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I nodded and remained at attention.

“In the unlikely event hostages are taken inside the prison, we won’t negotiate for your release. If something happens in there, if there’s a riot or an escape attempt, we won’t give an inmate as much as a pack of cigarettes for your release. If we did, then the prisoners would do it all the time, thinking they could get privileges, or even their freedom.”

I couldn’t believe he was telling me this. Even if it was true, why did he have to tell me in such a cold way? “So you’re saying that if someone takes me hostage, you’d let them kill me before you did anything to save me?”

“Yeah, exactly,” the guard said with a smirk.

At another checkpoint, a guard directed me to place all my belongings except for a watch and twenty-five dollars in a locker.

As I was cleared to enter, I heard another guard say on a walkie-talkie, “Get Gacy, he’s got a visitor.” At those words, my heart started racing. I looked back one last time, then entered a room furnished with vending machines.

This area looked like an elementary school cafeteria, but not nearly as nice. Blinding white cinder blocks rose up on four sides. Above, a seepage stain smeared the ceiling with yellow. The air smelled of old coffee and burned-out cigarettes.

I’d been passed along to another guard who escorted me inside. Leon was a small guy and really ugly. In addition to his slight build and acne-pitted, unshaven face, he displayed a short scar on his right cheek.

“Mind if I ask you some questions?” I asked. “I’m doing a project on the prison system for school.”

“Sure, what do you want to know?”

“Do you feel safe here working with all these convicts? I mean, aren’t you worried you might get attacked?”

“Not really. If you treat them right, they’ll treat you good, too. If you treat them like shit, then you gotta expect trouble back.”

“Like what?” I asked. “Can you give me an example of what happened to a guard who got attacked?”

He hesitated a second, perhaps considering how much of a raconteur he wanted to be. “Well, there’s this guard who we call Leaky. We call him that now because he was dragged into a cell and stabbed eighteen times in the chest and stomach with a pencil.”

“No shit?” I said. I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. I was just trying to keep the guy talking so I didn’t have to think about where I was going.

“Yeah, he just got on this power kick. But he’s a different man now.”

“You mean he’s still alive?”

“Oh yeah,” Leon said with relish, enjoying the effect this story was having on me. “He still works here.”

“Don’t you think that’s just a little crazy—to be still working here? I mean, is it worth dying for your job?”

“Nah,” Leon said. “I would’ve left. I’m gonna be out of here anyway. I’m taking the test soon to become a regular police officer. Leaky has nowhere else to go. He’s got a family, and I guess he’s kind of trapped. He sure is a lot more laid-back now.”

Leon pointed to the vending machines and explained that I’d need to load up on food for the day. Although even the thought of food made me sick, I put in some money and got a microwavable hamburger.

“Are you sure that’s all you want? It can be a long day, and you might get hungry later.”

“I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“Okay, then,” he said. “Now stay close behind me.”

He and I walked into an empty, windowless chamber. Once inside this steel cage, all conversation stopped. In fact, nobody I came in contact with during this long walk said a single word to me.

As we made our way through the winding corridors, I could hear the constant clattering of prisoners yelling and talking to one another. Some hallways echoed with the blast of radios; others were completely silent. Even more noticeable than the noise was the musty smell. The whole place reeked of mildew and sweat.

The only prisons I’d ever seen before were in movies, and they didn’t look like this. Despite Menard’s worn facade, I’d entered this building expecting a clean and modern interior—but this