Joe Victim

Chapter Thirty-Four

I end up missing lunch because of my busy schedule with my psychiatrist, with Schroder and my lawyer, and then my psychiatrist again. So by early afternoon my stomach is twisting in knots. Which is when prison guard Adam comes and sees me. He has a sandwich. I’ve missed meals before because of other appointments, and I faced the same problem back then that I’m facing now-you just don’t know what’s in the food that prison guards bring to you, and it’s their job to make sure you get something.

“Bon appétit,” Adam says, which I figure is Latin for Fuck you.

I unwrap the sandwich and peel back the bread. There’s a bunch of pubic hairs between a slice of cheese and a slice of meat, enough of them to knit a jersey for a mouse-which is ironic because the last time Adam brought me a sandwich there actually was a dead mouse in it. I wrap it back up and hand it to Adam, who doesn’t take it.

“It’s either that, Middleton, or go hungry.”

“I’ll go hungry,” I say, just like I went hungry with the Mickey sandwich.

“We’ll see,” he says, and he wanders off, leaving me alone in my cell.

I go back to staring at the walls. I think about Melissa and I think about my auntie and I think about the psychiatrist and I think about the death penalty, and all that thinking makes me hungrier, and I realize I have more doubts than I thought about my future. The public has built up a profile of me without even getting to know me. A jury pool will be drawn from people who have been reading and watching a whole lot of negative shit about me over the last twelve months. How is it I can be judged by a panel of my peers? Are there twelve men and women out there who have taken lives, banged a few lonely housewives, had part of their genitalia removed, and tried shooting themselves? No. I’m going to be judged by dentists and shoe salesmen and musicians.

The communal area between the cells is open. The same people are there doing the same things-playing cards, talking, wishing they were all outside doing the kinds of things that got them locked inside. Other than an hour a day exercising in a small pen outside, most of us haven’t seen outside in a long time. Outside could be destroyed by aliens and it wouldn’t make a difference to any of us.

Another hour goes by. My stomach is rumbling even louder. Adam comes back to see me. “You have a phone call,” he says.

He leads me back through the cellblock. We head down a corridor and past a locked door to a phone that’s been bolted to the wall, the same size and shape of a payphone. It’s bolted pretty securely not because prison is full of thieves, but full of people who could beat somebody to death with a nice heavy object like that. The receiver is hanging from it, still swinging slightly from where it was dropped. Adam leans against the wall a few feet away and watches me.

I pick up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Joe, it’s Kevin Wellington,” he says.

“Who?”

A sigh, and then, “Your lawyer,” he says.

“You’ve got a deal?”

“It’s your lucky day, Joe,” he says, which is good because I need to string a lot more lucky days together and this could just be the one that gets the ball falling. “Between me and the prosecution, yes, we’ve struck a deal. You’re getting immunity on Detective Calhoun if you show them where the body is. It can’t be used against you in the trial. You just have to keep your mouth shut about everything else and just show them where the body is and nothing more. Do you get that?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Repeat it to me.”

I look up at Adam, who’s still staring at me. I lower the phone. “It’s my lawyer,” I tell him, “doesn’t that entail me to some privacy?”

“It’s entitle, you idiot,” he says, but I’m not so sure he’s right. “I’m sure it does entitle you,” he says, but doesn’t make any effort to move.

I turn so my back is to him and talk into the phone.

“I get it,” I tell my lawyer.

“No, Joe, tell me what it is you get.”

“I’m to keep my mouth shut,” I tell my lawyer.

“That’s right. You don’t answer their questions, you don’t make conversation. And most importantly, you don’t act like a cocky smart-ass because that’s the exact attitude that’s been making life difficult.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your attitude, Joe. You think you’re superior to everybody else, and you’re not. Your belief that-”

“Uh huh, okay, cool,” I say, interrupting him because he’s making it sound like a bad thing to be superior to other people. It’s that kind of attitude that turns small-minded people into losers. “Moving on,” I say. “What happens with the money? How do we know they’ll pay?”

“The money goes into escrow.”

“Where the hell is that? Europe?”

“Are you for real, Joe?”

“What the hell are you on about?”

