No Team To Root For (32) "Shit! I knew it." The mild outburst caused the guard to quickly turn his head. Barrett ignored the guard and added. "Is anyone even interested?" "I found a recent graduate who will pay you top dollar for the equipment." Lysle scratched his head again. "But like all the others, very little for good will and such." Barrett looked his friend in the eye. "Tell me what to do, Lysle." Lysle waited a moment before he answered. "I would take it." Barrett didn't respond. Lysle continued. "He's the only one inter-ested. And this kid happens to be very nice." Barrett nodded his head resignedly. "Sometimes I think this world sucks!" "Oh, I think the world is okay." said Lysle philosophically. "But unfortunately there are some people in it who don't belong in it." Barrett suddenly began to laugh quietly. "What's so funny, may I ask?" "Speaking of misfits." Barrett had a sudden sparkle in his eye. "Has Ralph Sharkey trumped any of your aces lately?" "You know, Barrett," Lysle grinned broadly. "we haven't played bridge since we played at your house --- oh --- has to be two years ago." Barrett's eyes widened. "My God! Has it been that long?" "It sure as hell doesn't seem that long, does it?" Barrett had a sudden brief flashback of the family room that night. It was after the bridge game. Janet was on one side of him, glaring. Jodi was on the other side of him, smiling. The vision lasted no more than two or three seconds. "No, Lysle. It doesn't." He tried not to dwell on it. He had to put that part of his life to its eternal rest. "So, Lysle. We seem to have gotten sidetracked. Tell me about this kid. The one that wants to buy what's left of my practice." "Well --- he's a graduate of Illinois College Of Optometry. And he is really quite pleasant. I think he's a good choice. I was impressed." "I see --- " Barrett began to rub his unshaven face. "Now, he'll probably move to a different spot from where you were. He wants a larger office in a more trafficked area." Lysle leaned in closer to his friend and smiled. "And frankly, I can't blame him." "I guess he'll do --- " Barrett's tone conveyed sadness. " --- what he has to do." "Barrett, it's a new world out there." Lysle spoke consolingly. "Today, people have a different way of thinking." Barrett nodded. There was a long silence before Lysle asked, "So tell me, how are the memoirs coming?" Barrett shrugged. "I gave it up" "That was quick." "I can't concentrate in here. I couldn't get past page one." Bar-rett's voice seemed to get weaker. There was another long silence. "Well --- " Lysle stood. " --- I have to go, Barrett." Lysle reached through the opening and grasped Barrett's hands warmly. A guard suddenly appeared. "Goodby, Barrett." "See you, Lysle. Stay in touch." The guard quickly escorted Barrett back to his cell. As soon as he left, Barrett took the worn out pamphlets of Maui and Aruba from under his mattress and spread them out on his cot. He hoped that, considering the condition of the papers and the poor lighting, his imagination would take charge. He tried to visual-ize himself surrounded by the vast breathtaking landscapes. He couldn't. He wanted to feel the ocean splash against his legs. He couldn't. He wanted to feel the sand beneath his feet. He couldn't. He wanted to smell the fresh air and see the sunset. He couldn't. The images that were once so vivid had become pale and mean-ingless. Now he could only see these brochures as a grim reminder of what his life had tragically become. It was another fantasy that would never materialize. He took a deep breath and picked up the papers, viciously crum-pling them in both hands. Then he paused for several seconds be-fore he threw them into the trashcan in the corner of his cell. * XLV "Well, Lysle, do I look two years older?" Barrett knew he had aged. He didn't have to be told. His hands were wrinkled and cov-ered with liver spots, his sunken eye sockets were surrounded with deep lines, his hair was thinner and grayer and his mouth seemed too large for his face. Lysle paused a moment to survey his friend. "Nah! You look --- " "Liar! What about the practice?" Lysle cleared his throat. "Uh --- well -- " "You still haven't sold it!" It was a statement not a question. Lysle leaned in slightly. "Barrett. Since that deal fell through with the kid from Illinois, I haven't come close to selling it." "Shit!" He slammed his hand down on the counter. The noise caused two guards to turn and glare at him. "Barrett, I think I should give it to a broker." "Christ, Lysle! Than I'll really get nothing for it!" Lysle glanced briefly at the guards. Then he turned back to his friend and spoke firmly. "At least that way you could salvage the equipment. The longer you hold on to it the harder it is to unload. Fuck the good will!" Barrett nodded resignedly, then sat back