CHAPTER TWELVE
"Jailhouse Talk"
The cell was made of yellow-painted cinderblocks and contained two steel bunks on opposite walls, hanging from chains. It smelled of piss and disinfectant. There was a stainless steel toilet with a sink over it on the wall between the cots. Beadles, deprived of his belt, sat on one cot with his head in his hands. A black kid with an explosion of weasel tails on his head sat opposite. He wore a gray wife beater exposing blue tats, a cut torso and baggy cargo pants.
"Hey man whatchoo in for? They holdin' me on a federal beef. I hacked into Homeland Security's Atlanta Fusion Center. Man, I had those babies looking at naked women on rooftops! They think I'm some kinda terrorist threat all I want to do is look at naked women! I could shut them all down I wanted."
Dude had to be piped on meth. He radiated a raw animal odor as he gesticulated like a signer for the deaf.
"Hey my name's Ninja. Whatchoo in for?"
Beadles looked up. "They think I stole a pot from the university."
Ninja snapped his head on his long neck like a towel. "Whaaaaat? You stole pot from the u-ni-VERS-ity?"
"Not pot as in reefer--a clay pot."
"That's fucked up man."
"I didn't! It's some kind of set-up! I've been framed. Now I'm trying to figure out who and why."
Certainly the distinguished head of Anthropology would never stoop to such a thing. Why? Out of pique? Because Beadles had once made fun of him? That would make Liggett a psycho, and psychos didn't get to head major anthropology departments.
"Hey man, what's your name?" Ninja said with a hint of impatience.
Beadles looked at him. Two men in a cage. It always came down to this. Can I take him? Beadles thought that he could. Beadles had boxed in college and still sparred regularly at the University Health Club. He had a black belt in karate. He was four inches taller and had Ninja by at least forty pounds. Ninja looked like a Mad Max extra but his brain was probably fried on meth.
"Vaughan," Beadles said.
"So what were you gonna do with that pot, Vaughan, fence it or what? It must be some kind of rare sumbitch like something you'd see on Pawn Stars or something 'cause fucking pots are hard to fence, y'know? I mean, it's bulky, it's breakable, it's a piece of shit! I was gonna steal something it would be something valuable like a diamond or some gold or something, you know what I'm sayin'?"
Beadles was developing a healthy loathing for his cellmate. A baton banged against the barred door. Outside stood a jailer the shape and size of a refrigerator. "You two lovebirds shut the fuck up," he said, "or ahmina come back and mace ya. That means you, Preston."
He glared to punctuate his message, satisfied when the occupants had turned away.
As soon as the guard moved on Ninja spoke in whisper. "Hey man you gotta mouthpiece? I know a Jew lawyer slicker 'n' a preacher. Name's Feldstein you want I could put a word in for you. He's my lawyer."
"I have a lawyer," Beadles replied lying down and staring at the ceiling. Maybe motormouth would get the hint.
No such luck. "Yeah? Who's your lawyer? I know a lot of lawyers in this town."
I'll bet you do.
"Does it matter?" Beadles said softly willing Ninja to shut up.
"Fuck it matters! You probably got some high-priced corporate asshole or tax lawyer don't know shit about the criminal justice system."
Snap! Ninja was exactly right. But Mel also knew most of the lawyers in the city and if he didn't feel capable of handling the situation he would pass Beadles on to the right man.
Ninja suddenly got to his feet and in one smooth motion dropped his trousers and swiveled his ass onto the stainless steel toilet. Seconds later he exploded releasing a cloud of poison from which there was no escape. Beadles buried his mouth in his sleeve and turned to the wall.
"Sorry, man. I had a parastaltic rush. When you gotta go you gotta go, you know what I'm talkin' about?"
Beadles willed the man gone.
"Hey," a guttural whisper. "Hey I'm talkin' atchoo."
Beadles sat up and faced his cellmate who had returned to his cot. Beadles held his sleeve in front of his face. "I don't wish to appear unfriendly but this is extremely difficult for me. Could you just give me some space here to figure it out?"
Ninja put his hands up a placating manner. "Okay. Okay. Don't go all gangsta on me, y'hear?"
Beadles lay back down with his arms crossed and stared at the ceiling. He could hear Ninja muttering to himself but as long as he wasn't interactive that was enough. He remained awake all night until pale morning light crept in through the cube-like window high up on the outside wall. They'd taken his watch so he had no idea of the time. About an hour after sunlight, when Ninja had finally run out of fuel and was contorted on his cot facing the wall, two guards came by and delivered two box breakfasts consisting of cardboard coffee cups, packets of creamer and sugar, a cold, uncooked English muffin, a small tin of Philadelphia cream cheese, an apple, an individual tub of applesauce, and a napkin. No utensils.
It was Sunday.
Beadles mutilated his cream cheese tin to spread it on the cold English muffin. He ate the applesauce directly from the tub. He poured all the packets of creamer and sugar into the coffee which still tasted like cardboard. He rinsed out the cup and used it to drink water from the faucet above the toilet.
Ninja awoke with a jolt, looked at Beadles as if seeing him for the first time, saw Beadles' empty breakfast box, looked down and saw his own beneath his bunk. He picked it up and looked inside.
"Why you not eat my breakfast?" he said, honestly bewildered.
"It's your breakfast," Beadles replied.
"Shit. I woke up first, I would have eaten yours."
Beadles crossed his arms, sat back and stared at the wall.
"Okay," Ninja said. "Okay." He ate his breakfast.
There was a blessed five minutes of silence filled with the echoes and shouts from other inmates.
"My man Feldstein gonna get me outta here," Ninja said. "You got a mouthpiece?"
"We had this conversation last night, don't you remember?"
"I don't remember nothing, man. Whatchoo in here for anyway?"
Beadles felt as if he were trapped in a bizarro version of Groundhog Day. "Theft. A pot."
Ninja' face lit with recognition. He pointed. "That's right! You stole the fuckin' pot from the university! You a gangsta!"
Twenty-four hours later the door opened. "Let's go, Mr. Beadles," said the refrigerator.
***