Keeplock: A Novel of Crime (29 page)

It was ten o’clock when Eddie dismissed us. Avi followed me back to my room, but he didn’t step inside without asking permission. This was my space and he couldn’t disrespect it without insulting me. I don’t think he would have bothered with the formalities if he’d come to visit John or Tony.

“You have perhaps a moment?” he asked.

“There’s gonna be a lotta moments. tonight. I’m not expecting to sleep.” I nodded him into a chair and closed the door behind him. “What’s up, Avi?”

He crossed his legs and took a second to think about it. “This job, you are liking it?”

I shrugged. “Whatta you mean by ‘like’?”

“It seem to you good? Acceptable?” He was struggling to find the right words.

“You asking me if I think we can pull it off?”

“Yes.”

“I think we already talked about this.”

“Still, please, tell me your feelings at present time.”

“What can I say, Avi? It’s as good as a job can get, but that doesn’t mean it’s guaranteed. You want a guarantee in life, check out a casket.”

He shook his head. “I am sorry to be disagreeing with you, but job could be better. Problem is Tony Morasso. This man is crazy. There is no knowing what crazy man will do. I am thinking about time in Israeli army. We are doing patrols into Syria. Sweeps to find terrorists before they cross border into Israel. If I am given such man as Tony Morasso in my squad, I would refuse orders. Missions are dangerous and I must know how all others will act in dangerous situation.”

“So what do you wanna do, Avi? Resign your commission? Eddie’s made up his mind and that’s that.”

“I want to go right now and kill him.”

“Who? Eddie?”

“Please to stop busting balls.” Avi managed a grin. It had all the warmth of skull in a bag of maggots. “I am saying to go this minute and kill Tony Morasso.”

“Just like that?”

He looked at me strangely, as if an invitation to murder carried no more weight than a stroll to the supermarket. I wondered how many he’d killed in his life. Ten? Twenty? A hundred? Avi had told me about the treachery of politicians and superior officers, but he’d never told me exactly what he’d done to capture the attention of those who’d rather not know.

“This is what must be done. Why is to argue? World does not need Tony Morasso.”

“Avi, this is bullshit. If you kill Tony, Eddie’s just gonna call the job off. You’re a military man, right? Then you should know that you waited too long. Parker dumped the computer yesterday We’d have to start all over again.”

“This is true. If
I
kill Tony, Eddie will not go ahead. But if
we
kill Tony, he will think differently.”

It was disgusting, really. I thought of Ginny. A single bad experience had convinced her that she understood what it meant to be “outside the law,” but she had no idea what it was really like. What it was like, for instance, to solve your personnel problems with a bullet.

“Enough, Avi. You’re disrespecting me here.”

“How so?”

“You’re disrespecting me because it’s my job to control Tony and you’re saying I can’t do it.”

“I did not know this.” He looked surprised, then contrite. “You must be careful with this man. You cannot know in advance what he will do.”

“Well, I’ll try to stay behind him. If it’s any consolation, by the way, I think Eddie knows he made a mistake. He’s just too stubborn to admit it. Or do anything about it.”

“This is Eddie’s problem. He is stubborn. Like army officer. He cannot be wrong.”

“Yeah? Maybe we should kill Eddie? Eddie, Annie, and Morasso. Forget the cop. You, me, and Parker could do the job ourselves. Make for a nice split.”

He thought about it for a minute, then shook his head. “You are joking with me.”

“Am I?” I took the 9mm and put it on the table. “We could take care of them, force Parker to hold up his end, then take care of him, too. Probably end up with half a million each.”

I lit a cigarette while he thought about it. Wondering what I’d say if he accepted.

“I
am
joking with you, Avi. You gotta forgive me. What I really need is some sleep. How ’bout we do the lines the way they’re written? Morasso’ll hold up his end. I guarantee it.”

He looked relieved. “Yes, this must be the way. Morasso would be easy to kill, but I think Eddie will be prepared.”

“Right. He’ll probably have Annie come all over us.”

Avi left a few minutes later. I watched him go down the hall, noting that every door was shut and the lights were off downstairs. It was almost eleven, but I wasn’t close to sleep. What I’d told Avi was true enough. I needed rest, but that didn’t mean I’d get it.

I dutifully pulled the bureau across the door, then began to work out. I didn’t want to think about Ginny, about Condon and Rico, about Eddie’s reaction when he figured out who set him up. I didn’t want to think about how ugly it was or that there were no good guys and no honorable course of action for anyone.

