Last Chances Die Softly Page 2

  Jason shook his head. He didn’t like Mac much. None of them did. “You roomed with him for a bit, old timer. What do you think?”

  Hank frowned. “Might be that I have a guess as to what happened. When I did my meeting, when I came face-to-face with Bill’s family, there was only one thing they wanted to know at first.”

  “What?” Robbie said eagerly. Hank hesitated a moment before answering. Jason felt a pang of sympathy for him; he hadn’t asked about that day. Hadn’t wanted to pry.

  “They wanted to know why I did it. Why I killed him. The real reason, not what I had told everyone else.” Hank’s voice trailed off.

  “Well. What was the reason?” a voice at the door to the kitchen asked. A fourth man leaned against the wall. He was much younger than any of them, still in his twenties. A patchy beard half covered a face pockmarked by acne scars. His name was Taylor, though no one saw fit to use it much. Everyone pretty much called him Juni.

  “Fuck off, babyface. Can’t ask a man a question like that. Hank’ll put you in the sauce next if you’re not careful,” Robbie said. Juni’s face scrunched up, but he said nothing.

  “Sit down, Juni. Food’s almost ready.” Jason said.

  “All right. All right. Just thought we were swapping stories. Talking about why we’re here.” Juni sat down heavily in one of the chairs.

  “It’s bad manners to ask. A man doesn’t end up here unless he’s done some things he’d rather not speak of. Things he’d rather leave behind him,” Robbie said. From inside his shirt he pulled out a small silver flask, dented and scraped. Jason saw Hank stare at it in disapproval but say nothing. In Oakview you didn’t ask a man about his past, and you didn’t chide him for what he took to cope with it. Jason looked away when Robbie put the flask to his lips. He felt like a man dying of thirst, watching another sip iced water. He ached for it, just a little taste. Just enough to warm his throat. Wouldn’t stop at a taste, though. Would it? He turned back to the food, leaving Robbie to it.

  “If you say so. I ain’t ashamed of what I did. Would do it again,” Juni said.

  “Don’t say that too loud, Juni, it’ll get you booted for sure. Sent to somewhere much worse than this,” Hank said.

  “Worse than this shithole? My room has both leaks and electric wires sticking out of the wall. How could that get worse?”

  “Be glad it’s only the building trying to kill you. Handsome man like yourself wouldn’t last too long in the Pit or Steelside,” Robbie said.

  “I’m tougher than you think. Hope you don’t have to find that out the hard way.” Juni jutted his chin out. Those two’ll come to blows soon enough, Jason thought. He knew the signs; he’d been involved in enough jailhouse scraps.

  “Settle down, you two. Settle down. Jase, check the pasta. Scoop out a noodle and eat it. Mind that you don’t burn your tongue. Be a shame if you couldn’t taste the food,” Hank said, interrupting before anything escalated. Jason did as he was bidden, carefully pulling a noodle out of the pot and putting it in his mouth. “Well?” Hank asked, looking at him expectantly.

  “Well what?”

  “Is it done?”

  “Uh. Dunno. What’s it supposed to taste like?”

  “Like fuckin’ spaghetti! Never had it before, have you?” Hank’s calm patience cracked, and a little exasperation leaked through. Jason’s face reddened a bit as the other two men laughed.

  “Needs a bit more time, I think,” he muttered, putting the lid back on the pot.

  “All right then, back to what we were talking about,” Robbie said, leaning forward in his chair. “You roomed with him, Hank. Did he ever talk about his what he done? I heard some rumors, nasty ones. Seen him on the news, too, when he got released. Lots of people weren’t very happy about it. One lady said he should have been locked up and forgotten about. That some crimes can’t be forgiven, that some people can’t be rehabbed.”

  Hank shook his head slowly. “Didn’t have the balls to ask him. You all know what he’s like. Man’s as cold as anyone I ever met in the joint, and I met a lot of frigid bastards. Whatever his reasons were, whatever drove him to stick that knife in his wife’s stomach, I don’t what to know about it, don’t want to speak about it.”

