Chapter Fifty-One: Five Years Later
"I got dibs on you, boy. You're a Red now."
Sarge circled the new inmate, as was his tradition. Intimidation inspires loyalty, he always said. Worked with the men back in the army. Works just as well in prison. Intimidate them by yelling and shooting the more useless members of the team. Especially if that member is Grif. He had to hand it to the new Red, though. Didn't look intimidated at all. Just stared back with a bored expression.
"Keep on my good side and you'll do fine in here. Besides, we outnumber the Blues by one now! Grif counts as a minus, so we're on a proper equal footing where we can kick their ass properly! What do you say to that, eh?"
"Yes. Playing violent sports with convicted murderers sounds like a completely sane idea."
"That's right. That's the kind of can-do attitude the Reds need. I like you, Lopez."
"I don't reciprocate."
"You're just what this team needs. All we got so far are lazy turds and fruits concerned more with finding fabric softener than bloody and glorious victory! Okay, so the fruit's a good source of comfy laundry whenever the wife is mad enough to stop washing my clothes, but that's not the point here."
Lopez just stared back at him. Few words. Sarge liked that. Probably eager to get on with the asskicking.
"Not to worry, amigo. They'll be plenty of time to destroy your enemies. North'll take you to your cell. Comprende?"
"I already feel like my brain is dying."
"Glad to see we're on the same page!"
Five years after Donut had first been locked up, he'd become significantly less afraid of prison. There really wasn't much to fear when Caboose was watching his back. The few things that did scare him, such as O'Malley, had practically vanished during those five years. He saw O'Malley wandering around from time to time, but O'Malley just grinned at him and went about his business. It was creepy, but eventually Donut learned to brush it aside. Whatever O'Malley was so happy about, it wasn't his problem.
So, prison was no longer terrifying. But sometimes it could still be annoying. For example, someone kept stealing Donut's laundry whenever he tried hanging it out to dry. It had been a problem ever since Donut managed to acquire fabric softener and started washing his own clothes, rather than throwing them back into the laundry chute, where they'd be washed with crappy ingredients that made him itchy.
Donut suspected that it was the tiny guy with the high-pitched voice who worshiped the Red flag set up in the yard. He was one of the few men who were smaller and slimmer than Donut, and thus one of the few who could actually fit in his clothes. But he had yet to prove it, so he was going for the next best thing. Hanging his clothes so high up that Donut himself couldn't reach them unless he was sitting on Caboose's shoulders.
"Caboose, can you stop fidgeting? I'm gonna fall off!" Donut called down as he attempted to hang up his jacket.
"My shoulders are getting itchy."
"I just need a few more moments!"
Donut placed his hands against the wall to steady himself, before returning to securing his 'clothesline' with more tape. Admittedly, taping flimsy string to a wall was not the most efficient clothesline. But it was all he had, and even that had taken a while to find.
"Turn a little to the left."
"Uh... My left or your left?"
"We're facing the same... Your left."
Caboose turned carefully. Last time he had turned too fast and Donut had fallen off his shoulders. He was humming a song under his breath, looking around while Donut stuck more tape up.
"Alright... Almost done, just a couple more bits of tape..." As Donut messed around with the roll of tape he had in his hands, he heard Church's voice behind them.
"Caboose, what the hell are you doing?"
"Church!" Caboose turned around too quickly for Donut to keep his balance, and after a brief moment of flailing his arms around he fell off Caboose's shoulders and tumbled onto the pavement. "Oh. Um. That was not my fault. Donut! Are you okay? If you do not remember what happened, I can tell you. It was the wind. It blew you over."
"I think I broke something," Donut whimpered, cradling his arm. Church looked at the two of them and shook his head.
"Dumbasses... Why the hell are you doing acrobatics in the yard?"
"I was setting up a clothesline..." Donut looked upwards to see that his clothesline was still attached to the wall. "Ooh, it stuck this time."
"Yeah, that isn't gonna stop people from stealing your clothes."
Donut flexed his hand experimentally and winced as pain shot through it. "Ow. Well, it was worth a try. I think I'm gonna check with Doc, see if it's broken or sprained or something."
"He'll probably make it worse if it is," Church remarked.
"Point taken."