shaking his head. "It's not fair, Lysle. It's just not fair! You work your ass off your whole life. You try and prepare for the future." He briefly thought of Maui and Aruba. Then he raised his voice. "First you end up giving your fucking house away! Now I'll have to give the fucking practice away!" Barrett threw his arms in the air. Again the two guards looked his way. Neither man spoke for several minutes. Then Barrett said quietly. "Well, at least I got a few dollars put away so that --- " Lysle cleared his throat louder than normal before Barrett could finish the sentence. "Uh --- Barrett --- here's some more bad news." The two professionals were eye to eye. "Now what?" Barrett was afraid to ask. Lysle cleared his throat again. "Well --- you're running out of money." Barrett stared in disbelief at Lysle. He licked his lips repeatedly. "I been keeping track --- I thought I was keeping track --- are you sure?" Lysle nodded. "Barrett, what little is left is IRA money." He leaned in closer and put one finger in the air. He spoke in a whisper. "First of all. If you touch any of it, you got to pay a penalty." He added another finger. "Second of all, this is taxable income." He added a third finger. "Third of all --- " Barrett reached through the opening and put his hand over Lysle's. "Okay. Enough with the counting. I get the message!" Lysle again glanced at the two guards. They were turned the other way. He continued to whisper. "When you grease these dick-heads at fifty and one hundred bucks a crack, it doesn't take long to deplete your savings." "Lysle, if there were another way, I would take it. But I got no choice here. If I don't pay off --- " He had to stop in mid-sentence. His head dropped. "I know, Barrett." Lysle said compassionately. "But at the rate you've been giving it away, you're gonna be broke long before you're due to be paroled." Barrett bit his lower lip as he thought for a few seconds. "Use the IRA money, Lysle." Lysle stared at his friend. "You sure?" "Yeah. It'll kill me to do it, but --- " His voice trailed off. Lysle nodded. "I understand. Then after a long silence, Lysle stood. "Barrett, I have to go." He reached in and gave Barrett a friendly hit on the arm. "Just try and keep your spirits up." "Yeah. Right!" "Barrett, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that --- " "Look, Lysle. I know you're trying to be as honest with me as you can." Exhaustion was at its peak. "It's certainly not what I want to hear, but --- " "I still feel awful, Barrett." "Don't. It's not your fault I fucked my life up." Barrett forced a smile. They shook hands. Lysle gave his friend's an extra squeeze and he left. Barrett sat back on the bench and took a deep breath. The thought of spending any more time in prison and not being able to bribe the guards was unthinkable --- beyond concept. The two guards approached and Barrett took a long hard look at them. Their faces were granite and their skin was leather. A barrage of shivers shot through his body. Barrett stood up abruptly and looked down. He had wet his pants! * XLVI It was ten o'clock and 'lights out'. Barrett Jessop sat on the edge of his cot scratching his head and musing the severity and complex-ity of his once simple and uneventful life. How was it that in a short time span an entire lifetime could change so much? How precious life is, he thought. How much he had had and did-n't appreciate it. He missed his home, his work, his freedom. He missed the simple pleasures: his morning coffee, his nature trips, his Ellery Queen. He even missed Ralph Sharkey! He had to get out! He would contact Miles Garrison. Miles knew important people. Maybe he could pull some strings. Maybe --- His reflective mood was shattered by a tapping on the bars. Bar-rett looked up. It was one of the guards to whom he gave money on a regular basis. The guard didn't say anything. When he caught Barrett's eye he began to hit the palm of his hand with his club --- deliberately and rhythmically. He never took his eyes off the pris-oner. Barrett knew exactly what he wanted. If the guard had meant to be intimidating, he'd succeeded! "I --- I don't have any money now." Barrett's voice shook as he spoke. "But I promise --- " "That's what you said yesterday --- and the day before that." "Please!" Barrett pleaded. "Just a little more time." The guard unlocked the cell door and threw it open. Before Bar-rett could react, he rammed his club into the pit of his stomach. Barrett's screams went unanswered. "You got two days." The guard spoke venomously. Barrett was on his knees. He couldn't breathe. The guard put his club under Barrett's chin and lifted his head back, poking his face into Barrett's. His breath reeked. "Two days, Jessop. That's all the time you got. And you fucking better well have it!" * It was forty-eight hours later that