“Percy Campbell,” Cliff tells me, “was manning the door outside the locker room last night. He’s the one who found the body.”
Cliff is wearing a Brooklyn Dodgers baseball jacket and I slide a small package into his pocket, a down payment (and all the payment he’s likely to get) on my promise. “Now remember,” I tell him, “the only way to keep a secret is not to tell anybody. Anybody.”
Coach Poole begins Tuesday’s practice with a moment of silence in Spooky’s honor, then declares that because we played so poorly on Sunday, every starting position is up for grabs. “It’s preseason all over again. It’s training camp. You wanna play, you gotta make the team.”
I’m not particularly worried because I know that if the Tigers blow the championship, Coach Poole will have to answer to Warden Brook, and the Tigers can’t win without me. Nevertheless, because I’m a team leader and I don’t want Coach to lose face, I practice hard. By the time we begin our regular scrimmage two hours later, my knees are aching. Both knees, so I don’t know which one to limp on first.
“You ready?” I ask Road as I take the ball out of bounds a few minutes later.
“Yeah. Past ready.”
I toss the ball in, nod to Tiny, then set a pick at the top of the key. Tiny goes by, dribbles to the baseline, then passes back to me. As I receive the ball, Road, posted in the opposite corner, takes off for the hoop. I fake left, then put everything I lave into a pass that misses Road’s outstretched fingertips by a good six inches before slamming into the side of Freddie Morrow’s traitorous head.
We catch a break here. Freddie’s ear is torn halfway off and the doc ships him to the infirmary for an overnight stay. That evening, I pay him a visit, but I don’t tell him how sorry I am for my errant pass. Instead, I sit at the foot of his bed, take his hand in mine, and say, “Who’d you blab to, ya little fuck?”
“Bubba, I…”
I’m an ugly man. I have a jaw like the prow of a ship, a pronounced underbite, a small flat nose with perfectly round nostrils, tiny eyes overhung by a slab of a brow. For most of my life, I’ve been extremely self-conscious about my appearance. It’s only recently, since coming to Menands, that I’ve made a more positive adjustment. Everything in life, I now understand, has its uses. You just have to look on the bright side.
The bright side here is that I don’t have to lay a finger on little Freddie. All I have to do is stare at him.
“You snitched us out, Freddie. You ratted on us. I just wanna hear it from your lips.”
“Bubba, I…”
“We’re not gonna kill you, Freddie. We’re not even gonna hurt you any more than you’ve already been hurt. That’s because you’re gonna help us get our product back.” I pull him toward me, until we’re nose-to-nose. “Take the first step,” I tell him, my voice steady, my tone encouraging. “The first step is always the hardest. You take the first step, the rest is easy.”
“Bubba…”
“No, don’t start with Bubba. You’ve done that three times and it hasn’t gotten us anywhere. Start with somebody else’s name, like the name of the screw you told about the coke.” I give his hand a playful squeeze. “You confess, maybe we can dream up a way to protect you.”
I can hear the little switches in Freddie’s mind as they click into position. With Spooky dead, he’s now the weak link on two chains.
“You know what I think, Freddie? I think it was pure accident. I mean, we didn’t run the scam until near the end of the fourth quarter and the screw had to be in and out before the end of the game. Most likely, when he snuck into the locker room, he figured Spooky was already back on the court. ‘Turn around,’ is what I would’ve said in his place. ‘Face the wall. I’m gonna search you.’ Then out comes the knife and it’s judgment day for Spooky Jones.”
“Bubba…”
“Start with the name, Freddie. You’re gonna feel so much better when you tell me the name.”
“Percy Campbell,” he finally blurts.
Freddie may feel better, but he looks terrible. He’s gasping for breath and he’s bright red from his forehead to his throat. When I let go of him, he falls back onto the pillow and brings his hand to his chest. Freddie’s twenty-two years old, a computer nerd who created a virus that shut down six of the biggest Web sites on the Net.
“How long have you been Campbell’s snitch?”
“Since I got here. He grabbed me the first week and took me to his office. You know about the office?”
I shake my head. Campbell is a middle-aged muscle brain who’s been walking a tier for three decades. A veteran of the worst prisons New York State has to offer, he generally manages to restrain himself at Menands. Still, his personal violence surrounds him, a sour stink detectable by an experienced con at a distance of a hundred yards.
“That’s what Campbell calls it: my office. It’s behind the main furnace, a coal room. You know, from the time when they heated with coal. It’s not used for anything now, and when you’re inside, the furnace is so loud nobody can hear you even if there’s someone around. Which most of the time there isn’t.” He pauses long enough to wipe his nose, then jumps back in. “Campbell told me things… things he’d do to me if I didn’t… I was scared, Bubba. I was never in trouble before I came here. For all I knew, Campbell could do anything he wanted to and get away with it. I didn’t know where to turn.”
Now that I see a way to get my coke back and exact a little revenge for Spooky at the same time, I can’t even fake being mad. I stretch, yawn, take a breath. “I’m gonna need you, Freddie, so I want you to stay alive for a few days. Don’t be alone, no matter what. Stay in a group and Campbell won’t be able to get to you. Remember, it’s only for a couple of days.”
“What about tonight?”
“I’ll talk to the trusty on the floor, see that he watches your back.” I get up, take a step, then turn back to Freddie. I’m smiling now, a genuine smile. “Was I right?” I ask.
“Right?”
“Do you feel better? Now that it’s out in the open.”
“Yeah,” he tells me, “I do.”
Coach Poole makes an announcement after Wednesday’s practice. The league’s championship game will be made up on the following night with no civilians present. This is good news for me because there won’t be a practice on game day and I’ll have enough time to get to the coal room unseen. Unlike Attica with its many checkpoints, Menands runs mostly on the honor system. The fence and the razor wire surrounding the prison are there to reassure the community, not to prevent an escape. The population is controlled by a very simple and very potent threat: you fuck up, you get sent to some horrible place where your survival (not to mention your sexuality) is anything but assured. Most prisoners at Menands aren’t willing to risk their privileged status.
Later that night, Tiny and Road press me, but I don’t reveal much. I tell them to be patient and to stay clear of Freddie Morrow. I tell them I hope to recover the product soon and that I don’t need their help. They don’t care for the underlying message, but they seem to accept it. Nevertheless, within a few days, should I fail to deliver, I know they’ll begin to suspect a double cross.