Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [136]
“Figures. He ever get anywhere with his acting?”
“Nah. Couldn’t make any money at it, and that’s what it’s all about for us Norths.”
“Community theater?”
“Maybe someday. He says he has no time now. When he talks to me, that is. I’m the black sheep, you understand.”
“You still live at home?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she said, lifting her designer jeans pant leg and showing an ankle monitor. “They know where I am all the time. But I could come visit.”
“Visit?”
“Here. You know I’ve been in love with you since I was nine.”
Brady roared. “Right! Now admit it, you haven’t given me a second thought since.”
“You’d be surprised. I told all my girlfriends you were my guy. I even cut your picture out of the newspaper and carried it around to make them jealous.”
“C’mon, I bet you’ve had a ton of real boyfriends since then.”
She was being summoned to the van.
“True, and every last one of them has added to my dad’s ulcers. Do me a favor. Soon as you get out of here, beg, borrow, or steal a Harley and come rumbling up to my door. Guaranteed, it’ll make my mom a widow.”
Brady couldn’t wait to see Katie North again.
46
Adamsville State Penitentiary
Gladys poked her head into Thomas’s office. “Got a minute, Reverend?”
He followed her to her cubicle outside the warden’s office. Yanno was out.
“The boss thought you might want to see this,” she said, handing Thomas a beat-up videocassette that appeared to have been used several times. “Documents the Guatemalan’s extraction and transfer to isolation.”
“Jorge? What’d he do?”
“The usual.”
Gladys led Thomas into the warden’s office, where an ancient combination TV–VHS player sat atop a small stand in one corner. Thomas pulled a chair away from the conference table. “Have you seen it?” he said.
Gladys shook her head and emitted a low chuckle. “No, thank you. Got my initiation years ago. One is enough. I don’t know these guys and don’t want to know them. I don’t feel any sympathy, I can tell you that. And I don’t want these images in my brain.”
Thomas smiled sadly. “And I do?”
“Mr. LeRoy said you recently talked to the man, that’s all. Thought you’d be interested.”
Thomas shook his head as he shoved the cartridge into the machine. He couldn’t understand why they didn’t record these things on DVDs.
Gladys left and shut the door as the video came to life.
The bored voice of the videographer announced the date of the action, gave the prisoner’s full name and number and the location of his cell. Each of the five corrections officers was shown and identified as well. “Subject assaulted an officer through his meal slot with a feces bomb to the face constructed from toilet paper and remnants of a juice box. Officer had not been wearing a face mask due to no incidents in this pod for more than six months. Extraction commenced at 2:10 p.m.”
Every member of the team wore a helmet with face mask, rubber gloves, and all the protective gear they seemed to have been able to amass. One carried a huge Plexiglas shield. The team leader instructed Jorge to back his way to the meal slot to be cuffed. He remained passively on his bunk at the back of his cell.
“Don’t make us come in there!”
Jorge responded with an obscene gesture.
“Show your hands.”
Jorge hid his hands behind him.
“Could be armed,” the leader told the others. “Watch yourselves.” Then, to the prisoner, “Last chance.”
Jorge let loose a stream of expletives, whereupon the team leader pressed a can of gas through one of the openings and filled the cell with a white cloud. Through the haze Thomas could see Jorge cover his face.
“He’s unarmed!” the leader shouted. “Come on, Jorge. Just back up to the slot.”
Jorge just sat there, gagging and coughing.
“One more,” the leader said, reaching behind him and accepting another canister from a teammate. This one made Jorge stagger to the door and thrust his hands through.
“No! Turn around. We’re cuffing you in the back!”
Jorge would not move.
The leader shrugged and cuffed him in