Desperate Remedies

“Did you ever see the movie ‘First wives club’?” Tiny asked the other two guys seated next to him.

Everyone in prison had a nickname. Tiny was so named because of his size. He stood a hulking six and a half feet tall and looked like he could play linebacker for the Green Bay Packers. He and the others were sitting in the day room, shooting the breeze. There was a lot of time to kill when one was in the joint doing time. The day room was surprisingly empty save for their little group. Most of the other inmates had gone back to their cells after breakfast, to watch Dr. Phil or sleep the day away. It was one way of coping and killing time.

Weak rays of sunshine filtered through the window. The sun was trying its best to peek out from behind the clouds. Tiny liked seeing the sun, even if it was only through the dirty glass window of the dayroom. It was one thing no one could take away from him. It brought some semblance of normalcy to his permanently screwed up life. 

The day room was just a large room with tables and chairs where inmates could hang out, like a high school cafeteria without the food. They were supervised, of course, by a guard sitting behind a large desk on a raised platform located in the middle of the room. Although the room wasn’t a private spot (no place in prison was), it still gave inmates some place to congregate so they didn’t have to spend all day in their closet-sized cells, like caged animals. As far as Tiny was concerned, the only time he wanted to be in his cell was when he was asleep. Unlike many of the inmates who went back to bed after chow, he preferred staying awake during the day.

It was hard enough to sleep at night. Daytime sleeping certainly wouldn’t help his nighttime insomnia. The guards were also a perpetual annoyance, always busting in on inmates and waking them up for count time. Three times a day, security had to count each and every prisoner to ensure no one had gone missing. Not that it ever happened in a locked facility with eyes everywhere – still it was part of the protocol. A necessary evil of prison.  

Whether he got interrupted for count or not, Tiny preferred being active and hanging out with others. To maintain some human contact, even if it was with other grizzled, smelly ex-cons who had done unspeakable things. Sometimes one was simply better off not knowing what the next guy had done. One thing they never talked about was their crimes. 

“Now, why would I watch a movie like that?”, FG said irritably. “It sounds like a chick flick.”

FG was about half Tiny’s size. The “F” in his name stood for “fake”. The “G” was for his last name–Gomez. There was another Gomez on his cell block, and the other Gomez had been there longer. Thus, the other guy was the “real Gomez”, while FG was the “fake”. Prison had its own logic and lingo. Like not speaking about their crimes, it was sometimes better not to ask why. 

“Hear me out,” Tiny said. “The plot of this movie is dope. This group of middle aged women have all been dumped by their husbands for younger, more fly women. One of the ladies is so upset about it, she even offs herself. Her friends get together at her funeral and they start talking about it. Turns out they have all been screwed by their old men, in more ways than one, so they make a pact to get even.”

“Sounds dumb,” FG said.

“Yeah,” Kneepads said. “What’s so good about the movie?”

Tiny didn’t like to think about how Kneepads got his name. It also fell under the category of things better left unsaid.

“Check me out,” Tiny said. "The beauty of their plan is that instead of getting their revenge on their own husbands, they all work together, so each guy doesn’t know who’s doing him wrong. This one guy, they ruin financially. They make him go bankrupt and lose his business. They work together and plot to bring all the bad husbands down. But they don’t do anything to their own husbands. They only do bad to each other’s. It’s a pact they make together to get revenge as the dumped first wives. They form a club.”

“Well, I guess that’s kind of cool,” FG said grudgingly.

Tiny paused. Now he was coming to the part where he needed to do some convincing, some persuasion.

“So I was thinking that if it worked for them, why wouldn’t it work for us? Wouldn’t it be great if we could get revenge on everyone who hurt us and not get any crap for it? Like I could help Kneepads by, I don’t know, maybe beating up the guy who squealed on him last month about his hidden cell phone.” 

“Yeah, I hate that guy,” Kneepads said. “Cause of him, I had to spend three months in seg.”

“Well how about this?” Tiny said. “I’ll punch his face in, if you help me do the same for someone else here that I need to teach a lesson to.”

“Who do you need to teach a lesson to?” FG asked curiously.

“Yeah. And why? What’d the dude do?” Kneepads added.

“It’s my sister’s old man. He beat her up real bad. Even caused her to lose her baby . . . “ Tiny felt like punching a wall every time he thought about the guy.

“And you want us to beat him up?” FG asked.

FG really didn’t like fighting. He was short and slender and always was on the losing side of any battle.

Tiny thought a minute.

“No, on second thought, I think the scumbag deserves something way worse,” Tiny said. “Remember this guy killed my sister’s kid. My niece or nephew.” 

Janice’s pregnancy hadn’t been far enough along for her to know whether it was a boy or girl. Tiny found the whole experience very sad. His sister had been so excited to have the baby. 

“Worse?” Kneepads croaked. 

“What do you want us to do?” FG asked worriedly.

He was afraid to know the answer. Still, in prison, it paid to stay on the good side of someone like Tiny. Tiny was definitely large and in charge.

Tiny lowered his voice so they had to strain to hear him.

“I got this pill,” he said. “It’s laced with fetanyl. Don’t ask where I got it,” he warned, thinking of his various connections.

Tiny had been in prison long enough to know how to play the game. He could score anything he wanted. Still it never paid to blab about it.

