Bauer, Shane - American Prison by Bauer Shane

Author:Bauer, Shane [Bauer, Shane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2018-09-18T00:00:00+00:00

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After lunch, the radio dispatch tells us to make callouts. “All units and all areas, it’s time to make a call for your one thirty callouts, the Jaycee callouts, and the gym chapel. Also make a callout for your basketball teams. New York and Indiana. All units, do you copy?”

“New York and Indiana basketball!” I shout from the end of a tier. “One thirty! Jaycees!” I pop the door, let a few people out, and go to the next tier. Bacle does the same. The unit comes to life. A din of chatter, laughter, and cussing fills the space. “Excuse me, excuse me,” an inmate says to Bacle. “I’ma need your social today.”

“No,” Bacle says.

“I’ma need to write it down today.”

“I said no! You’re not getting it! Period!” Bacle shouts. “You ask me again, I’m gonna do paperwork.”

“I-I-I got a lawsuit in progress though!”

“I don’t care. You’re not getting my social number. Period! There ain’t but one damn Bacle here and that’s me.” The inmate laughs. I look at him from behind Bacle and snicker silently. No matter how many times he does this, Bacle never gets that he’s just trying to rattle him.

When I open A2, an inmate with a fleur-de-lis tattoo on his neck begins to walk out. I’m tired of the way this guy’s been staring at me lustfully as I walk the floor. When we let them out for chow, he and Tattoo Face sometimes stand at the back of the key together and watch me pass back and forth.

“Where you going?” I ask him.

“I’m going out on the yard,” he says.

“They didn’t call yard.”

“Come on, man. Everybody out there. I am going to basketball, man!”

“No, you’re not,” I say. “Get back.” He stays in the threshold and won’t let me close the door. His eyes look permanently stoned. “I’m gonna write you up if you don’t step back in right now.” I demand his ID.

“Man! I’m gonna buck out this bitch. Everybody out there.” It’s true that people are trickling out onto the yard, but they aren’t supposed to be.

He steps back inside the tier. I close the door. “Give me your ID.”

“Man, fuck you,” he says.

“All right,” I say. “You want to play like that? You got it.”

I walk away and let the rest out. Derik stands at the front of his tier, C2. I know he doesn’t play basketball, but I let him out without saying anything.

Minutes later, they radio for us to let inmates out to the yard. I open up A2 again and the inmate with the fleur-de-lis tattoo comes out, looking smug. “I’m still waiting for that ID,” I say.

“Man, I’m gonna bat you if you write me up for something!” He clenches his fists and draws back slightly. “I’ll bat you in your fucking mouth!” His lips are clenched. I wait for him to strike. I’m unsure whether I should put my fists up in defense. Will that make me appear afraid?

“You’re not smart talking like that,” I say, and walk away.

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