Brighter Days Ch. 02

Chapter 2 (dos)

The sun beat down on my flesh making me warm; the sand in between my toes had a cooling effect. The waves gently lapped at the shore. I opened my eyes to see her coming toward me from the water. Every move she made exuded sex.

Her small white bikini was heroically doing its job of containing her glorious chest. I was going to feign sleep, but she had seen me looking at her and her smile lit up the beach. I knew all of the men were looking at her; hell, you'd have to be blind to not look at her, and even then, I was sure some sixth sense of the dick would kick in and let the sightless horn dogs know they were in the presence of hotness.

She sauntered up to me and kneeled down between my knees. With pure mischief in her smile, she reached up and tugged my trunks down and off of my legs. She freed her beautiful tits from the confines of her bikini and leaned into my crotch.

She had just taken my hardening cock into her mouth, when an annoying sound struck me. I didn't know what was making it, or where it was coming from. It was a series of electronic beeps and tones. I could also hear some garbled conversation.

I tried to ignore the sounds and concentrate on the blowjob I was receiving, but I realized that I had a splitting headache. As the headache got worse, the vision of beauty began to fade. I realized that the girl wasn't real, but I didn't know much else. I heard a mechanical whir off to one side and my headache started to fade and darkness enveloped me.

Then I was skiing. I was at Squaw Valley on my favorite run. It was a cloudy day and the powder was absolutely awesome. As I was cutting through the trees I realized how much I had loved to ski. I hadn't actually been on skis since I was in the tenth grade.

I had torn a knee up in a crash and had to give up skiing. I slid to a stop in the trees, and she was there waiting for me. As she was removing her gloves, my head began to hurt.

As the headache worsened my vision began to fade. I could hear beeping and whirring. Then I heard voices. Two women were talking to each other, but I couldn't tell where they were.

"Look at the EEG. He's been dreaming again."

"It was a good one too, by the look of things."

"It's a damn shame. Why do all of the criminals get the nice cocks?"

"You are a married woman. What would Dale think if he knew you were ogling a patient's package?"

"Who knows? Lord knows he doesn't show me his often enough."

"We better let Dr. Yoo know he's coming around again. I hate that they took the morphine away from him."

"Yeah. I am sure he's got a thumping headache."

Thumping didn't begin to describe it. My head felt like someone was running a hot blade through my brain. I tried to open my eyes and couldn't. I was starting to panic. I tried to yell, but I realized that there was a tube in my mouth and running down my throat.

At that moment, I hoped for death to take me. In all of my life, I had never wanted to die, but at that moment, I was ready. I heard garbled voices and then a warm feeling ran up my arm and my pain disappeared.

As time went on, the pain became more bearable. The voices came and went; some were doctors, some nurses. In one of my more lucid periods, I realized that my eyes had been taped shut.

One time, I woke up from a dream to hear voices in my room. "Mr. Marshall, can you hear me?" a female voice asked from my side.

I tried to nod my head, but it seemed to be restrained. I couldn't speak because I still had the tube in. I think I managed to wiggle a finger. I couldn't remember much after that.

Sometime later, I opened my eyes. I saw nothing but blurs and white light. Beeping and whirring sounds surrounded me. I tried to move and found that my arms were immobilized. It didn't take long for me to realize that any real attempt at movement sent great pain through my head.

"Welcome back to the world Mr. Marshall," a feminine voice said.

I turned my eyes toward the sound and could only see a shape approaching me.

"Can you see well Mr. Marshall? Blink once for yes, twice for no."

I blinked twice. Soon after, a hand was on my head and a white light blazed into my eyes. She said something medical to someone else, and asked if I could see light. She then told me that my eyesight should return to normal in a short time. Then she told someone to make sure I got plenty of rest.

*****

As time passed, my eyesight did clear up and I was staying awake longer. I lost the breathing tube and learned that someone had tried to bash my head in and had fractured my skull.

On the second day that I was able to stay alert for an entire day, a couple of men came to see me. The larger, of the two pulled a chair next to my bed and sat. The smaller man seemed to be checking the room for weaknesses.

Finally, the man in the chair spoke. "Inmate Marshall, I am Deputy Warden Pavelich and this is prison detective Officer Blackwood."

The guy standing, nodded curtly toward me. "Just so you know, you are in St. James Presbyterian Hospital in Carson City. You are in the ICU and will be kept here under guard until you are pronounced fit enough to be transported back to Lovelock, where you will convalesce in our infirmary," said Blackwood, as if I felt up to making an escape.

"Your being alert now, can help us clear up a mystery," said Pavelich. "Do you have any idea who attacked you and caused your injuries?"

"Your guards."

A look passed between the two and then Blackwood asked, "Are you positive?"

"Yeah, I am," I croaked. I barely recognized the sound of my own voice. "Last thing I remember is being shackled; hands and feet."

"Why were you being shackled?"

"I guess they thought I had something to do with those guys raping Smedly."

A look passed between the two men.

"Mr. Marshall," said Blackwood. "Smedly Duncan has been dead for a year and a half. The guards released you as soon as they figured out that you had been trying to rescue Mr. Duncan, and your wounds had been seen to by the doctors."

How can Smedly be dead? I know he looked bad lying on the shower floor, but I didn't think he was dead. Are these guys covering up for their staff? A year and a half?

Blackwood then excused himself from the room. Mr. Pavlich looked at me and asked, "You really don't remember anything from the past year?"

"I guess I don't. I only remember thinking that Smedly didn't look so hot before the guard landed his knee in the middle of my back. I know my head hurts like a motherfucker."