One more day. That’s what I thought about. One more day and I’d be out of this jam. I’d move in with Ginny, into a world where “shit happens” means the car won’t start on a rainy morning. Or somebody left the coffeemaker on. Or the nine o’clock showing of this week’s hot movie is sold out.

I worked myself as close to exhaustion as I was likely to get, then lay down on the bed. I dozed off around one o’clock, but couldn’t even get deep enough to dream. The job kept running through my mind. I tried to imagine the look on Eddie’s face when the cops made their move. Sometimes the shock froze him as stiff as a block of ice. Sometimes his face contorted with rage and he grabbed for the pistol under his jacket. As I saw it, my one and only job was to prevent him from carrying out the latter course of action. If the cops opened fire, we’d both go down.

The problem was simple enough, but I couldn’t see any clear solution. If I jumped on Eddie’s back or pinned his arms or knocked him down or made any sudden move of any kind, the cops were liable to misunderstand my motives and put two or three thousand shotgun pellets in my chest. That’s
if
they even bothered to analyze the situation. Condon and Rico could be hoping for a slaughter. They could be looking for any excuse to start shooting. God knows, I’d given them enough reason to hate my guts.

I might have drifted in this paranoia until breakfast if I hadn’t suddenly experienced a more basic urge. I dragged the bureau away from the door and made my way to the bathroom, the 9mm tucked safely behind my belt. As I came close, the door opened and Annie appeared wearing a blue terry robe. She gave a little squeal of surprise, then grinned happily.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” I asked.

Her hand went to the robe’s belt. “It could be you if you weren’t so uptight.”

I started to say, “Don’t bother,” but she pulled the robe open before I got the words out. “Annie,” I said (after taking a good look), “I don’t need this. It’s all very nice. Nice pussy. Nice tits. But I don’t want another man’s woman. Even if I have his permission.”

She slowly retied the robe. “You’re all so fuckin’ high and mighty. You go to jail and fuck boys in the ass. Or if ya too good fa that, you pull your fuckin’ dick. How many years? Six? Eight? Ten? You want us to sit at home like we’re nuns or some shit. That’s why there’s nobody waitin’ when ya come out. That’s why all your fuckin’ wives file for divorce. We’re human, too. We got urges, just like men. Eddie wasn’t stupid. He tole me, ‘I love ya, Annie, and you love me. Do what you gotta do and I won’t hold it against you.’”

“How could he hold it against you when most likely someone’s already holding it against you?”

She tried to slap me. Her hand shot out, her weight behind it, but I managed to pull back far enough to let the shot pass in front of me.

“Bastard,” she shouted.

My hand went down to my waist. I wasn’t about to shoot Annie, but her voice was still echoing in the hallway. I pulled her into the bathroom and closed the door.

“Take it easy, Annie. I’m sorry. What I said before was wrong.”

“You know what it is? Ya look so pretty. Ya look like a fuckin’ altar boy, but inside you don’t give a shit about anybody. Two days after you showed up, I tole Eddie, ‘Let’s get ridda him. He’s no fuckin’ good.’ Eddie says, ‘I known him for a long time. He’s a scumbag, but he’ll do the job. Besides, I’ll make sure to keep an eye on him.’ Some fuckin’ eye. Next thing I know, you’re comin’ and goin’ like the Queen of fuckin’ England. A guy who talks as good as you is liable to be talkin’ to anyone.”

It was hard for me to work up the expected degree of righteous indignation. I’d already betrayed every one of them. So, instead of proclaiming my loyalty, I slid my arm beneath the robe and pulled her in close to me.

“Look, Annie, it’s not that I don’t want to fuck you.” I gave her ass a little squeeze and she pressed against my hip. “You’re a good-looking woman. I see you in the hallway and I start thinking how I’m crazy not to take advantage. But me and Ginny have something going. I never asked her to wait for me—never expected that she would—but here she is and, stupid or not, I gotta respect it. You and Eddie have your own arrangement. That’s great. Only the thing is, we don’t wanna fuck up the job. We’re real close to a big payoff and everybody’s tense. One spark and there’s no job and most likely somebody’s dead. Right now, all I wanna do is take a leak and go back to my room, so—”

“Could I hold it?”

“For Christ sake, Annie …”

“Awright, awright.” She stepped back and rearranged the robe. “I gotta go downstairs anyway. If I keep Eddie waitin’ too long, he’ll probly jerk off before I get there.”

