The AA counselor checked Malley’s name off in his appointment book. “You got a lot off your mind,” he said. “Are you ready for the trip home?”
Malley sighed and scratched his chin stubble. He was ready to get out of there by any means necessary. He asked to see the counselor not only to help him deal with his withdrawal symptoms but also to get away from a cellmate who sat too close and asked too many questions.
“I’ve got all day and night to think about it,” Malley said. “I wish I could fall asleep and wake up in my own bed.”
“It’s one day at a time, Malcolm. Don’t look too far ahead.” The counselor signaled to the guard and handed Malley an AA pamphlet. “Good luck.”
“Thanks again for seeing me on short notice. I appreciate it.”
Malley walked a step ahead of the guard. His talk with the counselor was a chance to clear his head before he was to see Ronnie. They hadn’t been face to face in months, and he was nervous. He didn’t know who had arranged the meeting with his brother and didn’t care. It was just one more opportunity to be out of his cell.
He walked the long hallway, forced to take short steps because of his ankle cuffs. He turned the corner and entered a room with the guard close behind.
“Damn. No doubt you both got the same daddy,” the guard said when he saw Ronnie.
The crude comment made Malley smile. But the older brother immediately saw the strain in his younger brother’s face. Ronnie looked thin and tired. It shook Malley as he pictured himself looking the same.
“Gentlemen, you got ten minutes,” the guard said and stood by the door.
“How you holding up?” Malley asked as he looked at Ronnie.
Ronnie leaned back as he sat on a steel bench and showed his cuffed hands to Malley. He looked down at his feet that were cuffed to the floor. “How does it look like I’m holding up?” He clinched his fists.
“I know it’s rough,” Malley said and held out his own cuffed hands. He sat on another bench across from Ronnie. “We made some wrong turns, and it all caught up with us.”
Malley saw an expression on Ronnie’s face that combined anger and fear. He couldn’t blame Ronnie if Ronnie wanted to reach out and strangle him. He knew he was the reason his younger brother was sitting behind bars and facing hard time. If he had stayed away from Atlanta, Ronnie would be a free man.
“Mal, I had to give you up to the cops. I got my back up against the wall, Mal. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Stop, Ronnie. What’s done is done.” Malley felt a pang of guilt. He glanced over his shoulder at the guard. “You know I’ve said and done plenty of stupid shit to you in the past. I’m sorry about that and about Keith leaving. I could tell he cared about you.”
Ronnie shrugged. “At least he got me a lawyer. I guess that counts for something.”
The brothers sat for a long minute without speaking. The sound of a cell door slamming in the distance broke the silence.
“You think you’ll see CJ when you get back?” Ronnie asked.
“I don’t know. I just hope he’s clean since he got locked up. Damn, he was a mess.”
The brothers spent the last minutes reminiscing about better times when they felt like a family and took care of each other--when they had shown their love for each other.
“Time’s up, gentlemen,” the guard announced.
“This is it, huh?” Ronnie asked.
“Maybe. You know I like to go down swinging, right?” Malley smiled at Ronnie and kissed him on the top of his head. “Take care.”
The guard followed Malley back down the hallway and toward the cellblock. The closer they got, the stronger was the smell of musty, male body order.
The guard removed Malley’s cuffs inside the block and told him he could sit outside his cell in the common area. “Your roommate’s decorating again,” he said.
Malley walked to his cell door and saw his roommate tearing articles out of a newspaper and sticking them to the wall with toothpaste.
“Hey, roomie. Just keepin’ up with my investments,” Charlie Ward said.
Idiot, Malley thought. He looked at the stock market pages stuck on the walls. “Charlie, stop bullshittin’ me and get your paper off my bed.”
Malley had been Charlie’s cellmate for only a couple of days but could tell he was a life-long conman. Everything that came out of Charlie’s mouth involved his spending other people’s money. It was known throughout the jail that he was awaiting trial for running a Ponzi scheme that had duped retired cops out of their pension checks.
“I’m on the up and up,” Charlie said. “I got a thousand shares in Microsoft and another thousand in Apple. My girl’s gon’ sell ‘em for me and post my bail.”
