Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [42]
Thomas stole a glance at Jimmie, who looked curious and also seemed to gather that Thomas was intrigued.
“So you’re not teaching or preaching or counseling. What are you doing? Going cell to cell?”
“Oh, no preaching, that’s true. And no, I can’t visit any inmate without his filing an official request. The only contact is through the front door of his house, though if he goes through proper protocol, we can meet maybe once every two or three weeks in what’s called a separation unit. That’s a secure room with a Plexiglas shield between the inmate and the visitor, and it’s usually used by lawyers. A tiny slit allows single sheets of paper to be passed back and forth. Other than that, I have no contact with inmates except through the front door of their houses. I can’t be there unless they’ve invited me, and I’m not allowed to proselytize.”
“Sounds pretty restrictive,” Thomas said. “How do they even know to ask for you?”
“Oh, they all know. Everything gets around, and new inmates are given a packet that tells them all of the regulations, services, and restrictions. That tells them a chaplain is available.”
“Sounds like really hard, depressing work.”
“It is. Let me tell you, you don’t do this job for the warm fuzzies or the thank-yous. If you get any of those, it’s a sure bet someone is running a con on you, pardon the pun.
“Inmates work on the softies, the ones they call ‘chocolate hearts,’ because they’re always melting for a sob story. You’ll have to learn that the hard way, because I figure as a pastor you feel for people.”
“And you can’t feel for these lost souls?”
Russ seemed to consider that. “Well, you can try, but here it’s different. You can’t let ’em see your soft side or you’ve already lost. You’ve been a pastor, so you’ve had people trying to act spiritual around you, more spiritual than they are. But you can usually tell, can’t you, by the look in their eyes?”
“Yes, it is easier to tell real transformation that way.”
“Well, I’ve seen that look two, maybe three times since I’ve been on this job. And only once since being at the supermax. And that time? I was wrong.”
Thomas looked at his watch, worried about Grace. “I don’t know, Jimmie. I appreciate this, but I don’t know.”
“Hey,” Russ said, “then don’t do it. You got to be called to this, my friend. But here’s the upside if the Lord is in it: You may never know this side of heaven when you’ve made an impact. But these are the saddest, neediest souls on the planet. I’ve prayed with guys on their way to their executions. Who knows what happened with them? I’ll know someday.”
“Can I see the place, take a little tour?”
“Actually, you can’t. See, the warden is the caesar, okay? And it just so happens that he reports to the state’s executive director of the Department of Corrections, who is handpicked by the governor. Here’s the deal. The executive director himself replaced the warden here three years ago, loves it, and runs his DOC shop right out of the prison. So our warden reports to himself! Ha! Name’s Frank LeRoy—we call him Yanno—and he and the gov are like this.” Chaplain Russ held up two fingers, drawn together.
“You call him what?”
“Yanno. Comes from his favorite expression. You make a request, he says, ‘Yeah,’ not meaning he’s gonna grant it but that he hears you and understands what you want. Then, in the same breath, he gives you his answer.”
“No.”
“Exactly. You talk to Director LeRoy, you’re gonna hear ‘Yeah, no’ more than once, guaranteed. ’Course we know better’n to call him that to his face.”
“Yeah, no,” Thomas said.
Russ roared. “I like this guy! Anyway, Yanno is not big on outsiders coming in for a look. In fact, there’s no way.”
“I can’t see the place before deciding whether I want to consider this?”
Russ shook his head. “Works the other way round. You pray about it, talk with your wife,