about for a subject, Seth asks if Nile's encountered any trouble in here.
'Don't seem like. Had him in seg when he come in yesterday, but he asked for general population. Now, if he was over there in Department 2? I call that the Gladiator Wing, y'know, all these cats, nineteen years old, always rumblin and scuffiin. But he's all right here. Seems like he's okay with them BSDs. They won't let nobody kick his ass, take his food.'
'BSDs?'
'Black Saints Disciples, man. We get kind of familiar in here, you know?' Eddie, freely given to hilarity, laughs once more at his own remark, then rolls his toothpick around his fingertips before going on. 'You know, P O, coppers, shit, guards - you can be okay with these birds if they know where you comin from. When I started out, I worked on stateside, down in Rudyard? Lot of those officers, they just got a thing with the inmates. Their women come see 'em, guard like to come up, pinch her butt, smile like he got new teeth, and her man sittin on the other side of the glass can't do shit. Now you get you a shank in the back that way. Me? Take no shit, give no shit, man, that's my motto. I got myself in here, I'd be okay, same as Nile. Some them BSDs or GOs - Gangster Outlaws? - they'd cover me. Them gangs pretty much run the show in here anyway. You hear what I'm sayin?'
Seth shakes his head once. He doesn't want to say a thing to slow Eddie down. Seth's decided that the guard was right to start. A column about Eddie and the jail might be a terrific piece.
'Here,' says Eddie, lifting onto a chair one leg, decorated along the seam with a line of brown piping. He leans over confidentially now that he has found his subject. 'First thing they teach you, first day of training: Institution can only be run with the co-operation of the inmates. These days, we got a problem in here, we find whoever's ranking with the Saints, the Outlaws, we get it straightened out. See? What we want is a peaceful place. You hear? Nobody gettin cut in the shower, no gangbangers making war in the yard, no kind of three inmates waitin to cut off some guard's nuts, like they done down at Rudyard. That's what we want.'
'And what do they want?' A man who asks questions for a living, Seth knows from the way Eddie's perpetual verbal momentum suddenly loiters they have reached the good part.
'Them?' Eddie laughs again, more subdued. 'Now you ain't gonna write this, right?'
Seth lifts both hands to show he has no paper, no pen - as if it is the furthest thought from his mind. Eddie reverses the chair and takes a seat, his long arms crossed over the back. He has a moon face and a fine smile, in spite of a single missing incisor. His hairline, buzzed short, cuts a scalloped frontier across the back half of his head.
'What these gangsters want is not to have nobody all over them gettin their shit in here.'
'Shit?'
'Contraband, let's say. Don't you look at me like that. I'm not sayin anything ain't the truth. Everybody round here will tell you that. See, these gangbangers need that shit. Man, these kids in here, jail, it's like graduation for some of them: this is where the big boys go. Hey, you think I'm kiddin you? I'm not kiddin.' Eddie looks back toward Hobie, as if he has some hopes he might be nearby and able to agree. But Hobie and Nile are still engaged. Hobie's briefcase, a smooth pouch of umber-colored Italian leather, is on the table, and Hobie, as usual, is doing the talking. Beside them, each has a small paper cup of coffee, breathing steam. Eddie goes on.
'So when they on the outside, half these young men already thinkin, What-all this damn gang gonna do for me when I get in there? Gotta be anybody dis you, beat you down, man, gotta be all your gangbanger brothers down for you, kickin ass and shit. Gotta be. Now half these young men, more than half, they in here for narcotics and quite a number come in strung
'Don't seem like. Had him in seg when he come in yesterday, but he asked for general population. Now, if he was over there in Department 2? I call that the Gladiator Wing, y'know, all these cats, nineteen years old, always rumblin and scuffiin. But he's all right here. Seems like he's okay with them BSDs. They won't let nobody kick his ass, take his food.'
'BSDs?'
'Black Saints Disciples, man. We get kind of familiar in here, you know?' Eddie, freely given to hilarity, laughs once more at his own remark, then rolls his toothpick around his fingertips before going on. 'You know, P O, coppers, shit, guards - you can be okay with these birds if they know where you comin from. When I started out, I worked on stateside, down in Rudyard? Lot of those officers, they just got a thing with the inmates. Their women come see 'em, guard like to come up, pinch her butt, smile like he got new teeth, and her man sittin on the other side of the glass can't do shit. Now you get you a shank in the back that way. Me? Take no shit, give no shit, man, that's my motto. I got myself in here, I'd be okay, same as Nile. Some them BSDs or GOs - Gangster Outlaws? - they'd cover me. Them gangs pretty much run the show in here anyway. You hear what I'm sayin?'
Seth shakes his head once. He doesn't want to say a thing to slow Eddie down. Seth's decided that the guard was right to start. A column about Eddie and the jail might be a terrific piece.
'Here,' says Eddie, lifting onto a chair one leg, decorated along the seam with a line of brown piping. He leans over confidentially now that he has found his subject. 'First thing they teach you, first day of training: Institution can only be run with the co-operation of the inmates. These days, we got a problem in here, we find whoever's ranking with the Saints, the Outlaws, we get it straightened out. See? What we want is a peaceful place. You hear? Nobody gettin cut in the shower, no gangbangers making war in the yard, no kind of three inmates waitin to cut off some guard's nuts, like they done down at Rudyard. That's what we want.'
'And what do they want?' A man who asks questions for a living, Seth knows from the way Eddie's perpetual verbal momentum suddenly loiters they have reached the good part.
'Them?' Eddie laughs again, more subdued. 'Now you ain't gonna write this, right?'
Seth lifts both hands to show he has no paper, no pen - as if it is the furthest thought from his mind. Eddie reverses the chair and takes a seat, his long arms crossed over the back. He has a moon face and a fine smile, in spite of a single missing incisor. His hairline, buzzed short, cuts a scalloped frontier across the back half of his head.
'What these gangsters want is not to have nobody all over them gettin their shit in here.'
'Shit?'
'Contraband, let's say. Don't you look at me like that. I'm not sayin anything ain't the truth. Everybody round here will tell you that. See, these gangbangers need that shit. Man, these kids in here, jail, it's like graduation for some of them: this is where the big boys go. Hey, you think I'm kiddin you? I'm not kiddin.' Eddie looks back toward Hobie, as if he has some hopes he might be nearby and able to agree. But Hobie and Nile are still engaged. Hobie's briefcase, a smooth pouch of umber-colored Italian leather, is on the table, and Hobie, as usual, is doing the talking. Beside them, each has a small paper cup of coffee, breathing steam. Eddie goes on.
'So when they on the outside, half these young men already thinkin, What-all this damn gang gonna do for me when I get in there? Gotta be anybody dis you, beat you down, man, gotta be all your gangbanger brothers down for you, kickin ass and shit. Gotta be. Now half these young men, more than half, they in here for narcotics and quite a number come in strung
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