“Right. And I own Walmart.” Malley gathered up the loose pages from his bottom bunk and dropped them on the metal desk welded to the cell wall. He sat on his bunk and looked at the AA pamphlet before tossing it on top of the pages.
Charlie whispered, “Hey, man, I can get you some jailhouse wine. They call it ‘pruno’ in here, and it’s crazy strong--like hard liquor.”
Malley was desperate for a drink but not that desperate. His hands still shook, and he got nauseous when he ate. But he was a beer man and didn’t have the stomach to gulp down some concoction that had fermented in some inmate’s footlocker. Nor did he want to get caught by the guards.
“Nah, man. My gut’s already screwed up.”
Malley scooted back on his bed and leaned against the wall. By tomorrow afternoon he’d be sitting on a bed in the Goslyn County jail and thinking exactly what he was thinking now--How do I get out of this? He looked at Charlie but tuned him out as Charlie rambled on about business associates who worked on Wall Street. Was Malley looking at his future? Was he a Charlie Ward--a man who treated jail like a second home? Not if he could help it. After all, he wasn’t guilty of anything--not of burglary, not of attacking Bertrand Lewis, and not of making meth.
He got up and pulled out a plastic bag from underneath his bunk. It held copies of his extradition papers he had signed on advice of his court-appointed lawyer. The lawyer told him he’d be wasting the court’s time by fighting the extradition, and that he’d probably do something stupid the longer he stayed locked up in Atlanta.
The lawyer was right. Malley just couldn’t see himself spending day after day caged like an animal that was told when to sleep and when to eat. He tried to tell himself that he would have his day in court--a chance to explain that he didn’t do anything wrong. He even told himself to man up and be an example for his brothers. But it didn’t work.
He flipped through the court papers that he had already read a dozen times and thought about the flight home.
“Do I still have a home?” he mumbled.
“Huh…you say somethin’?” Charlie asked as he wiped toothpaste on his shirt and sat next to Malley.
Malley shoved him away with a forearm. “Damn, man, give me some room!”
“My bad. No disrespect. So they takin’ you back tomorrow?” Charlie hopped back up and started pasting articles again.
“Yeah, tomorrow.” Malley lay on his bed and stared at the wall. He tuned Charlie out again and tried to plot his next move and when to make it. He closed his eyes for a moment and thought about his girlfriend, Leslie. When he opened his eyes, Charlie was in his face and flashing a devious-looking grin smudged with toothpaste.
“How bad you wanna get out of here?” Charlie whispered.
Malley jumped up and dropped his court papers on the floor. “What’s your fuckin’ problem, man!”
“Shh!” Charlie put a finger to his lips and peeked out the cell’s steel door then pulled it shut. “Chill and listen, man. I know somebody who can show you a way out. Understand?” Charlie winked.
Malley was furious and ready to punch his cellmate in the mouth. It took him a minute to process what he’d heard. “Who?” he asked.
“That mop slinger who looks like a boy scout. You know the one who called you ‘Ole’ Man’ at breakfast this morning.”
Malley picked up his court papers. “Do I look stupid to you? That boy’s got a bad habit. I wouldn’t trust him to tell me the time of day.” Malley sat on his bed.
Charlie moved closer but backed up when Malley stood up again.
“I’m serious, man,” Charlie said. “He’s been planning to get out of here for months. But he needs a second man.”
“Then why the hell don’t you go with him?” Malley caught the embarrassed look on Charlie’s face.
“That’s not my style, man. I prefer to talk my way out of here in front of the judge. And I, uh … owe that mop slinger some money I invested for him in a deal that went bad. If I find somebody to do the break with him, all is forgiven.”
“So you offer me up like a piece of meat, right?” Malley stared at the conman.
“It’s your choice, man. I doubt a judge back in Virginia will cut you slack since you high-tailed it across state lines. Besides, it’s harder to catch two rabbits on the run than to catch one.”
Malley still wanted to punch Charlie. He sat down again and thought about it--him breaking out and disappearing into the night. Was it better than being dragged back to Goslyn in handcuffs? Was it worth never seeing Leslie or his brothers again? Malley looked at his hands as they started to tremble. He clinched them together as if he was praying for an answer. God, I need a drink. “Let’s do it,” came out of his mouth before he knew he had said it.
Charlie flashed another devious grin. “All right. I’ll set it up.”