An excerpt from the novel Hero Apomixis.
Eddie Burke counted down the days, on two hands, until
the 10th of next month when he’d be getting off of long
term keep-lock. Eddie was finishing up 6 months for his second
dirty urine – this one had tested positive for opioids
(he hadn’t studied). Eddie was anxious to get out. Hero
had ended up on the same gallery with him at the end of
his keep-lock. Moe had written a kite and boomeranged it from Southport (Correctional Facility) to his old lady who
then mailed it to Hero. Hero then delivered it, via Jughead,
to Wire to Wire McGuire over in C-block. Even though it
wouldn’t change anything, especially the facts, Hero thought
Eddie might step to him for fucking up his little program,
the piece of shit. This was only true if Eddie was entirely
ignorant of the simple fact that it was he who had fucked
up his own program 5 years ago and checked in on a dope debt
back in Riverview when he’d never intended
on paying in the first place. Protective Custody was one
of gravest of sins among stand-up guys – especially
stand-up white guys – and that’s exactly what shithead Ed
had done; he’d put it right on the dotted line which also
meant that he’d had to give someone up as the threat. Standup
guys didn’t snitch, go to P.C., punk-out, mess with homos
or cross color lines. And that was just the basics. Everyone
had their own interpretation that they argued and politicked
as situations arose – which they did quite often – and it
sounded like something intelligent was going on but it was
actually a barely workable system that more often than not ended
with someone getting their head kicked in whether
they deserved it or not; the rest of the time it ended in
some plausible satiating violence or lots of ridiculous
sanctions. It was, in a word, retarded.
Eddie’s latest great sin wasn’t that he’d checked in 5 years
ago – that that made him no good went without saying – it
was that here in Attica he’d been hanging out like he was
alright. Case closed. But guys knew that
although NY might have over 77,000 prisoners it was
really a very small system when it came to guys with bad
wires on them .
Eddie had always struck Hero as an evil junkie-lowlife
dope fiend version of Satch from The Bowery Boys. He would’ve got himself a job in Louie’s Soda Shop and worked with a big shit-eating-grin (his trademark) on his ugly face
until he couldn’t steal enough cases of cherry fountain
syrup to support his greedy-ass paregoric habit and then
he’d clean out the register and leave without locking up.
“Fuck dat old Jew bastid’!” he would say when confronted
later by Mahoney and the boys. He was a real tough guy
taking advantage of poor old nervous Louie, a regular Jew’s
Jew from Eastern Europe (the old country) who would probably
work until he dropped dead (which, of course, made him fair
game for a fink like Eddie).
“Fuck dat old Jew-fuck! Fuuuck H”imm!”
Poor Louie, “Robbt blindt by dis, dis, dis goniff who
ate da izcream like a kid mit-out da tonshulz! Oy gevalt!.
I vhant you should keep him avay, Mahoney, pleeze. Oy. And,
and da whole time da shop is open?! Oy, I gotta sit – airr
– I need airr – someone open da doorr, pleeze.”
“Here Mugsy get Louie a .02¢ plain in a big glass, .. there ya’
are Louie. Where was you anyway?” Mahoney asked, genuinely
fond of the old yid, as he handed the glass of seltzer to
him and watched him take sips in between gasps for air.
“Easy there, Louie, don’t get’cha apron strings all in
a knot now, we’ll help ya’ out, won’t we fella’s?”
“Sure, Mahoney.” – “Yeah, Louie’s our friend.” -”Yeah,
Louie, we ain’t forgot all ‘a da nice ‘tings ya’ done fer us .. “
“You boyz, ‘tank you,” said Louie and his old tired eyes
smiled just a little bit as they welled up. “Listen, I
vas at da Yiddish theater on 2nd Avenue, you know – the
one mit Fiddler On The Roof, yes? Mahoney, such a good show,
you should all see it …”
“But, Louie, I don’t speak Yiddish!”
“Never mind, it’s still beautiful, but .. oyesmere’ .. “ and
Louie went on muttering in Yiddish to himself as he got
up and pattered about his soda shop wiping everything
he passed with a damp, dingy counter rag in an effort to
eliminate Eddie’s germ.
Hero ate his hardboiled egg on soggy buttered “toast”
and then washed it down with cold coffee. The other egg
he saved for later along with the two milks and the juice
as well. Hero heard Eddie before he saw him back in
B-block when he’d just been let out of keep-lock and they’d
moved him upstairs to 18 company which was still keep-locked.
