Skin Games (8 page)

“Oh, come on!” the middle-aged suit snapped.  “This is just a kid, here.  With no criminal record.”

“Your Honor, we have evidence that demonstrates this man has ties to organized crime.  He is clearly a flight risk.”

The judge looked down, then at me, then back down.  “Granted.  Bail is set at twenty-five thousand.” 

The judge smacked a gavel against the bench and immediately turned a page in the notebook in front of her.  The suits at each table, young and middle-aged, turned their pages, too.  Gambini pumped his fist and Owens shook his head, then they both turned and walked out of the courtroom.

A guard walked over to me and touched my shoulder.  “Let’s go, buddy.”  He reached around my back and snapped on handcuffs.

He pushed me ahead towards the door.  I kept my eyes looking straight ahead.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ski Cap Guy slap Broad Shoulder Guy’s thigh while smiling and pointing at me with his other hand.  Broad Shoulder Guy puckered his lips at me as I walked past.

“You got a bail bondsman?” the guard asked.

“No.”

“You wanna call one?”

“Okay.”

The guard took me into a small room where I called my mother.  She promised to try and raise my bail money.  We both knew that wasn’t going to be easy.

The guard said, “If you can’t post bail, then we have to send you to Rikers.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Well, you’ll have to work on it at Rikers.”

The guard led me down a new dark corridor, which let out into an alley behind the courthouse.  There was a van with its back doors open and two uniformed cops standing beside it.

“Go on,” the guard said, gesturing towards the van.

I walked towards the back of the van, and one of the other guards grabbed my arm while nodding to the first guard.  He pushed me up and into the back of the van.

Inside, there were four other men already seated and cuffed.  I took a seat and waited.

All was quiet.  No one looked at one another.  No one spoke to one another.  We just sat and waited as the cool night air rushed into the open van.

I tried not to look at the other men.  But when I snuck quick glances, I mostly saw blank stares laced with hints of fear.

I heard two voices approaching, cackling and laughing.  Two uniformed guards pushed Ski Cap Guy and Broad Shoulder Guy up into the van.  While the other men in the van looked pale and nervous, these two were laughing like it was just another day for them.  I suppose that’s exactly what it was.

Broad Shoulder Guy sat down next to me and said loudly, “O’Donnell!  What’s up, kid?”

I looked ahead, not saying a word.

“O’Donnell, don’t be dissin’ me, kid.”

“Yeah,” Ski Cap Guy said, “You do not want to be dissin’ my man.  Nobody disrespects my man.”

I looked over and said, “I’m not dissin’ anyone.  Okay?”

“Nah, man,” Broad Shoulder Guy said, “It’s not okay.”

I looked forward and stopped talking.  Broad Shoulder Guy looked sideways at me as I looked straight.  His breath hit my face.  The pace of his breath sped up, and he blew harder.

“You mine, O’Donnell.  You hear me?”

I didn’t say a word.

“I don’t like you, man.  You got a bad attitude.”

“Forget him, man,” Ski Cap Guy said.

Broad Shoulder Guy’s breath was hitting my cheek.  I turned slightly and it blew into my ear and sent the sides of my hair up into the air.

“Ah, fuck him,” Broad Shoulder Guy said with a laugh, then he turned to his buddy, and the two whooped it up while the rest of the van stayed quiet.

The doors shut behind us, and a guard smacked the back two times and said, “Ready.”

The van lurched forward and began to move.  We bounced around in the van for several minutes.  There were no windows in the back, and now that the doors were closed it quickly got stuffy and smelly.  Two guys across from me were speaking low in Spanish while Ski Cap Guy and Broad Shoulder Guy continued their party of two.

We came to a stop and the doors in back opened.  There were three guards standing outside.  One held a shotgun, resting on his shoulder and pointing towards the sky.

“Let’s go, fellas.  One at a time.  Step on down.”

We filed out the back of the van, slowly but systematically.

“One at a time.  Let’s go.”

In a single file, we walked down an alleyway and then up a small flight of concrete steps.  A guard held open a heavy door, and we walked through.  They led us into another processing cell and left us there handcuffed for an hour or so.  The two Spanish guys continued whispering to each other, and Ski Cap Guy and Broad Shoulder Guy just laughed it up.  The rest of us kept quiet and waited.

A guard opened the door and pointed at several of us.  “You, you and you, let’s go.”

