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We catch a break here. Freddie’s ear is torn halfway off and the doc ships him to the infirmary for an overnight stay. That evening, I pay him a visit, but I don’t tell him how sorry I am for my errant pass. Instead, I sit at the foot of his bed, take his hand in mine, and say, “Who’d you blab to, ya little fuck?”
“Bubba, I…”
I’m an ugly man. I have a jaw like the prow of a ship, a pronounced underbite, a small flat nose with perfectly round nostrils, tiny eyes overhung by a slab of a brow. For most of my life, I’ve been extremely self-conscious about my appearance. It’s only recently, since coming to Menands, that I’ve made a more positive adjustment. Everything in life, I now understand, has its uses. You just have to look on the bright side.
The bright side here is that I don’t have to lay a finger on little Freddie. All I have to do is stare at him.
“You snitched us out, Freddie. You ratted on us. I just wa
“Bubba, I…”
“We’re not go
“Bubba…”
“No, don’t start with Bubba. You’ve done that three times and it hasn’t gotten us anywhere. Start with somebody else’s name, like the name of the screw you told about the coke.” I give his hand a playful squeeze. “You confess, maybe we can dream up a way to protect you.”
I can hear the little switches in Freddie’s mind as they click into position. With Spooky dead, he’s now the weak link on two chains.
“You know what I think, Freddie? I think it was pure accident. I mean, we didn’t run the scam until near the end of the fourth quarter and the screw had to be in and out before the end of the game. Most likely, when he snuck into the locker room, he figured Spooky was already back on the court. ‘Turn around,’ is what I would’ve said in his place. ‘Face the wall. I’m go
“Bubba…”
“Start with the name, Freddie. You’re go
“Percy Campbell,” he finally blurts.
Freddie may feel better, but he looks terrible. He’s gasping for breath and he’s bright red from his forehead to his throat. When I let go of him, he falls back onto the pillow and brings his hand to his chest. Freddie’s twenty-two years old, a computer nerd who created a virus that shut down six of the biggest Web sites on the Net.
“How long have you been Campbell’s snitch?”
“Since I got here. He grabbed me the first week and took me to his office. You know about the office?”
I shake my head. Campbell is a middle-aged muscle brain who’s been walking a tier for three decades. A veteran of the worst prisons New York State has to offer, he generally manages to restrain himself at Menands. Still, his personal violence surrounds him, a sour stink detectable by an experienced con at a distance of a hundred yards.
“That’s what Campbell calls it: my office. It’s behind the main furnace, a coal room. You know, from the time when they heated with coal. It’s not used for anything now, and when you’re inside, the furnace is so loud nobody can hear you even if there’s someone around. Which most of the time there isn’t.” He pauses long enough to wipe his nose, then jumps back in. “Campbell told me things… things he’d do to me if I didn’t… I was scared, Bubba. I was never in trouble before I came here. For all I knew, Campbell could do anything he wanted to and get away with it. I didn’t know where to turn.”
Now that I see a way to get my coke back and exact a little revenge for Spooky at the same time, I can’t even fake being mad. I stretch, yawn, take a breath. “I’m go
“What about tonight?”
“I’ll talk to the trusty on the floor, see that he watches your back.” I get up, take a step, then turn back to Freddie. I’m smiling now, a genuine smile. “Was I right?” I ask.
“Right?”
“Do you feel better? Now that it’s out in the open.”
“Yeah,” he tells me, “I do.”
Coach Poole makes an a
Later that night, Tiny and Road press me, but I don’t reveal much. I tell them to be patient and to stay clear of Freddie Morrow. I tell them I hope to recover the product soon and that I don’t need their help. They don’t care for the underlying message, but they seem to accept it. Nevertheless, within a few days, should I fail to deliver, I know they’ll begin to suspect a double cross.
I wake up on Thursday, take a shower, then skip breakfast and head for the locker room. Freddie’s already there, hanging our pressed uniforms in our metal lockers. Once upon a time, the lockers were a uniform gray, the color of pewter, but they’ve tarnished over the years and now have a mottled overgrown look, as if the victim of some exotic fungus.
“You ready, Freddie?” I ask. “You ready to go to work?”
“Bubba, I…”
“Don’t start that Bubba shit again. I have something I need you to do.”
“What is it?”
“This afternoon, two o’clock, Campbell is go
“He’ll kill me.”
“For Christ’s sake, you’re go
“Then he’ll get me later.”
“He’s already go
Freddie thinks it over for a moment, the possibility of deflecting Campbell’s wrath onto me obviously appealing. If he gains an ally in the process, so much the better. “Whatta ya want me to say?”
“Tell Campbell that I put the pieces together on my own. I know he killed Spooky and snatched my product because he was the only one who had the opportunity. I know you snitched because… well, I know you snitched because you’re you. Likewise, because you’re you, when I threatened to shank your ass, you confessed. Those stitches in your ear and that bandage oughta be proof enough that I meant business.”
“And that’s it? Just that I admitted talking to him?”
“Yeah, you opened up because you were in fear of your life and now you’re trying to make it good by telling him the truth.” I put my arm around his shoulder, let my voice drop. “Campbell’s go