He apologizes for swearing. Says after you’ve been in prison for a while, using the f-word becomes about as natural as breathing. “Not a problem,” I tell him. But I’ve heard about all I can take, so I thank him and tell him I have to be going.
“Yeah, but can you hold on a minute?” he says. “There’s one more thing I think I should tell you about, even though Corby probably wouldn’t want me to.”
I sit back down.
“He had a hard time at the beginning of his bid. Got called names. Had shit smeared on his sheets. It’s sick what some cons will do to a new guy, especially if his crime involved the death of a kid.”
Oh my God, poor Corby! I tell Manny I had no idea that kind of thing was going on—that he kept it from me.
“Wanted to spare you, I guess. I kind of helped him out. Showed him the ropes, promised him it was going to get better. I felt sorry for the guy, you know? Plus, he was cute. I kind of had a crush on him, not that he was interested. With some guys in prison, it’s gay for the stay and straight at the gate. But Corby made it clear we weren’t going there and I was cool with that.”
Isthiswhat he wanted to tell me? I’m not sure it’s something I need to know.
“Anyways, after he got more used to prison life, things went better for him. Guys on our tier got to know him and like him, so they backed off. Me and him were already friends, but then we became cellmates. I did two bids and had a bunch of different cellies, but none as good as Corby. We had opposite personalities and I think I drove him crazy sometimes, but all in all we got along good. He was a stand-up guy. Don’t take this the wrong way, Emily, but I loved him. And respected him. Pretty much everyone did. We even threw him a party when we thought he was getting out. And hewouldhave if it wasn’t for those two motherfuckers who were out to get him. And again, excuse my language.”
“What do you mean? Who was out to get him?”
“Two of the guards on our tier. They went out of their way to make Corby’s life a living hell.”
“Why? What had he done?”
Manny looks away. Sighs and looks back. “He stood up to them. Called them on their shit. Now that I think about it, the whole thing started over you.”
“Over me? What do you mean?”
“You came to see Corby. It might have been your first visit. And one of those clowns hassled you about something. The metal detector maybe?”
I nod, recalling the incident. “He was harassing me. I forget his name but—”
“Piccardy. And when he finally let you into the visiting room, you were pretty shaken is what Corby told me. The next day, he got on Piccardy about it. Told him he’d better not ever treat you like that again, and that was all it took. See, Piccardy and his wingman, Anselmo, were bullies. And when Corby stood up to one of them, that made him their enemy.”
I tell Manny I remember asking Corby to just let it go.
“Well, he wasn’t able to do that. He had to defend your honor, I guess. But that was just the first thing. See, Anselmo and Piccardy were doing all kinds of shit but keeping it under the radar—or so they thought. When Corby was on that work crew, he caught them abusing some wild turkeysthat were roaming nearby. Pepper-spraying them for fun. And he tried to blow the whistle on them about that. And about Solomon, too. Like I said, those two liked to bully the weakest ones in the herd. And because the kid was too screwed up to defend himself, Corby defended him. They hated him for that, so things went from bad to worse. They kept needling him. Goading him. Waking him up in the middle of the night to scare him. One time they put a snake in our cell, but that bothered me a lot more than it did Corby.”
“It sounds cruel but so childish.”
“Yeah, but then they went way over the line. Did something really bad to him.”
“What?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t… I mean, it explains why he started taking those benzos. Are you sure you want to know?”
I’mnotsure, but I tell him I am. This is why I’ve driven here.
“Well, okay then. We were leaving chow one night and Anselmo stopped him. Accused him of swiping a salt shaker off the table. Everyone knew it was bogus, but it gave Anselmo an excuse to strip-search him. In private. Piccardy was off that day, but he was in on it. He was there.”
“Did they beat him up?” I ask.
“Not so anyone would be able to see,” he says. “They wouldn’t risk that. But they found a way to humiliate him and shut him up. And it changed Corby. The poor guy was nervous, depressed, couldn’t sleep. He became afraid of them, so he’d stay in our cell if they were on duty together. That was why he started taking those meds. Which is why, when he was due to get out, he failed the drug test.”
“What are you saying, Manny? Why was he afraid?”
He bows his head. Doesn’t look at me. “At Yates, the COs carry defensive weapons. Pepper spray, batons. So that they can stop fights, control a crowd if a riot breaks out. And—”
“Batons?”
“You know, like the billy clubs cops used to carry, except these aremetal rods that extend to about two, two and a half feet. In case they need to start swinging.”