  Robbie persisted. “Is it true then, though? Was she—”

  “Said I don’t want to speak about it. You want to gossip, go fucking ask him yourself. Maybe he’ll tell ya, maybe he’ll stick a blade in your guts too. Either way, stop pestering me about it. Wasted enough of my life behind bars, don’t want to waste more of it talking about that asshole,” Hank burst out.

  “All right, all right. Was just wondering is all. Don’t get all worked up. You might have a heart attack or something. Can’t get too excited at your age, it’s bad for you,” Robbie said. Hank nodded, his hand slipping into a pocket. Jason knew what he was searching for and was not surprised to see the pill bottle emerge. In a deft, practiced motion, Hank twisted off the top, shook a pill into his hand, and popped it into his mouth. Though he felt a pang of worry, Jason held his tongue. Hank didn’t need his chiding.

  Pulling another noodle from the pot, Jason popped it in his mouth. “It’s ready.”

  “Thank God. Any longer and I was going to end up scrawnier than Robbie,” Hank said. Jason grabbed four plates from the shelf and placed them on the table. The cutlery went next, each man getting a fork and a spoon. Can’t eat spaghetti without a spoon. It’s like tying your shoes with only one hand, Hank had told him. Jason normally just shovelled it into his mouth, but he didn’t argue the point.

  “Put the noodles in first, then sauce on top. Enough to coat it but don’t drown the bastards. It’s pasta, not soup.” Jason followed Hank’s instructions and carefully served up the food. Hank and Robbie nodded their thanks. Juni did not. A younger Jason might have taken offence to that, but he was through with all of that. Done with fighting over nothing.

  Jason found his own seat and settled in. With a twinge of unease, he noticed that his belly was touching the table. You’re getting soft, old man. He twirled some pasta around his fork, using the spoon the way Hank had shown him. With no small amount of trepidation, he put the food in his mouth.

  “Pretty good grub,” Robbie said.

  “Yup. You did good,” Hank agreed. Jason nodded. It was good, surprisingly. I made something. The thought gave him a warm feeling.

  4

  Chapter 4

  “Come in, Jason, and shut the door behind you,” Kenneth said. Jason did as he was told, pulling the door closed. Kenneth’s office was cramped and drab. Papers lined his desk, an old chipped relic probably left over from the building’s previous occupants. The room was not much improved by Kenneth’s presence either. The program manager sat behind his desk, staring suspiciously at him.

  “How’s it going today, sir?” Jason asked as he took the seat opposite.

  Kenneth didn’t reply. Instead he picked up a sheet and started reading off it. “One count of manslaughter. Two counts of aggravated assault outside of jail, two counts within it. Breaking and entering, theft.” Jason felt his heat begin to rise as Kenneth read. “A long history of delinquency as a child, with a equally long track record of alcohol abuse. Quite a list, eh? From the reports I got when you transferred here, I heard you won yourself quite a reputation in prison. Would you agree? I heard you even got one of those nicknames that you criminals are so fond of. What was yours again?”

  Jason knew that the answer to that question was on the sheet. Kenneth just wanted him to say it. “Stitches,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Ah, yes. Stitches. How cute. Though a look at your face is enough to see that it’s a fitting one.” Jason stopped himself from putting his hand up to feel the scars that crisscrossed his face. Lines that gave testament to the favorite pastime of his past times.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, let’s get on with it. Today is bad enough without me having to deal with you. Mia didn’t show up for work this morning. Probably pas
sed out somewhere. You know what they say about a junkie, eh, Stitches?”

  “Once a junkie, always a junkie?” Jason replied woodenly.

  “Correct!” Jason wanted to point out that this attitude probably wasn’t the best one for a manager of a correctional rehab manager, but he didn’t want to waste the breath. Kenneth would probably just agree with him.

  Kenneth pressed on, oblivious to any potential irony. “All right. You’re here for your four-month review, as you probably have guessed. So far you haven’t messed up and made my life harder. No fights, no contraband smuggled in, no obvious signs of alcohol abuse.”

