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  Chad nodded in a way that indicated he fully enjoyed Pilar’s awareness of his flirtations.

  chapter six

  MAKING ROUNDS

  PILAR HAD TO MAKE rounds in the segregation units. There was no way to get out of it. Rounds were required. So, she finally faced the inevitable. Wearing a lab coat and carrying a clipboard with note paper, she left the administration building, “The Building” as the prisoners called it, for the cellblock. It was the first time she had been inside since the warden’s orientation the day she arrived nearly a month earlier. The idea of meeting prisoners on their turf was unsettling.

  The security gate shuddered until it finally slammed closed with an earsplitting bang. Pilar was locked outside of her protected environment and deposited alone into the bowels of the institution. Pilar patted her pocket to make sure she hadn’t forgotten her personal body alarm. If she needed help, she could push the alarm and alert central control who would send officers to her aid. It was often the only thing that saved a victim from her assailant in a prison.

  As Pilar walked past the recreation yard, she marveledat how the prisoners’ uniforms created a wall of blue. The men huddled near the yard fence in small groups. She searched for Chad in each gathering, though he wouldn’t hang out with just any crowd. She guessed his congregation would be of a higher quality than the usual yard gangs.

  Most prisoners moved like robots near the yard’s perimeter, while others jogged or jumped in place to keep warm. They all kept their distance from the fence so as not to set off the alarm or attract the gun tower officers. While they talked and smoked, their eyes followed three other officers circulating among them; their heavy breathing became mist that spiraled into the cold air which hinted at an early autumn. The ever-vigilant tower sentry peered through high-power binoculars at the yard below. Every now and then, Pilar caught him lifting the weapon to site an inmate in the rifle’s scope. She thought she saw the officer mouth, “Bang, bang.”

  None of the prisoners seemed to notice the refreshing wind that kept the sky an uncommonly cloudless and deep blue for the time of year. No doubt they only saw the razor ribbon lining the tops of the twelve-foot high double row of fences. Pilar glimpsed the perimeter security vehicle circling on the road outside that barricade, but the inmates paid little attention. Both the fence and the vehicle patrol segregated them from the woods and the outside world. The unpredictable cold waters of Lake Superior were on the other side of the northern stand of trees. That environmentwas a formidable deterrent to any escape plan. Sadness filled Pilar when she thought about the many inmates, particularly Chad, stuck in these unforgiving surroundings.

  A few special prisoners meandered through the mass of blue uniforms. When they walked near a group, the other inmates acknowledged them with hesitant nods and quickly moved out of their way. Even a “fish” like Pilar knew they were the leaders, the ones in control. The ones to fear.

  Pilar recognized two prisoners from past infirmary call outs. One was Tiger. He headed toward the weight pit. Breeze, the other familiar inmate, puffed at a cigarette that dangled from the left side of his mouth. Pilar had already learned that both were well-known, young Detroit drug dealers. Pilar stopped on the walk beside the yard fence to watch the two for a moment.

  Breeze stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets as he ambled over to Tiger. The others he passed stayed their distance. Breeze stood to Tiger’s left, away from the gun tower officer’s prying vigil. Breeze took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it at the fence. He leaned into Tiger. His mouth moved as though he was talking to Tiger, but he stared straight ahead at the officers traveling through the yard.

  The scene seemed more like a movie set than an actual prison. Everything appeared as Hollywood might have portrayed, every motion contrived, though at that moment less sinister.

  Without responding, Tiger suddenly moved away from Breeze and walked toward the yard gate. Breeze bit his lower lip, his eyes raised to the gun tower. He spit on the ground and followed Tiger. They waited at the gate in silence while the officer tucked his hand-held radio into a black leather pouch hanging from his belt. After he signed the prisoners’ yard passes, he unlocked the gate to let the two inmates return to their house, the place where they bunked. House was another prisoner slang term like “The Building” that Pilar learned in the short time she’d been at Hawk Haven. The prisoners’ jargon was like a foreign language.

