Blossom - Andrew H. Vachss [36]
The mountain man looked at me. "He was throwing up inside that tape…never even thought about ripping it off himself."
"He'll get it. He's got the hate, just needs some technique."
"He's one of us," Virgil said. Pride in his voice.
44
TRAINING A FIGHTER isn't all inside the ring.
"How much time we got?" Virgil asked me.
"I'm seeing the lawyer tomorrow. Tomorrow night, I'll make a call to the city. Ask this cop I know if he'll front me some references. It all comes together, it's time for Lloyd to come in.
"We're good here till forever. Just say the word."
When Lloyd came back inside, we started on the hard part.
45
"PRISON'S NOT like jail," I told Lloyd. "Prison, there's nobody coming to the gate with bail money. You're down for a long time. You count the days. Some guys, they got too much time to count for themselves, so they look to take a piece of yours."
The kid nodded, focused like he'd never been in school.
"It's like the street, only…compressed, you got it? Everything happens close up. There's no place to go. No place to hide. So you give nothing away. Nothing. Never. Look down or look hard. Your face stays flat. You don't smile, you don't cry. And you protect your space…the space you carry around with you…the space around your body."
"Don't take nothing from nobody," Virgil put in. "Nothing good, nothing bad. Inside, it's all the same. Guy offers you a smoke—no, thanks. Guy tells you the only way to get along is get down on your knees, you don't argue with him—you got to hurt him. Before he finishes the sentence. Right then."
"The counselors…"
"Guards, son. Hacks, screws, cops…don't matter what you call them. But they ain't no counselors inside. What a counselor does, you tell him this booty bandit got your name on his list, he asks you maybe you want to talk about it. You talk about it, you end up in PC. Protective Custody. Only it ain't protected, just custody. Close custody. Like solitary."
"Okay."
My turn. "There's three ways to survive inside, Lloyd. Remember what the Prof used to say, Virgil? Cold, crazy, or connected—that's the only way to play."
"I miss that man."
"Who's the Prof?" the kid wanted to know.
"He's this little black dude," Virgil told him. "Tiny. Got the magic in him. Like some preachers got." I felt Lloyd stiffen. If Virgil noticed, he didn't show it, continuing on in the same voice. "Most of the time, he talked in rhyme." The mountain man chuckled. "Like I guess I just did. He's been jailing since they made jails. I never had much truck with black folks till I went down. Didn't hate them or anything, like some did where I'm from. Just never knew one to really talk with, understand? Anyway, the Prof, it's short for Professor. Or Prophet. He's a truth–teller. And a fearless little maniac, I'll swear that to anyone. He's the one who schooled Burke. Used to call him 'schoolboy' when Burke would act the fool."
"You?" Lloyd looked at me.
Virgil laughed. "Yeah, this hard–case was a young fool once. Had to learn. Like you learning now."
"What do I do?"
"When you get inside," I said, "look around. Pick one out. They'll all challenge you, give you those hard looks, try to back you down with their eyes. Even the weasels'll try it, not knowing you. Pick one out, like I said. Watch his eyes. You'll smell it on him. Coward. Hard in a pack, nothing by himself. Then you walk up to him, ask him if he got a problem with anything. He drops his eyes, mumbles something, you let it slide. Anything else, any fucking thing else, you move your left hand fast at the waist, then come overhand with the right. Aim it right at the side of his neck. And drive it. He goes down, don't wait for him to get up, get your foot into his ribs, quick. Don't stop until they pull you off. Don't think about it. That's what you do. What you got to do."
"What if…?"
"There's no 'if' here, kid. What if you go to solitary for