  Jason interrupted. “I haven’t had a drop since I was let out, sir.”

  Kenneth ignored the interjection. “Mia’s report says that you’ve taken well to her programs. She says that she would have wanted you to do the victim-offender mediation session, if it had been possible for you. But you know that it isn’t, being that your victim doesn’t have any family. Not any that care what happened to him, anyway. Drunks tend to drive their families away, though you would know that too, eh?” Kenneth leered at him over his desk. The scars on Jason’s fists began to itch, as they always did when he wanted to hit someone.

  “Yes, sir. You’ve got the right of it.”

  Kenneth pursed his lips, seemingly upset that he hadn’t managed to pull a reaction out of him. “Anyway, you’ve done well. Keep this up for another four months and you might find yourself where Hank is, or Stu even. If you mess up, though, if you make my life any harder. I’ll send you back. A man with your record doesn’t get many chances. This is your last one. Fuck it up and you’ll never be free. They’ll put you in the grave with a booze bracelet around your ankle. I don’t think that you’ll be able to change. Try to prove me wrong.” Kenneth scribbled some words on a sheet before signing the bottom. Jason watched him, slowly pulling in deep breaths. It was a technique Mia had taught him to help control his anger. It wasn’t as satisfying as his usual way, but it did cause less trouble.

  “Sir, can I ask you a question?” Jason said.

  “You can ask,” Kenneth replied grudgingly.

  “Why do you work here? Doesn’t seem like you’re very happy with the job.”

  Kenneth’s already dour expression slid into a scowl. “Not very happy? Fucking understatement. Would you be happy, sitting where I am? Having to babysit a bunch of drugged-out criminals? Each one with a rap sheet as tall as they are. Just sitting here waiting for them to take too many pills or drink too much and attack me or one of my staff? There are six of you in here right now. Six men, each no stranger to violence. To seeing others as little more than a next victim. What are the chances that all of you are changed men, that you’re ready and willing to reenter civilization all of a sudden? Taking some classes and talking about how sorry you are for your crimes might fool people like Mia, but not me. One of you is going to mess up, if not more than one. Might mess up bad enough to get the whole place closed down, not that I would be sad about it.” Kenneth took a deep breath and composed himself. “Though that hasn’t answered your question, I suppose. Why am I here? Rehabilitation is the new hot thing right now. It’s the buzzword. A couple years running this shithole of a program will look very good on my resume. Now, we’re done here. I’ve got work to do.” Kenneth bent back down to the work on his desk, acting as though Jason was no longer there.

  “Yes, sir.” Jason got up and walked out of the office. Kenneth’s words didn’t put him much at ease. One mistake. One mistake is all it’ll take to convince him that he was right about me. I won’t let him have the satisfaction.

  5

  Chapter 5

  “How about this one?” Jason asked, holding out an apple. Hank peered critically at it.

  “Nope. Gotta worm straight through it. See that black spot there? No one’s gonna buy an apple that a worm’s been chomping down on. Put it in the throw basket,” Hank said. Jason followed the instruction, lobbing the ruined fruit into the basket, which lay a good distance away. It was a good shot, and he looked to see if Hank had noticed. He hadn’t.

  “Someone once told me that worms only go into the sweetest fruit. That you should just eat around the gross part,” Jason said, reaching up to pick another apple. The two of them had been at it for a couple hours and still had a couple hours to go until their shift was done.

  “Who told you that?”

  “A guy in my cell block.”

  “How would he know? Did he ask the worms?” Hank asked.

  “Maybe he tested it. Did experiments or something,” Jason said. It was idle talk, the kind used to pass time that wasn’t passing quickly enough.

  “What experiments could that be? Holding an apple in each hand, taking a bite of each and comparing?” Hank said, smirking.

  “Maybe. Just seems like a shame. The apples we toss might be the best ones in the whole bunch. Maybe we should start a business, buy the wormy apples from the orchards, then make applesauce outta ’em and sell it at a low price,” Jason said.

  “Though you were supposed to be a brawler, not a con man,” Hank replied absently.