The two Spanish guys walked out first, and I followed.  We were led into a room with small cubbies, each cubby about six by six.

“You,” the guard said as he pointed at me.  “This way.”  We walked into a cubby.  “Strip,” he said.

I took off my shoes, then my shirt, then my pants, then I looked up at him.

“All of it.”

I nodded and pulled off my holey white socks and then my underwear.

The guard took out a plastic bag and whipped it in the air to open it wide.  “In here,” he said.

I pulled my clothes into a heap and then picked up the heap and dropped it into the plastic bag.  He snapped it shut, then took a sharpie magic marker from his pocket and marked the bag.

“Okay.  Turn around,” he said.

 I looked at him, not sure exactly what he wanted me to do.

“Turn around and spread ‘em.”

I turned.

“Spread your cheeks.”

I reached back and spread my ass cheeks for him.

“Okay.  That’s good.”  The guard handed me an orange jumpsuit, a pair of underwear, socks and plain white sneakers.  “Put this on.”

I put the jumpsuit on.

He handed me a toothbrush, soap, and small tube of toothpaste.  “Hang on to those.  Don’t lose ‘em.”

“Yes, sir.”

The guard walked me to the end of the room and then handed me off to another guard.  The new guard didn’t gesture or say a word.  He just waited for me to start walking up the hallway, and then he followed behind.  The hallway ended at a door with thick glass.  It buzzed and then came open.

I walked through.

Once on the other side of the door, I heard noise.  A lot of it.  Undistinguishable and chaotic, just a mass of voices ringing out in the wide-open room filled with cells on each side as far as my eyes could see.

I heard a loud voice, well louder than the others, shout, “New blood!”

This turned the random shouts into purposeful taunts and catcalls.  “New blood!  New blood!”

I heard lips puckering and tongues spitting out.  Guys were shouting.  I knew not to look.  Avoid eye contact.  Keep head up and forward.  No signs of weakness.

I grew up in the Bronx.  Keeping up a firm exterior was second nature for me.  But inside, I was sure hoping my mother would find a way to post my bail, and soon.

The guard walked me up a flight of steps and down a long corridor.  Small cells ran along my right and to my left was a railing.  Each cell had two guys in it. 

The guard grabbed my shoulder and said, “Stop here.”  Then he called out, “Open seventy-two.”

The door to the cell opened, and I turned.  Inside there were two small cots.  Some guy was laid out on one of them, passed out.  I walked in and sat down on the other cot.

“Close it,” the guard called.

The door slammed shut, and I looked around my cell.  There was a toilet, with no lid, and a tiny sink.  I didn’t see any tissue or toilet paper.  My cot had folded sheets at the foot of it and a grungy-looking pillow at the head.  I got up and made my bed.

An awful snore was wailing out of my cellmate’s lungs as if they were clogged with tar.  I could smell his breath from the other side of the room.  I couldn’t see all of him, but I could see a gray-speckled five o’clock shadow and a wiry small frame.

He wasn’t intimating, so that was good.  The guys on the outside were one thing; this smelly old drunk I could take, if push came to shove.

The noise outside my cell started up again, and I heard the door to the outside open.  I stood up and looked out.  I saw Broad Shoulder Guy walking down the hallway.  He was smiling wide and nodding to guys as he passed their cells.

“What up, bro?” he said to one.  Then to another, “J Smoove, good to see you, man.”

Not far behind him was Ski Cap Guy.  He wasn’t wearing the ski cap anymore, but it was him.  Without the hat on his head, I could see a huge, black tattoo that covered the back of his neck as he passed by my cell.

“Yo, yo, O’Donnell,” he said.

Broad Shoulder Guy, from a few cells down said, “He’s here?  O’Donnell’s here?”

“Yep,” Ski Cap Guy confirmed.

“Okay, fellas,” said one of the guards.  “That’s enough fun for one night.  Lights out in five.”

I couldn’t see Broad Shoulder Guy, as he was now settled into his cell, but I heard him call out, “See you in the morning, O’Donnell.”

* *

The sharp springs of a shitty cot grinding into my back woke me long before morning.  The mattress was probably once three inches but had been flattened to an inch from use.  I guess I slept an hour, maybe two.  Between the flat mattress and my cellmate snoring most of the night, it was a miracle I got that much rest.  Not to mention the fact that Broad Shoulder Guy was gunning for me.  He had something to prove.  For a second, I thought maybe I should have given him money back in the bullpen when he asked for it, but I knew that would only have made things worse.