Blackwood came back with a doctor in tow. I had seen this doctor peeking in on me from time to time, but he had never spoken a word to me. He came in and asked me if I knew the date; I didn't. He asked me who won the last Super Bowl; I couldn't tell him.

Finally, Pavelich and Blackwood wished me a speedy recovery and left. I could hear them talking to the doctor in the hall, but I couldn't make out anything they were saying.

For the next two weeks, Dr. Leonardo, the doctor that Blackwood had retrieved, ran tests and worked with me to the point of exhaustion. He and a staff psychologist helped me to remember a few things.

I remembered that Daisey had become smitten with a new guy. I had met him a few times. His name was Jimmy and he ran a restaurant in Elko. They had both told me that they could offer me employment and board if and when I came up for parole. I wondered if I was near parole, or if I had slept through it.

As the days went on, I got stronger. They began walking me around my room. One day after the umpteenth door-to-window pass, my therapist got pissed off and left the room. I wondered what I had done until he came back in with the guards.

My first inclination was to deny doing anything, especially since I hadn't. The therapist just laughed and said that he was tired of not being able to walk me properly and he and the guards led me out of the room and we walked around the circular ICU ten times. From that day on, I was allowed out of my room for that time.

I wasn't allowed any visitors during my stay, so if the nurses got bored, they'd come keep me company. One nurse, named Victor, would play cards with me for hours. He told me it was nice to have a reactive patient because most ICU patients were out of it during their stay.

Near the end of my hospital stay, Detective Blackwood came by to ask if I had remembered anything new about my injuries. I told him point blank that I wished I could remember because I was going to make someone a very sorry son of a bitch when I got back to Lovelock.

"Are you sure you want to be making statements like that, Mr. Marshall?" he asked. "It sure wouldn't look good if things started happening when you returned."

"Relax," I told him. "I don't think I ever saw whomever. The doc told me that most of the damage was done to the back of my head, and I don't have eyes back there, so whatever derelict asshole Pearl Harbor'd me is likely pretty safe from repercussions, legal or otherwise."

*****

I didn't spend another week in the ICU before I was transported back to Lovelock. Once in Lovelock, I spent another month in the infirmary. I had a suspicion they were watching me more than letting me recover.

Mike snuck in and visited me a few times, and a couple of the guys slipped me contraband magazines to read while I was bedridden. The orderlies didn't walk me around as much as the therapists had at the hospital, but I was at least free to move about the ward, as long as it didn't tire me out.

One day, about two weeks after I had returned to Lovelock, Officer Gerrard came into the ward holding a box. He walked up to me and handed me a uniform and the box.

"Sick time's over, asshole, let's get you to your cell."

"Oh you're such a charmer," I said, sarcastically. "I'll bet your wife just considers herself to be the luckiest woman on three continents."

So once again, I strolled down the middle of cell pod A, carrying my possessions in a box and wondering what kind of cell mate I'd get. I was relieved when I was led to my old cell, and Fred's family was still adorning the walls.

"You got lucky," Gerrard said, as he turned to walk away. "Fred's former celly had an accident last night and won't be back for several weeks. You get your old cot back. Good luck."

I had learned not to wonder if things had been accidental or not, so the news of Fred's former cellmate meeting a demise of sorts was quickly filed away but not forgotten. If someone told me that an accident had been arranged to get me back in my old bunk, I'd have no problem believing it. As a matter of fact, I suspected an act of God wasn't as likely.

I got there during dinnertime, so I didn't see many guys milling about. I didn't go eat because they fed me shortly before they moved me back to the pod and my appetite wasn't nearly what it had been before.

That evening, I discovered that Mike was going to be in segregation for another two weeks. He had busted some guy's head open with a lunch tray and had been put away for a month. No one mentioned Fred's former cellmate, and I didn't ask. I also kept my eyes peeled because I didn't know if the guy or guys who got me before were looking to finish the job.

I realized that I hadn't heard from my lawyer in some time. I knew he usually wrote to me once a month, but my mail had no letters from him in it. There were a few letters from my parents, and a couple from Daisey and several from Sarah.

After supper, I spent the evening on my bunk reading my mail. Fred came in and jumped up onto his bunk. "Fuck. I had hoped for a celly that can carry an intelligent conversation."

"Nice to see you too, Freddy."

"Fred, junior."

I grinned and felt comfortable for the first time since I had been back. I read and re-read my mail until they called for lights out. I was on the verge of sleep when Fred started talking, just loud enough for me to hear; only pausing when the guards would pass by.

"I'm gonna tell you some things. If you have questions, keep 'em to yourself. I'm telling you this for your peace of mind and so you don't bring any unnecessary attention to anyone. Your cousin asked me to tell you all of this. The guys who got to you, they've been dealt with. Martinez, Enriquez, and Guerra. One guy did the riskiest deal for not watching you as closely as he should have been."

I then remembered Mike saying I'd need a second set of eyes after I broke up Smedly's rape. It fully came back to me that those guys had all been moved to a more secure facility. I wasn't sure which one.

"There was a fight in the yard during a basketball game," Fred continued. "During the fight, Jose Martinez managed to get shanked three times. He held on for a day but died. Little Joey is now looking at federal time."

Little Joey Dalton was pretty much Mike's bitch. He never did any heavy lifting, so to speak. I did very little, but L. J. only wanted to be a punk. I guess he must have been the eyes that failed me.

"It seems that Mario Guerra was a weightlifter, too. You'd probably remember him. It seems he over judged his bench press ability and dropped well over five hundred pounds on his own windpipe. Accidentally of course. He didn't survive."