I
N MY SECOND YEAR
at Cortlandt, I got adopted by a young inmate named Zebediah Peters. Most of the prisoners at Cortlandt hail from the Rotten Apple, but Zebediah came from Colden, New York, a small town near the Canadian border. Being inexperienced, he made a big mistake by accepting a pack of cigarettes from an inmate named Burt White. All three of us, Zeb, Burt, and myself, were working in the tailor shop at the time.

Zebediah Peters didn’t have much money, but he was young and handsome, a perfect target for an aggressive homosexual like Burt White. Burt started in about Zeb returning the pack of cigarettes, the
same
cigarettes Zeb had been given and which he’d already smoked. Zeb offered to replace the cigarettes with another pack, but, of course, that wasn’t good enough.

For some reason, boredom, perhaps, I stepped in. I took out a pack of cigarettes and handed it to Burt and said, “You’re even.”

Burt didn’t argue. Most likely, he figured I was already putting it to young Zebediah. Zeb, on the other hand, attached himself to me like a puppy at the end of a leash. He told me he was the son of a Pentecostal preacher and he believed in justice. Burt White had retreated, but that wasn’t good enough. He had to pay a price.

I tried to chill Zeb out by explaining that the only way to punish Burt White was to kill him. Anything less would open Zeb up to the threat of retaliation. Retaliation which might or might not come directly from Burt White.

“Okay,” he responded, “then I’ll kill him.”

Cortlandt is an enormous place. There are thirteen major cell blocks and more than two thousand prisoners. You often go for weeks without meeting a specific individual. If you have a network of allies, you can usually arrange an ambush. If you’re Zebediah Peters, on the other hand, you have to hold a grudge for a long time before you find an opportunity to act on it.

It took Peters six months to get it together and he confided in me every step of the way. The first thing he did was settle on the tailor shop as the place. Then he went out to look for a weapon. Not just any weapon, because the tailor shop had a metal detector at the entrance. Of course, we all had scissors, but they were so small they couldn’t be used as killing weapons. Zeb would have to stab Burt fifty times and the hacks never took their eyes off us.

Zeb found a con who worked in a maintenance shop where they cut Plexiglas sheets to replace cracked Plexiglas around the Institution. The procedure for turning plastic into a killing weapon is simple enough. All it requires is patience. The con in the maintenance shop waited until the C.O. in charge was busy elsewhere, then snatched a small piece of Plexiglas off the scrap pile and stashed it. The next day, after alerting Zeb, he tossed it out the window. Zeb retrieved it when he came out on the yard and took it to another con, a gardener, who had access to a grinder which was used to sharpen sickles and hedge shears. The convict-gardener put a handle on one end of the Plexiglas and a six-inch, razor-sharp blade on the other. Total cost for both operations: three cartons of Salems.

Just before the big day, Burt White got himself caught with a shank in the yard. The C.O.’s gave him the obligatory beating and tossed him in the box. Zeb took the opportunity to smuggle the Plexiglas shank into the tailor shop. Now it was just a matter of waiting.

I remember trying to call Zeb off. “It’s one thing,” I said, “to whack someone out in a private place. Even if the C.O.’s get your name from a snitch, the most they can do is kick your ass and throw you in the box. There are no private places in the tailor shop. You gotta kill him right in front of the hacks. You’re already doing twelve to life. Is the satisfaction of killing Burt White for something everybody’s already forgotten worth an extra twenty-five years in the Institution?”

I might as well have been talking to the moon. Zeb began every workday by searching for Burt White’s face. There were six of us who knew what was going to happen and we shared the tension among us. A man was going to die. It wasn’t going to be a sudden, unexpected explosion. We wouldn’t see a flurry of activity in the yard, then hear the details later on. The drama was going to be acted out before our eyes.

Despite our professed indifference to violence and death, the tension grew sharper and sharper as the days passed. By the time Burt White made his appearance, it had come to dominate our lives. I was sure that Burt would notice the sidelong looks we gave him or smell the crackle of anticipation, but Burt was still in a daze from his three weeks in the box. He’d been beaten pretty badly and seemed twenty pounds thinner. When Zeb came up behind him, Burt didn’t bother to look around. When the shank slammed between his ribs, his eyes widened, but the rest of his face remained calm. His fingers continued to work the sewing machine and the fabric he was stitching for a moment, then he fell gently forward.