Page 30 of Babalon

“That’s no way to talk to your friend, hombre.”

“I don’t have friends.”

“Obviously, you pendejo. You need one though. Name’s Matias—I’m your friend now. Stop looking like someone fuckedyour bitch and capped your pooch, you’re making yourself a walking target.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I’m not into men, calm down.”

“I asked, what do you want. Answer the question or… You know what... don’t answer that. Just fuck… off.”

“I told you, dumb shit, I’m your friend. Scoot the fuck over. We’re going to sit here, together, until the end of your rec time so the skinheads don’t beat you into the ground again.”

“I don’t need your god damn help.”

“Well shit, good thing I didn’t fucking ask if you needed it. Now shut up and scoot.”

Who the hell is this guy?!

We sat in that really awkward kind of silence that you see between two really ugly hookups. I don’t want people around me; it’s hard to mind your business when there is someone else lingering around attempting to inject themselves into your life. Even more so when it is someone you don’t know, in a place that made you beyond uncomfortable. Turning just enough to get a better look at him, from the corner of my damaged eye, I make out a few details.

Hispanic, obviously, since his accent and what he has already said made that pretty clear. Looks like he is about six foot three, maybe four, and a good two hundred twenty to two forty. Can tell he works out; arms are a little on the bulkier side but not quite as toned as mine though. He has your typical thin sideburns that run down into a line of a beard and goatee, tan skin loaded with tattoos all the way up to his chin, full black brows, thick black hair—total Mexican.

After a moment of sizing up my new ‘friend,’ he finally spotted me.

“Like what you see, pretty boy?”

“Not at all. Your hair isn’t long enough and you’re too jacked for me. I like to overpower my lays.”

His laugh made me jump, especially when he brought his hand down hard on my shoulder in one of those brotherly type slaps, nearly knocking the wind out of me.

“Ease the fuck up, man.”

“You’re a funny one. Anyone else and I might have punched you in the damn mouth.”

“I’ll consider myself lucky then.”

“Listen, I may be new here, but I know how jail works and I have a soft spot for the ones who don’t fit. Doesn’t seem like you belong here, and I don’t like seeing your kind eat dirt.”

“Hmph,” I huffed.

“You can take my friendship and I can help keep some of these fucks off your back or you can end up face-down-ass-up, take your pick.”

“Is this where I sign my name on the dotted line and I turn into your prison wife?”

“Nah, not today. I might need your help in the future, but I just want a friend that’s not going to stab me in the back later. You don’t look like the stabbing kind, just the kind that gets drunk and kills young women in car accidents.”

“And you look like the type that will scream about locked doors.”

Silence settling in between us for a moment, everything grew awkward again as I look away. What was this guy getting at, mentioning the accident like that? No one cares about what put you here, unless you are a child molester. A random wreck that ended in death? Yeah, not an offense that usually lands anyone on prison-hierarchy radar.

“Damn, I thought I was going to get you to crack with that one. GoodFridayquote, by the way,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

Matias reached his hand out, like we were about to shake on a car deal. Boy, if I could go back to peddling expensive cars to poor kids, I would. I knew the fucker isn’t going to let me get out of this, so I reach out and put my hand in his—shaking firmly.

“Kace Patton, vehicular manslaughter.”

“Matias Ayala, capital murder.”

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