I remembered Guerra. He was strong, but he couldn't bench anywhere near five hundred pounds. I assumed that he'd had a 'spotter' during this monumental press. Obviously he didn't have the right spotter. I felt no remorse as Fred recounted my attackers' demise with no more feel than he'd tell me about yesterday's baseball scores.

"Jesus Enriquez just turned up dead. He was alive at bed check, but when wake-up was called he was dead. Biggest part of the mystery is the fact his celly was in the infirmary. I haven't heard what the autopsy results were. Word is he probably OD'd."

Soon, I heard Fred snoring. I took some solace in the fact that someone was looking out for me, but I didn't care much for the fact that they could get a guy alone in a locked cell. I just hoped that I never crossed that guy.

*****

Slowly, things returned to normal for me. One Sunday morning found me on the fringe of a bunch of guys gathered around listening to a pair of guys talking about how they found Jesus. "Jesus has saved my life," one said. "He guides me to the will of the lord. He's always been part of me."

"Where was he guiding you when you were beating that seventy-eight-year old lady for her pension check?" These guys talked a good game, but once they were outside the walls, they'd forget Jesus. They definitely hadn't paid much attention to him before their arrival. I had no intention of 'finding Jesus' while I was in here. I had the feeling that it was more cliché than reality, so I ignored the religious talk.

In the following weeks, I got two separate pieces of news. The first pissed me off immensely. I got a letter from a law firm in Reno. It claimed that they were representing one Darla Marshall and she was seeking alimony and monetary damages from me. I needed to get a hold of Larry to have him squash that, but I couldn't reach him. I wrote to my mom and asked her to have Larry come see me. I explained why.

A week later, I got the first piece of mail that the mail room hadn't opened for me. They knew it wasn't a coded letter or contraband because it was from the parole board. The letter stated that due to prison overcrowding, they were moving my first parole hearing up by three years.

My next couple of weeks were spent in the weight room and the library. I learned all I could about divorce laws and what an ex-wife could do after the fact. I was encouraged to see that it was rare that exes got anything so long after the fact. Larry would shred these guys. Or I thought he would, until I got a letter from my mom.

She told me that she'd contacted Larry's office and found out that he'd been killed in a car wreck while I was in the hospital. While that was a setback, it turned out that I was able to hire Melvin Davis.

I'd heard of Melvin. He was a real shark, so I felt better about my situation. Mom had arranged for him to meet with me. With any luck, this could be done before I was released.

I was due before the parole board on Friday. On Monday, some interesting news was passed through the grapevine. The previous week there had been a wildfire that destroyed part of a prison complex that held special prisoners. 'Special prisoners' meant it was a camp for child molesters.

The state had managed to ship most of them to facilities in California and Arizona. The few they had left, no one else wanted or had room for, so they decided to try to slip them quietly into the general populations of other facilities.

Tuesday was typically the day for transfers from county lock-ups to the state facilities. The few special prisoners were going to be brought in with the normal influx so as to not draw attention to them. They never counted on cons getting the word around faster than they could transfer the guys, or maybe they didn't give a shit.

So on Tuesday, guys were keeping an eye out for the new fish. I was shocked when I saw Billy Palmer, and Luther DeMann led into our pod. Any guy who hadn't been inside for more than a decade would know these two.

Billy was serving three life sentences and when he was done with those, he owed the feds two life sentences. Billy had an affinity to making porno movies and selling them on the internet. The downside was these movies featured himself and his way under aged and nephew. When I had seen him last on TV, he was surrounded by Marshals and wearing more combat armor than a soldier.

Luther had bought his seventy-five years by repeatedly raping his neighbor's young son. They suspected him of being involved in several child disappearances in the Las Vegas area, including his then-girlfriend's daughter, but they couldn't pin them on him.

Bets were being taken on the length of time the two survived in Lovelock. I watched who laid bets and wondered how many of them would try to make theirs the winner. I didn't think it was safe to bet too far out, so I chuckled when a guy bet a week. Both of them failed to live until breakfast. My money was on both dead before midnight.

They had put the pair in the same cell. They found Billy swinging from a light fixture just before bed check. Luther made it just twelve hours more even though they moved him directly to segregation. He was found OD'd on heroin the next morning. I wasn't sure how hard the officials were going to investigate these deaths, but I hoped like hell Mike's hands hadn't been on the heroin. I'd find out on Thursday that I wasn't the only one who wondered that.

I was in the library when the guards came and escorted me to Detective Blackwood's office. I was ordered into a chair, while he asked me questions.

"I'm going to cut to the chase," he said, after I'd been seated. "I suspect you and your cohorts are involved in the heroin trade here. I need to know who has been bringing in pure heroin."

"Pure smack? You didn't see the orchard of poppies in the yard or the mixing vats in our shitters?" I asked, sarcastically. "Come on, dude. Nobody here has clout enough to bring in pure H, and no one I know has brought any in since you guys busted Lupino."

"Someone has the clout, because one of the guys we suspect got to you died from ingesting pure H, and if I had to bet; I'd lay money that our recently dead cho-mo got his hands on some pure shit, too."

I thought this guy was nuts. As far as I knew, no one but the major syndicates could get pure stuff. The heroin that Mike brought in had been cut at least twice before it was brought in, and then it got thinned out again. After the dealers cut it and sold it, it had been stepped on so many times it was only heroinish.

"There are only two groups who move smack through my prison," he said. "Yours and Pepe's, so either you guys brought it in, or I have another ring I have to sniff out."

He paused. I was going to be a smart ass and tell him to get to sniffin' but with a parole hearing in two days I wasn't pressing my luck. So I just shrugged.

"Leroy," he called, and the guards came back into the office. "You can take him back now. Remember, boy. If I find you know more than you're telling, not only will your parole go bye-bye, but your stay here will become much less pleasant."