  Pilar remained in place and watched the two inmates head to their cell block. Though curious about their uneasy encounter she really didn’t want the details. By the looks of the track marks she had seen on their arms, Pilar was sure whatever they were into had to do with drugs. How naive she had once been to think there were no drugs in prison.

  “Let’s get this over,” Pilar mumbled, and turned toward Block One. By sounding the bell outside the unit’s door she alerted a housing officer of her arrival. No doubt the tower guard had already given him a heads up. There was no way anyone could sneak around the grounds without one of those sentries spotting them.

  A buzzer sounded and Pilar pushed the door open. Immediately she held her hands over her ears to stop the unbelievably loud and unintelligible din of male voices. When the door closed, all her senses jumped into gear. Thesmell of disinfectant overpowered her, while at the same time she was blinded by the glare from the freshly polished linoleum floor. Keeping a segregation unit as clean as possible supposedly helped employees feel less oppressed by the environment. Yet Pilar, despite what she had learned in training, doubted whether the prisoners gave a damn. They only left their cells one hour a day, alone, in cuffs and leg irons and escorted by two to three officers.

  After signing in at the officers’ station tucked in the apex of the L-shaped multi-tier building, Pilar spoke with the first prisoner. His only comment was, “You sure smell good, Doc. Better than the last guy.”

  The man in the next cell confirmed that and added, “Sexier, too.”

  “Is there any prisoner here who has a medical problem?” Pilar asked a passing officer.

  “Other than mental, ma’am?” he snickered.

  Before Pilar had a chance to answer, prisoners shouted as though singing a round. “The new Doc is here.”

  “Quiet, you idiots. The Doc is here.”

  “Look at those legs.”

  “How ‘bout that hair?”

  Pilar walked to the cell of the inmate who yelled last. “How ‘bout a health problem? Got any, hot shot?” she asked.

  He backed away from the door as another man called out, “I have ta see you, Doctor.”

  Pilar looked around to see from where the voice hadcome. “Over here,” the prisoner yelled louder. “Cell 103.”

  She leaned her head against the scratched, Plexiglas window of the cell to hear the prisoner’s medical complaint without it being broadcasted to the entire gallery. Instead of getting the anticipated litany of medical problems, Pilar was greeted with a masturbating inmate. He chuckled at Pilar; her mouth dropped to her chin. Semen poured over his shorts. Though horrified, Pilar couldn’t show any embarrassment. “Got any other skills?” she asked.

  The prisoner’s smile faded. Other inmates nearby laughed and shouted, “Got any other skills? That’s a good one, Doc.”

  “He doesn’t even got a brain.”

  “All’s he knows is how to jack off.”

  “That’s enough,” Pilar ordered. “If this is all you have to say to me today, I’m out of here and won’t be back for while. Meanwhile, mister,” she turned to the offender’s cell door tag, “I’m writing you up on a sexual misconduct.”

  The officer who passed by earlier walked by again and said, “It won’t be his first. Besides, what else can happen to him? He’s already serving life.”

  “He’ll have to do his time then without some of his personal property like that TV, I guess.” Pilar was about to say more when she heard a loud commotion at the end of gallery B. Officers, including the one at her side, ran toward
the sound. Pilar followed. When she made it to the officers’ station, three guards from other posts camethrough the outside door.

  “Suit up,” the unit sergeant commanded. “Baker’s at it again. He’s bleeding badly.”

  Sergeant Turner faced Pilar. “Stand by, Doctor Brookstone. We may need your help.” Turner then talked into his radio. “The team is ready, Captain. We’re going in.”

  Awed by the precise movements of the officers dressing out for the emergency cell extraction team, Pilar was happy to oblige the sergeant’s orders. She’d stand by, but out of the way. Until now, Pilar had only seen the special team perform on video. In silence, the five-man team donned their battle attire, helmets with Plexiglas face shields, and gloves and vests that prevented sharp objects from penetrating. The lead person also carried a large Plexiglas shield like those that safeguard riot police.

