Chickenhawk: Back in the World

“Who wants to make phone calls?” a metallic voice said.

“Tillerman and Mason.”

“Wait,” the voice said.

“And Bob Ireland needs to see a doctor,” John yelled.

No answer.

“Hey!” Loopy called. “This you guys?”

John and I looked over at Loopy. He was pointing to the television. You couldn’t see the picture unless you were nearly directly in front of the TV because you couldn’t see through the closely spaced bars at an angle. I walked over while John yelled, “Hey! Can you hear me? Ireland needs to see a doctor!”

I saw the Namaste on television. She was moored among a bunch of other yachts at some marina in Charleston. Men wearing blue jackets were wrestling big bales of marijuana out of her and loading them into a van. The announcer said this was one of the biggest marijuana hauls in local history, three thousand pounds worth over two million dollars. “Wow!” Loopy said. “You guys are big-time!”

The big black guy seemed to agree. “Motherfucker!” he said, grinning. “You boys are in some serious fucking trouble!” I could see the respect shining in his eyes.

The drug-bust story ended and the television cut to a picture of a skinny, eerie-looking blond guy wearing glasses thick enough to be paperweights. The picture switched, showing chalked outlines of where bodies had been, zooming in on puddles of sticky blood on the floor of some stockroom while a voice-over said that this guy had killed his boss and co-worker at the Piggly Wiggly food store somewhere in Charleston. He was the Piggly Wiggly murderer. He’d shot his boss and his friend for their paychecks. A seriously dangerous, but stupid, guy.

“Hey!” John yelled into the hallway. “Where the fuck is anybody?”

“What’s wrong with Ireland?” the voice from the speaker said.

“Something’s bad wrong with his stomach,” John yelled.

“Wait,” the voice said.

We waited, sitting on one of the tables. In a couple of minutes we heard the door down the hall open. Suddenly all the guys who were lurking in their cells swarmed into the dayroom. Everybody was chattering, looking happy. Something was up.

“Chow time,” Loopy said. Loopy had taken to hanging out around John and me, telling us what was what around here.

Two prisoners, trustees dressed in new blue uniforms, pushed a food cart up to the door. They began clanging down compartmented steel food trays on a shelf that stuck through the bars. The trays had stuff in them, sloppy, weird-looking kinds of stuff. I got one and looked at it: soupy rice sloshed around in a corner of the tray, a hot dog rolled around in the main compartment, and a dollop of turnip greens sat as an island in pale green juice next to a slice of wet white bread. When they’d delivered the trays, they began to ladle out Kool-Aid into plastic coffee cups you were supposed to have. Loopy, who was sitting across the table from me, said we could wash out one of the extra ones sitting back in the corner. I passed.

I made a sandwich of the hot dog and bread and ate. The hot dog was cold and rubbery. “This is terrible,” I said to Loopy.

“Yeah,” Loopy said, chewing eagerly while he nodded. “But they bring it regular.”

After dinner Porter took me out the big door and down the hall to a phone hung on the wall. He stood about ten feet away while I made a collect call home.

Jack answered.

“Dad?”

I swallowed. Hearing my son call me that was about as much as I could take. Tears started to well in my eyes and I got mad at myself and blinked them back. I looked up to see if Porter was watching, but he wasn’t.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s me, Jack. Mom around?” My question ended in such a high pitch, my voice cracked. I coughed.

“No, Dad, she went to the store. You want me to have her call you when she gets back? Where are you anyway?”

“I’m—” I had to compose myself again. “I’m in Charleston.”

“Charleston? You coming home?”

“Yes. I’m coming home in a few days. Listen, Jack. Tell Mom I’ll call back later, maybe an hour. She’ll be home in an hour?”

“Sure,” Jack said. “Wow. She’s sure going to be glad to know you’re back, Dad.”

“Yeah?” I said. “Well, okay. I’ll call back soon. See you soon, Jack.”

“Okay. Bye, Dad.”

I walked to Porter and said, “I couldn’t get who I wanted. Can I come back in an hour?”

“Sure,” Porter said. “Just let ‘em know in the wing.”

“You mean that fucking screaming and yelling communications system you have?”

“Yeah. Intercom system,” Porter said indignantly.

Back at the cell, I lay on my shelf and wished I could sleep. They’d finally come for Ireland and led him off bent over double. They said they’d take him to a hospital if they had to. I wanted to sleep to escape. But I couldn’t. I’d gone beyond the point of no return, and probably I’d never be able to sleep again. I got up and found John in the dayroom. He was smoking a cigarette. “Where’d you get that?” I said.

“Loopy,” John said.