MacIntyre - Punishment

ALSO BY LINDEN MACINTYRE

The Long Stretch
Who Killed Ty Conn (with Theresa Burke)
Causeway: A Passage from Innocence
The Bishops Man
Why Men Lie

PUBLISHED BY RANDOM HOUSE CANADA

Copyright 2014 Linden MacIntyre

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Published in 2014 by Random House Canada, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, a Penguin Random House Company.
Distributed in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

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Knopf Canada and colophon are registered trademarks.

Excerpts from the poem And after we damned each other by Anna Akhmatova, from Three Russian Women Poets: Anna Akhmatova, Marina Tsvetayeva, Bella Akhmadulina, Mary Maddock, editor and translator (Crossing Press, 1983).

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

MacIntyre, Linden, author
Punishment / Linden MacIntyre.

ISBN 978-0-345-81390-9
eBook ISBN 978-0-345-81392-3

I. Title.

PS8575.I655P85 2014 C813.54 C2014-905224-3

Cover images: (figure by truck) David et Myrtille / Arcangel Images; (leaves) Mattwatt / Dreamstime.com

v3.1

IN MEMORY OF
Ernie Hayes,
AKA TYRONE W. CONN ,
19671999

Rat (rat) n. interj., v. rat-ted, rat-ting 1. Any of several long-tailed rodents of the family Muridae, of the genus Rattus and related genera, distinguished from the mouse by being larger. 2. Slang. a. a person who abandons his party or associates, esp. in a time of trouble. b. an informer.

I REMEMBER IT CLEARLY , all the details except the date, which really doesnt matter. Before the incident, it was just another day. I know it was mid-afternoon on a Saturday. I remember that because we had a barbecue on Sunday. We were in the bubble, eyes and ears of the institution. I try to avoid calling it the joint. I dont mind pen. It is a prison, a place where people are confined, cons and pigs alike. Everybody in it, more or less incarcerated. The bubble is a prison inside a prison, but just for us, a place to hide if necessary.

From the bubble you should be able to see everything and everybodywhen all the systems function properly, which they didnt on that afternoon. You could imagine Upper G range empty if it wasnt for the noise. No sign of inmates in the monitors, but you could hear them, the shouts, the cheers, the jeers. The gladiator sounds. Now and then a figure hustled past the camera, face hidden.

Jesus, Tommy, I just saw someone hang a blanket. Smith was pointing urgently at nothing. Guys in control cant see out.

Who was it?

Couldnt tell, he was running with the blanket up in front of his face.

We all stared. A phone rang. Tommy Steele said, Yeah, yeah were lookin at it. Hung up. Tony, come with me. Tommy the Keeper, unit super, senior officer that day.

We clattered up the iron staircase to Upper G, where we found Meredith and Wilson watching monitors that showed an empty range. Large window at the front of control now blocked by the blanket. One monitor showed sturdy tables bolted to the floor. A wall phone. Inoperable washer-dryer at the far end. No human form. But vivid sounds, substantiated by experience and fear, projecting images on the imagination, embedding permanent sensations. Deep trauma for tomorrow.

Fuckin animals, said Meredith, as if to himself.

Theyre in the blind spot, Wilson said.

Now Tommy Steele was leaning toward an empty screen, all quiet, asking, Whadya see, before the blankie? Shrug. Coffee and a crossword puzzle on the console. I was out taking a piss and when I came back Wilson shrugged again. Meredith displayed his empty hands. It was quiet, then in a split second

Wheres the other camera? asked Steele. Wilson looked at Meredith.

Been out for two days. We put in a report

There you go, said Steele. Fuckin bean counters.

Then a figure appeared, backing into the shot, now a horrified face turned, looking upward toward the one remaining camera, appealing. Then the camera was dead, blinded, an old eye darkened by a cataract. Whats that?

Toilet paper, Wilson laughed. Cute! Can you believe it? Direct hit. Soaked in a toilet bowl, wadded and hurled like a snowball from the upper gallery into a camera lens. Now everything gone from all monitors. What happens when you let them have their own toilets, said Wilson. Distracted chuckles. If it was up to me theyd be pissin in their

That was Pittman, said Meredith.

Ah, Pittman, Tommy said. Go Pittman.

Sound escalates. I remember Pittman once in Collins Bay

Jesus Christ someone, I said.

Calm down, Tommy, laying a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Just a normal Saturday on Upper G. What were you gonna say about Pittman in Collins Bay? He was interrupted by a scream.

All four of us crowded toward the empty monitors. Toilet paper suddenly dropped off the lens leaving a smeared image, vague figures roiling in a group. Wilson, Meredith and I watching Tommy Steele, corrections manager, waiting for the cue.

Somebodys getting killed in there, I said.

Nah. Let them work it out.

We gotta go in.

Hey. You want to go in there, Tony?

Then more screaming, a hard man screaming like a child.

Aw fuck, sighed Meredith, picking up the phone.

Just another minute, said Tommy, stopping him. Give them another minute. Let them have their fun.

The shouting died and in the silence, whimpering. Blurred figures on the monitor, shrinking back. A dark mass squirming on the floor.

Finally the banging, heavy boots and plastic shields, men in black, helmeted and visored shouting, hammering the shields. Loud-spoken, metallic urgent voices. Clear the range clear the range. Inmates back in cells, shouting loud abuse. Whirring sound, then clank of cell doors locking shut. Pittman, face down on the floor, life pumping out of him, his blood, so like my vital blood, running free, a wasted viscous puddle spreading. Tommy, face bloodless white, staring not at Pittman, but at me, seeing through me, penetrating all my screens, into the depths of my fear and nausea.

You there, Breau?

Im here.

Solid?

Solid, Tom.

I didnt hear you, Tony!

I said Im solid.

Stay solid, man.

They lost Pittman, said Meredith.

Big loss.

He was a human being, Tommy.

Were all human beings, Tony. Everybody has to go sometime. And Pittman was about to go to Joyceville. You know what that meanshe was slithering back toward the street.

Thats the system. They come, they go back out.

And if one of them doesnt make it back out, what the fuck, one less problem for society you gonna lose sleep over this, Tony?

Not likely.

Got any plans for tomorrow?

Nothing in particular.