them I saw fear.
“My job is to do the work of God, which involves both justice and mercy,” I said, my voice sounding much stronger than I thought it would. A pleasant surprise.
“Your job is to give this bunch of inmates some religion. Not to be sticking your nose where it don’t belong.”
I was silent. It seemed a wise move at the time.
“Well, boy,” he yelled, “whatcha need, some job counseling?”
“Is that what these men do, job counseling?” I asked.
“When it’s needed.”
“And I thought I was doing such a good job here. I really thought that I had found my vocation, a reason to live.”
“Funny,” he said, “how your purpose for living is gonna get you dead.”
“That is funny,” I said sarcastically. “Come to think of it, though, the same thing happened to Jesus.”
“You boys do crucifixions?” he asked.
They laughed. It was a mean, humorless laugh.
“Perhaps we should go speak with the superintendent about my job description,” I said and started to move away from him. The inmates closed in tighter around us. There were less than six inches between us.
“Everybody knows I run this place, not Stone. He just thinks he’s the head nigger in charge. I’m the man around here. I’m the man. Stone’s scared of me. He’ll do what I say. You or nobody gonna change that. Nobody.”
“You’re the man, huh? You the man that did Johnson and Maddox?”
“I’m the man, period. All you need to know is that I’m the man that’s gonna put you in a fucking box. Okay, boys, do your thing.”
“I won’t fuck with no preacher,” one of the inmates said.
“Sounds fun to me,” another one said and then hit me hard in the kidney. My knees buckled, and I started to go down.
On the way down, one of them caught me, lifted me back up, and then punched me hard under the chin. My head began to ring, and the room began to spin all around me. I fell to the floor. This time no one caught me. I hit the bare, rough concrete floor at full force. It was a welcome relief compared to the two other blows I had just received. My vision was blurred. I tried to lift my head. I not only tried, but succeeded-only a few inches, however. Those few inches were just enough for me to see the blood on the floor beneath me. Not a lot of blood, but any blood of mine that is outside my body is too much blood.
“Inmates,” I heard someone yell. “Inmates, face the wall with your hands behind your head. Captain, I’ll have you and the chaplain secure in just a moment,” the officer said.
I looked up. All the inmates were still, each looking at Skipper. Just then, he reared back and swung his fist at one of the inmates, hitting him square on the nose.
“Get against the fucking wall,” Skipper yelled. “Officer, call the control room. Tell them to get the riot squad down here immediately. DO IT! NOW!” he screamed. The inmates quickly lined up against the wall. The officer did what his captain told him to do using the radio clipped to his belt. “Call medical for the chaplain, too,” Skipper yelled again. “NOW!” He then knelt beside me and asked if I were okay. I was unable to answer. I just prayed that the CO at the end of the hall wouldn’t turn his back on us. Thank God, he didn’t.
Within a few minutes, I was being treated in the infirmary by Sandy Strickland under Anna’s watchful eye. I felt like I had just been fifteen rounds with Foreman. In actuality, I only had a cut under my chin and a small abrasion on my right cheek. I had no idea where the captain was, but I found myself periodically looking over my shoulder.
“It’s funny that the captain didn’t sustain any wounds at all,” Anna said to no one in particular.
“He never sustains any wounds,” Strickland said. “He makes sure of that. Chaplain, you better watch your back. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“Yeah, but you do. Why don’t you help me? You have to be aware of what’s going on here at night. Why won’t you help us put a stop to it?”
“He scares the hell out of me. He’s a psycho.”
“Is that your medical opinion?” Anna asked.
Strickland smiled. “You don’t need an M.D. or a Ph. D. to diagnose that one.”
“I guess not. How are you feeling?” Anna asked me.
“Yo, I don’t want no rematch,” I said in my best Rocky Balboa voice.
She smiled, but I could tell it was only a courtesy.
“I feel okay. How do I look?”
“Still the best-looking man in the institution,” Anna said.
“I concur,” Strickland said.
“Are you going to help me?” I asked her.
“Haven’t you had enough? This is only a taste of what he will do. I can’t help you. I’ve got a little girl. She doesn’t have a daddy, and I’m not going to make her an orphan.”
“If you change your mind, you know where to find me,” I said and eased off the bed.
“The institutional inspector is going to want to talk with you. He’s in confinement locking up those inmates, but he’s got to fill out the incident report within twenty-four hours.”
“Tell him that the chaplain will be in my office,” Anna said. And we slowly walked out of the infirmary. Slowly.
Chapter 33
“Are you okay?” Anna asked as she handed me a can of orange juice and a bottle of aspirin. We were seated in her office. She was seated. I was more like a blob in the chair. My head ached, throbbing with the rhythm of my heart and the ringing in my ears. My mouth felt like I’d just received a root canal. When I tried to speak, I sounded drunk and drool rolled down my bottom lip.
“I’m okay. Really,” I said as best I could.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me just what the hell is going on,” Anna said. “What happened in confinement?”
“Skipper.”
“He did this to you?” she asked in shock.
“No. He had it done. When I walked in there, they were waiting for me. The confinement sergeant left his desk, and it was just me, Skipper, and the seven inmates. He said that I wasn’t doing my job or I was doing more than my job. He knows I’m on to him.”
“This is still all so unbelievable. You’re sure he’s been taking inmates out of the institution for Maddox? I mean, come on, it wouldn’t be an easy thing to do.”
“No, but a lot easier on the first shift than any other. We don’t really know what goes on out here at night. This is probably just the surface of what Skipper’s been doing. He has to be supplying the drugs, too. Evans said it was too difficult and there wasn’t enough demand for the expensive drugs like Johnson was on.”
“What’s next?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s a little premature to go for Skipper. He’s dangerous, but he’s not stupid. The evidence is mounting, but it’s not enough yet.”
“Yeah, but you have to tell the inspector or the superintendent what happened today down in confinement. If you cover it up . . .” Before Anna could finish what she was saying, there was a knock at her door. Pete Fortner, the institutional inspector, entered the office. He was followed by Matt Skipper.
“Pretty exciting day, huh, Chaplain?” Fortner said. I couldn’t tell for sure, but he seemed to be oblivious to who or what Skipper was.
