Page 24 of Capturing Hearts

Chapter Eighteen

Tommy

The real torture about being in jail? Dinnertime.

With my tray filled with sub-par dog food, I face the cacophony of the mess hall. It’s 5:30 p.m. This is when they tell us to eat. What are we, senior citizens?

Normally I’d walk to the row of metal slabs where the Caucasian loners sit, past The Chain Gang, with my eyes dead, my walk deliberately self-assured. But the gang is eyeing me like they’re wondering if I’m going to join them now or later...after I’ve done the job on Lenny Morales. Shiftily I glance to where Morales is laughing with the Latinos to my left, his light blue eyes eerily reminiscent of a Siberian Husky’s, tats all over his arms and neck. Before he notices me looking, I focus on the place I really want to go, forcing my feet to move at a normal pace despite the fact that I’m fucking terrified and excited all at the same time.

As I pass the gang, they get quiet and watch me. Antonio’s the only one who keeps chewing, but he’s doing it slowly, his unnerving gaze on me. I give him a jerk of my chin, a quick acknowledgment to show respect. Antonio nods back slowly and just once. I know from the look in his eyes he’s now certain I’m in, that I’ll join them when I feel I deserve to, after I’ve completed my mission. Controlling my mind so my hands don’t shake, I look to the prize, hoping to God my cousin’s plan works.

Halfway across the room, auburn-haired Rita Sanchez looks my way. One penciled eyebrow cocks upward and her red painted lips stop moving as she clocks my approach. Two of her blonde comrades scoot to the right on the bench, bringing their trays sliding with them like they’re expecting me. The other three stay put.

If this promise of escape doesn’t go well, I can kiss my virginity goodbye. Not to these guys. These guys are just homosexual people who committed some crime other than rape; like robbery, murder, or hacking into the federal government’s computer system. It’s The Gimp Patrol I’m worried about and I’m doing everything I can not to look over at their table by the east wall. Those monsters will without a speck of a doubt look at me as open season from here on out. Willing, ready and begging for it, that’s what they’ll think. The only reason they’ve not come after me yet with this face of mine is because they have a couple victims they haven’t tired of. Yet.

My lipsticked ticket out of here nods to the empty space. I put down my tray and climb onto the bench, sitting down with a thud, greeting the blondes one by one by meeting their eyes. They’re all Latin save for one guy from Thailand. And why they all dye their hair blonde is a mystery I don’t care to solve. “Hey,” I say. They don’t answer back. They just keep chewing the slop. I hate this place. I miss manners.

“Tommy,” Rita starts, her accent thick and tinged with a lilt. “I was wondering if you’d have the balls to come here. That was not an easy thing to do.”

“So we understand each other,” I mutter, ignoring my tray of processed chicken and pale peas and corn.

Rita tears off a dry chunk of white roll and tosses it into her mouth with pizazz. “We do.”

I nod and look down at the food in front of me. “Do we need privacy?”

“They’re the reason I have a solution for you. You see, I have a need for things I can’t always get in here. Girly things. So my friends have helped me out by…umm… making a bridge to what I need. Understand?” So, that’s what’s going on. A hole has been dug. These blonde fruitcakes have dug it. Somehow we’re going to get me down it and out the other end. “They’re very good to me. Aren’t you girls?”

I look at the faces around me, but there’s no light in their eyes. Suddenly I’m aware that these people are just as dangerous as The Chain Gang. It makes my spine straighten. I nod to Rita and pick up my fork as the guard who took me to Visiting walks slowly by our table, his beady eyes curious as to what I’m doing way over here, a spy for Antonio more than the prison system.

As I take a bite of what is pretending to be chicken, we all wait. He stands at the wall behind us for five or six minutes to intimidate us. Rita looks unfazed. Somehow this calms down my nerves, and I devour most of my food, suddenly famished. As soon as we’re free to talk again, I hold onto my fork and ask under my breath, “Why are you doing this?”

A vulnerable look passes over her eyes, and damned if she/he didn’t look the most like a girl than I’ve seen so far, in that moment. “I owe Bruce. He helped me.”

“Steal something?”

She shakes her head. “Come out of the closet.”

“Ah. You know he still hasn’t done that himself,” I say off-handedly, using my tongue to get gristle out of my gums.

“He has to us,” Rita says with feeling, making me pause. She means the entire community, not this little group here.

“Right. Well, if he ever comes out to my dad, he’s dead, so let’s hope it stays here at this table… and at Folsom.” Rita and I share a smile. Folsom Street Fair is where the leather and bondage festival takes place. There were half a million people there this year. It’s insane. I’ve never been, but Bruce lives for that shit. Feeling more comfortable now, I pick up my fork to shovel the remainder of my pale veggies into my face. “So why don’t you tell me how this is going to go down and when.”

Her eyes light up. In a low vibrato lilt, she whispers, “This is going down tonight!”

Shocked, a pea flies into the wrong pipe. Coughing until it dislodges, I grab the milk carton and drink it down with my eyes on the transsexual across from me. “What?” I finally choke.

Leaning forward, she tells me what’s going on, including some disturbing details Bruce wasn’t able to share with me. As I listen to this stranger telling me about the plan for that bitch Annie, and how she’s pregnant with my ex-friend’s kid, I start to itch. As more details come out, my blood begins to boil and emotions I wouldn’t have expected to be this strong, take me over.

Rita’s eyes narrow and she hisses, “Calm down. You’ve got murder in your eyes. You don’t want the guards to see that if you’re going to slip by them. Act natural or I’m calling it off. I won’t threaten my guys anymore than I already am by talking to you.”

Licking my lips, I put a leash on it. “Right. Right,” I repeat, trying to calm down.

Rita watches me, then stands up in a flash, tossing her tray at my chest with a man’s strength.

“What the fuck?!” I yell, too shocked to stand up yet.

Her blonde gang rises up, their femininity replaced by the menacing glares of people with nothing left to lose. Two of them toss their trays at me with ferocious growls. I duck unsuccessfully as food smashes into my blue prison uniform and my face. My hands fly up for protection, but it’s all over me.

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