Chapter 35. Seniority

 I waited for charges to be brought to me, but no word came. I had nowhere to go if I got out anyway, and settled into the routine of the cell block. The rotation of characters in a county jail kept things interesting. Then there were the resident inmates who seemed to be doing an eternity of one-year sentences. These guys lived in jail… got out and came back in after a week or two. Red ran the cell block: at least he thought he did. The fact was that no one cared to challenge him. No one needed another charge added to whatever petty crime they were doing time for anyway. He mostly bullied the little guys around but had the sense to leave the bigger, or feistier, ones alone. Once in a while it looked like he was going to throw down with someone, but he made sure to do so with enough huffing and puffing noise to attract the attention of the guards.

The routine I settled into was simple enough. The guards came around and opened the cell doors on the cell block at six AM and all of us filed into the bull-pen. There were four cells on each of the two cell-blocks and each cell-block had its own bull-pen. With twelve bunks in each cell it was possible to put 48 inmates in one block. Each bull-pen had a shower in one corner and eight tables (two rows of four tables) seating four each… seating for 32. If the place ever got full that would leave standing room only for sixteen of the less bold. The day was spent in the bull-pen unless somehow one had a sick pass. A sick pass was extremely rare because there was no chance to see a doctor unless it was a grave emergency. A guy had a better chance of going to the County Coroner than he did of seeing a doctor.

Breakfast wasn’t bad at all. A couple of eggs, a strip or two of bacon, and some grits with coffee were the usual fare. Lunch was some sort of cold sandwich… baloney or peanut butter and jam with an orange or apple. Dinner was more varied and always hot. Then it was back to the cell for the rest of the evening and night after six pm. It was lights-out at nine-thirty, but this was no inconvenience as there was always enough light to read or play cards from the lights on the catwalk outside of the cells.

I had no desire to read the paperbacks that were passed around from one cell to the other. I did find that the Bibles, that happened to be lying around everywhere, were interesting reading if one were confined and had absolutely nothing else to read. I was confined and had almost nothing else to read so I picked one up. First of all, I wanted to see if what Jonah was saying was actually in the Book of Revelations. One way or another, most of it did turn out to be written in there after all. I wondered whether all Christians believed in the future it projected and, if so, then why hadn’t I heard of it before? Then I wondered how a relatively sane person like Jonah could possibly believe it too? Did Billy Graham? How about Richard Nixon? It's one thing for a Bible Thumper... a religious nutcase... but could our twentieth century national leadership believe it? The idea was most frightening to me when I thought about the consequences of someone with their finger on the nuclear trigger believing that either UFO’s or Jesus Christ was going to throw a Hail Mary and save us in the end. But, then I saw my circumstance; the way I had been living since Jamaica, and wondered whether I was so debauched that I was no longer qualified to judge my own sanity… let alone Jonah’s or anybody else’s.

The day came when I had seniority enough to take the bottom bunk in the front of the cell and the furthest from the toilet. I was laying there reading when a new guy was led in by the guard. He was stocky and loud as he climbed up to the top bunk. As soon as he heard the door slam shut at the end of the cat-walk He demanded, “Who’s the cock on this rock?” He leaned upside-down over the edge of his bunk, looking me in the eye, “Is it you, preacher?”

“There’s no cock on this rock,” I answered, and went back to pretending I was reading.

“Well, there is now!” Stocky jumped down to land in front of me. “And he ain’t sleepin’ in no top bunk.”

With that he slapped the Bible out of my hand. I leapt from the bunk in time to face Stocky as he landed in front of me.

I had seen a lot of bullies in my time in, and out of, the Navy. I knew that you had to stand up to them or you were dirt. It is better to lose a fight to a bully than to cower from one. I wasn’t surprised by Stocky’s aggression. I sized up this bull with his stout body. I could see that in close quarters I would have a hard time putting him down. I was lean, fast, stronger than I looked, and that always worked for me… but I needed room to maneuver. The bull-pen would be a far better place to take on this fool. Nonetheless, I needed to keep my bunk or lose more face. I had about a second and a half to figure out what I would do. Stocky was glowering over me. The situation demanded a diplomatic solution or a brief but inconclusive fight.

Everyone in the cell was ready for the action. Most were so bored that anything would excite them, and they started making monkey noises as we faced-off with each other, “Hooo… Hooo... Hooo... Hooo... Hooo!” 

The sound of the door opening at the far end of the cat-walk went unnoticed. It looked as though we were going to mix it up. The voice of Officer Dunn bellowed out, “What the hell are you up to Jo-Bob?” 

So, Stocky had a name.

“Jess gettin’ acquainted with my mates, sir.”