  Once the team was in their fighting gear, Sergeant Turner stood to the side of the offending prisoner’s cell. Blood trickled in a long wormlike stream under the door. From behind the closure, ear piercing crashes were heard as the prisoner continued to bust up his room. Every so often Pilar heard the prisoner shout, “aaaahhhhh”. Pilar pictured him lifting something he had torn apart. Maybe the radiator. Whenever he smashed it into the wall, door, or window, he let out that eerie sound.

  As the team marched down the hall toward Baker’s cell, other inmates taunted, “Baker, the goon squad’s here.”

  “Better get it over with, Baker. Just finish yourself off.”

  “Yeah, or the goons will.”

  “Baker, listen up,” the sergeant ordered loud enough to be heard over the noise and the egging-on of the inmates in nearby cells.

  Baker slammed something against the door. Turner jumped back. The blood streaming from under the door thickened. How could Baker have that much energy left?

  “Baker,” the sergeant shouted again, “I’m going to gas you if you don’t come out of the cell calmly.”

  Whack. Baker’s response resounded down the gallery.

  “Okay, Baker, here it goes.” Sergeant Turner opened the door slot and delivered a spray of pepper. The prisoner rushed the door; “Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh.” Then thump. The steel door shook from Baker’s body being hurled against it.

  “Get ready,” the sergeant directed the suited team standing by. They lined up, the shielded man in front of the other four, and queued in a single line, each placing his hands on the one in front to strengthen the massed impact. Sergeant Turner then ordered an officer to tape the entry on the video camera he had already retrieved from the storage locker. Pilar sneaked closer to watch the action.

  The prisoners’ taunts were silenced as though reacting to a choir director. Pilar supposed they had been through those attacks so often, they knew the good part was about to begin. They didn’t want to miss a single moment.

  Turner unlocked Baker’s cell. As soon as the dooropened the team rushed through. Crashing and thrashing resonated from the interior as Baker was pushed to the floor. Pilar moved closer. The other prisoners cheered.

  The floor was covered by a carpet of fresh blood and spattered the entire team. It was hard to tell from where on Baker the blood came.

  Each of the four team members held a limb as the leader shackled Baker. Once restrained, they carried Baker from the cell and placed him onto a waiting gurney. Pilar chastised herself for being so unprepared when she discovered someone else called for that transport. Once they’d secured Baker, the officers rolled him into the day room. Pilar ran alongside the moving table and examined him. He was spurting blood from punctures to his right arm and chest.

  “Call for an ambulance,” she ordered without halting her inspection of Baker’s wounds. “He’ll need to get to ER.”

  HAVING HAD THE SENSE to grab the medical kit from the block locker, Pilar used whatever available to slow his bleeding. That confident response to the situation lessened any doubts she had about who was in control when it came to medical care. “Give me the gauze from the kit, Sergeant Turner.” Pilar gave the directive, but never diverted her attention from the patient.

  The sergeant handed Pilar an opened package from which she retrieved a large bandage. She folded it several times to give it thickness, making it highly absorbent. Shelaid it across one wound in his upper arm. “Put your hand on top of the bandage and apply pressure. Don’t let up until I tell you,” she instructed Turner.

  Next she gave an order to an officer standing nearby. “Get some baking soda and water and wipe the pepper spray remains from Baker’s face.”

  The officer scurried away and returned in a flash. He was surprisingly gentle with his touch. The officer obviously understood that Baker was no longer a threat.

  Pilar methodically tended to Baker’s chest. Using a second bandage, she applied pressure to that wound. Once the bleeding subsided, she cleaned the wound and searched for chips of porcelain from the sink that should have been replaced long ago with stainless steel. Thank goodness the chest puncture was not as deep as the arm wound, though Pilar believed internal bleeding could also be a problem.

  Another bandage was prepared for the arm which had not stopped bleeding. Pilar relieved the sergeant and pressed it on top of the gauze already in place. She kept a steady pressure on the wound. Baker fell into unconsciousness.

  “The ambulance is here,” an officer announced. The EMT truck backed up to the building’s entrance. It was one of the few times a non-institution vehicle was allowed inside. As officers rolled the gurney to the waiting EMT, Pilar maintained pressure on Baker’s arm until the newly arrived crew took over.

