’ll do it,” he adds quickly forestalling Toby’s objections. “Without snapping his neck, shanking him, or hurting him in any other manner.”
The horn blares, signaling that outdoor time is up. Toby is thoughtful, as he slowly makes his way to the prison entrance with Keller at his side.
“You’re going to pay him off, aren’t you?”
“Ye-ah,” Chris answers with a grin. “But the pay-off is going to be accompanied by a few threats. Meaningful threats. The fag won’t bother you again.”
“Than. . . .” Toby starts to say then stops himself. It’s not loving kindness which motivates Keller to help him, it’s control and keeping him indebted. He wonders what price he’ll have to pay for it.
****