Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [55]
Brady nodded. “You think I could try that work-release thing when the play is over?”
“I do. But, listen, you can’t just let everything slide until then. It happens that your midterms end the Friday night the play opens, so your grades won’t be recorded until Monday. But if your GPA slips an iota, you’ll disqualify yourself from the three performances the following weekend. And the work-release thing would be out the window too.”
Adamsville State Penitentiary
The warden waved Thomas in while still on the phone and pointed to a chair. “All right, then, George. I’ll be back to ya.”
He hung up and studied Thomas. “There’s still time to turn tail and run, Reverend,” he said, smiling.
“I don’t guess I’ll be doing that. I’m excited about this.”
“It’ll be no picnic. That was Andreason on the phone. The gov and I go way back, you know. College. He’s not happy about me trying to run the DOC from here, but for now I’ve got him convinced it’s cheaper. We’re saving a salary, for one thing, and I have a good team. But I do have to travel a fair amount to the other facilities, so you won’t be seeing me a lot. Our work doesn’t overlap much anyway. Gladys can answer most of your questions. I’m glad we’ve got ya, because I know the spiritual health of the population here is important. It’s not very good, of course, but it’s important.”
“You believe that?”
“I sure do. I’m a churchman myself, ya know.”
“Really?” Thomas wondered why Chaplain Russ had never mentioned that.
“Yeah, saved when I was a little kid, the whole bit. Now saying I’m a churchman is a little overstated, ’cause I admit I find more reasons to stay home than go anymore. But I get out when I can.”
Thomas was tempted to ask about the man’s personal devotional life but feared it would be too forward this early in their relationship. He also wanted to urge the warden to become regular again in his church attendance for the sake of the survival of his spiritual life. But he wasn’t the warden’s chaplain. Russ had reminded him of that. “The people in the office might come to you with a question, but they don’t want to be approached. Your constituency is the men in the cells, not the staff.”
LeRoy looked at his watch. “I got to be heading out in a couple of hours, but that leaves plenty of time to give you the lay of the land. You’ve never been in a place like this, so prepare yourself. You may hear things you’ve never heard before, smell things, see things. You show the least bit alarm, they’ll be on you like wounded prey.”
“But they can’t get to me.”
“Not physically, no. And they might be more likely to behave because I’m with you. But there’s an incredible rumor mill inside any penal institution. Everybody knows Russ is gone and the new guy is coming in. It won’t surprise anyone who you are.”
“I was thinking of carrying my Bible, you know, just to make plain who I am and what I’m about.”
“Yeah, no,” Frank LeRoy said. “Word to the wise: I think they’d see that as a little pious, a little holier-than-thou.”
“I see. If someone greets me . . . ?”
“In a civil way? It’s okay to respond, but keep it noncommittal. Tell them you look forward to getting to know them eventually, something like that. As you know, they have to ask for you to visit, so it’s on them. And then you’ve got to watch all the religious games they’ll play, trying to get next to you, get favors, get you to get them a free phone call—usually for some made-up crisis. And then when you don’t, they’ll try to lay a big guilt trip on you, questioning whether you care, challenging your faith, your interest, your love, everything. Russ used to get guys whining about how he never came around, when they knew as well as he did that they had to officially request a visit. Now, you ready for a look?”
Forest View