was a heist man. You don’t get called that if you
just stuck up a bunch of 7-Elevens, or even if you broke into places. You had
to be doing big jobs, like banks. The way Tim wanted.
J.C. had so much
respect in there that the blacks left him alone, even though he wasn’t
with any of the gangs. That’s really hard, to do time by yourself, no
matter how much you might want to. Even the guards treated him good.
I
never thought a man like him would ever talk to me.
O ne day, a guard came around to my cell. He told me I
was being discharged into population. I went with him into the main part of the
prison.
They gave me a cell. I could see right away it wasn’t
a good one. Too close to where they have to rack the bars to let you off the
block, so it would be noisy all the time. But at least I was the only one in
it.
The first thing I did when I got to go out into the yard was to
look around for guys I’d been with in the kiddie camps. We all knew
we’d go to prison someday, and some of us made promises, to stick
together and everything, when we met up again. But I didn’t see any of
the guys I knew from before.
Except for one—Toby. When I first
spotted him, he was walking with the boss of one of the white power gangs. I
watched until he went off by himself. I figured Toby could talk me up with the
gang; get me in, too.
But when I came up to him on the yard, Toby
wouldn’t talk to me. He acted like he didn’t know me at all. His
eyes had colored stuff on the lids, like a girl’s. And when he walked
away, I could see someone had cut the back pockets off his jeans.
Where
we were before, Toby had never been anybody’s kid. I could see the state
prison was different. That made me nervous, but I knew I could never show that
to anyone.
T hat was the same day I met J.C. I was standing by
myself, watching Toby walk away, wondering what I was going to do. I
didn’t know that much about prison, but I knew I couldn’t make it
in there all by myself.
J.C. just walked up to me, and asked me how
I got there.
You’re not supposed to do that, I know. Not when
you’re in a real prison, for grownups. But J.C. was bigger than the
rules. I had to answer him. His voice was like the stuff they put in air
conditioners. That stuff is so cold you can’t touch it or you’ll
get burned. J.C. had a couple of guys with him. Older guys. Their eyes
didn’t have anything in them at all.
“I was the
driver,” I told him.
“Yeah, I know that,” J.C. said.
I wondered how he could know, but I didn’t say anything.
I guess
a couple of minutes went by before J.C. realized I wasn’t going to say
anything else, not unless he asked me to.
“How come you
didn’t get in the wind when you first heard the shots inside the
bank?” he asked me.
“Tim and Virgil were still
there,” I said.
“You heard the sirens, right? You knew the
cops were rolling?”
“They were still inside,” I told
him.
He looked at one of the guys with him. I’d seen that look
before.
“That was solid,” J.C. said. “That’s
the first thing a real getaway man has to have. Balls. No nerves, and balls of
steel. Am I right?”
One of the other guys said he was. I
didn’t think he was asking me.
A few nights later, I went off
the block. I knew I couldn’t just stay in my cell all the time, or people
would get ideas about me.
I didn’t know when the test would
come, but I wanted it to be where there would be guards close by.
I
went over to the rec room, to watch the TV. There were plenty of empty
chairs.
In just a minute, a black guy came over and sat down next to
me. He was my height, but much wider. He had huge muscles all over him, like
armor. He was smiling, friendly. His teeth were very white. I didn’t look
in his eyes. He smelled clean and bitter, like laundry soap.
This was
the test. I knew what would come next. If I talked to him, he’d see if my
voice was under control. If I
just stuck up a bunch of 7-Elevens, or even if you broke into places. You had
to be doing big jobs, like banks. The way Tim wanted.
J.C. had so much
respect in there that the blacks left him alone, even though he wasn’t
with any of the gangs. That’s really hard, to do time by yourself, no
matter how much you might want to. Even the guards treated him good.
I
never thought a man like him would ever talk to me.
O ne day, a guard came around to my cell. He told me I
was being discharged into population. I went with him into the main part of the
prison.
They gave me a cell. I could see right away it wasn’t
a good one. Too close to where they have to rack the bars to let you off the
block, so it would be noisy all the time. But at least I was the only one in
it.
The first thing I did when I got to go out into the yard was to
look around for guys I’d been with in the kiddie camps. We all knew
we’d go to prison someday, and some of us made promises, to stick
together and everything, when we met up again. But I didn’t see any of
the guys I knew from before.
Except for one—Toby. When I first
spotted him, he was walking with the boss of one of the white power gangs. I
watched until he went off by himself. I figured Toby could talk me up with the
gang; get me in, too.
But when I came up to him on the yard, Toby
wouldn’t talk to me. He acted like he didn’t know me at all. His
eyes had colored stuff on the lids, like a girl’s. And when he walked
away, I could see someone had cut the back pockets off his jeans.
Where
we were before, Toby had never been anybody’s kid. I could see the state
prison was different. That made me nervous, but I knew I could never show that
to anyone.
T hat was the same day I met J.C. I was standing by
myself, watching Toby walk away, wondering what I was going to do. I
didn’t know that much about prison, but I knew I couldn’t make it
in there all by myself.
J.C. just walked up to me, and asked me how
I got there.
You’re not supposed to do that, I know. Not when
you’re in a real prison, for grownups. But J.C. was bigger than the
rules. I had to answer him. His voice was like the stuff they put in air
conditioners. That stuff is so cold you can’t touch it or you’ll
get burned. J.C. had a couple of guys with him. Older guys. Their eyes
didn’t have anything in them at all.
“I was the
driver,” I told him.
“Yeah, I know that,” J.C. said.
I wondered how he could know, but I didn’t say anything.
I guess
a couple of minutes went by before J.C. realized I wasn’t going to say
anything else, not unless he asked me to.
“How come you
didn’t get in the wind when you first heard the shots inside the
bank?” he asked me.
“Tim and Virgil were still
there,” I said.
“You heard the sirens, right? You knew the
cops were rolling?”
“They were still inside,” I told
him.
He looked at one of the guys with him. I’d seen that look
before.
“That was solid,” J.C. said. “That’s
the first thing a real getaway man has to have. Balls. No nerves, and balls of
steel. Am I right?”
One of the other guys said he was. I
didn’t think he was asking me.
A few nights later, I went off
the block. I knew I couldn’t just stay in my cell all the time, or people
would get ideas about me.
I didn’t know when the test would
come, but I wanted it to be where there would be guards close by.
I
went over to the rec room, to watch the TV. There were plenty of empty
chairs.
In just a minute, a black guy came over and sat down next to
me. He was my height, but much wider. He had huge muscles all over him, like
armor. He was smiling, friendly. His teeth were very white. I didn’t look
in his eyes. He smelled clean and bitter, like laundry soap.
This was
the test. I knew what would come next. If I talked to him, he’d see if my
voice was under control. If I
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