Barrett again heard the familiar tapping on his cell door. This time it was much louder and it roused him out of a deep sleep. He got up slowly and walked groggily to-ward the guard. He looked at the soiled name tag over the guard's shirt pocket. It said FLETCHER. Barrett didn't remember if he had known that or not. He'd been bribing this guard since his first day of confinement, and suddenly he wasn't sure if he knew his name. He wondered if he knew anyone's name. Again he wasn't sure. Under any other set of circumstances he would have found it mildly amus-ing. Maybe I'm cracking up! "Your forty-eight hours are up!" The guard named Fletcher once again began to pound his club against the palm of his hand. "I --- I haven't got it." Barrett wanted to run. "My friend that brings it to me didn't come today. But he will definitely be here to-morrow." The guard didn't seem to be paying attention. He looked around him, then he opened the cell door. Fletcher motioned for Barrett to follow him. "We're moving you to a different cell." Barrett Jessop came out hesitantly and followed Fletcher suspi-ciously to the end of the short dark hallway. The only sounds he heard were both their footsteps punctuated by loud snores that emanated from virtually every cell. "I thought we couldn't leave our cells after dark." The guard didn't respond. "I thought cell changes took place during the day." "Cell changes take place twenty-four hours a day." The guard named Fletcher spoke mechanically. They turned the corner and walked quickly down another the long dimly lit hallway. Barrett was two paces behind Fletcher and watched the guard's large buttocks bounce as he walked. After about fifty yards, the guard stopped. "This is it." He opened the door to a large strange cell. "Here he is." Fletcher spoke to the darkness inside. Barrett suddenly realized his stupidity. He had been duped! But before he could say or do anything, the guard named Fletcher pushed him so hard he landed flat on his face on the cell floor. He raised his head slowly and looked around him --- dazed. The cell reeked of urine and sweat. "Here. I'll help you." The voice belonged to a small man that had emerged out of the darkness. His head was shaved and he had a scar above his right eye. He had both arms on Barrett's arm. "My name is Randy." Barrett, still dazed, began to look around the dark cell again. He thought he saw some shadows behind him but he wasn't sure. He couldn't localize the sounds of the muffled movements. One thing he knew for certain. He had to get out. And he had to get out now! He started to stand up and something hard hit his right cheek. Then something equally hard hit his left cheek. Barrett thought his head would turn completely around. He tried to scream, but he couldn't catch his breath and nothing came out. A strong arm was on either side of him holding him down. He was face to face with Randy again. "Hi. Remember me?" His sick smile revealed a toothless mouth. His breath was pungent. "We don't wanna hurt you --- " He looked behind Barrett. " --- do we fellas?" There was more muffled movement accompanied by indecipher-able mumbling. And it came from directly behind Barrett. But he was unable to turn his head to see. He thought there were four counting Randy. Two arms had him locked into a kneeling position. He was helpless. He suddenly felt a sharp penetrating jab to his rib-cage. This time he screamed. "That's to get your attention." The deep resonant voice came from the side. The two powerful arms still held him immobile while someone quickly undid his pants totally exposing him. "NO! NO!" He started to scream again and a large smelly hand went over his mouth. "Now you keep your damn mouth shut and your asshole open!" The deep voice said. "Yeah." said a high-pitched voice behind him. "Next time it'll be the other way around." They all laughed. Barrett was sure there were four. Now the mumblings became louder. The smelly hand grabbed his hair. Then Barrett felt what he had dreaded from day one. He tried to scream again, but it was in vain as the penetration went deeper. The pain was unbearable. After the first time, he vomited. After the second time, he passed out. * XLVII The room was spinning and a light was going back and forth. Then it stopped. Then darkness. Then nothing. Now there was a faraway sound and the light came on again. First bright, then dull. An object appeared next to the light. An eye? A hand? A face? Then there was a voice. Was it coming from the light? Then darkness. Then nothing. The light came on again. It was held by a --- hand? Now the hand and the light both moved back and forth. The room stopped spinning and a face started to come into focus. A sound was coming from the face. The sound was --- a word --- a name ---
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