“It’s not a where, Joe. It’s a what. It’s like a middleman for the money. It’s like a referee looking after it. Once the body has been identified as Calhoun, you get paid.”

“So I’ll get it when, tomorrow?”

“That depends, Joe, on how easy he is to identify. What condition did you leave him in?”

“Shit,” I tell him. “So this escrow guy, no matter what happens now, the money comes to me if the identity is confirmed, right?”

“That’s right.”

“No matter what.”

A pause, and then, “No matter what,” he confirms.

“Let’s say a nuclear bomb goes off and half the country is killed, there are dead cops everywhere, nobody to run the prisons so we’re all set free. I still get paid, right?”

“What are you getting at, Joe?”

“I just need to make sure. No matter what, I get paid. If I were to walk out of here a wanted man after I’ve shown them the body, then-”

“You get paid,” my lawyer says. “The only condition it’s subject to is Calhoun being identified. However, if you were to walk away somehow a wanted man, you’d find it very difficult to access your bank account.”

“Oh,” I tell him. “Can we get it in cash?”

“No, Joe, you can’t. And what does it matter? Are you planning on walking away a wanted man?”

“No, no, of course not. But having a bank account is no use to me in here,” I tell him. “It’s not like there’s an ATM in here. It’s not like I can offer to write a check to somebody who wants to kill me.”

“And it’s not like you can store fifty thousand dollars under your mattress, Joe.”

“Can you set up a separate account? Something under your name that I can access?” I ask.

“No. Listen, Joe-”

“Okay, then put it into my mother’s account,” I tell him.

“Why?”

“Because she needs the money,” I tell him. “Because I want to look after her. And because she visits me every week and she can bring some of it with her each time.”

“Do you have her account details?”

“She’ll have them. You can contact her.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll contact her tomorrow.”

“What time am I showing them?”

“Ten a.m.”

I shake my head. “Err. . no. That doesn’t work for me.”

Another pause. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I am. Ten o’clock is too early.”

“Come on, Joe, are you deliberately trying to make this difficult? This is a good deal for you. A great deal that a lot of us had to work hard to-”

“I’m telling you, it’s too early,” I say.

“Why?”

“I’ve got interviews with the psychiatrist all day tomorrow. That stuff is important. I’m not going to risk ruining it. You warned me about that.”

“Well I’m sure she can work around it.”

I start shaking my head as if he can see me. “Listen to me. David-”

“It’s Kevin.”

“Kevin. Morning isn’t good for me.”

“Because you have other appointments.”

“Yes. This is my defense we’re talking about here. My future. It’s my life. I’m not going to mess around with that.”

I can imagine him sitting at his desk. He’s got one hand on his forehead and he’s holding the phone away from himself and staring into it. Perhaps he’s even thinking about hanging up. Or tying it around his neck and hanging himself.

“Joe, we’ve got the ball rolling here, and you’re in danger of messing everything up. What’s really going on here?”

“Nothing is going on, other than what I just told you. You’re my lawyer. You convince them that if they want this deal to go ahead, it can’t be in the morning.”

“When then?”

“When I’m done with the interviews,” I say. “Make it four o’clock,” I say.

“Four o’clock,” Kevin says. “Why four o’clock?”

“Why not four o’clock?”

“Jesus, Joe, you’re really making this difficult,” he tells me.

“Just make it happen,” I tell him. “And by the way, it’s falling, not rolling.”

“What?”

“We’ve got the ball falling here. Not rolling.”

He doesn’t answer. I listen to his silence for a few seconds, then I hang up like they do in movies all the time without saying good-bye, when both parties seem to know the conversation has come to an end.

I turn toward Adam. “I need to make a phone call.”

“You just made a phone call.”

“No. I received a phone call. Now I need to make one.”

He smiles at me. There is no warmth in that smile. “I don’t give a fuck about what you need, Joe.”

“Please. It’s important.”

“Seriously, Joe, which part of what I just said didn’t compute? Take a look at me. Do I look like I care about what you need?”

I look at him. He actually looks like the kind of guy who cares about what I need and is willing to make sure I don’t get it. If I tugged hard on the phone receiver and broke it free, I could use it as a club. I could entail the fuck out of him with it. Then the phone would be useless. Which makes it a paradox, since I need it. Or an irony. Or both.