He continued speaking, “All I need one of you to do is slip it in his coffee. It’ll dissolve, I promise. And no one will ever know that you did it.”

FG and Kneepads didn’t say anything.

“I don’t care which one of you does it. I just need someone to do it. You’d have to get close to the bastard. Buddy up to him. Sit next to him at chow and eat with him. And then when he’s not looking, slip it in his coffee. I want this guy to have a bad trip. It’s some really bad stuff.”

“That’s messed up,” Kneepads said.

“And what’s in it for me?” FG asked. “I don’t have any enemies that need beating up at the moment. Not like Kneepads.”

“Well how about lifetime protection? We all know prison is a dangerous place. And I’m a big dude. I’ll watch out for you,” Tiny said. “No offense, but you’re kind of little.”

There was no answer from FG, although he did think it was a good offer, one almost too good to pass up. It was true. He was kind of little, and prison was truly a dangerous place. He never knew when and where he might be attacked, simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

All of the stereotypes that existed about prison were unfortunately true, such as not dropping a bar of soap in the shower. He didn’t shower as often as he liked, simply because he was too afraid to do so. Still, if he were to do what Tiny asked of him, the risk of getting caught was great. FG was never one to get away with anything, which probably explained why he was rotting here in prison. 

“Well?” Tiny asked impatiently. “What do you say? Will you help me or not? Either one of you?”

“Can we think about it?” Kneepads asked.

“Yeah, we need some time to think,” FG begged.

“Ok. Just don’t take too long. This offer won’t stay on the table forever.” Tiny knew when to lay the hammer down. He really needed an answer.

The next day FG tried to avoid Tiny. He really didn’t want to do what Tiny had asked of him. Still, however, he didn’t know how to say no. Nor did he feel like he could afford to say no. It didn’t pay to get on Tiny’s bad side, and it was certainly to FG’s advantage to stay on Tiny’s good side. Still, proceeding with the plan was also putting himself at risk. What if he were to get caught? It was a no win situation. 

But even though he tried his best to stay away from Tiny, the large man found him anyway, cornering him in the cafeteria after breakfast.

“Hey, FG,” the big man said. “Did you think about my offer?”

FG nodded nervously, not daring to speak. He still didn’t know what to say.

“Well, what’s it gonna be?” Tiny asked impatiently.

FG decided right then and there to throw Kneepads under the bus and into the mix.

“Kneepads and I are discussing it right now. We’re trying to figure out who’d be a better person for your job.”

He tried to make himself sound reassuring, like he was on Tiny’s side.

“Can we get back to you tomorrow? We should have our decision and a plan by then,” FG said.

“Yea, that'd be great,” Tiny said, feeling pleased that the two men were apparently coming around to his way of thinking. “I’ll look for you in the dayroom tomorrow morning.”

“Ok,” FG couldn’t wait to get out of there. “I’m going to take a nap now. See ya tomorrow.”

That night as Tiny locked into his cell, he said a silent prayer of thanks that his desperate situation would soon be remedied. His sworn enemy, his sister’s abuser, would soon get his due. Tiny hoped the man would suffer immensely.

Problem solved. He laid down on his cot, thinking maybe he would at last get some decent sleep. Closing his eyes, he soon drifted off to sleep. For once, he had no insomnia. 

Suddenly, he heard a loud banging and was rudely jerked out of bed. A bright light shone in his face. Next thing he knew, the overhead light was turned on. 

“Wake up, Smith.” A blue shirted officer stood over him, pulling on his arm. “On your feet. This is a cell search.”

“A cell search?” Tiny asked in disbelief, nonetheless stumbling upright. He knew better than to disobey a direct order. What the hell was going on? During the three years he had been incarcerated, his cell had never once been searched.

The guard rifled through Tiny’s meager and precious belongings. He tossed his clothes on the floor, flipped through a paperback book from the prison library, and unzipped the standard inmate shaving kit. 

Tiny held his breath. He didn’t have any contraband, save for one thing – the pill, the one with the fentanyl for his planned revenge. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had any grand idea of where to hide it. He had simply stashed it in his eyeglass case. The pill was very small, but it still could be found if the guard looked hard enough.

The case rested on his night stand, next to his shaving kit. The guard picked it up. Tiny felt his muscles tensing. 

The guard ran his white gloved finger down inside of the case. Tiny couldn’t tell by his face if he felt or noticed anything amiss.

Suddenly, the guard turned the case upside down and shook it.

“What have we here?” he asked as a small white pill dropped on the concrete floor.

Tiny felt himself turn to stone.

“Turn around Smith,” the guard said. “Hands behind your back.”

Tiny complied, not seeing that he had a choice. He had learned long ago the futility of resistance.

“You earned yourself a trip to the hole”, the guard said.

Tiny remained mute as the guard frog marched him to his cell door.

Finally, Tiny found his voice. “Why me? Why now? Why did I get searched? And how long am I going to be in seg?”

The guard shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? Your guess is as good as mine. I suppose there’s no harm in telling you what went down. We received a tip from a CI that you were holding some kind of pill.” He then gave an evil smile, “I guess that tip turned out to be right.”

A CI. Confidential informant. Someone had ratted him out. 

All the way around, desperate times called for desperate measures. Tiny wouldn't be seeing the sun anytime soon.