  Once Baker was off to the hospital, Pilar noticed Officer Cleaver, the lead team member, collapsed on the floor. He was bleeding just below his knee.

  “I’m fine,” he said when Pilar attempted to examine him. Though he waved her away, his hand was limp. “It’s a minor cut. These things happen all the time. I only fell on a piece of glass.”

  “No need to be ashamed.” Pilar consoled the officer. Showing pain wasn’t acceptable behavior for a trained emergency team member. “That puncture is deep and needs immediate attention, maybe stitches.”

  Pilar faced the officers’ station. “Sergeant Turner, send someone to the infirmary for the wheelchair and get this man there pronto.”

  “I can walk, Doctor,” Cleaver’s face paled when he tried to stand. He slid back to the floor. The blood from his soaked uniform streaked the wall.

  “I am the doctor and you’ll do as I say. Meanwhile, I’ve got to get back to the infirmary and get the medical transfer completed for Baker.” Pilar started to walk away, but stopped. “I’ll see you shortly, right?”

  “Right,” Sergeant Turner answered for Officer Cleaver.

  Pilar passed Warden Whitefeather near the officers’ station. He apparently had been called to the scene earlier. “Impressive work, Doctor Brookstone,” he said as his eyes followed the line of blood leading to Baker’s cell.

  “This wasn’t as bad as what I saw in Detroit. But, thanks anyway.” Pilar was pleased he had seen her in adifferent light from that of orientation when he ogled her legs. Maybe now he would accept her as a colleague.

  JANE GREETED PILAR WITH Baker’s transfer orders as she rushed through the infirmary gates. Pilar signed it and gave it to a waiting officer. He immediately headed for the gate as Cleaver was wheeled by. “Get him into an exam room and prepped.” Pilar was impressed by the quick response and preparedness of all the employees. It brought home how routine those emergencies were to everyone. Would they ever seem that way to her?

  After Officer Cleaver’s wound was cleaned and sutured, he was sent home to recuperate. Pilar sequestered herself in her office. Her knees gave way and she fell into the chair. Jane burst through the door unannounced. “So, how was your first day on rounds?”

  Was she being sarcastic? Pilar wanted to slap her rather than answer her. In fact, she didn’t want her there at all. “Well, to tell the truth,” she said in
stead, forcing herself to be calm, “a little hectic and quite different from sick call.”

  They looked at each other for a few seconds. Then, the absurdity of the whole morning hit and they laughed. Pilar regained her composure. “It’s not exactly what I thought making rounds meant. I hope this doesn’t happen every time I go inside.”

  “Me, too.” Jane chuckled. “It makes us work too hard. And yet, there may be days that are even tougher if thingsget out of hand.”

  “It gets worse?”

  “Could,” Jane affirmed. “We’ve had hostage situations, officers assaulted, yard stabbings, and a couple of small riots. Never can tell what will set the masses off.”

  “It doesn’t happen often though, right?” Pilar asked.

  “Right,” Jane nodded and left.

  “Right.” How could all of that chaos happen in less than an hour? It was as though Pilar was back in Detroit Receiving’s ER. Though she saved Baker’s life and gained the warden’s approval, she hoped it would be awhile before she had to make rounds again.

  chapter seven

  VISITING

  “YOU MADE IT THROUGH your first month,” Jane said as she walked with Pilar to the parking lot. “Better than most “fish”, I might add.”

  Judging by the nervous undercurrent in Jane’s voice, Pilar believed the nurse was testing her. She chose not to get caught up in the game, instead responding in good cheer, “And, I didn’t make a complete fool of myself.”

  While they talked, Pilar rummaged through her real thoughts — that she was glad those weeks were over; that she was upset for being more uncomfortable with the prisoners than she would be with other new patients. Pilar felt certain that in time her uneasiness with most of them would pass. Yet, her concern about her schoolgirl’s reaction to a murderer like Chad still confused her. How could she explain why she looked forward to his weekly clinic appointments? Perhaps Chad’s magnetism was more due to his notoriety rather an attraction? Hadn’t she been intrigued with him since Susan’s murder? Wasn’t it naturalto be curious?