Later, after dinner, Mike beckoned me to his cell. "Who do you know, Skippy?" he asked me.

"What do you mean 'Who do I know'?"

"I mean who do you know who can get pure H? Tommy D was gonna make Enriquez dangle like he did Billy Palmer, but the night before he planned on doing it, Jesus managed to find a dose of pure H? Someone went through a lot of trouble to get that shit."

"Dude, the only one I know who gets smack is you. Outside of here, I don't know anyone."

"Fuck," Mike said. "The only guy I know outside of Vegas who has the clout to import pure H is Andre Calabrese, and I've never even met anyone who's met him."

"Well, the chief screw believes whoever hit Jesus also hit the cho-mo. He threatened my parole over it."

"It's a good thing they don't keep the wise guys here. They'd be high on the list of suspects."

"Better them than us."

As I lay on my bunk that night, the whole month played in my head. Knowing that someone here had enough clout to get things into a prison that most can't get on the streets, kind of freaked me out. I felt like I should thank whoever and be subservient to them, but so far, no one had told me that they were my friend in a high place.

Finally Friday had arrived. Almost seven years prior, seven men and five women decreed that I was not fit to walk among my fellow man. Another woman had decided that for twenty years I would make twenty-five cents an hour and be boarded by the taxpayers of the state of Nevada.

Here two women and one man were asking me if I had learned my lesson. Had I learned not to spray cheating whores down with noxious chemicals? "Of course I have," I told them.

If I were to be released, would I seek out my ex friend and ex-wife and harm them? I assured them that those were the last two people I wanted to see. I was asked if I had any plans if I were released early. I informed them that I had employment and a place to stay in Elko.

They asked if anyone had any objections to my release. Deputy Warden Stockton came forward and said that none of the staff had complaints about me, and therefore, the prison staff had no reservations about releasing me.

When they asked about the victims' advocates' position, I had a horrifying moment in which I pictured the parole scene from Backdraft. I pictured the fat fuck DA coming into the room with a pumice stone and a doll's head covered in spray foam.

He'd ask in a DeNiro voice, "What happened to those lovers, Jeffery. You sprayed them didn't you? You see folks; that's what Jeffery does. He finds lovers and he sprays them. But not with water. Oh no. He uses Wall-tight spray foam. He sprays them and damages their skin!"

As he walked out of the room, grabbing a donut he'd say to me, "See you in two years."

But, instead, a deputy DA from Reno spoke and said that his office had heard nothing from Mr. Gonzales or Mrs. Marshall, so they had no objections. I had no idea that they would tell them that I was up for parole, but it made sense. I hoped that they were long gone and living in Maine or Florida, even though I knew a law firm in Reno was trying to get money for Darla.

Finally, they asked me if I had anything to say. I went into a speech that Fred had fed me about how remorseful I was for harming Darla and Ramon, and how I looked forward to putting my life back together. They took notes and then conferred with each other. After what felt like an eternity, they turned and addressed me.

"Mr. Marshall, while we understand that a heat-of-the-moment decision put you in here, we have to weigh whether or not another heat-of-the-moment decision will bring you back. After reviewing all of the staff files on you we have decided...

*****

I was in the kitchen when she came in. I had just finished my shift and was ready to go to my trailer and catch a few hours of sleep before I went to my night job.

For the past four months, I had worked from four in the morning until noon at Jimmy's Diner. A month prior, I began working from eight pm until two at a local ore processing mill, maintaining equipment during the mill's down time.

I'd had my own place for two months, after staying with Jimmy for two. Daisey had talked her landlord into letting her out of her lease, and she finally moved in with Jimmy. He had been after her to do so since before I was paroled.

*****

Fifteen days after I had appeared before the parole board, I walked out of the main gate. Daisey was waiting for me. She gave me a big hug before we got in her car. Our first stop was an IHOP.

My new attorney Melvin Davis met us there. He informed me that Larry had misfiled my financial documents and my divorce had never been entered into the court so I was technically still married to Darla.

She was under the impression that while I was inside, my parents were stockpiling the rent from my cabin for me, and she was going for seventy-five percent of that money.

When I filed for divorce, Larry and I had set up a trust agreement so that my parents got the money from the cabin for ten years. After ten years, an ever increasing percentage was supposed to go into an interest-bearing account for me when I got out of prison. The percentage was to rise for five years until one hundred percent was going in during the last five years.

Of course, that backfired; since I was paroled early I wouldn't get a dime until the trust matured at the twenty-year mark, or my parents died and willed it all to me. While this would effectively keep Darla from getting a dime of it, it also delayed my receipt of it as well.

Melvin informed me that he was going to play hard ball. "I know you haven't made much money over these past several years, but she thinks you have so here's what I am going to do. I am going to fight for a fifty-fifty split. She got seventy-five percent in the initial settlement due to her injuries."

She had gotten three-quarters of our joint accounts. Ramon had been awarded fifteen percent as a victim as well, essentially leaving me with ten percent which paid Larry's fees. It hadn't bothered me since I wasn't going to need money for two decades anyway.

I was getting upset that Darla might now get half of what I earned in prison. Quick mental math told me I had earned roughly three thousand dollars during my prison stay. Most had been spent in the common store. I had two hundred and twelve when I walked out of the gate that morning. And here was Mr. Davis telling me that I was going to offer fifteen hundred to Darla.

"Of course this fifty-fifty split works both ways," he said. "Her earnings since the initial settlement will come into play and she'll end up owing you a tidy sum." I suddenly liked the guy. "The least I will settle for will be her paying my fees for this frivolous crap."

