of his teeth with a paper clip. “Regulations say you should be housed in protective custody. For your own safety, which I’m sure you can appreciate.”
“I don’t want that. I’ve been taking care of myself for years without any problems. In tougher places than this.”
“I know you don’t. But we’ve got our own interests to watch out for. You wind up with a knife stuck in your back we’re up shit’s creek.” The lieutenant paused for a moment. “No one in population knows why you’re in here. Not even most of the guards, just a handful in administration.”
“They won’t be knowing from me.”
The lieutenant kicked back. “This trial you’re testifying in, it’s moving slower than the proverbial glacier. They should’ve delayed transferring you down here, but the orders had already been cut. You could be with us a couple, three weeks.”
“Time’s time. Here or Durban, it’s still time.”
“That’s a fact.”
Dwayne put his hands on the lieutenant’s desk. “I’m here to do the state a favor,” he said bluntly. “And since I’m doing the state a favor, I think the state should treat me nice.”
The lieutenant looked at Dwayne. “Like how?”
“You’ve got an infirmary here. I want to work in it.”
“So you can get your hands on drugs? Forget it.”
“I don’t do drugs. It’s the best work in the place, and I’ve been working infirmary duty at Durban.”
The lieutenant was skeptical. “I don’t know …”
Dwayne leaned in toward the man. “This is no skin off my ass, you hear what I’m saying? You treat me good, I do the same. Otherwise I’ll call the district attorney up tomorrow, tell him I’ve changed my mind about testifying, they can ship me back upstate.” He leaned back. “I’m not going to make you look bad. But I want my stay down here to be as comfortable as possible—it’s a small perk but it means a lot to me.”
The lieutenant thought about it for a moment. “All right. But if you fuck up, you’ll do the rest of your stay in isolation.”
“I hear you.”
The lieutenant looked at his watch. “We’ll house you in a protective cell tonight and transfer you into the general population tomorrow.” He stood—the interview was over. “So’s we understand each other.”
“We understand each other.”
They gave him the customary delousing shower. His prison garments were put away for when he would be taken back to Durban. Regulation jail clothes were issued—green T-shirt, green sweatpants, boxer shorts, sweat socks. He was allowed to keep his own shoes, Nike cross-trainers he’d bought in the Durban commissary.
He collected his mattress, bedroll, and toiletries, and was escorted by one of the guards into the bowels of the jail.
W YATT AND MOIRA PICKED Michaela up on the way home.
“Oh, that’s terrible,” she commented when they told her what had happened earlier in the evening. “Poor old Mrs. Sprague. Do the police know who did it?”
Moira stared at her daughter, wanting to make a statement. “Ted Sprague said they were young black males who looked like gang members to him. Those were his exact words,” she said pointedly, as if daring Wyatt to contradict her.
He wasn’t in the mood to get into a fight. Later on, when everyone’s passions had cooled, they would talk about it rationally.
“I thought the Spragues were in Europe,” Michaela said from the backseat.
“Yes, they were,” her mother confirmed.
“Then how come they didn’t have their alarm on?” Michaela queried. “Don’t you remember last year, when Mrs. Sprague set it off by accident at three in the morning? It woke us all up, remember? We were all running outside in our nightgowns and everything, wondering what was happening, and then the police came, and Mrs. Sprague had to make them coffee and apologize, and the people from her security company came, too, and everybody was so pissed off at her. Don’t you remember, Mom?”
“Yes, I remember,”
“I don’t want that. I’ve been taking care of myself for years without any problems. In tougher places than this.”
“I know you don’t. But we’ve got our own interests to watch out for. You wind up with a knife stuck in your back we’re up shit’s creek.” The lieutenant paused for a moment. “No one in population knows why you’re in here. Not even most of the guards, just a handful in administration.”
“They won’t be knowing from me.”
The lieutenant kicked back. “This trial you’re testifying in, it’s moving slower than the proverbial glacier. They should’ve delayed transferring you down here, but the orders had already been cut. You could be with us a couple, three weeks.”
“Time’s time. Here or Durban, it’s still time.”
“That’s a fact.”
Dwayne put his hands on the lieutenant’s desk. “I’m here to do the state a favor,” he said bluntly. “And since I’m doing the state a favor, I think the state should treat me nice.”
The lieutenant looked at Dwayne. “Like how?”
“You’ve got an infirmary here. I want to work in it.”
“So you can get your hands on drugs? Forget it.”
“I don’t do drugs. It’s the best work in the place, and I’ve been working infirmary duty at Durban.”
The lieutenant was skeptical. “I don’t know …”
Dwayne leaned in toward the man. “This is no skin off my ass, you hear what I’m saying? You treat me good, I do the same. Otherwise I’ll call the district attorney up tomorrow, tell him I’ve changed my mind about testifying, they can ship me back upstate.” He leaned back. “I’m not going to make you look bad. But I want my stay down here to be as comfortable as possible—it’s a small perk but it means a lot to me.”
The lieutenant thought about it for a moment. “All right. But if you fuck up, you’ll do the rest of your stay in isolation.”
“I hear you.”
The lieutenant looked at his watch. “We’ll house you in a protective cell tonight and transfer you into the general population tomorrow.” He stood—the interview was over. “So’s we understand each other.”
“We understand each other.”
They gave him the customary delousing shower. His prison garments were put away for when he would be taken back to Durban. Regulation jail clothes were issued—green T-shirt, green sweatpants, boxer shorts, sweat socks. He was allowed to keep his own shoes, Nike cross-trainers he’d bought in the Durban commissary.
He collected his mattress, bedroll, and toiletries, and was escorted by one of the guards into the bowels of the jail.
W YATT AND MOIRA PICKED Michaela up on the way home.
“Oh, that’s terrible,” she commented when they told her what had happened earlier in the evening. “Poor old Mrs. Sprague. Do the police know who did it?”
Moira stared at her daughter, wanting to make a statement. “Ted Sprague said they were young black males who looked like gang members to him. Those were his exact words,” she said pointedly, as if daring Wyatt to contradict her.
He wasn’t in the mood to get into a fight. Later on, when everyone’s passions had cooled, they would talk about it rationally.
“I thought the Spragues were in Europe,” Michaela said from the backseat.
“Yes, they were,” her mother confirmed.
“Then how come they didn’t have their alarm on?” Michaela queried. “Don’t you remember last year, when Mrs. Sprague set it off by accident at three in the morning? It woke us all up, remember? We were all running outside in our nightgowns and everything, wondering what was happening, and then the police came, and Mrs. Sprague had to make them coffee and apologize, and the people from her security company came, too, and everybody was so pissed off at her. Don’t you remember, Mom?”
“Yes, I remember,”
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