“Please,” I tell him. “Please.”

“Tell you what, Joe,” he says, pressing himself away from the wall while scratching at one of his bulging biceps. “Have you eaten the sandwich yet?”

“What sandwich?”

“The one I brought you earlier.”

“No.”

“Tell you what, Joe. Here’s how it’s going to play out. I’ll let you make your call, and in return for me letting you do that, you eat that sandwich.”

I say nothing.

He says nothing.

I think about the sandwich and what it would take to eat it. I think about tomorrow and getting out of here and never coming back.

“Well?” he says.

“Okay,” I say, the word barely coming out.

“What was that, Joe?”

“I said okay.”

“Good. And since I’m feeling in a good mood, I’m going to trust you. You go ahead and make that phone call first. I’ll let you do that. But when we get back to your cell if you don’t eat that sandwich then there will be no more phone calls for you in the future. In fact, your future will become all about misplacement. Your misplacement. We’re not going to be keeping as good an eye on you as we should. Next thing you know, you’re in general population by accident. You’re showering with the big guys. And the thing about accidents is they happen all the time. We on the same page here, Joe?”

“I’ll eat the sandwich,” I tell him. Then after Melissa sets me free I’m going to find Adam and stuff him so full of pubic-hair sandwiches he’s going to look like a mohair jersey.

I pick the receiver back up and dial my mom’s number. It rings a few times and she doesn’t answer.

“Deal still counts even if nobody is home,” Adam says. “You’re still making your call.”

“It’s not a call if nobody answers,” I tell him.

“You’re calling and nobody is home,” he says. “Technically that’s still a call.”

Technically the pubic-hair sandwiches won’t kill him. I’ll make him eat as many as he can, though. But what will kill him will be a blade twisting slowly into his stomach.

Just then my mother answers the phone and, for the first time ever, speaking to my mom gives me a sense of relief.

“Hello?”

I can hear Walt in the background asking who it is.

“I don’t know yet,” she says to him. “Hello?” she repeats.

“Hi, Mom.”

“There’s nobody there,” she says to Walt, because she’s already pulled the phone away from her ear.

“Mom, it’s me,” I tell her.

“Hello?” Mom says.

“Perhaps let me try,” Walt says.

“Damn it, Mom, I’m here. Can’t you hear me?”

“Joe? Is that you?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Joe?”

“I’m here,” I say, and I think about what the shrink was hinting at earlier, about surrogate victims, because this conversation has sent me back to the earlier thoughts of ripping the phone from its cable and beating Adam to death with it.

“Well why are you staying so quiet?” Mom asks.

“Is that Joe?” Walt asks.

“It’s Joe,” Mom says to Walt, her voice a little muffled as she pulls the phone away from her ear.

“Ask him how he is,” Walt says, almost yelling at her.

“Good idea, honey,” Mom says, and brings the phone back to her mouth. “How are you Joe?” she asks, almost yelling at me now because Walt is still talking to her in the background.

“Things are great,” I tell her.

“He says things are great,” she tells Walt, talking loudly to be heard over him.

“That’s wonderful,” Walt says. “Ask him if he’s looking forward to the wedding.”

“Of course he is,” she says.

“Mom-”

“Ask him anyway,” Walt says.

“Mom-”

“Joe, we want to know, are you looking forward to the wedding?”

“Yes. Of course,” I say.

“That’s fantastic,” she says, then relays the news to Walt, who has the exact same reaction. “Thanks for calling and letting us know,” she says.

“Wait, wait, Mom. .”

But Mom hangs up.

I feel something tug at my eyes and hurt as I roll them too far upward.

“Phone call is over,” Adam says.

“That’s not fair,” I tell him. “I got disconnected.”

“You still technically made the call,” he says.

“There has to be something else we can agree on,” I tell him.

He gives it a few seconds of thought. “Okay,” he says, and I realize I’ve just said something he was really hoping to hear. “Here’s how things are going to play out,” he says, which is what he said earlier. He must love that phrase. “You’re going to get to dial her back, and the next sandwich I bring you you’re going to eat without ever looking what’s inside of it. Deal?”

“Deal,” I tell him.

