The Animal Factory (19 page)

“I’ve seen that fool around,” Earl said. “He catches the eye. But I haven’t seen him with anybody who’s trouble.”

“He cells on the bottom tier in the East block, close custody.”

Earl’s eyes narrowed to slits and the muscles twitched—but the thinking about what to do took less than a minute. “Okay, don’t go back to the cellblock after chow. Hang back on the yard with the clean-up crew. Paul and Vito will be there. When T.J. comes by, tell him to wait, but don’t tell him what’s happening or
he’s
liable to go take care of it himself. I’ll meet you, and we’ll catch him when he goes back to the block. He won’t expect us then, and we’ll have all the edge.” Earl neglected to add his feeling that the problem could be handled without murder. He’d go with his allies, and if Buck’s response was unsatisfactory, they would kick him within an inch of his life—but Earl was confident Buck would back down when he saw what he was up against. No man alone, no matter how tough, could win against fifteen killers.

A minute behind the convicts leaving school came the evening watch guards carrying lunchpails, hurrying toward the cellhouses to help with the main count.

“Wait a couple minutes before you go to the yard,” Earl said. “When you hear the lineup whistle, go straight into the block. The mooch might be waiting. I’ve got to go to the yard office.”

Ron nodded without enthusiasm. “Damn, I’m tired of this crap. Just … fuck it.”

“Oh no, we can handle this. It’s routine shit.” Earl cuffed him on the arm.

“You have to act like an animal to get respect in here.”

“Cool it. It’s gonna be okay. Quit snivelin’. You’ve had the red carpet. I was six years younger than you and didn’t smile for two years. It took me a decade to make the North block and go to night movies. And you’ve got as much time left as a mosquito has prick, unless you fuck it up. I need you out there to look after me.”

Ron headed toward the yard and Earl went to the office. The colonel was on duty, trimly military at his desk, and Big Rand was disappearing toward the front gate. As Earl stepped in, he saw the black lieutenant known as Captain Midnight was on duty. Seeman, Earl recalled, had taken the night off to drive his daughter to the airport. Captain Midnight had a reputation for being a black racist, and whether it was deserved or not, the man was a hateful
sonofabitch
—and he thoroughly disliked Earl Copen. Earl believed that the man resented any intelligent convict and despised all ignorant ones. Earl knew he would have to watch himself with both Captain Midnight and the colonel.

He thought about how to handle the situation with Buck Rowan in the East cellhouse. T.J. and Baby Boy lived on the fifth tier and ate first. He would have to get to the yard quickly and catch them before they locked up. They were necessary in case Buck Rowan needed to be stomped through the cement. Paul and Vito would be sweeping and hosing the yard. He wanted them there, too, for a show of strength. And if any of the Brotherhood were available, they could also stand on the sidelines looking mean. If he’d been planning a killing. Earl would have asked one man to come along to help and a second for lookout, but a killing was what he wanted to avoid.

The shadows of twilight deepened—and the count was very late in clearing. The colonel called control. Nobody was missing; the total was right but some bodies were in the wrong places. One tier had an extra prisoner while another had one too few, a fairly common error, but one that held back the supper unlock until corrected.

When the bell finally rang, and Earl swung his feet off the
typewriter
stand, Captain Midnight came from the rear office with two pieces of yellow legal tablet in hand. “Here, Copen, make an
original
and two copies.”

“Can I go eat first?”

“Do it before you eat. Have it ready when I get back.”

Earl glanced at the crabbed, nearly illegible handwriting.

“Don’t make any changes,” Captain Midnight said. “I’m hip to you.”

“Whatever you say, boss man. I’ll even leave the misspelled words if you want.”

The black lieutenant froze for a second. “Just do your job, convict. And be careful. I’m after your ass.”

“Oh, I know that … and I’m so careful when you’re around.”

“If I catch you down wrong, they’ll have to pipe air into you. I know about you and your gang.” He started to add something more, but clicked his teeth together and thought better of it. “Have that memo done when I get back.”

“Okay, boss.”

Typing the memo took longer than usual because the handwriting was hard to decipher. In addition, he pressed because he was in a hurry, and therefore made more errors than usual. When he finished, the automatic lights of the prison had gone on. He put the memo on the lieutenant’s desk and rushed out. “Gonna get some chow, boss,” he said.