Never show weakness to a hyena.  Ever.  More importantly, this wasn’t about money.  This was about saving face.  This was about having the upper hand.  In my neighborhood, face was everything.  It was the thing you protected.  Face was reputation.  Face was how you showed yourself to the world, and how the world saw you.  I didn’t bend over and kiss Broad Shoulder Guy’s ass when he wanted me to.  Now he was gonna save face, and there was only one way to do that: it had to come at someone’s expense.  At my expense.  That’s just how hyenas protect themselves in the wild.

And hand, hand was about respect.  Having the upper hand meant you were someone.  In a world full of nobodies, we all just wanted to be somebody.  On the outside, Broad Shoulder Guy was unemployed.  He probably sold a little weed or maybe he was a stickup kid.  Who knew?  But in here, he was somebody.  He was a man to be respected and feared.

Broad Shoulder Guy didn’t want my money.  It wasn’t about that.  It was about power.  It was all about face, and hand.

The lights came up, and a guard called, “Let’s go.  On your feet.  Breakfast in ten.”

I washed with the tiny bar of soap and brushed my teeth.  Then I put my stuff in a small cubbyhole that was next to my bed.  My cellmate took a piss and didn’t wash his hands.

The doors to our cell came open, and a guard shouted, “Let’s go.  Breakfast.”

We walked single file down the corridor and down two flights of steps into the mess hall.  Ski Cap Guy was three men in front of me.  Broad Shoulder Guy was somewhere in back of me.  A few guys back in the line.  I could hear him calling.

“You’re my bitch, O’Donnell.”  He paused, I guess for dramatic effect, then said, “Mine.”

Ski Cap Guy turned and looked at me.  He smiled.  His top two front teeth were gold and he bit his lip with them.

“Eyes front,” a guard yelled, and Ski Cap Guy turned forward.

We filed slowly through the mess line.  I got a small plastic cup of juice and some oily oatmeal.  I was hungry, and I ate it fast once I sat down.

There wasn’t much talk at breakfast.  Everyone ate quietly and quickly other than a few guys that just seemed to love being here.  They were constantly smiling.  The rest of us just wanted to eat and be done with it.

After breakfast, we marched single file out of the mess hall and outside onto the yard.  Out in the cool open air.  I looked out at the East River to see Manhattan on the other side, cars moving by on the FDR Drive, people bustling in all directions.  I looked north, towards the Bronx.  I could almost see home.  Sort of.

Home wasn’t far, but it might as well have been another state, another country, another planet for that matter.

I felt wind behind me, then heard shuffling.  Before I could react, I felt a sting.  My vision blurred with spots and spirals and the buildings of the Bronx went foggy.

“Yeah, bitch,” I heard.  Then nothing but the hyena’s laughter. 

My neck hurt.  I took a shot to the gut.  Something hit the back of my leg.  I wobbled.  I tried to stay up and keep my composure.  Even though I didn’t know what was happening to me, I was sure that the hard ground of the flat recreational area was a bad place to be.

Unfortunately, gravity is a bitch.

On the ground I instantly covered up.  I’d been in fights before, but to tell you the truth, I’d never really had my ass kicked before.  I’d taken some punishment along the way.  No one wins every fight where I come from.  But for the most part, I’d avoided a true ass-kicking.

But that came to an end, out there in the chilly autumn air.  The light wind blowing off the East River sent specks of dust and debris into my eyes.   The same eyes that I was trying to protect from kicks coming from standard issue, spankin’ new white jailhouse sneakers.

Broad Shoulder Guy had something in his hand.  It wasn’t a baseball bat, but it was shaped like one.  Some kind of club.  I have no idea where it came from but he kept smacking it into my back and arms and hips.  Meanwhile, Ski Cap Guy was kicking me.  I tried to roll away from his kicks but it was no use.  The only way to roll away from Ski Cap Guy was to roll into Broad Shoulder Guy.

Take a sneaker to the gut or a club to the back.  You choose...

In the end I chose both.  Well, let’s not be silly about it.  I didn’t choose anything other than to curl up and do my best to minimize the damage.  They whacked away at my head, my legs, my midsection for some time.  If someone had told me in advance that this was coming, I’d have guessed that a crowd would have formed.  That the whole yard full of guys would have rushed over, cheering, hooting and hollering.