He knew the voice and only waited until he’d seen the creep’s
face before flying that kite down to Moe in Southport. Once
he got Moe’s response outlining what Eddie had done it was
show time. Moe said real good things about how Hero had looked out for him from the street for over 2 years – that wasn’t
too ordinary anymore – but it was right. When you were doing
well on the outside you were supposed to remember your friends
on the inside. Once it reached Paddy McGuire, hands down
the original Wire to Wire and an expert in creeping out
white guys, the wheels would begin to turn. He was very
real, Paddy was. He would’ve run his own brother off the
court if he had to. Plenty of guys were walking the yard
in more than one jail because of his diligent screening
process. Hero didn’t know the guy to talk to him, they were
in separate blocks, although Moe’s letter was his introduction.
The word around Attica was that Eddie had been spreading the
love over in C-block and that was an indication that there
could possibly be some politics involved in getting him run.
Fortunately, McGuire didn’t do drugs and didn’t like anyone
who did. There were some exceptions but none of them applied
to Eddie. Too many headaches. That, and most dope fiends
were weak about the shit and then weak about everything
else, creating their own problems that Paddy wasn’t about
to let himself be dragged into.
Hero was watching the calendar, too, but at worst he figured
he might have to fight Eddie when he saw him unless he’d
grown some real cojones and wanted to call Hero out. Then
they would agree to meet down in the Chapel bathroom or
some other equally small out of the way place. Hero felt
inclined to rip Eddie’s face so that he’d look like an open
can of tuna fish when he was finished with him. Then there
was the chance that Eddie might come strapped, too. All
this and Hero’s “crew” who weren’t too bad – they were all
bad. More than half of who were nothing but young, thrill kill
robbery gone wrong shitbags with 25 years and better
in front of them who loved nothing so much as to see other
guys get into it just to find out if they would “go out”
or if they had been, “frontin’” all along, “I knew it! I told
you I never liked that guy from that first day over on the
weight court, didn’t I, Jug?! Fuckin’ pussy!”
Young dudes with 40 to Life tended to think and behave
very strangely and the younger they were the less apt they
were to listen to anyone. Hero had developed a theory that
the worst of them wanted everyone to have the same time
as they themselves had, as if it would somehow level the
playing field, but their self-pity, and overwhelming desire
to punish everyone for their fuck-up, would invariably dig
blind mole holes all around them making it impossible to
take even one step towards any other position.
Hero knew what to do about Eddie and really didn’t care
either way just so long as he didn’t get hurt.
The unknown variables of the equation were multiplied by
politics and drugs. That and a few of Hero’s letters hadn’t
made it to Moe, probably flagged for being too explicit
even though they were from his wife, Janice. If the brass at Southport had put even just a little effort into snooping around in
the records they would have had it all figured out in about
ten minutes. All three of them, Hero, Moe, and Eddie, were
together at Riverview 5 years earlier and one of them had
checked in. That would have been enough for these Keystone
Kops; they’d notify Attica and then Attica would create
a situation by putting Hero and Eddie together in the same
cell block, ostensibly to bring it all to a quick boil.
From their point of view it made perfectly good sense, they
didn’t care what the inmates did to one another and didn’t
like to ignore potential problems that would almost always
explode later when they weren’t looking. And besides –
this way was a lot more entertaining. It was common knowledge
that the cops in Clinton and Comstock had been letting prisoners
into the same keep-lock rec cages – together – who’d been
locked up for attacking each other in the first place. Shanks,
razors, can tops, whatever. And then the pigs would bet
on their favorite gladiator. If only one of them had a weapon
it made it that much more exciting.
Hero was praying that Eddie would just do everyone a favor
and check in again. Confronted with the letter, and the
guy’s name who sent it, Hero bet he would. He wasn’t there
when Eddie joined the Polo Club so in a worst case scenario
he guessed that a piece of shit like Eddie might attempt
a political campaign of slick propaganda – aimed at you
know who – that might get far enough to end up with Hero
creeped out and Eddie on the fringes. It was all very
complicated how grown men – alleged tough guys, murderers
and gangsters – could gossip and politic so fucking much.
It was beyond belief sometimes. Simply put, Hero told himself
that he might have to hurt Eddie and that was something
very one sided. Something meditated on and once answered
no longer examined. Done. Over. The taxing part of the game
was in trying to guess what role Eddie would play in the
various acts of the tragedy about to unfold. It gave Hero
a backache to go with the headache he still had from the
night before. Earlier, in the shower, he’d tried to stand
on one leg to put on his sweat pants and couldn’t do it.
Instead, he fell over against the wall. All his life he’d
gotten dressed like that and now this. Hero anticipated
the NYSDOCS argument would be that there was nothing wrong
with him, a head cold, maybe. When he’d fallen over in the
shower he felt like crying but was too tired and thought
he didn’t need the tears to do it. Stressed out in misery.
Someone laughed a creepy, mean spirited laugh .. Mary Queen
of Scotts leaned forward to palm a hot kite to someone,
slumped back on her throne, and prayed.
C. A. Seller
Illustration: Dan Reece
.