Our lunch came and Daisey reminded me several times that I didn't need to hurry through the meal. After we ate, Melvin headed back to Reno and Daisey and I started the journey to Elko.

Almost 200 miles of riding made me antsy. I had dreamed about being free, but now I was afraid. I'd had over six-and-a-half years of complete structure. I would be back on my own. Of course, I'd be staying with Jimmy for a spell and I'd be visiting or calling my parole officer, but I'd have no one telling me to go to bed, or to dinner, or telling me to wake up.

Daisey and I conversed during the ride. Between her visits and letters, there wasn't much in the way of news. The last she'd heard, Ramon had fled California for parts unknown. It seems he'd knocked up a girl last year and was fleeing the law as well as the girl's father and uncles.

Everything went rather well once we got to Jimmy's. He cooked some steaks on the grill and we had baked potatoes and corn. Eventually, Daisey left and Jimmy and I retired to bed.

I lay there awake half the night. I was alone for the first time in ages and it was too quiet. In my cell there had been noises from guys' snoring, especially Fred, and guards moving around and conversing. I had gotten quite used to the din.

The second thing that got to me was how dark it was. I had forgotten how dark night time could be. At night, they shut off the interior cell lights and cut the outer lights to fifty percent, so even with cell doors closed, enough light filled the cell that a guard could see anything.

The next day, I met with my parole officer Ahmed Ali Hasan. "Welcome back to civilization, Jeff," he told me. "Both of us, now, will work to keep you from going back. Agreed?"

"Yes, sir," I answered.

He belly laughed.

"You don't have to call me sir. Just call me Al."

For the next half-hour, Al told me all of my requirements. For the first six months, I had to physically see him once a week. I had to be ready at a moment's notice to come give him a urine specimen, I also had to be ready on a moment's notice to provide him my whereabouts.

If I was traveling more than ten miles outside of Elko, I had to clear it with him first. If I got so much as a parking ticket, I had to inform him. Once a month, I had to bring him a current pay stub. He gave me two weeks to find employment and offered a list of local places that would hire ex-cons.

I told him that I'd had a job lined up since before I was released and he was pleased that I was being proactive. He gave me a month to get a cell phone and to give him the number. I gave him the number to Jimmy's Diner and Jimmy's house. He wished me luck and sent me on my way.

After we left Al's office, Jimmy took me to the diner. I met the staff and started learning the kitchen. I took most of my directions from Mrs. Rosales. "You cook the gringo food and I'll cook the good food," she told me. I had no problem and immediately jumped to help wherever I could.

I worked with the afternoon and dinner crew for a month before the breakfast cook robbed a liquor store and was sent up for a ten-year stint. Jimmy asked me immediately if I minded taking the morning shift. I told him I would and that's where I flourished.

Between my share of the tips and my salary, I soon had a deposit and first month's rent for a small trailer home closer to the diner. Knowing how tight it would be, I looked through the list that Al had given me and got the job working at an ore-processing mill.

Everything was working out well. Jimmy didn't charge me any rent to stay so I was able to get the trailer faster. The trailer was close enough to allow me to walk to the diner, and then in the afternoon a guy I worked with gave me a ride to and from the mill.

Then came the day she walked into the diner. She was quite a bit older than the last time I had seen her, but I would have known her anywhere. She had to be at least ten years older than me, and maybe a little heavier than magazine models, but she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. My breath caught in my chest and I felt like I had to get out of the diner before she saw me. I was sure I made it out of there and to my trailer without her seeing me.

After six-and-a-half years of staring at her picture several times a day, I couldn't have Fred's daughter see me in my grease-covered clothes. It was another month before I'd see her again.

Louis, the guy who I rode with to the ore mill, lived about half-a-mile from me. He'd pick me up in the afternoon to go to work, but I never expected him to drive me all the way home. I would walk home from his house, and then watch TV for a little bit before I had to go to the diner.

One evening, our maintenance schedule was cut short because a team from the manufacturer that built the big crushers was there doing factory maintenance on them. So, instead of our usual stopping time of 2:00 am, we got off at midnight. Some guys were upset that we were losing hours, but a few were happy they could go to the bar for a while without their wives being any the wiser.

Louis was part of the crowd who opted to go to the bar. Due to my parole restrictions, I couldn't go, but instead of making Louis drive me home, I just rode as far as the bar and walked home from there. I figured I'd go home and lift weights until it was time to go to work at the diner.

I was walking along when I heard a woman's voice from somewhere ahead say, "Leave me alone, you creeps."

I could hear two distinct voices snigger and say something, but I couldn't tell what they were saying.

"Just leave me alone! Do I have to scream?"

I heard more chuckles and then I heard her yelp. I ran in the direction the voices were coming from. I ran up to the parking lot beside the small grocery store and saw the two punks.

I'd seen them around town before. They were pretty good at intimidating old ladies and little kids, but they always gave guys a wide berth. I couldn't see who they were accosting, but I could see that she was alone.

"You might want to leave the lady alone," I said, loudly.

They spun and looked at me. They must have been drunk because they had procured some testicles somewhere.

"Move along, dude, our business with this cunt ain't none of your concern," sneered the short one.

"Yeah. Move along before you get dealt with," added the fat one.

I laughed.

"Last time anyone dealt with me," I said, making air quotes, "There were more than two little punks and they didn't fare to fucking well." I kept advancing toward them. They might have thought I was puffing my chest, but I wasn't.

About two months before I was hospitalized, I was in the yard watching some of the basketball games. NBA players are complete pussies compared to cons. I have watched hockey games with less violence than a con pick-up game.

