Prison Noir by Joyce Carol Oates

Author:Joyce Carol Oates
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Akashic Books
Published: 2014-07-17T16:00:00+00:00

RAT’S ASS

BY KENNETH R. BRYDON

San Quentin State Prison (San Quentin, California)

"They can’t write me up, my parole hearing’s next month.”

Rick and I headed down concrete stairs. We were on our way to San Quentin’s lower yard.

“Yeah, Jason, that’s fucked up.”

I felt like shit on what was otherwise a sunny Saturday morning. An ancient craggy wall towered on our left. Assorted old pipes hung there serving no purpose. An earthy smell came from the various mosses and small shrubs hanging off the wall. They’d been growing for decades longer than my arrival ten years ago.

We walked in a wide-open path. “I gotta do something!” It felt like the walls were closing in on me. The both of us wore shorts and tank tops; mesh bags slung over our shoulders held water bottles and towels. Rick had talked me into working out. “I am completely fucked.”

Our steps brought us down the first flight onto the flat middle walkway. On the right side stood a shiny chain-link fence; through it, our reflections showed on the end windows of the huge new hospital. Rick flexed his pecs while I spit at my image and watched the white blob catch on the thick wire. In another eight steps, we started down the second set of stairs.

Rick asked, his voice jittery, “How’d they bust you?”

My head rewound the visit. The rookie prison guard had stuck his face up close to the mesh over the door bars. This son of a bitch looked around the cell before his eyes landed on me. I’d held my breath, waiting for his next move. The staring contest was brief, and he then turned and left. I’d cut loose a loud gasping moan.

“The cop smelled it,” I said to Rick, recalling how he suddenly reappeared. His chin pressed against the mesh to get a good whiff of the lingering odor of fermentation. “Augh, shit,” I’d mumbled as he pulled the door open and ordered me to step out.

Rick and I turned at the bottom of the stairs, making our way out onto the yard. On his arm were crude tattoos mixed with others showing a degree of artistic talent. I’d done some of the best work he had, covering up some of the shitty stuff from the Youth Authority. Rick stood five ten just like me, and his workouts had put almost as much solid meat on his chest and arms as mine had. We were both blue-eyed and had short, slicked-back blond hair. Rick put a lot into that skin color, but I thought it more of a problem in doing business.

“How much he bust you with?”

The memory was kicking me in the ass. It kept going to where they ripped up my place and carried the containers away. When you’re busted, they toss your cell so bad it’ll take hours to put it back together. My jaw flexed; I’d paid a lot to the kitchen worker for fruit and sugar.

Rick glanced over at me a couple of times. I could see he was waiting for an answer.

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