“You’d best do that in the morning boy. These fellers are tryin’ t’ get some sleep.”

I relaxed but knew it wasn’t over with Jo-Bob. I lay in my bunk resting my head on my hands to keep from showing that they were shaking from the adrenaline. I could feel the eyes of my cell-mates watching me, waiting to see what I was made of.

“What parts you from Preacher?” Jo-Bob finally broke the tension.

I had nothing to say to this clown, but I reasoned it was better to make some kind of peace… for the night anyway, “Northern Idaho.”

“Ya’ll a Yankee then?”

“Sorta.”

“Sorta…humph…What did they bust ya fer?”

“Not sure…”

“Not sure? Or ain’t tellin’?”

“What, are you writing a book?”

“Jess trying t’ be friendly, Preacher.” Then after a pause he stated matter-of-fact proudly, “I’m in here for rape.”

I wouldn’t have believed it under any other circumstance, but the guy was proud of himself. I was beginning to understand that Crestview was the Deep South and that I had to play by their rules if I was going to get along. I decided to make an offering of sorts, but I couldn’t admit what I was really busted for, “I was booked for dealing drugs, I think. But I haven’t seen any court papers on it yet.”

I fell asleep feeling as though I might have made peace with ole Jo-Bob.

The next morning, in the bull-pen, Jo-Bob sat at Red’s table as if it was a reunion. I took my usual table at the far end of the bull-pen and listened. No one sat with me that day and I knew I was about ready to have a problem. I tried to eat my grits and eggs. I let them get cold and listened to Red and Jo-Bob banter about their charges.

“I’m doin’ a year this time,” Red was looking over at me as he spoke, “I have ‘bout six months left to do.”

“You know that gal I was with last year?” Jo-Bob was hunched over his meal like a hyena, flashing glances here and there; “Fuckin' bitch! That cow... she had me busted for violation of probation, assault and, get this, mother fuckin' rape.”

“Shit, man, it’s Raiford for you.”

“No problem… she’s been fuckin’ every swingin’ dick in town. Ain’t no way any of these charges are gonna stick.”

“What happened?”

“I got drunk… went over to her place. She wouldn’t let me in, so I went around the back door, went in, and bonked her good.” 

He looked around at me, “Hear me, bonked her good, Preacher! She loved it too.”

I sat there pretending I was somewhere else, but it didn’t work. This clown was under my skin and saw no way around an eventual war in one form or another. Still, I sat and waited… I knew I would have to strike first.

“Preacher, you ever have a woman?” Jo-Bob was throwing down the gauntlet, “or are you into boys?”

“The name’s Max, Bimbo,” I let it sink in. Jo-Bob was still hunched over his meal as I got up and walked over to him, “Now, what did you say 'bout boys?”

The rest of the bull-pen started making monkey noises again, “Hooo…hooo…hooo!” and it was on.

I slammed two swift blows to the side of Jo-Bob’s head, but they didn’t faze him a bit. He slowly rose to meet me. I’d backed off enough to land a good frontal kick to Jo-Bob’s groin: no roundhouse fancy kicks or room for showing off. I followed through with two more sharp fists to his ribs. The guy was so stoutly built that I was careful not to let myself engage within arms-length of him. I backed off watching for Jo-Bob’s next move… “Okay, okay, that’s enough!” Jo-Bob muttered… lifting a hand.

The rush seemed to be over, but I was still in attack mode. I planned on going back to my table… my body shaking… the adrenaline flooded in. I loved it… nothing felt better to me… I needed the release! I even wished Jo-Bob would have fought back harder. He was slumped over against the bars holding his crotch, face grimacing red, veins popped out on his thick neck… but there was still some fight left in him. As soon as I turned to walk away, Jo-Bob’s bulk came barreling across the bull pen, trying to grab me around the waist. I turned and this time I came for him, stepped aside and threw him head first into the bulkhead.  He fell to the floor like a sack of wheat and I began laying into him in a blind rage. I lost my cool against this block of a man, frantically pounding my fists, bloody blow after blow, and slamming Jo-Bob’s fat head against the concrete deck, until the boys pulled me off.

The clanging of the keys on the catwalk door signaled Officer Dunn’s rounds. Only then did I sit down at my table panting, my heart pounding a drumbeat against my chest… adrenaline leaving and muscles convulsing, trembling uncontrollably.

“What happened to you there, Jo-Bob?”

“Oh, I slipped in the shower, Officer Dunn.”

Officer Dunn looked over at me sitting at my table, covering my bruised and bloody fists and staring at my unfinished breakfast, “Looks like Max here might have helped you out a little… heh, heh.”

He went on with his rounds and left the way he came in.