“Slow down there, big fella. I’m serious here. You try to renege, and I’ll make you pay. You got no idea the things I can do to you.”

“It’s a deal,” I tell him.

He smiles. A big, cold smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “When you came here, Joe, remember how they put you on suicide watch?”

I remember. They did the same thing to Caleb Cole, only I wasn’t suicidal. I was angry and disappointed, but there’s nothing you can do to rectify those things if you’re dead.

“You asked me back then to put you into general population. You remember that?”

“I remember,” I tell him, but it’s not something I think about. Not only was I angry and disappointed, I was confused too.

“You thought if I put you in there, things would end for you quick. You thought it’d be like pulling off a Band-Aid-get it done fast-and I told you that was true, except it would be pulling off a Band-Aid while being raped in the showers while a filed-down toothbrush is pressing against your neck.”

“I told you I remember,” I tell him.

“You don’t feel that way now, though, do you, Joe, because you’ve had time to calm down and now you’ve got the trial coming up and you think that somehow the jury is going to be made up of people so fucked in the head they’re going to let you go. You want to live now, don’t you, Joe?”

“Yes.”

“So let me get this straight. If you don’t eat the sandwich I bring you,” he says, “all that stuff I told you about is going to happen. It’s going to happen a lot. It’s going to happen every day they bring you back from your trial. And if you find a way to complain about it, it will start happening twice a day. So let’s be clear here, Joe, before you make that phone call.”

I think about. If all goes well I’ll be out of here tomorrow anyway. It could be days or weeks before Adam brings me that sandwich. Any number of things could have changed in that time. He could die. I could be free. The nuclear bomb I told my lawyer about might happen. All I know is that right now I have to make this phone call. Nothing else matters.

“I understand,” I tell him. “But the phone call has to connect, and if I’m disconnected I get to ring back. What I’m talking about here is a phone conversation. If I ring and nobody answers, that’s not the deal.”

Adam slowly nods. “I’m a reasonable man,” he says. “I can go along with that.”

I turn my back to him. I phone my mom. It takes her a minute to answer. It’s as if in the time I was gone she went for a walk into the lounge and got lost.

“Hello?” she says.

“Mom, it’s me.”

“Joe?”

“Yes. Of course. Listen, Mom, I need you to-”

“It’s Joe,” Mom says, calling out to Walt.

“Joe? Ask him how he’s doing.”

“Joe, how are you doing?”

“I’m doing great,” I tell her. “Listen, Mom, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Of course, Joe. Anything.”

“He calling about the wedding?” Walt asks

“Are you, Joe? Calling to tell us how much you’re looking forward to that?”

“I just called two minutes ago to tell you that.”

“I know that, Joe. I’m not an idiot.”

“So is he?” Walt asks.

“An idiot?” Mom says to Walt.

“No, is he calling about the wedding?”

“I don’t know,” she says to him. “He won’t answer me.”

I lower my voice. “I’m not calling about the wedding again,” I tell her. “I need you to call my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend? Why would I do that?”

“Do you have her number?”

“Yes, of course I do. I wouldn’t be able to call her otherwise. Are you bringing her to the wedding? Oh, Joe, I’m so pleased! It’s time you found a nice woman. I was getting worried, you know. And your girlfriend reminds me of how I was back then. She’s very attractive, Joe. Of course I’ll call her and invite her along! What a wonderful idea!”

“Okay, great, Mom, that’s great, but I also need you to tell her I got her message.”

“What message?”

“She’ll know what I mean.”

“Hang on, Joe, let me write this down,” she says, and there’s a clunk as she sits the receiver on the table and shuffles off. Nothing for about a minute and I become increasingly concerned she’s either gotten lost or has fallen asleep or has got distracted by the TV. I twist my head and look at Adam who’s grinning at me. He taps his watch and winds his finger around in the air. Wrap it up.

Scuffling as the phone is picked back up. Mom is back.

“Joe? Is that you?”

It’s not Mom. It’s Walt. “How are you doing, Walt?”

“I’m doing fine. Weather report says it’s supposed to be fine all week now, but you know what weather reports are like-they’re like fucking your sister in an elevator.”

“What?”

“Wrong on many levels,” he says, and he starts to laugh.

“I don’t get it,” I tell him.

