that word, but I do—the Legal Aid had told me, I could probably get probation.
What was I going to do with probation, go to college?
But being known as stand-up so young, that gave me a head start. I was only on the bricks for a few weeks when a guy I didn’t know asked me if I was interested in doing a job. A job with him and a few other men.
I didn’t know that guy, but I’d sure heard of him. I felt proud he asked me.
I wished Eddie could have seen me then. But I knew he’d see the money orders I got this girl to send him. Not the money orders themselves, but he’d see the jumps in his account. I had the girl write him one time, to tell him money would be coming. It was a short letter, but starting it off with “Hey, Sugar!” would be all he needed to make the connect.
It wasn’t really a girl sending the money. What I did, I picked a name. Conchita. Then I got about a hundred sheets of notepaper, and I paid this hooker a buck a page for her to sign at the bottom. All different ways, like:
Love, Conchita
Always yours, Conchita
I love you forever, Conchita
Except for those words at the bottom, the notes were all typed. I did that. The envelopes, too. After a while, I got pretty good at it.
I kept sending the money orders every few months or so for about ten years. Then the girl got a letter at the PO box I was using. One of those form letters. It was a whole page, but all I remember is: “Inmate Deceased.”
In my head, I could see Eddie. Back to the wall, facing slicers and stabbers with his bare hands. Grinning like it was all a big joke.
I learned a lot. Every job, I learned more.
It’s no different from those guys who work high steel. They know they could fall, but the more time they spend up there, the less they expect to. Still, they never forget it could happen.
Even though I didn’t expect to take this fall, I knew how to take it. So, when they put me in a double, I knew what that was all about.
My cellie turned out to be a white guy; skinny, eyes still yellow from whatever he’d been using before they snapped him up. He was probably around my age, but he looked way older than me. Covered in cheap tats, kind of a hillbilly sound in his voice.
“You got a preference?” he said. “To me, they’re all the same.”
He meant the bunks. Me, I always like the top one. Figured the guy was saving face by claiming he didn’t care.
He was good at the game. Pretty much kept to himself. Told me his name was Sandy, touching his hair when he said it, to tell me where the name came from. “Farin,” I said, like I was giving my name, too.
“Like Faron Young? Damn, you don’t look like—”
“I’m not. Born and raised right here. It’s ‘Farin,’ ” I said, spelling it for him.
“Never heard that one before.”
“It’s a nickname. Short for ‘Warfarin.’ ”
“Viking name?” he said, pretending he was asking if I was a White Power guy. But he’d already seen me with my shirt off, so I was even surer I was right about him.
“No. See, warfarin is a chemical. They use it in rat poison.”
I’d been waiting over ten years to use that line, ever since I first heard Eddie tell the story. Now I could tell it, too.
He tried to bluster up. “You trying to tell me something?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am. I know why they put you in here. Take as much time as you think you can get away with; that’s fine with me. But you’re not cutting a deal for yourself off anything I tell you … because I’m not telling you nothing. And I don’t talk in my sleep.”
“You got me all—”
“Try and work me, you won’t like what happens next,” I cut him short. “No matter where they put you.”
I learn from my mistakes. I got it down to such a science, I could be one of those counselors’ wet dreams. Learning from your bad choices, they love that stuff.
That’s why I never showed anyone my new shank. I know—I know now, I mean—that you never show a guy who might be a problem for you that you’ve got something for him. If he’s not bluffing, that