"Anyway. Caboose. Need your help with something. Andy stole my cigarettes and won't give them back. I tried to talk to him, but every word he says makes me want to punch him in the face."
"I can do that. I will go ask him nicely and he will be nice back and everyone will be happy."
"Right, whatever. Move it."
Once Caboose received the note and trotted off, Donut asked, "Why don't you just get Tucker to do it?"
"Caboose gets along with him for some reason. Plus, last time I got Tucker to talk to him, Andy set fire to his shoes and managed to work several insults about his mother into the conversation. And I don't want Tucker bitching about how long it took him to convince another inmate to trade shoes again. And that's just when Andy hasn't tried to make homemade explosives." Church shrugged. "If it comes to outrunning explosives, Caboose will do better than Tucker."
"Well... true..."
Tucker hadn't been much of a runner since the Miller incident. If he put too much stress on his lungs his breathing started to mess up. Not to mention he often complained about the pain and lack of painkillers. The complaints tended to increase during the games of whatever sport Sarge actually had the equipment for, although Donut strongly suspected Tucker was just trying to get out of doing anything. Not that it mattered, as the games largely consisted of Sarge abusing Grif for his laziness, Caboose accidentally punching Church somehow and everyone being really cranky by the end of it.
'Bonding exercises' never seemed like a good term for them, despite what Flowers said.
"You're unusually happy for winter."
Grif had been humming as he messed around with the plastic bags that held pruno. He paused before looking up at Simmons, who was standing at the entrance to his cell.
"Yeah. Winter's still shit, though."
"Then why the happiness?"
"Because..." Grif brandished one of the plastic bags. Unlike the usual bags of pruno, which contained orange or red liquid, the liquid inside this one was clear, if slightly oily-looking. "Ta-da! White lightning! I am gonna drink myself into a coma with this stuff. By the time I wake up, we'll be walking free. It'll be awesome."
Simmons rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you're not doing that. You'll just dissolve your insides, and then I'll have to donate mine to keep you alive. And then I'll have no organs and I'll die."
"Maybe you can replace yours with machinery."
"Don't be a dumbass."
"Fine. I won't drink myself into an organ-dissolving coma. What are you, my mother?"
"You sound like Sister."
"Shit, I do." Grif shook his head. "Jeez. Maybe I'm channeling her spirit or something. She hasn't visited in a while, come to think of it." Grif paused, counting on his fingers for a few moments. "Five or six months? I'm not sure."
"Worried?"
"Well, I wasn't before, but... Great. Fucking great," Grif sighed. "I'm gonna have to get really drunk to stop worrying now."
"She'll be fine." Simmons patted Grif on the shoulder briefly. "She's thirty-one, she's not an out-of-control teenager anymore."
"Thirty-one... Shit, I'm feeling really old now."
"And let me guess... It makes you want to get drunk to forget about it."
"You know me so well."
When Caboose returned from retrieving Church's cigarettes he was also holding a burnt, soaking jacket. Nonetheless, he looked happy.
"Did Andy set fire to you?" Donut asked, alarmed.
"He said it was a game! If I didn't get too burnt when taking it off, then he would give me Church's cigarettes back." Caboose smiled happily, holding up the cigarettes. "I won! And I only burnt some of my arm! But Andy got taken to solitary because York says the 'setting people on fire' game is not allowed."
"Caboose... We've been through this. Setting people on fire is not a game," Donut said patiently. "Turn around, let me see your arm." Donut looked closely at the fresh burn on Caboose's forearm. "Does it hurt?"
"It is stingy."
"Okay, we'll go see Doc in a moment. He can't mess up a burn, right?"
"The stuff he puts on them hurts," Caboose said, edging a couple of steps back. "Can I get Margretta? I left her on my cot and I need something to hug when the stuff gets all hurty."
"Sure. Better get your spare jacket, by the way. It's freezing."
Donut followed Caboose back to his cell, as Caboose complained about how the burns ruined the fun of the 'setting people on fire' game and about how it's a good thing he knows how to take his jacket off really fast. As Caboose trotted into his cell, Donut stopped and peered further down the hall. Grif and Simmons were milling around near his cell.
"What's going on? Why you hanging around outside my cell?" Donut asked curiously, bouncing up to them. "Is it a surprise party?!"