“Best hurry, lad. It’s nearly time for the mess hall to close.”

The last tier—Buck Rowan’s tier—had long since entered the mess hall, and men were straggling back across the yard to the East cellhouse from the exit door. The North cellhouse doors were locked, though they would open after the meal for night school and other activities. He circled in that direction, looking for Ron—but Ron wasn’t there. At the far end of the yard, in the overhang of the canteen roof, stood several figures silhouetted against the canteen lights. The night yard crew, among them Paul and Vito. Earl moved quickly in that direction, unable to run because it was against the rules and the rifleman would blast his whistle. Paul and Vito were both leaning on broom handles.

“Where’s Superhonky?” Earl asked.

“Him and Baby Boy went in. They’re both drunk,” Paul said.

“I was gonna try and fuck him while he was out,” Vito said, “but the big motherfucker might wake up.”

“Shit!” Earl said. “I needed him to stand around and look mean. I gotta drive on some fool.”

“Who is it?” Vito asked.

“Some lop fuckin’ with Ron.”

“Ron just went in the East block,” Paul said.

“I told him—” Earl began; then wheeled and nearly ran toward the square of yellow light filling the open door. Vito and Paul threw down their brooms and hurried after.

The vast cellhouse hummed with the accumulated voices of trapped men. The tiers were packed with inmates waiting for lockup, and around the door were men jammed waiting for night unlocks to begin. Earl pushed through, turned around the corner and put an arm up beside his face as he passed the sergeant’s office. The rifleman was on the other side of the cellhouse. The crowd was much thinner on the bottom because the space was much larger, going all the way to the cellhouse wall.

Earl immediately saw Ron and Buck facing each other halfway down the tier. He increased his pace. Paul and Vito were twenty feet behind him, moving more slowly and trying to appear
unconcerned
. Earl was both proud of Ron’s courage and angry at his
foolishness
. I’ll let him handle it as long as he can, Earl thought when he was ten feet away, but that thought was instantly erased when Buck saw him over Ron’s shoulder and said. “Here’s your daddy,” he sneered. “Or maybe he’s a sissy, too. Or a rat.”

Nobody had ever been so disrespectful. Earl’s mind reeled with the burst of fury. He leaped past Ron and swung—but his rage made him start the punch from too far away, with too much warning. Buck evaded the blow and Earl’s momentum sent him crashing into the big man. He instantly saw that Buck was too big and too strong, clumsy but quick, his hands swinging like a bear swatting bees. Earl was slammed back as they went around. Buck drove him back under the tier, into the cell bars with such force that Earl’s wind was knocked out. He couldn’t get leverage to punch. Buck’s hands went around him, grabbed the cell bars and tried to crush him. The big man’s cheek was next to Earl’s face. He grabbed the head, sunk his teeth into the top of Buck’s right ear and bit it off, the blood running instantly.

Surprised, Paul and Vito were seconds late—for Ron had pulled the knife from his waistband and come forward with the quick steps of a matador. Without hesitation, he struck with all his strength, burying fourteen inches of steel in the wide back. “Die, you
motherfucker
!”

The big man collapsed instantly, falling straight down like a dynamited building. The spinal cord was severed. He nearly pulled Earl down on top of him until Vito’s brogan thudded into his face. Then he screamed, a terrible, bellowing sound that cut through the cellhouse hum and brought a sudden hush as hundreds of eyes looked for signs of another murder.

“Cut his throat,” Vito said, “so he can’t snitch.” And he reached for the knife when Ron hesitated.

A police whistle shrilled alarm.

“Split!” Paul said. “The gun bull’s coming.”

The whistle came again. The guard was rushing down the catwalk, levering a cartridge into the rifle’s firing chamber. He couldn’t see under the bottom tier. Earl shoved Ron and they started running toward the rear of the building, keeping under the tier so only their feet were visible. Paul and Vito were behind them. The cellhouse bulls would come from the front. When they reached the back stairs, Earl and Ron went up, disappearing before the rifleman could come around on the catwalk. Paul and Vito stayed on the bottom, circling the cellblock. The whistle still bleated, but it was falling behind.

Ron still had the shiv. Convicts on the tier fell back from them, giving them passage.

