Eureka Man: A Novel (28 page)

“We they spokesman!” Dubois Phil said. He
said it with force.

“Is that a fact? Well, now we're getting
somewhere. You two come with me.” He raised the bullhorn. “All
right, that's it! It's over! You men return to your cells
immediately and prepare for lunch! Your representatives are coming
with me, and we'll see what we can do for you!”

Only part of that was true.

LATER THAT DAY, long after Dubois Phil and Cold Duck
were seen shackled and handcuffed and on their way to the redbrick
Home Block, the workers back to work, the dust blowing in the yard,
two blood brothers known as the Lynch twins, serving as spotters,
turned their backs for a split second at the same time Victor
LeJeune lost his grip on the two hundred and fifty-pound barbell he
was attempting to bench press. Without support, the weight fell
full force onto Victor's neck as he tried to scramble from under
the bar. Startled by the metallic clang of the weights hitting the
cement floor, followed by Victor's limp body, the others stood
around drop-lipped and as helpless as weeds leaning in a field. The
Lynch twins leaned over Victor's body and stared through eyes raked
with wonder. Victor's windbreaking broke the profound silence and
caused two body builders to talk to each other and to themselves.
In the midst of someone calling out “Phew! Goddamn! What
happened?”, they heard Biggie Lynch's “What the fuck did you do,
Victor?”, but not the “Help me, somebody, I can't move!” that
Victor whispered. Then somebody remembered to go and get help. They
found the guard outside smoking a cigarette. By the time the nurses
arrived, stabilized Victor's neck in a brace, and directed the two
orderlies to lift him onto the stretcher, Biggie and Richard Lynch
were standing near the exit doors whispering one to the other,
“Let's get the fuck out of here!

On his way to the ambulance Victor cried out
for his mother, “Ma! Ma!” Or so it was said. In any case, he had
already begun to show signs of complete helplessness. On the way to
the Allegheny General Hospital, one of the EMTs held his hand, but
Victor didn't know it. When the second EMT pinched his calf and
said do you feel that, Victor looked dumbfounded. Three hours later
the doctor told him his neck was broken in two places and the
prognosis was grim.

Lying in the trauma ward of the prison
hospital a week later, which was a screened corner of a larger
ward, and grieving over his condition, Victor remembered the
admonition of the weightlifter working out next to him not to go
too heavy and recalled that sudden warnings were always foreboding.
He remembered something else, too, and try as he might to ignore
it, he knew that when the Lynch twins had let go of their
respective ends of the barbell and he was completely in control of
the two hundred and fifty pounds on the bar, he had seen the two of
them simultaneously turn their backs. When he mentioned what he
thought and what he'd seen to Early Greer and another orderly who
had come to give him a sponge bath, they both sympathized with him.
Early said, “It's truly a shame what happened to you, Vic. Twins
are a strange phenomenon. I read a great deal about how they behave
when I was in college. Did you know that twins like the Lynches can
have telepathic powers?”

“Yeah,” said the other orderly. “These guys
are always finishing each other's sentences. Just last week I heard
Biggie tell a man, You think I'm playing with you niggah-and no
sooner did he say niggah than Richard said try me.”

“That's just what I'm talking about,” said
Early. “Hell, one of them probably got distracted by something or
someone and the other one sensed it and turned around to look
too.”

Early uncovered Victor's legs and began to
wipe around the calf.

“Pinch me!” Victor cried. “Pinch my leg till
I can feel it!”

Early felt nothing but genuine pity for
Victor and said, “Can you feel that?”

“Harder! Pinch me harder, Mr. Early!” Victor
was crying. Early pinched the meat of Victor's calf until his skin
turned blue. “How 'bout now?”

“No! Nothing, man!”

The other orderly shook his head while he
rinsed the sponge out in the basin of warm water.

Early stared into Victor's eyes as solemnly
as a preacher delivering a eulogy. “They're transferring you to
Farview next week, Vic. You'll be better off there. That hospital
has state-of-the-art physical therapy equipment and highly trained
therapists. You're going to get the best rehabilitation program you
could hope for on all of God's green earth.”

