By reason of insanity

43

After inspection on Wednesday morning, while the inmates were hanging out in the pod, Tasha pulled Cat into their cell. Cat noticed that a few other African-American inmates stood just outside the cell door, blocking the view from the pod.

"You're in," Tasha said. "A member of the Widows. It's mostly sisters, but we believe in equal opportunity."

Catherine hadn't anticipated this. She didn't want to join a gang, but it didn't seem like Tasha was really asking her opinion. It was more of an announcement, like Cat should be thanking Tasha for the honor.

"Just because you're a Widow doesn't mean you won't get attacked," Tasha warned. "It might even make it more likely. What it does mean, girl, is you got backup."

"How do I know who's in?" Cat asked.

Tasha glanced quickly around at the inmates standing at the door and smiled. "The mark," she said.

She grabbed a plastic cup from the sink and pulled Cat into a far corner of the cell. Tasha took another glance around and reached into a slit in her mattress. She pulled out baby oil and some matches.

"Where'd you get the matches?" Cat asked. She suspected they came from prison "trustees"- inmates specially selected to help with prison chores.

"No questions," Tasha said gruffly.

Tasha filled the plastic cup with baby oil and made a wick out of toilet paper. She lit the toilet paper and held a funneled piece of paper over the makeshift candle for several minutes, collecting black soot on the paper. Next, she mixed toothpaste with the black soot, forming a gooey black ink.

"Amazing," said Cat.

"That part's nothin'." Tasha said. "Wait till you see the tattoo gun. You know Felicia?"

Cat nodded.

"She ripped the motor out of her cassette player and mounted it to an ink pen using dental floss," Tasha explained. "She replaced the ink cartridge with a staple attached to the end of a spring. That staple serves as the needle. This stuff is the ink."

Cat's eyes went wide with disbelief.

"Yep," Tasha said, "Felicia is our resident tattoo artist. Drop your jumpsuit. Left hip, just above the buttocks. Every Widow has a spider tattoo."

Cat thought she might pass out. She hated needles in the first place, but unsanitized prison staples? No telling how many women had been tattooed with this same "needle." Or what diseases they might have.

But how could she say no? Did she want to offend a big portion of the inmate population by refusing to be part of the Widows? How could she survive on her own if she did?

"How big is the tattoo?" Cat asked.

"On your skinny butt? Not much bigger than a real black widow spider."

A few moments later, Cat nearly scraped the cement off the walls as Felicia used her crude tattoo gun on Cat's lower back. When Felicia finally announced she was finished, Cat decided not to even look.

"Two things," Tasha instructed, as Felicia left the cell. "First, you need a weapon. Every night, begin filing down the end of your toothbrush. Also, if you ever see another inmate get careless with their razor in the morning, before the guards collect them, grab it. I'll show you how to hide those things in your mattress. Second, when that tattoo dries, go and take a shower. That way, the other inmates will know you belong to us."

"Is Holly a member of a gang?" Cat asked.

"Uh-uh," Tasha responded. "That woman's psycho. Gangs don't take no psychos."