For months, there had been a push by a gang of Asian prisoners to take over the dope trade in Lovelock. Pepe Lupino and his boys had a pretty solid hold on C pod. Mike and our bunch had held the baton in A pod for quite some time, but we knew if the Asians got their foot in the door much more, our hold would be precarious at best. B pod, however, was ripe for the picking.

Three different cliques battled for B pod's trade. One was a group made up of incarcerated bikers. The second was a Latino gang not under Pepe's control, although it was rumored that he had moles inside their group. The biggest was a collection of Black street-gang members who'd come together to hold off the other two.

With all of the gang activity in B pod, the cliques were in constant flux as guys were busted and moved to other facilities or pods, the Asians saw that B was their best chance.

One of the main guys was Ken Yi. Ken Yi's first order of business had been to undercut the Blacks' prices and nab their customers. The guards also seemed to always have decent intelligence on the import of the Blacks' product while they had yet to catch one shipment to the Asians.

Ken Yi, was naturally, the guy who got blamed for the busts that had effectively decapitated the Blacks' leadership and had all but pushed them out of the B pod trade. One group had decided to get a little payback on Ken.

They planned to start a fight to catch the guards' attention while two of their guys shanked Ken Yi. Ironically, their plan worked no better than the same plan did when Mike ordered Little Joey to take out Jose Martinez.

I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was moving to another court to find a less friendly game when a ball hit me in the shoulder and went rolling off into the yard. I knew they were trying for a reaction so I kept walking.

"Hey punk! Get me that ball," one of them yelled. I just kept walking. It wasn't long before I heard footsteps approaching me.

"Hey, you honkey punk bitch, don't you hear me talking to you?"

I threw a look over my shoulder more to judge their numbers and distance than to reply. There were seven and the first two were about five feet away. "Fuck you," was my solitary reply.

When I judged that the first two had fully closed the distance I spun and clocked the nearest one. The second was so close he fell over his falling homie and got kicked in the head for his effort.

I managed to drop one more as the rest of them descended on me. I was giving, but I was getting a lot back. I heard the guards yelling and just before someone rocked my world I saw Ken Yi punch the guy trying to shank him.

I spent the rest of that day in the infirmary with four of their guys. Only difference was that when I was cleared, I went back to A pod; they were headed for segregation and then other facilities.

Seven convicts with an agenda hadn't taken me out, so I wasn't going to back down from two drunken punks who had to pick on women and the elderly.

When the punks didn't scramble immediately, I started rehearsing what I was going to tell Al and the cops in my head. When I was within ten feet, the short one yelled "Whore!" at the woman and they took off for the side of the parking lot.

"We'll see you again, boy," one of them yelled as they ran.

"I'm looking forward to it," I quipped in return. I watched as they disappeared into the darkness.

"Thank you."

I jumped as the woman spoke. I had been so focused on the retreating punks that I'd forgotten her. I turned to tell her it was no big deal, but my breath caught in my chest. Even in the dim light of the parking lot she took my breath away.

"Are you okay?" she asked, as I struggled to make my mouth work.

"I should be asking you that," I managed to get out finally. "Did they hurt you?"

"No. I don't know what they wanted for sure; they acted more like Beavis and Butthead than a real threat. I am glad you came along. Jeff isn't it?"

I was shocked. She knew my name. The look on my face must have conveyed my confusion. "Mrs. Rosales at the diner told me about you. You make wonderful pancakes, much better than your predecessor did."

"I'm glad you like them, but you definitely have me at a disadvantage, name-wise."

"Oh yeah. My name is Brandi. Brandi Jens... er, um, Hoyt."

"Jenserum has got to be the worst middle name I've ever heard."

She laughed. "No. My middle name is Lynn. My last name is Hoyt, I went back to it when I divorced Joel Jensen two years ago; but after twelve years, old habits die hard."

"So Brandi, do you make it a habit of walking the mean streets of Elko all alone?"

"Only once a week. I had to work late and just happened to run into the Bobbsey twins there. I don't usually see anyone this time of night. What about you, Jeff? Do you make it a habit of running off punks when you're not making pancakes?"

I explained to her that I worked two jobs and how I had come to be in the right place to help her that night. She asked if I'd like to go have a cup of coffee with her at Sal's. Sal's was Jimmy's main competition, but he was the only one open that late. He made a killing serving coffee, pie and eggs to the late-night bar crowd. Jimmy didn't want to be open all night.

Over coffee, she told me more about herself. She was the manager at the grocery store. She'd worked late doing the weekly payroll and schedule. She didn't drive because she lived within walking distance to the store, and she felt it kept her in better shape to walk.

As she spoke, I was enrapt. After all of those days spent gazing at her in photos taken long ago, I felt much like a devout Catholic who was getting to break bread with the pope. I felt as if I belonged with her.

She knew I had been in prison, but not why, so I filled her in on my actions. She laughed and thought it was 'priceless' when I replayed my line about keeping them from freezing. I almost told her that I had roomed with her father during my incarceration, but she didn't mention him so I wasn't comfortable bringing him up. I thought she might even be ashamed of whatever he'd done.

She glanced at her watch and uttered the phrase that crushed me. "Oh, it's really getting late. I better get home before my fiancé gets worried about me."

Six-and-a-half years of having to hide your emotions around men who can smell weakness of any sort paid off, and I was able to keep my face from showing any disappointment. I had loved this girl; or at least the idea of her for those years. And then I learned that she loved another.

I walked her as far as the park. She lived half a block away, so she said she felt safe walking alone from there. I watched until she turned into a yard then I walked back toward the diner. I knew there was a chance that Mrs. Rosales would be there already and I could get a start on my morning prep work. I ended up waiting twenty minutes for Mrs. Rosales to show up. Then I started my day.

