The Stolen

32

Raymond Benjamin dialed the number of the motel. He'd made the reservation for the Reeds just before he'd told them what was going to happen to their home. He'd broken it to them matter-of-factly. He'd told them they might have to leave at a moment's notice, but didn't really believe himself it would ever come to that. Elaine seemed pretty unnerved but agreed to cooperate. Like always. Bob stayed silent, nodded at his wife's approval. But now it was Ray who was unnerved.

Pinter, Jason – Henry Parker 03

The Stolen (2008)

When the receptionist picked up, he said, "Yes, can you connect me to the room of Robert and Elaine Reed?"

"Hold a moment, sir." Ray heard typing in the background. "Sir, we don't have any record of anyone by that name checking in."

"But you do have a reservation, right?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Reed, weekly rates, supposed to have checked in yesterday, but according to this they haven't."

"Fuck me," Ray said.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Nothing. You're sure about that?"

"Yes, sir. Would you like me to have a message waiting for them when they do check in?"

Ray slammed the phone down on the cradle so hard the plastic receiver broke in half. It took him far too long to jimmy open the door to the pay phone booth, and finally he cracked the glass when he kicked it inward with his foot. Vince was leaning up against the car, an errant toothpick sticking out of his mouth. Either it was lodged between two teeth or the man had simply forgotten it was there. Ray had a sudden desire to smack the thing out of his mouth. But he restrained himself.

This wasn't going as he'd hoped. Things had taken a drastic turn once Parker and the girl had arrived at the house on Huntley, and that necessitated burning the place down. Of course, doing that meant relocating the Reed family, which was an ordeal in and of itself.

He'd begun to worry about Bob and Elaine from nearly the moment they took the girl home. There was something in their eyes that was different from the other families, a sense of sorrow that worried him from the start. He'd told them from the first time he met them that they'd have to be strong. Keep everything in perspective. Look at this as short-term pain for a long-term solution. They were doing it for the right reasons, and years from now they'd be happy they did it.

Now he wasn't so sure.

Bob and Elaine had a motive. There was a reason they were chosen. The same way there was a reason Ray was good at his job, he expected the Reeds to live up to their end of the deal. Looking back on that one week that shaped

Raymond Benjamin into what he'd become, he knew how fast one moment could change everything.

Few people knew the truth about Raymond Benjamin.

That all of the violence, everything that had occurred during the horrific, bloody days from September 9 to September 13 was because of him. While the riots started because the Attica prisoners were tired of being treated like animals, there was one spark that started the explosion.

The week of September 2, 1971, a small metal bucket was placed inside Ray's cell. It contained about a gallon of water. The guard told him it was his weekly supply of water to shower with. On September 8, during mess hall,

Ray mouthed off about the food. He didn't remember his exact words, but it boiled down to the meat loaf tasting like it had been some poor guy's meat. That got him one cigarette burn behind his knee.

The next morning, on September 9, Raymond Benjamin thought he was in for the worst day of his life. The previous night, one of the guards came by, dropping a single roll of toilet paper into Ray's cell. Hope you got a clean ass, 'cause this is the last one you're getting until the end of the month.

Frustrated, Ray threw the roll back at the officer, hitting him in the head. It barely stunned him, but soon all of 5

Company was laughing their ass off. The guard turned red, told Ray he'd see him in the morning and walked off.

While his fellow inmates hooted and hollered at the newly christened "Officer Shithead," Ray sat in his cell, shivering as if death itself was waiting for him. And for all he assumed, it was.

The next morning, September 9, all of 5 Company's cells opened, the sign for morning roll call. All cells except for Ray Benjamin's. As his friends walked past, they saw him still in the cell, sitting on the edge of his bed, knees quaking. Ray had never been so scared in his life. He could hear the footsteps of the guards as they did morning rounds, could hear the clomps as his friends walked past, knowing their buddy was about to face the worst beating of his life. Perhaps the last beating of his life.