OLIVER WAS DRINKING
coffee and reading a
research report on short-term memory when Champ knocked and then
pulled open Oliver's cell door. “What's up, Champ? You're just in
time for coffee.”

“Nah. I just drank two quarts of water. Guess
who leaves tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I know. It's about time. I guess it's
true what they say about misfortune.”

“What do they say?”

“One man's misfortune is another man's gain.”
Oliver smiled.

“I don't get it. What the fuck are you
saying?” Champ asked, chewing on a toothpick fashioned from a
Popsicle stick.

“Well, we were about to pay you five hundred
to do what the Lynch twins did for nothing.”

“Whoa, wait a minute. Dig this, Oliver. That
man's transfer was already in motion long before he had that little
accident.”

“Some are saying that wasn't an accident.
What do you think?”

“Don't matter what I think. You still got to
pay. My man wants his money and I want mines.”

“Okay. I got it up in my office. I'll bring
it to you tomorrow.”

“Hold on. I don't want it in cash.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I need her to do something for me,
Oliver.”

“Like what?”

“Pick up a package.”

“What kind of package.”

“Eighty tiny balloons no bigger than a half
ounce of weed.”

“Come on, Champ. She's not going to want to
bring drugs inside-”

Champ cut him off. “What about that good-ass
weed she brought you? She didn't mind bringing that in. Two or
three times that I know of. Probably more than that.”

“Yeah, but reefer's one thing, dope's another
story. Where would she get dope from? She wouldn't have a clue
where to look for that stuff.”

“Up in the Hill District. There's a little
restaurant called Lena's right off of Wylie at the top of the Hill.
I got the directions and everything right here. All she has to do
is call and ask for Chicken Wing. When he comes to the phone tell
her to say she's calling for Champ.”

“Holy shit. I don't know, man.”

“Listen, Oliver. She goes up there in broad
daylight, pulls in the alley, knocks on the back door of the joint,
gives him the five hundred and he'll give her the dope. That's all
there is to it.”

“Champ, you realize what I'm asking her to
do?” Oliver said it urgently.

“Yeah. And I know she'll do any motherfuckin'
thing you ask her to do.”

Oliver lit a cigarette. His lower jaw jutted
like a bullfrog's, rotated as if he was chewing gristle. “I don't
know, man. I just don't know.”

Champ blinked at him. “You wouldn't go
'gainst me, would you, Oliver?”

“You know better than that, Champ.”

“All right then,” Champ said meekly. Too
meekly, Oliver thought. A moment of silence, and Champ added, “I
got to go now. Get that done for me, Oliver.”

Handshakes were cursory. Champ's fingers were
long and icy cold.

The next morning Oliver was surprised by how
well he had slept. The meeting with Champ the previous night had
left him confused and when he went to bed, he laid there wondering
if he'd been duped once or twice. He wondered if Champ had hired
the Lynch twins to let that barbell drop on Victor's neck. It was
quite possible he had, Oliver thought. Though the Lynches weren't
members of Champ's crew, Oliver knew Champ had done business with
them before. And everyone knew the Lynches would have gladly
carried out the deed for a mere couple bags of dope. As badly as he
wanted Victor gone, Oliver would have never agreed to getting rid
of him this way, not just because B.J. didn't believe in violence
of any kind, but he wouldn't have wanted this on his own
conscience. Then there was the matter of payment. He would have
never agreed to any deal that called for B.J. driving into the
ghetto to exchange cash money for balloons of heroin. When Champ
had named his price for getting rid of Victor, Oliver never thought
for a split second he needed to specify the method of payment. It
was implied. Champ had duped him twice.

Such nagging thoughts, he believed, would
keep him awake most of the night, but in the morning, he awoke as
if from the soundest sleep.

“HE'S GONE!”

B.J. Dallet dropped her tote bag on Oliver's
desk and pulled him to her. She kissed and touched him
aggressively, running her hands up and down his hard, perfect body
as he fought with her clothes.

“Damn, I missed this!” he said into her
mouth. “You're so beautiful.” A barrage of her scents wafted to
him.

“I've been going crazy without you,” B.J.
said.

