A Place to Stand by Jimmy Santiago Baca

Author:Jimmy Santiago Baca
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Grove Press
Published: 2001-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

I was back in CB2 again and on kitchen detail. In the days that followed I expected something to happen, if not from black gangs then from the black fag himself. But when Macaron and I sat down at our table, he said the guy had been transferred outside the walls. With respect came double servings on the chow line, guards let me stay out on the tier to porter, and when Chicanos came back from commissary runs they dropped off cigarettes and coffee at my cell. Though I secretly had mixed feelings about being rewarded for beating a man, that’s the way it had always been. I noticed when I came from the chow hall to the field, or when I was on the tier, young Chicanos stuck close by me. When I jogged around the field, they strolled in threes and fours, keeping an eye on me. I felt good to be part of them.

One morning as I grabbed up empty containers from the serving line and carried full ones from the cooking area in the back to the chow line up front, I saw Carey in line with his tray. He poured a glass of milk at the machines and sat with two Aryan skinheads. They eyed me with contempt as I came up and greeted Carey. We sat at another table. He was gaunt and cautious; his disarming farm-boy mannerisms and rustic features were hardened with concern.

“Galvan has a contract on Rick,” he stated.

I was expecting to talk about Lonnie or where he was working, but I could see he was seriously worried.

“Rick’s got to get out of the walls or he’s dead,” he went on. ‘The counselor in Yuma smuggled in Rick’s court transcripts on a client visit. Warn Rick, tell him to roll up and get out of the walls.” Carey rose and followed his Aryan brothers out. I never expected to see him join the Aryan clique, but prison makes us do strange things.

Carey had done me right. Even if he fell in love with Lonnie, he had never ripped me off, and I owed him for saving my life the night that narc stepped out to blow me away. If Carey hadn’t shot him, I’d be dead. Carey got fifty years for pulling the trigger.

The following day, on the field after playing handball, I asked Macaron if his homies clerking in the Wheelhouse could find where Rick was working. The next evening a kite came to my cell, informing me that Rick was in minimum security and attending school in the barracks. I flushed the note down the toilet. I knew the education cons ate lunch at eleven and the next day I hung around, instead of leaving as I usually did at nine. I finally saw him sitting by himself. I sat down and told him Carey said he had a price on his head. “Pack up and get out of the walls or you’re dead.”

I put the whole thing out of my mind; I didn’t want to see or talk to Rick ever again.

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