*****

For the next six months, I worked as often as I could. I had six shifts a week at the diner and five at the mill. I hadn't seen Brandi since that night. I rarely went to the grocery store. Jimmy let his employees have stuff from the coolers that had to be removed due to health codes. Most of it was good; it just had been in too long for the codes.

After six months, I had enough money for transportation. I bought a 2001 Harley Davidson Dyna Glide and it became my ride to the mill. In bad weather, I'd call Louis, but I found that with proper clothing I didn't mind riding in the less than ideal weather.

I had hoped that the crap with Darla would go away, but weekly calls to Melvin confirmed that she was dragging her feet. "She must be spending a fortune in lawyer fees," he told me once. "Every other week they file something else."

It completely baffled me that after seven years, I still wasn't done with the bitch. The only positive was Melvin assuring me that he wouldn't charge me a dime. He fully intended to get his fees out of Darla.

A month after I bought the bike, Melvin called and informed me that there might be a light at the end of the tunnel. "All she wants is to have one face-to-face meeting with you. She claims if you'll sit and talk, she'll drop her demands and allow the divorce to go through without further crap."

"Crap? Is that a new legal term?" I quipped.

"You know what I mean."

"Okay set it up. In Reno though! I don't want her coming this way at all."

Melvin set up the meeting and I passed the information on to Al. Al in turn had no problem allowing me to travel to Reno. He gave me two days. "I only need one," I told him. I knew it was an eight-hour round trip, but I enjoyed my bike so I didn't mind, but when he reminded me that the appointed time was nine AM, I decided to ride to Reno the night before.

Al expressly forbade me to go see my cousin. "That is considered consorting with known felons, Jeff," he told me, matter-of-factly. "The parole board frowns on that sort of thing."

So the next evening, I rode my bike to Reno. For some reason, as I rode through Lovelock, I found myself opening the throttle a bit more than I had before. I didn't figure getting a speeding ticket would be such a hot idea so I brought the bike back below eighty.

I got a hotel room at one of the casinos and enjoyed the night. I'm not much of a gambler, but I did spend a few bucks on the slots. After I won a three hundred dollar payout, I quit playing, and went to one of the restaurants and ate well.

I didn't sleep well that night. I ended up tossing and turning until about five AM. I got up and showered and dressed and left the hotel. I rode to Denton and had breakfast at the diner I had spent my early years in. I spoke to a couple of old friends who filled me in on a few things about my ex. I wasn't surprised to hear she was back with Bruno.

Not much had changed, but I didn't see anyone I recognized. I rode around town for a bit then headed back to Reno and my meeting with Darla. I probably looked funny pulling up to the law firm's offices on a Harley wearing a leather jacket and a bandana. The receptionist looked at me even funnier when I came out of Melvin's office in a nice short sleeved-shirt and a tie.

As we walked to the conference room, we went over our plan. He was sure they were trying to bring it to an end because she'd run out of money for attorney fees. My only offer to her would be that I would drop my request for an even split if she dropped hers.

I hadn't laid eyes on Darla in seven years, and was not prepared for her appearance. The last time I had seen her, before my trial, she'd looked bad then, missing hair and all, but she'd looked healthy.

She'd never been anywhere near plump, but the first thing I thought of when I saw her was the photos from the concentration camps. She looked like a good stiff breeze could blow her over and her face looked like old skin stretched over a skull. Her eyes; once dark luscious pools designed to make blood flow into a cock, had come to look lifeless. The bags and circles around those eyes were off putting.

She had always kept her hair styled and nice, here, it hung in wisps from her scalp. A chill ran down my spine; I was looking at a corpse that didn't have the brain power left to know it was dead.

Sitting next to her, resembling Elmer Fudd more than Mr. Clean, was Bruno. When I had seen him at his club he had been a large and intimidating figure, right then I wouldn't hit him for fear of going to prison for manslaughter. Sadly, I had seen quite a few meth heads in my prison stay, and there was no doubt in my mind that I was looking at two more. I suddenly knew why they were trying to get money.

"Oh my God, you look good," she said.

I smiled and said thanks, trying to avoid showing how disturbed I was by their appearance. I wanted to be nice and return a compliment, but I couldn't think of one.

Darla watched me as I sat down. Bruno noticed and threw her a dirty look. It took me a moment to realize that she was actually looking at me like she wanted me and not like she wanted something from me. It struck me that I had changed since she'd last seen me.

When I went into jail, I was nowhere near fat, but I was soft; I had worked hard, but I didn't have a muscular body to speak of. In jail, I only had time to mop floors and lift weights. Even Daisey and Sarah had mentioned that the weight room was doing wonders for me.

Melvin had instructed me so I knew my role here. As soon as Darla started to speak, Melvin interrupted saying, "Now wait. We have fulfilled our end of this bargain. He's here to hear you out, but first, the papers have to be signed."

He handed the papers to Darla's attorney. Melvin had told me that the kid was good at stall tactics and clogging up cases, but he wasn't a very smart lawyer. The paper Melvin handed him effectively ended their claim to my income since the original settlement, and ended my counterclaim to half of her earnings.

It also contained a frivolous costs clause that put the burden of paying for this whole farce on them. Melvin's fees and all court costs were to be paid by Darla. I had to resist laughing when her attorney looked at it all and said it was good. Darla signed right away, and slid the papers to Melvin.

As I was about to put the pen to the paper, she said, "We could always give us another shot, Jeff."

I didn't contain that chuckle.

"No fuckin' way. Thanks to you, I've had enough shots," I quipped. "Now just say what you came to say," I said as I handed the paper back to Melvin, who, to his credit, wasn't smiling like a shark.

