41977

Prologue

I sometimes get tired of this place. After a while, it drags on one. The routine never varies. It is boring. Well it used to be boring. Does that make any sense? It does to me.

When I first came in here, I fell back into the same old routine that I had before. Then I made a decision. I had to do something with me. Situations have changed the way I feel. I have changed. Sometimes I confuse boring with being up to my neck in stuff.

I got here by accident, that sounds good in theory, but in reality, I got here cuz of my own stupidity. It makes me think that if all the incidents that led up to here had been better planned I might have stood a good chance of survival in the street. Stupid of me to think otherwise! I was a victim of my own folly.

They call me 41977. I have a real name, though I haven’t been called it in so long I forget that I have one. It’s the one that my birth mother gave me: Helen Rye Stevens. Doesn’t that have a ring to it? She must have been looking at one of those dumb movie magazines when she named me. I went by the name of Rye, always-hated Helen. It sounded like an old maid’s name.

When I first got here, I thought I would learn to do something and become a better person. Hah, becoming a better person meant sucking up. That is something that I couldn’t do. So much for that theory! I blended in here pretty well though. It didn’t take me long to realize that everyone else was the same as me except their crime was different. Hell, who am I kidding, our crimes are all the same. We committed them.

I gave myself a goal. Never had one in the past, but figured that since I had nothing better to do, it might be another way to pass the time. I set out to find out what I could do for others. In between the fights, I was still the one that came out on top. Yeah, I know how to take care of me. I also know how to take care of others. I guess that is my gift. Maybe it might be a calling. Maybe I talk a lot!

I do know how to write. So I kept writing in my diary. It was getting so filled up with ideas that I wondered when it would ever be finished. I knew there would be that light at the end of the tunnel or the memory path. I had a lot to say. I had a lot to get off my chest.

Well it took a long time but I managed to get it all down. Now some newspaper fellow has come snooping around here. He’s interested in writing an article about me. It seems that while he was doing some kind of research he found my story. He is interested in doing a follow up. At the time of my trial, my tales made all the headlines. They surely did.

It was called sensationalism. I thought it was ordinary. I was wrong!

He became fascinated, wanted to get my side of it, and wanted to meet in person. Hey, I’m famous! Anyway, I told him about the scribbling that I had been doing all these years. Turns out, he wanted to read my stuff. Go figure. Who would have thought that I could write something that someone would want to read? So that’s what we did. We set about figuring out what to do with those things I had written.

He is here every week with more questions. He says the more we talk about things the better his article is getting. I talk. He listens. I read. He writes.

I told him about the family. They haven’t been here to see me ever. Well except for Ben. He came once. I didn’t much think any of them would come here. Really doesn’t matter much to the other or me one way. All the families are the same. They just have different names.

The newspaper fellow wants to use my real name for the article. Hell, go figure! I have been living without one for so long that you think that he would use my number. It really doesn’t matter much anymore. Who gives a rat’s ass about the name? No one gives a damn about you. They just want to read your chronicles. Sort of the way life is.

Nobody cares who you are. They just want to know what you did in life. Anyway, we are still quirking over this issue. Sure, it will get resolved sooner or later.

By now you are probably wondering where this is leading? You want to get to the reason why I am in this place. Oh did I mention it’s a women’s maximum-security prison. Figured you already got that part down. Or maybe you were thinking that I am some little juvie? No already been down that road too. Now I am all grown up!

Yeah my sentence was light compared to what I could have gotten. They gave me only twenty-five years for taking out that scumbag. I was lucky. I guess they could have given me life or the death penalty.

Now I have another story to tell. I thought one of no importance. I am wrong. There is something that keeps me going. I never thought that one bad deed would lead to a good deed. Stick around and I will tell you why.

Chapter One

It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out that the new kid on the block was a dope. He didn’t set right with the rest of us. Something about his manner or was it the fact that he talked too much. Down here in the street, everyone learns to keep his mouth closed. He called himself Frankie. We called him Frankie the Fart! That is cuz he did it all the time. It made one want to gag. He sure was a stinker in more ways than one. He wanted to blend in with us, yeah, that meant hanging out every day, nothing real special, if you know what I mean. So we tested him.

Hey Frankie, got a job for you. It means that you will be able to hang with us if you can do it right. Want to give it a try? Me talking to Frankie.

His stupid eyes lit up in anticipation of some big heist or something else. I sure would like to do it. What is it?

I rolled my eyes back and laughed at him. What a dumb ass he was. He was too anxious for my blood. Got to go over to John Cardish’s Grocery Store in broad daylight, that’s what. But the catch is that you got to take it right under the old man’s nose and you got to take lots of candy. Got it Frankie? You can’t get caught though. I could tell he was a DF. He asked, What happens if I get caught?

Well I guess you are fried, pea head. I laughed at him. Yeah, right into his face. Frankie was one of those big fat kids who needed candy like I needed another hole in my ass. Anyway, he was going to do it. We waited for the big day. It gave us something else to pass the time.

We would remember how simple life was in those days. Too bad things had to change.

We used to do all kinds of dumb things with each other. The bunch of us was standing around doing nothing except knocking off time throwing water balloons at the passing cars when Frankie rounded the corner.

He looked like the fat man in the circus. His pockets were bulging, his shirt stuck out three times more than normal, and his jowl was busting. Stopped cold right in front of us he did. Go figure, he was out of breath.