"Why would it be a surprise party?" Simmons asked. "And no, we're not having any parties around you. I still haven't gotten the hotpants incident out of my head."
"Yeah, that was a bad idea," Donut admitted. "It's too cold for hotpants, and now I have one less pair of warmer pants."
"Not the problem, Donut."
Grif wasn't paying much attention to this exchange, instead peering at the cell next to Donut's. That cell was usually empty. There'd been an inmate in there for a few days, but he'd vanished quickly. Donut didn't know what had happened to him, though rumor was that the macaroni from the cafeteria sent him to the hospital. The macaroni had finally been taken off the menu after that for a stew, whose ingredients were unknown.
Today, however, Donut could hear someone shuffling around inside.
"New guy?" Donut asked.
"Yeah, new dude." Grif looked at Simmons and raised his eyebrow. "What're you betting?"
"What do you want?"
"Cigarettes."
"I don't smoke."
"So? You can hold unlit cigarettes without your lungs shriveling up, right?"
Donut tilted his head. "Why d'you need cigarettes?"
"We're betting on whether the new guy will last. And so what if I can hold cigarettes? I still don't have any use for them," Simmons grumbled.
"Uh, guys? Do you bet on all the newbies?" Donut pointed at himself. "What about me? Did you?"
"I had five days of pruno ingredients riding on you kicking the bucket," Grif said cheerily. "Simmons cheated, though. He tried to be all helpful to you and shit."
"Oh, thanks," Donut muttered.
"Anyway." Grif nodded in the direction of the new guy's cell. "Ten cigarettes says he doesn't die or transfer for two months. He looks tough."
"You got a deal." Simmons and Grif shook hands briefly, following it with a fist bump and what looked like a secret handshake.. Afterwards, they both wandered back into Grif's cell. Donut edged closer to the new guy's cell, eventually peering in through the bars.
The new inmate was pacing. Back and forth. Grif wasn't kidding when he said the guy looked tough. He was a Hispanic man with hair that was little more than stubble, and he had a large amount of muscle and a perpetually grumpy expression.
"You can actually do the shaved head thing and look tough," Donut said. The man looked at him, but didn't say anything. "I tried shaving my head to look tough a year after I came in, since Church and Tucker kept calling me Dye-Job. I just looked like an alien until it grew back and they still call me Dye-Job sometimes. It totally sucks. Anyway... Hi. I'm Donut." Donut held his hand out for a handshake. The other man just stared at it, and eventually Donut pulled it back. "What's up?"
"You are the fruity one?"
"Oh, you speak Spanish? I took Spanish classes in high school." Donut cleared his throat. "My pencil is Donut. Bonjour."
"...What."
"What?"
"I understand English, idiot. Your Spanish is terrible."
Donut pouted. "Now that was just rude. Besides, we all know high school Spanish is the best preparation for speaking Spanish there is. So, you living in this cell now?"
"No. I just find that hanging out in a cell surrounded by murderers is a fun way to spend my Tuesday."
"Yeah, playing tennis on Tuesdays does sound like fun. But what does that have to do with anything? But anyways, that makes us... cell neighbours? Yeah, that sounds nice. What's your name, neighbor?"
"Lopez. Please leave me alone."
"It's nice to meet you, too!"
"Donut! I lost my jacket again. And the stingy burn is stinging more..." Caboose had left his cell, clutching his stuffed pigeon tightly.
"Alright, let's go. See you later. Lopez!"
Lopez shook his head before returning to pacing his cell. As Donut dragged Caboose towards the infirmary (making sure not to tug on the burnt arm) he noticed Caboose frowning, squinting like he was trying to think harder than he normally could.
"What's wrong?"
"I think I know him. But I cannot remember where I saw him."
"Really? Maybe you've just seen someone that looks like him," Donut suggested. "I mean, I first thought I'd seen my old roommate before, but it turned out he just had a similar vibe to a serial killer I'd seen on the crime shows Mama Julie watched. Thinking on that now, I probably should have been more suspicious of him after that first impression."
"No. I have seen him before. I remember, because I remember him speaking Spaniel."
"Spanish, Caboose. It's called Spanish. Although being able to talk to spaniels would be pretty awesome. I bet they know all kinds of things we don't."