“It’s elevator humor,” he says. “It suggests having sex with your sister is okay on some levels. That’s what makes it great. I used to repair elevators. Didn’t you know that, Joe? That’s what I did for thirty years. Boy, we’d tell that joke all the time. Though it wasn’t always your sister. It could be your brother, or your dog or your aunt.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Just for a laugh. We didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No. I mean why would you say it about my aunt?”

“People always need elevators,” he says, “aunts and uncles too.” I wonder where the hell my mother is getting a pen from. The moon? “Buildings get bigger, elevator shafts get longer, more wear and tear. I wouldn’t want to be doing it these days, mind you. Too complex. Too much technology. Back then it was all about cables and pulleys, now it’s all about electronics. You gotta have an engineering degree in rocket science. There was this one time, ooh, let me think, twenty, maybe twenty-five years ago when Jesse, he was this neat kid who got his arm caught in one of the. . Oh, wait, hang on,” he says, then his voice is muffled as he holds his hand over the receiver, and then he comes back on the line. “Your mother is back,” he says. “Don’t tell her the joke,” he says, then disappears with his joke and with his Jesse arm story.

“Joe? Are you still there? It’s your mother,” Mom says.

“I’m still here,” I tell her.

“Now what’s this number I’m ringing?”

“You have the number,” I tell her. “For my girlfriend.”

“Yes, of course, I know that. I just want you to repeat this message.”

“I need you to tell her that I got the message.”

“I. Got. The. Message,” she says, writing each word down. “No, Joe, what’s the message?”

“That is the message.”

“You’re saying the message is I got the message?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Does that mean you got the message or I got the message?”

“It means I got the message,” I tell her.

“What kind of message is that?”

“I don’t know, Mom, it just is what it is.”

“It’s a stupid message,” she says.

“There’s more. Tell her I got the message, and that it’s happening tomorrow.”

“It’s. Happening. Tomorrow,” she says, writing it down in that messy scrawl of hers. I know what’s coming up before she even asks. “Wait, Joe, are you saying you got the message and the message is happening tomorrow? Or that you’re not getting the message until tomorrow?”

Adam is still grinning at me. Something here is amusing him.

“Just say exactly what I told you,” I tell Mom. “That I got the message and it’s happening tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” she says.

“It will to my girlfriend.”

“Okay, Joe, but you’re really making this difficult,” she says, and I imagine she and my lawyer are going to get on great when he calls her. “I’ll talk to her first thing in the morning,” she says.

“No. Call her now, Mom. And if she’s not home and you call her tomorrow, then the message changes, okay? In fact, change the message. Tell her it’s Saturday,” I say, because if she rings tomorrow she’ll say tomorrow, which will make it Sunday. “You get that? It’s very important. You’re telling her I got her message and it’s happening on Saturday. This Saturday. Tomorrow Saturday.”

“I’m not an idiot, Joe.”

“I know that, Mom.”

“Then why do you talk to me sometimes as if I am?”

“It’s my fault,” I tell her.

“I know it’s your fault. Why would I think otherwise?”

“So you’ll call her now then?”

“Okay, Joe.”

“I love. .” I start, but the phone is dead. “You,” I finish.

I hang up the receiver. Adam smiles at me. He doesn’t need to say how much he’s about to enjoy this, because it’s written all over his face. He walks me back to my cell. The sandwich is where I threw it, wrapped up, sitting on the floor opposite my bed. I was hoping somehow it would have disappeared.

“You remember the deal, don’t you, Joe. You remember there are two sandwiches.”

“I remember.”

“See? That’s good. Because lately all anybody hears from you is that you can’t remember anything. Pick it up,” he says, and points to the sandwich.

I pick the sandwich up and unwrap it. “Before you take a bite,” he says, “why don’t you go ahead and take another look at what’s inside.”

I take another look. Cheese. Some kind of meat that looks like it’s come from a part of the animal nobody could identify, or perhaps the animal itself couldn’t be identified. And in there the clump of pubic hair, tangled up and stuck to everything.

I put the sandwich back together. I think of Melissa and escaping jail, the books, the message. I think of better times from the past and think about the better times coming up.

“The deal,” Adam says.

The deal. I hold my breath and take the first bite.