Inmate 1577

40

Three hours passed. Since the inmates who showered together lived in the same cellhouse, they were all taken back to their cells and the block was locked down. After officers examined each of the prisoners for injuries and traces of blood, they were taken individually to the lieutenant’s office, where they were interviewed by counselors.

Based on the staff’s initial investigation and what the officers had witnessed upon their arrival, MacNally was identified as the instigator and given a nonstop ticket to the Hole, which was located in the west yard of the penitentiary in Building 63, a separate two-story structure. MacNally had escaped relatively unscathed, and except for assorted abrasions and bruises-mostly from when he was being wrestled down and handcuffed-his injuries were nothing compared to those sustained by Gormack and Wharton.

MacNally was escorted to a three-man unit with cement walls, a narrow stall shower in the corner, and formed-concrete bunk beds-one along the left wall and two in a line along the right-suspended by triangular iron brackets.

There was already a man asleep on one of the cots when the officer shoved MacNally inside.

The inmate stirred, lifted his head, but did not get up. “Who the fuck’re you?”

“Walt MacNally. You?”

“John,” the blue-eyed, dirty-blond convict said. “John Anglin. Guys call me J.W.” Anglin narrowed his eyes, then swung his feet over the side of the bed and sat up. “Wait a minute. MacNally-you’re the guy from the showers? Gormack?”

MacNally could not stop a grin from spreading his lips. “That’s me.”

Anglin nodded slowly, holding his chin back and appraising him. “You’re a fish. Got a lot to learn.”

MacNally set his kit down on the bed, then said, “So? What’s your point?”

“Things work a certain way here. You gotta follow the law.”

MacNally shook his head. “Gormack and Wharton had to pay.”

“Something like you did-it’s gotta be approved by the guy who’s running the place.”

MacNally sat down on his bunk and faced Anglin. “You mean the warden?”

“No, asshole. Every prison’s got gangs, that kinda shit. But nothing happens in a joint without first being ran past the main guy, the head inmate. You know, a guy who’s been around the place a long fucking time, who knows the players and how shit goes down-but still young enough to be callin’ the shots because no one ain’t never gonna cross him.”

MacNally did not think that an apology would be a response that would be respected. Instead, he said, “Didn’t have a choice. They had to be put in their place. But I’ll tell you this, J.W. Those fuckers aren’t gonna move against me again.”

Anglin locked eyes with MacNally, then lay back down on the bunk and drew the covers up to his chin.

Thus far, the Hole or not, his new living arrangements were working out far better than his first cell assignment had.

TWO DAYS LATER, MACNALLY AND ANGLIN were playing cards when they both sensed a presence by the bars. They turned and saw Voorhees standing there.

“Know what happened to your former cellies, MacNally?” No doubt noticing the inmate’s blank expression, Voorhees said, “Gormack’s had two surgeries, but looks like he’s gonna be blind. You did a number on his eyes.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“One of Wharton’s testicles was too badly damaged to be saved, and he’s got a fractured skull and some sort of raging blood infection.”

Does he think I went overboard? Is he putting on a show for J.W. to cover his ass? “Sounds like whoever did this was pretty pissed off,” MacNally said. “Wish I could say I’m upset by it. But I’m not.”

Voorhees kept his gaze fixed on MacNally a long moment, then pushed off the gate and walked off.

MacNally tossed a card onto the pile, then smiled internally. This was the best he had felt in a very long time-since the day before he found Doris’s body on the floor of his kitchen.

Soon as he got out of the Hole, he would need to construct a new shiv. Given what he had been able to do with the bolt, he was never going to be without a weapon again.