Isolation in a prison was a weird thing to experience. Inmates locked in solitary confinement could communicate with other inmates by yelling to them. Inmates could even play chess by tearing up milk cartons from breakfast and labeling them rook, king, queen, pawn, etc. Next, they drew a chess board on the back of an inmate request slip and labeled each square with consecutive numbers. During play, each inmate yelled out of their cell a chess piece and the square number that they wanted that piece on. Hell, there could even be a wager. In the end, the game had removed the inmates’ minds from being trapped in a cell. That was not possible for Andre Bezel.
Andre was housed in an observation cell that was not on the the North or South SHU wings. It was in the middle of the two wings, right in front of the Correctional Officer’s (CO) office. The room was much larger than a cell in the event officers had to get in there and move around to restrain an inmate, or to strap them to the concrete slab in the middle of the cell instead of up against the wall. Andre had been stripped of his orange jump suit and donned a hospital gown. He had been downgraded to a paper bag meal plan, and that sucked because dinner was a meat loaf roll, filled with everything under the sun just wrapped up together.
If that wasn’t enough, there was a 1,000-watt light bulb on the ceiling and a CO sat right outside the door to monitor Andre’s actions. Every 15 minutes, there was a log entry of his actions and conversations with the CO. After an hour, he had finally lain down to make an attempt at sleep, despite the blinding light and staff presence. His sleep was interrupted by the light tap of a pen on the cell door.
“Mr. Bezel,” a soft voice said. “It’s Dr. Baldwin, the psychologist.”
Music to my ears, Dre thought and lay there without moving.
“Are you awake? I need to speak with you, Mr. Bezel.”
Andre was not given any sheets or blankets so he was not covered. He just lay on his back with his forearm covering his eyes. He shook his head up and down and said, “Talk.”
“Could you come over to the window? I need to see your face.”
“Come on, Bezel. Get over here, and stop the foolishness!” Officer Daniels shouted.
Still in the bed, Andre said, “See Doc, tell Officer Daniels to mind his got-damn business and this conversation will be a lot smoother.” He sat up and said, “But if he continues to mind our,” he pointed his finger at the doctor and then at himself, “business, I assure you that, he’s not going to like the mess that he has to clean up.”
Dr. Baldwin looked at the CO sternly. It was a look that meant absolutely nothing to all parties involved. The CO knew that the doctor would never make such a command and mean it. But so did Andre. It was all a game of protocol. That was what the prison system was all about, he had learned. Just a bunch of lies and deceit designed to spin the next man. Andre had been around the prison horn and it was high time that he did the spinning, but first he had to master being an artful bullshitter to a higher degree than the staff. The prison flooding was just the beginning of his wave of spins. He had a buyer beware sign on his forehead for anyone that bought any of the things that was prepared to come out of his mouth too.
The CO backed up away from the cell door and gave Andre a hard stare in a cheap game of bad CO and good psychologist. He then got up off the bed and then walked to the cell door and asked, “What do you want?”
“How about you tell me what you want, sir. I am here for you.” The doctor was smooth and serene like a seasoned psyche. Andre was unimpressed.
“Life in the hell hole is not about me. It’s about the staff. This self-hating breed of the public’s rejects. And I don’t just mean the prison staff here. My statement goes beyond the Bureau of Prisons and extends right on up the fucking food chain to the half-breed up there in the executive branch. My president ain’t the hell black, he’s mixed!”
“Ok, Andre,” the doctor said and scribbled on a note pad. “What’s your problem here?”
“What have you heard my problem is?”
“I haven’t heard anything.”
“Nothing?” Raised eyebrow.
“Well...”
“Come clean, why don’t you.”
“You wanted to see your lawyer.”
“Yes.”
“But that’s not it.”
“It’s not?”
“You had the entire jail refuse to be locked in their cells and flood the tiers. This is much bigger than an attorney visit.”
“Really, doc?” Andre stroked his goatee, which had grown to two inches long. “Are we going to play? They.” he said and pointed at the CO’s office, which was filled with officers and other prison staff trying to get a handle on the mayhem that has been bestowed upon the FDC. “They are over there playing and you’re over here playing. It seems that no one is serious and I promise consequences.”
“Is that a threat?” Very calm. Eerily calm.
“You don’t seem pressed. I am not either.” Big smile and he backed up to the back of the cell.
“You start trial Monday.”
“Rumor.”
“Rumor, huh. You start trial on Monday. Tomorrow to be precise. Is that troubling you?”
“And even if it was, you’re going to do what about it? Certainly, not give me an antidepressant that can get me out of trial and the end result. Besides, anything that you can prescribe me will render me incapable of participating in my trial and after they bamboozled me out of a lawyer, I need to be as alive and focused as possible.”
“Ok, I get that, but what I don’t get is why this bit of madness that you spun into fruition came about.”
Slow pimp stroll back to the cell window. He was putting on a theatrical production and everything counted. “I don’t know what to tell you about the madness that has spun into effect, or into fruition, as you so eloquently put it. But I can tell you this, I had nothing to do with it.”
“Well, Mr. Bezel. It seems that way, and the rumor mill has begun.”
A careful thought and a blank stare. “See, this is why the prison staff works here and not at the FBI or any other government agency. They can’t properly investigate. They rely on the word and eyewitness account of inmates. Let’s be realistic here. If I used the prison toilet communication system to orchestrate this, do you think for one second that this would not have leaked to the staff in the planning phase? Come on. There’s more rats in here than in the NY subway. Miss me with the bullshit. There is someone else that orchestrated the things going on on the floors below us. Now run along, sweet heart, I have a nap to get too.”