  “Ain’t a con if we pay for the apples. It’s more of a…” Jason searched for the word.

  “A hustle?”

  “Yeah, a hustle! Stu always says we need to be able to hustle if we’re going to make it in the outside world.”

  “Stu was probably talking about peeling potatoes faster or something. Not about starting a wormy applesauce business. What would you even call it anyway?” Hank asked.

  “Jason’s gluten-free, free-range, organic applesauce. On the back of the bottle it would say that our applesauce has been specially fertilized by worms or something. It would sell like crazy!” Jason said.

  Hank snorted. “I suppose the young people of today would probably snap it up, and you’d become rich. Until then, lets get a hustle on here. We gotta clear this row before we can leave, and Kenneth will turn our balls into applesauce if we’re late again.” Jason nodded and increased his efforts. Truth be told, he liked the work. Picking fruit was simple, straightforward, and peaceful. More important, it was outside work. He’d spent too many years locked away indoors not to appreciate the fresh air and open space. Maybe he could just stay on here, if they let him out of Oakview. The boss was good enough man, didn’t care about their past. Only cared that they worked hard, and he knew they would because it wasn’t likely they would be able to find another job.

  “Hank, can I ask you a question?” Jason said, breaking the companionable silence that had built as they worked.

  “Sure,” Hank said, though he didn’t sound too keen.

  “How come you’re still at the house? Mia told me that you were cleared, that you could leave if you wanted to.”

  Hank’s jaw clenched, and he didn’t answer right away. Jason began to worry that he’d overstepped, that he’d presumed too much of their friendship. Most didn’t like to answer personal questions, and his had been just that.

  But then Hank began to speak. “I’ve been locked up most of my life, Jase. The times I was out, it wasn’t long before they put me back in. You know as well as me, when you live that way it becomes your life. It’s what I know. I don’t know how to live out in society anymore. Everything has changed so much since I last saw it. Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years passed me by, and the world that I knew is dead. Buried by technology. You know that they kept my things that I went in with. My last day, they gave them back to me. I had a pocketbook full of phone numbers. Now everyone has a supercomputer in their pockets. Computers used to be a thing only eggheads and dorks used. I feel like a dinosaur, Jase. Too old to change.” Jason was taken aback. Hank always seems so sure, so well put together. If Hank was having these problems, what chance did he have?

  “Hank, you’re fifty-five, man. You’re not a hundred. You can learn. If the whole world can do it, why can’t you? Remember those programs they made us take before they’d let us out. How to check emails and search for things
on the Internet. It’s not so hard.”

  Hank sighed, turning away from the tree that he’d been working at. “You’re probably right. You probably are. It’s just fear. It’ll stop you dead every time. I’m going to have to leave soon. Going to have to get a job, find somewhere to live. Then what? Every day since I can remember, people have been telling me what to do, when to do it. Now that I’m free, how will I know what to do?”

  “You can do whatever you want. Maybe you can work in the kitchens like Stu does. You’re good in there. You know what you’re doing,” Jason offered.

  Hank didn’t look convinced. “You ever seen a restaurant kitchen, in the middle of dinner rush? It’s a madhouse. People shouting, running back and forth. Chaos.”

  “Worse than the jail yard?”

  “On the yard everyone knew I’d killed a man, and they stayed away from me. Who’ll want to work with someone like that? No one, and I don’t blame them.”

  “Then I guess we’ll just have to do a better job picking fruit, at least until my applesauce business gets off the ground,” Jason said, slapping Hank on the shoulder. The older man smiled and nodded, though Jason suspected it was just for his sake.

  6

  Chapter 6

  “Oh, shit. What now?” Hank said as they walked around the corner. Flashing blue and red light bounced around the front of the building. Four police cruisers were parked outside of Oakview, with a half dozen officers milling around. As they approached, one caught sight of them and shouted. The officers rushed toward them, and Jason noted that a few had their hands on the handles of their guns.

  “Hands up, please,” one said, a solid-looking man with gray ringing his temple. Jason and Hank complied automatically. Two of the men hurried forward and frisked them for weapons.