“Throw it,” Earl said.

Ron reached through a cell’s bars and dropped the weapon. Someone would get rid of it. They pushed along the third tier, heading toward the front stairs.

“They’ll lock that door in a minute,” Earl said. “We’ve gotta get out of here before that.”

No guards were in front. They’d rushed toward the scene of the stabbing. Ron and Earl leaped down the steel stairs three at a bound, and in seconds were through the rotunda and in the dark yard. A hundred yards ahead of them Paul and Vito were already turning into the mess hall where the night yard crew was allowed to drink coffee. To the right, convicts were streaming out of the North
cellhouse
on evening unlocks.

“Go to education,” Earl said. “We might be okay. It was under the tier and not many saw it. Maybe we won’t get snitched on.”

“I never thought I could do that—and it was easy. It just went in.”

Earl draped an arm around Ron’s shoulder. “If an asshole ever got his issue, it was that one.”

Ron nodded, suddenly unable to speak, beginning to feel the squeezing fingers of fear in his stomach. If the act had been easy, the possible repercussions were not.

When they neared the gate, Earl patted him on the back and stopped. “Keep going. The colonel will see us together if we go much farther.”

While Ron hurried on, turning through the lighted door into the school building, Earl loitered under the gate. Then he saw Captain Midnight and the third watch sergeant hurrying toward him down the road, en route to the East cellhouse stabbing. Earl sauntered toward them, passed with a nod to the sergeant, ignoring the
lieutenant
. He went into the yard office, glad to be hidden by darkness, for he was trembling from nervous tension. The colonel sat in the shadows. “Another stabbing in the East block,” he said.

“Who was it?”

“Don’t have his name yet. But it’s a good one.”

“Is he dead?”

“He was on a gurney when I got the call … so he’s still alive.”

Earl grunted, not wanting to appear too interested. He sat in his own chair, looking out at the prison night, wondering if they would get by. Five minutes later a cadaverous-faced doctor hurried across the plaza from the front gate, going to the hospital. He was a legend among convicts, especially with knife wounds. He’d saved men stabbed in the heart.

Earl stood up, too tense to sit still. He wanted to go somewhere, see Ron.

“Better hang around,” the colonel said. “There’ll probably be some reports to type when the lieutenant gets back.”

“That won’t be for half an hour. I’m going to the cell for some cigarettes. Call over there if you need me.”

“Just so we know where you are,” the colonel said.

“I can’t go too far,” Earl said, stepping out into the night.

As Earl neared the doorway of the education building, he met an older convict coming the other way. Red Malone was a friend, though they seldom saw each other. Red worked outside the walls in the employees’ snack bar as a night cook and lived in the elite West cellhouse. Red stopped as Earl approached, obviously wanting to talk, and although Earl’s mind raced on other things, he stopped and grinned. Then, as Red stuck out his hand, Earl remembered that the man was going home—after a dozen calendars behind the walls.

“When is it, Red?”

“
Mañana
.”

“Good luck, brother.”

“I’m scared shitless. I’ve gotta make it. I can’t stand another jolt. My teeth are gone and my hair is going.”

“You’ll be okay. Just keep your shit together.”

“We’re getting old.”

“We’re younger than springtime, sucker.” He slapped Red
affectionately
on the back and clenched his hand.

When Red was gone, Earl stuck his head through the doorway to education. Half a dozen clerks were behind their desks around the room. Three teachers were picking up their roll call sheets. Ron was in the glass-enclosed office of the supervisor of education, sitting on the edge of the desk talking to Jan the Actress. Mr. Harrell was also there—and Earl wondered if the man ever went home. It was best not to go in. They might provide Ron with a partial alibi if they thought he’d been there five minutes earlier than he was. He wanted to tell Ron not to say a word if he was picked up—not even a lie. He decided Ron probably knew that; silence cannot be impeached, whereas a lie can sometimes be refuted.

Earl continued to the yard. The mess-hall doors were locked and he didn’t know if Vito and Paul were inside. The years of prison told Earl that it was likely he’d be picked up for the assault. Someone would fink privately, though it was most unlikely that he would testify. It was a good idea to get ready for the hole. He headed toward the North cellhouse, ducking through the door just before the guard locked it after the night unlocks had finished.