What’s up Frankie? Me talking to him.

When he opened his mouth all the gumballs came peeling out. We roared. The giant gumball machine had sprung a leak. The colors rolled down the street faster than we could catch them. When the last one plopped out of his mouth he said, I did it. Now am I in?

What the hell did in mean? In what? Oh yeah, Frankie you are definitely in. Me laughing at Frankie.

Care to share some of your loot with us? He opened his pockets and gave us the share of the bounty. Of course, the DF never knew the real story behind the big robbery.

Old man John appeased us. He let us kids pull off, on a regular basis, the heisting of the candy. Guess he felt sorry for us or it was too much effort to keep calling the cops. Well, anyway, that is how Frankie joined our so-called gang.

We never much talked about our families or what happened behind the closed doors. It was part of the routine of our daily living. We just figured everyone else did the same thing. We grew up too fast I guess.

Curious is as curious we were. The guy moved in next door to Frankie. He didn’t like him from the get go.

Hey that guy is weird. Comes and goes at all hours of the night. He sings to himself and always carries that large black bag. When he leaves, it is flat, when he returns it sometimes is a bulging out. What’s up with that? Frankie talking to us.

Yeah Frankie he’s a mass murderer wanted in several states for chopping off kids heads. Me roaring to Frankie. And did I forget to mention that he eats those heads for dinner.

Ah come one. He is not. You are fooling with me right? I think he was about to pee his pants. He might have actually believed me. From time to time, I had nothing better to do than yank his chain. I loved doing that to him. He was so gullible.

Look I’m not fooling here. The guy scares me. I’m telling you he ain’t all there. I watch him a lot. He keeps pretty much to himself. None of the neighbors know who he is. Now that does not surprise me at all, none of them neighbors bother with anyone at any time. Figure it is a waste of time. What could they possibly have in common with them? Yeah, we all live in those glass houses.

You’re serious ain’t yeah? Since we don’t have anything better to do, right now we will put the lookout on this guy. It will be just another thing to pass the time. Right dudes? Me talking to the gang.

They jumped at the chance. Not a one of them gave any objection. For us it would be another adventure. There was not much going on in our neck of the project anyway.

It was easy to do. Nobody payed much attention to us. They thought we were just a bunch of kids doing nothing but trying to stay out of trouble. I wish that we were. I wish that was true.

Chapter Two

Well we got to making out a plan. Set it all up we did. If I do say so myself, it was a damn good one. We had all the checkpoints figured out so that this guy would never be out of our sight. We were a real Dick Team (that means detective). Talk about keeping us busy. He was a mover.

He left his apartment at precisely 10:00 P.M. He was dressed in black, wearing black shoes, a black knit cap, and carrying a black zippered bag. You might say that he was a black out. All he would have needed was his face painted. So we named him Mr. Blackthorn. One cuz he wore black all the time and two cuz he was a thorn in our side.

Anyway, he checks his watch when he stands on the stairs and starts singing. You heard me, singing. He was singing that song A Train. Guess it fit in his plan somehow. Don’t really know how since he was a foot and not riding no train!

So anyway, he proceeds left from the apartment right down the 110th street and turns left onto 115th street where he stops. Yeah, stops to check his watch. It’s precisely 10:30 P.M. He then proceeds down 115th street to 120th street and does the same damn thing. Stops, watch check, and moves onward. Anyway, he winds up on 135th street at precisely 12:30 A.M. Two hours of walking, singing, stopping, and watch checking. Yeah, I can tell already that is a big waste of time.

He looks at the building in front of him. Yeah, he stares straight up at it. There’s no name or number on the outside of the building so we had no idea what the hell he was staring at. Anyway, he rounds the backside of the building. Now this is where things get complicated cuz if we follow him in the alley he’s sure to spot us, so we had no choice but to wait around in the front. We had to hang back and hope we caught him doing something out of the ordinary.

So much for that stupid idea. We have to think of another way to keep following him. We knew that the real deal is what goes on behind that building. At least we think we do. Our first thought is that he is a garbage picker. Second thought, well we don’t have one just yet.

Well we wait around there for three hours. Now it is 3:30 A.M. and the guy is still no show. What the hell could he be doing all that time? We talk about it just to pass the hours. Of course, everyone has an idea, yeah idea, not fact.

He probably is going to a part time job. That would kick us in the ass, all this following and waiting around for that. We manage to keep a low profile. Did I mention that our gang is numbered (that word again) to six members only? We feel pretty cocky about now. We have nothing better to feel.

We were standing there gabbing and who rounds the corner but the guy. Now we should have been prepared for him, but we were too busy talking about life or lack of it. He almost knocks me on my ass. This time he’s in a hurry. Something doesn’t set right with me. He doesn’t check his watch, just keeps walking down the street. Oh did I mention that his slow walking had turned to fast paced walking.

So we are off to follow him. We check the clock on the church. The time is precisely 4:00 A.M. He’s hard to keep up with but his singing seems to give us a pretty good idea where he’s at. At precisely 6:00 A.M., he gets to his apartment. He knocked off a half-hour from his return. We already had Len staking out his place so he can tell us what happened at that point.

There was nothing unusual with him. Stopped, put the black bag down, took out his key, and went into the apartment. Len telling us what