Rikers High Page 8

  I didn’t know that you could have a police record and still get a job like that in a school. Maybe that Mr. Green should have been explaining about kids on Rikers Island to Ms. Jerk-off. But I was happy Sanchez had somebody he could talk to. Maybe he’d start to feel less stressed.

  CHAPTER

  24

  When it was time for history, Murray sat at the corner of the desk closest to the door, looking out at us over his glasses. I’d had mean son-of-a-bitch teachers like him out in the world before. But I couldn’t understand why he was here. If he hated kids like us so much, why would he come to work on Rikers Island?

  Some dudes said it was because we were locked up and nobody cared if he taught us anything. Other kids said he’d be nothing without the COs. That he’d get his ass kicked in a regular school without that kind of protection.

  On my first trip to court, I counted eleven gates from the main corridor in the building to the other end of the bridge. The steel door out to the Sprungs and the checkpoint in the yard made thirteen. Murray passed through those gates every damn day. But why? There had to be some high school in the city that would take his sorry ass—one that was easier to get to than this floating rock.

  We were reading about the Trojan Horse. How these Greek soldiers hid in its big, wooden belly and came out after the dumb Trojans pulled it inside the gates of Troy. Kids read that story and started talking about how they could sneak off Rikers Island.

  “What would you do if a helicopter showed up in the yard and dropped down one of those ladders made out of rope?” asked Jersey, out of nowhere.

  Kids swore they’d climb right up, even if they didn’t know who was flying it.

  “No way,” answered Ritz. “It’d probably be a setup. The COs outside the gates with guns would shoot you down.”

  Even Murray had a smile on his face and listened to the whole rap before he snapped, “Enough of this nonsense. Back to work.”

  There were more ways to talk about escaping in the Sprungs because it’s all out in the open. From where the water starts, maybe it’s a half mile across to LaGuardia Airport. Before that, there are two fifteen-foot-high fences between the Sprungs and the hill down to the bay. They’re both strung with razor wire, all the way across the top. So even if you threw a blanket over the wire on the first fence, the second might cut you bad enough to make you turn back.

  Some dudes swore there was even razor wire under the water. They said that Corrections hid it there in case you made it far enough to swim. But I didn’t know how they could string it underwater or keep it from rusting.

  I looked up and suddenly Murray was collecting all his books early, before the end of class.

  “Pass them up to my desk quickly,” he said.

  Then Murray stepped outside, calling over Dawson and Arrigo.

  They talked for a minute, and then the three of them walked back inside looking us over.

  Dawson said, “If you have it, give it back now.”

  Nobody moved a muscle.

  I saw Dawson look at one of his snitches from the north side. But the dude’s eyes just rolled in his head to say he didn’t know what was going on.

  “Are you sure you had it when you walked into this room?” Arrigo asked Murray, annoyed.

  Murray stood there silent with his arms folded across his chest, nodding.

  The COs finally let on that they were looking for the chalk holder Murray used when he wrote on the board. It was made of metal, so they weren’t going to just let it disappear.

  Leave it to that piss-ass Murray not to get his hands dirty with chalk. Instead, he walks around Rikers Island with a big-time piece of contraband, waiting for some kid to rob him.

  “We’re gonna leave you boys for a minute to think about this,” said Arrigo.

  Then the COs left the room and made Murray go, too. They knew we’d put pressure on each other to give the stupid thing up.

  Jersey was the first to beat the drum.

  “Just give it up and get these damn po-lice off our backs,” he said.

  Dudes threatened to kick the shit out of any kid who’d snatched it.

  Only no one came clean.

  The COs stepped back inside and searched the floor and in the corners, just in case somebody got scared and tossed it. Then they searched us one by one at the door.

  We put our hands on the wall and Dawson patted us down. Arrigo made the rest of us keep our hands on our heads so we couldn’t pass the chalk holder off if it was still in the room. Dawson was really getting pissed. And you could hear it in his voice every time he yelled, “Next!”

  All the while, crooked-nosed Murray was in the hall watching through the window. When the chalk holder didn’t turn up in our room, the COs went from class to class. They gave the same speech and patted down every inmate in the house.

  Brick sneaked over to our room ready to blow.

  “If you bastards get my business shut down over this, I’m gonna kill somebody,” he threatened us.

  Some kid promised Brick that no one in our class took it. That made me sick to hear. You never feed a thug’s head like that.

  Then Brick looked me right in the face and said, “You got to keep your misfit crew in check, Forty. All you’re gonna do is get the rest of these GED nerds in trouble.”

  I was just glad Ritz and Jersey played it silent. If Brick was going to talk up that we were a crew, I wanted kids to think we stood together.

  It was time for lunch, but we weren’t going anywhere. Dawson and Arrigo called Captain Montenez, and he showed up with a fresh bunch of COs.

  That’s when I knew this shit was going to get deep.

