“I’ve gotta say, man, thank you for not pairing me with Jordan for the day,” I tell Walker, trying and obviously miserably failing to keep myself distracted.
It’s not a lie, though. I’m genuinely thankful I didn’t have to try staying focused all day while dealing with that tool too.
“Even if it were possible, I wouldn’t do that to you.” John chuckles, his more than obvious beer gut bouncing through his amusement.
Even if it were possible?
“What do you mean?” I can’t hide the intrigue in my voice if I tried.
Walker shrugs as we cut a right from the east hall, following the white and light blue checkered floors to the block’s entry gate. “Where Mack goes, Jordan goes. That’s his buddy, his sidekick.” His voice drops a little lower as he adds, “Wouldn’t surprise me if they took turns playing top and bottom outside of the workplace if you get what I mean.”
Top and… My eyes widen in realization. “Wait, they’re—”
“Not out in the open, no,” he clarifies. “But Mack refuses anyone else as his partner. He’s adamant about it. That’s literally his one and only requirement for me when I’m doing the schedule. As long as he’s got Jordan, he doesn’t give a fuck who I put when or where.”
Somehow, I’m not surprised. I should’ve figured that based on yesterday morning alone. Jordan screamed ass kisser from the second I saw him in action during that sweep. It’s clear he’s Mack’s little bitch...and he likes it. “Guess I should thank Mack for playing favorites then, huh?”
Walker snickers and pulls—literally pulls—his ID to the card reader, a whirring zip from the attached black cord nearly choking me on a repressed laugh. He’s got that thing on a damn leash. It’s the funniest shit I’ve seen all day.
The green light blinks, prompting the buzzer to sound off, and with a friendly smile on his round face, he motions for me to go in first. Aside from the fact he doesn’t have a beard, and he’s got a huge bald spot on the back of his head, he reminds me of what the kid version of me envisioned as Santa. “You’ll likely see yourself with either me or Rodriguez, maybe even Birks and Delfino. Birks is the gentleman we passed this morning after dropping some of the girls off at laundry,” he supplies from behind me.
All he had to say was laundry, and there she is, popping back to the forefront of my mind like she’d never been gone at all.
“See something you like, Andrés?”
Goddammit.
Gritting my jaw, I nod by way of response and keep on toward the box. I know she’s not here yet, but I don’t dare cast my gaze around the room. I just have to make it another hour and a half—if that—and I can get the hell out of here. Granted, going home will only be a temporary reprieve from this maddening push and pull between right and wrong, but it’s better than nothing, and it’ll give me a few hours to sort myself out before coming back and doing this shit all over again tomorrow.
Mack and Jordan are howling in laughter when Walker and I step inside the room. They’re so consumed, eyes clamped shut with their heads thrown back that they don’t hear us fall into the empty seats before the glass. It’s not until they’re wiping the tears away that they realize they have an audience. Watching them startle is pretty funny to be honest, especially after what Walker just shared with me out in the hall.
“When the hell did you two get here?” Mack asks, scooping up the disarray of papers on his desk and tapping them into a neat pile.
You know, the classic “I’m-so-busy” move.
“About twenty seconds ago,” I reply, slouching in my seat.
Jordan chooses that very moment to clear his throat and rise from the other desk with several manilla folders in hand. His stride to the tan filing cabinet might seem nonchalant to the average bystander, but he screams sus to me. They both do.
Beside me, Walker’s chuckling away quietly, his brown eyes flicking out the window into the cell block as he shakes his head knowingly.
“Right, well…” Mack clears his throat, too. “Rodriguez should be here any minute now with the workers. Take this clipboard and wait for him by the gate. We don’t need a count. Just check their names off in the ‘post-work’ column.” He’s staring at me as he says this, which leaves me pointing at myself in confusion.
“Me?”
His lips purse dubiously. “Yes, you, Bala. Who else would I be talking to?”
“I mean, there are two other people in the room.” I motion around us. “Not to mention, this is only my second full day here. I don’t have all the names to faces memorized yet.”
“You don’t need to have them memorized. They have IDs, remember?”
It’s not until after he’s said it that I realize how stupid I look right now. Of course, they have IDs. These girls will lie about anything and everything.
“Right, sorry. It’s been a long day.” Long and trying as fuck, to be exact.
“You can say that again,” he agrees, blowing out a breath. “Once you’ve got them all cleared, go ahead and clock out. There’s not much left to get done before third shift comes in.”
Whether it’s true or not, you won’t catch me complaining. Not today, anyway. Never mind the daily toll of
