Inmate 1577

28

August 28, 1959

United States Penitentiary

Leavenworth

MacNally spent three weeks in Administrative Orientation, located to the rear of Two Gallery in A-Cellhouse. As it was explained to him, new arrivals were not placed into the general population without being afforded time to learn the rules for each area of the institution and meet with the department heads.

MacNally was given his permanent cell assignment by the cellhouse Number One Officer, who said he knew just the placement for him. “An officer’ll be here in a minute to take you to your new home. You got free reign of the cellhouses, but remember: there are five counts a day, and you’re expected to be in your cells at that time. The one at 4 PM ’s a standing count. When you’re not working or in school, the rec yard’s open.”

Voorhees walked in and nodded at the Number One.

“Get him outta here,” he said to Voorhees with a dismissing wave of his hand.

Voorhees led MacNally out of processing and toward the cellhouse. “Remember, MacNally. Cons here were sent to the Big L because their crimes were pretty goddamn bad, or ’cause they were problems at other prisons. So all the shit they did out in the street, they do in here. Dealing drugs-heroin’s a big one-they smuggle it in from the outside. Guys extort money, run scams on other guys, bankroll poker games. Some get assaulted, some are pimped out.”

“Pimped out?”

“You got your homos in here, and then you got your horny fucks who are in for twenty years and haven’t seen pussy in a long, long time. For them, they’d rather stick their dicks in your ass than give up sex for the rest of their lives. They’re the predators. Weaker guys, their victims, are called lops.” Voorhees turned and gave him a quick once-over. “You look like a lop to me, MacNally. That means you’re gonna have trouble.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Just telling you like it is.”

They walked up the steps to Two Gallery. The air got thicker and noticeably hotter.

“Fifth tier’s the shits. Heat rises. No air movement, no ventilation up here. Somebody don’t like you, MacNally. They gave you a piece a crap cell. What’s the saying? Location, location, location.” He guffawed at his own joke.

They walked past iron-barred cells, the gates rolled open and the inmates lying still on their beds…no doubt their way of dealing with the intense heat.

Voorhees stopped at cell 511. “This is it.” He turned and started to walk off, but stopped. “Good luck.”

MacNally eyed Voorhees, then turned to his cell. The lone light bulb was off, his two cellies lifeless lumps on the mattresses. But they suddenly swung their legs off the bed and sat up. Four eyes traversed his body.

Reflexively, MacNally swallowed hard. He knew then that Voorhees’s “lop” assessment was probably correct. He put his head down and stepped into his new home, trying not to think about what awaited him.