Ray sat there and prayed. He apologized to the Lord for what his life had become. He apologized for his sins and promised that, if he was given another chance, he would make the most of it. He would right those wrongs. Ray's eyes were squeezed shut, tears pouring out the sides. He hoped it would be quick, if anything. That would be something to be thankful for.

Then Ray heard something odd. Footsteps coming back his way. But they weren't the loud thump-thump of the guards', they were the soft, muffled steps of the prisoners. Then Ray heard a man yelling, and damned if it wasn't

Officer Shithead himself.

"You assholes get back here, right now!"

The 5 Company prisoners didn't go back to roll call.

Instead they walked right back to their cells and sat down.

Possum, a big black man from Alabama, said, "Fuck you.

You gonna take one man, you gonna take all the men."

Possum was talking about Ray.

Soon Officer Shithead was marching down the cell block, nightstick unsheathed.

Officer Shithead didn't live another minute.

After they'd beat him to death with his own baton,

Ray's brothers in 5 Company managed to get his cell open.

Several minutes later, a guard heard a commotion down

A Tunnel, went to see what the hell was taking 5 Company so long, and that's when the devil unleashed hell.

Ray survived the riots with his life, his sanity, and just one small scar on his cheek obtained on September 13 when the cops finally opened fire. A glass pane shattered, carving out a chunk of Ray's face. William "Billy Buds"

Moss, a surgeon in lockup for raping a patient, stitched it together with a spool and tweezers stolen from the nurse's office, moments before it went up in flames.

Raymond Benjamin would be ejected from the penal system two years later. Thirty-nine people died in those riots. Most of them were buried. Officer Shithead, Ray later learned, had been burned beyond recognition. There was barely enough of him left to bury.

Leaving Attica, Ray Benjamin was a changed man. Not so much in deeds. He was still prone to violence, still had the temper of a pissed-off Viking, but now he had a cause.

Not to mention a massive nicotine addiction. He told friends that after all the pain cigarettes had caused him in prison, he might as well get a little pleasure out of them.

Several times a month Ray would wake up at night, remembering that morning sitting in his cell, praying for forgiveness. Waiting for a death that, with mercy, decided to pass him over. He never forgot that. Never took it for granted. And every act of violence, everything he did that

"society" wouldn't approve of, was going toward making things right. It didn't matter if people couldn't understand it. He knew it was right.

The Reeds were part of that plan. They were doing the right thing.

But now they were gone, and Ray Benjamin felt concern for the first time in a long time. If the Reeds lost their will, they could give up everything. Ray would go down. So would the big man. And everything Ray had worked for over the past thirty years would be lost.

Ray thought about the Reeds. Where could they have gone? And why would they suddenly decide to disobey such simple fucking directions?

They weren't at the motel. Elaine wasn't picking up her cell phone. He'd given them the address, a newly cloned phone, and now he couldn't find them. It was like they'd looked him in the eye and lied to him.

"This isn't good," he said to Vince. "The Reeds have disappeared."

Vince snorted a laugh, managed to keep the toothpick in his mouth. "Ain't that ironic."

Ray looked at him, then said fuck it. He couldn't help himself.

He slapped Vince across the face, the toothpick doing a little spiral before landing in a puddle of sludge several feet away. That made Ray smile.

When Vince recovered, he was holding his jaw, a thin trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

"Ow, man, what the fuck?"

"Couldn't take that stupid toothpick anymore."

"Christ, you could have asked me to throw it out!"

"Consider this an apology. Come on, let's go."

They got into the car, Ray shaking his head as Vince started the engine.

"What is it?" Vince said, mopping up his lip with a handkerchief.

"The Reeds," he said. "I don't trust them anymore.

They don't realize this thing is bigger than them. They're being selfish, not realizing they're putting years of work at risk. I thought they could be trusted, that they had their family's best interests in mind. I guess I was wrong."

"What are you saying, boss?" Vince asked.

"I think when we find them, we need to make them gone."

"Gone like the kids? Or, like, gone gone?"

Ray looked at him, didn't say a word. Vince nodded solemnly. Ray patted the kid on the back. That was his answer right there. Then they drove away.