He tore off a button and bent hooks. He
gathered her breasts into his hands. She wanted it hard and raw and
without limits. She controlled him. She dominated. He helped
himself to her until they were exhausted and slippery with
sweat.

After she pulled her panties on and tucked
her silk blouse into her skirt, she said, “So was that Champ happy
when you gave him his money, love?”

“That's what I have to talk to you about, BJ.
He wouldn't take the money. Said he never told me when we first
made the deal that he wanted to be paid in cash.”

Her head snapped back as if struck. “What
kind of payment, then?”

“Some drugs. A small package of tiny
balloons.”

She gasped then sighed long and hard as if
she had feared something worse. “Thank God it's not what I was
thinking,” she said.

“What were you thinking?”

“Sex. Isn't that what every man in prison
wants? A woman to have sex with?”

“Not every man. Champ has two pretty boys he
calls women.”

She closed her eyes and sighed again before
saying, “What have I gotten myself into, Oliver?” She paused,
turned to him with her arms folded across her body, her fingernails
raking her ribs. “I know I'm taking a great risk, I know that
clearly. I'm willing to do it if that's all there is to it. I bring
in these tiny balloons this one and only time and the slate with
Champ is clean?”

“That's all there is to it. Here's the money
you left for him, and here's the directions to the place. It's a
little restaurant up in the Hill District called Lena's. He said
you should go there on a weekday morning. Pull into the alley
beside the place and knock on the back door. You have to call ahead
of time and ask for Chicken Wing. His family owns the place. Tell
him you're calling for Champ and that you have the money. That's
all you have to say.”

“Should I be afraid?”

“Not if you have to ask.”

“I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

“Who is he, this Chicken Wing?”

“He was here. He went home last summer. He's
a drug dealer. He's a straight up fellow. All about business.”

She stood up, untangling herself gracefully
and, making no attempt to disguise her pride, said, “I'll do this
once and that's it.”

Oliver's voice was soft, a little sad, and he
gazed out the window as he spoke. “Can we change the subject for a
minute?”

“What is it, Oliver?”

He was looking around when their eyes
touched. “Three lifers were just denied a hearing by the pardons
board. All three of them have served over fifteen years. I don't
stand a chance, B.J.”

She touched her throat. “Oliver, don't get
discouraged. This governor may only last one term. If history holds
true, a Democrat will replace him whether he gets another term or
not. When that happens the new governor will appoint his own people
on the pardons board. Isn't that the way it works?”

“Yeah, but I just don't see them ever getting
five members to ever agree unanimously. I really don't.”

“We'll just have to wait and see, Oliver.
Meanwhile you've got plenty of work to keep you busy. How are you
coming along in Dr. Garris's class?”

“Fine. We're analyzing theories of learning
right now.”

They were both silent for a few moments and
then B.J. said, “You were a juvenile, Oliver. They're going to let
you out eventually. It's only a matter of time. You'll go up there
and stand humbly before that board one day, we'll get up and speak
about all your accomplishments and your bright future. Of course,
you'll need to tell them what happened, why you did what you
did.”

He knew this was her way of asking him for
the hundredth time why he had taken Jimmy Six's life. He decided
right then to tell her. He went to the window and looked out. “It
was either defend myself or be attacked again, B.J. He was a beast,
that boy I killed. A big brutal monster. I'd never met a boy so
mean and vicious in all my life. He got me first. He got me real
good.” Oliver paused for several seconds and when he went on, his
countenance waxed with regret. “He broke my body, B.J. I couldn't
let him break my spirit. I couldn't take a chance that he would
attack me again. I didn't mean to kill him, I really didn't.” He
exhaled loudly, relieved that he had finally told the woman he
loved what had happened.

“That's very sad, Oliver. I'm deeply sorry.”
She turned, blinked at him several times and then smiled outright.
“I know you're not a killer. I knew the moment I met you. I knew it
had to be something like this. Thank you for telling me.”

It took a long time before he fell asleep
that night. She was right. It was sad. Walking through it all again
for the first time in so many years, a wave of grief soaked through
him so thoroughly he wanted to cry. What stopped him, what restored
his dignity, was the hope and assurance she had given him when she
told him she knew from day one he was no killer.