Darla looked hurt and Bruno looked pissed off. I might have been worried if he hadn't been a washed-out shell of what he was when I first met him.

Darla took a deep shuddering breath and started. "First off, Jeff, I need to apologize for so much more than you know. I have to apologize for marrying you in the first place.

"I knew I was not cut out to be a housewife, and even though you never expected June Cleaver reincarnate, I knew you expected a faithful partner. And Jeff, I tried. I loved you so much that I tried as hard as I possibly could to be the proper, faithful wife. I even made Bruno do without for three years.

"I was doing just fine until that day when you told me that we had been invited to your boss's house to celebrate the insulation company's expansion. You were happy as hell, getting your own crew and rig, and suddenly it hit me that I was living a fake life.

"The other wives I knew had jobs that said family. Marie was a teacher, Lynn was a paralegal, and Brittany was a beautician. And here I was. I spent three nights a week in a strip club feeding alcohol to animals and another two keeping gambling degenerates loaded. I wasn't a housewife like them. That was when I started back up with Bruno.

"I love sex Jeff. All kinds of sex. You made love to me anytime I wanted, but you rarely used me and left me wrung out like I craved. Bruno didn't give a shit about me as long as his cum had a place to be sprayed. I could have told you to treat me like a whore, but I knew it wasn't in you to do so.

"Then along came Ramon. He had always had this way of talking to me whenever you and Daisey were out of earshot. Everything he said dripped with innuendo. My first time with him was about a month after Bruno and I started again. You have no idea what a swordsman he is, Jeff."

"I think I do, sadly I learned more about him as a former friend than I ever did in all the years I considered him a friend."

"He was good, Jeff, both at the seduction and in bed. He was one of the most versatile lovers I have ever..."

"Okay. I think I have heard enough. I got what I came for, and I sure as hell didn't come to hear how inadequate I am as a lover."

"Did your cell mates complain," Bruno asked.

"Well none of my cellmates would know. I can proudly say I never had any sex during my stay, but I know the same can't be said for your five days." I silently mouthed the word "bitch."

I had gotten a letter from a friend who had been in the same lock-up as Bruno. I heard how he'd sold his ass to be protected from guys who didn't approve of guys who beat on women. He obviously didn't like what I said, but Darla shushed him before he could retort.

"Damn it, Bruno," she said. "I need to talk to him and if he walks I can't, so keep yourself in check, please?"

He sat there with a baleful look on his face, but I realized that some dynamic in their relationship had changed. She was in charge and he knew it.

She let out a heavy sigh and spoke directly to me. "I'm not saying you were a bad lover, Jeff; quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. And for what it's worth, you have the nicest equipment I have ever had the pleasure of... well, you know."

I shot a shit-eating grin at Bruno as she took a second to compose herself.

"What you and I had was special. It was so special that I was going to leave you when Ramon and I started up. He begged me to stay with you. He said it added something that he was fucking your wife, and I admit, it did add a slight thrill."

Not for the first time did I wish that some of the Wall-Tight had sealed airways that morning. I don't know who she thought she was trying to make feel better, but it sure as hell wasn't me. I made a show of looking at Melvin's watch. She seemed to catch the hint and got to the point.

"I'd give you anything to make up for everything I have done to you, Jeff."

"Um, no thanks. Last thing you gave me took a needle in my ass to get past."

She looked ashamed. "I'm so damn sorry for that, Jeff. I never made Ramon wear condoms, mainly because I hated the way they felt. Funny thing is that I didn't know I had anything until the nurse at the hospital asked for a list of my sexual partners."

"What a co-inky-dink," I said. "I didn't know you were a whore until Dr. Sinclair asked me the same thing. Is there any reason I still need to be here?" I asked looking at Melvin.

I sensed sadness from Darla so I addressed her. "You want absolution? I forgive you. You want to be friends? I can't go that far. I have put my life back together and I am content. You want money?"

I saw a look pass over her face. "BINGO!" I already knew that Bruno's incarceration, short as it was, had messed up his liquor licenses. He'd lost his business and he and Darla were pretty much destitute. Of course, it seemed their habit was most of their problem.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I have none. Your lawyers have seen my trust and know I am not making a dime for another few years. Half of nothing is nothing. If it's sympathy you want, well it's in the dictionary between shit and ghono... er, I mean syphilis... funny how we keep coming back to that, huh? So folks, it's been a hoot, but I have to get back in time to report to my P. O."

I stood and shook hands with Melvin and left the conference room. Darla just looked twitchy and downtrodden. Bruno looked pissed off, but I held no fear of him. Fifteen minutes later, I was on my Harley headed back to Elko.

About thirty miles outside of Lovelock it hit me. It had been nagging at me since I had walked out of the conference room, but I barely noticed. As the pavement passed underneath me it grew. I had no name to hang on it, but was there. As I passed through Lovelock, it grew a face and soon I knew it. I stopped at a rest area to calm my nerves.

The thing that grew in me was the conviction that I had just laid my eyes on Darla for the last time. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing, I never wanted to see her again, but the finality struck me. I realized, at that moment, that I had never grieved for my losses.

In prison, I was too focused on making sure that I saw the next sunrise to think much about it, and since my release, I had been focused on not returning to prison and rebuilding my life. I never stopped to think of my lost marriage, nor the loss of my best friend.

Darla would probably be dead within the year, and I figured Ramon would never even look at Nevada on a map, let alone show up in state. I had lost a lot, and until that moment, it had never dawned on me just how much. For a while, I just sat there with the powerful V-twin rumbling.

To be continued...