  Montenez called the mess hall workers from our house back to the trailer. Then he had a fit because Dawson and Arrigo forgot about Sanchez being next door with the counselor. And when Sanchez and the mess hall workers came up clean, too, Montenez got serious, ordering the COs to strip-search the kids in each classroom.

  The COs went into the rooms while Montenez stood at the door. We pushed all the chairs and desks to the middle of the floor. Then we had to take off all our clothes and throw them into one big pile.

  I was standing in a classroom full of kids with my hands against the wall, naked.

  The COs patted down our clothes and went through all the pockets. They mostly found food and cigarettes, and confiscated it all. You weren’t allowed to bring any of that shit to school, but dudes tried to puff in the bathroom and sneak food into class anyway. Then they found some kid’s pussy magazine rolled up in his sleeve.

  “If this is sticky and I touch it, I’m gonna hammer whoever it belongs to,” sneered Arrigo.

  Demarco was going from room to room, talking to kids and looking for the chalk holder. Mrs. Daniels was helping, too, but she disappeared when they made us take off our clothes. Murray and Ms. Jackson were standing around at the officers’ desk taking heat from Montenez.

  “The two of you graduated college, right?” ripped the captain. “I guess you could be smart and stupid at the same time, bringing a metal chalk holder in here.”

  Miss Archer had been on a break, and no one told her what was going on.

  “Oh my God!” she screamed, as she walked into the trailer and saw a whole class standing naked.

  Some of the COs were laughing hard over it.

  “That’s not funny,” said Ms. Armstrong, punching Arrigo in the arm.

  I wasn’t surprised the COs couldn’t dig up Murray’s piece. Usually when a kid swipes something, other inmates see it go down. Then word gets around. If there’s too much heat the kid gets ratted out. But most dudes in our room didn’t even remember seeing Murray with the chalk holder that day. Never mind robbing him for it.

  “Get these inmates dressed and take ’em to lunch,” ordered Montenez.

  Maybe he didn’t want to do it, but it was the rules. Montenez had to feed us before a certain time, no matter what.

  School was canceled in the afternoon, and Sprung #3 was officially o
n the burn.

  CHAPTER

  25

  Back at the house, the COs took the count. I could hear defeat in the voice of every kid as they counted off. It was like we’d just been whipped in a fight that we didn’t even know was coming.

  There are always fights in jail, and mostly it’s over something that matters to someone. But nobody wanted to be on the burn over Murray’s stupid chalk holder.

  “I don’t even believe one of you guys swiped it,” said Dawson.

  “Too bad it don’t matter what we think. The captain says it happened,” said Arrigo. “Maybe they’ll bring the chair out for everybody to sit in.”

  Arrigo meant that maybe a kid boofed it.

  Corrections has an electronic chair they make you sit in, and it’ll buzz if you jammed any metal inside of you. The COs can’t make you give it up or go get it themselves. They’re not allowed to. They can just isolate you from everybody else. But I couldn’t imagine some kid sticking a piece of metal that big up his ass.

  Lots of doldiers boof razor blades in case they have to go to war. They wrap them up in wads of toilet paper so they won’t cut themselves. The only problem is that if a fight jumps off fast you can’t get to your stash right away. You have to shit it out first.

  After supper, Johnson didn’t put the phones out. He was trying to squeeze us and maybe look like a supercop if the piece turned up on his tour.

  “The dayroom’s off-limits,” Johnson ordered. “Sit at your beds. I want quiet time till lights-out.”

  The only movement was for the bathroom and the house gang cleaning up. It was four hours of just sitting on our beds looking at each other. Only a couple of dudes went to sleep. Most of us were too pissed off for that.

  I looked at the face of every inmate on our side. There were thirty-two other black faces, sixteen Spanish ones, and Ritz.

  To see us locked up like that, you’d think black and Spanish people were nothing but scum. None of us believed that was true. But it didn’t make us feel any better about ourselves either.

  Ritz got called out on a visit and he was all smiles. He walked down the rows of beds with his hands curved over his stomach, like a pregnant woman.

  “I never know which one of my girls it is,” he whispered. “But it don’t matter. It’s the same with both of them.”

  Ritz wasn’t even sure which one was due first. Dudes told him that if he gave both babies the same name he’d never mess up and call out the wrong one. He liked that trick and decided on “Chris” because it worked for a boy or a girl.

  Some kids used the time to write letters. You never think much about writing out in the world because you can see people and the phone is always there. But when you’re locked up letters become important. You write to people and sometimes they write back. Some dudes get pictures from home of things they missed, like their baby’s birthday party. Other kids get pictures of their girls in bathing suits and pass them around to show off.

  I watched Sanchez for a while. He was lying down with a pillow over his face. I could tell he wasn’t really asleep by the way he was breathing. It would change all the time from fast to slow. You watch lots of kids sleep when you’re locked up, and they always breathe steady.

  “How can you lie there for so long without moving?” I asked low.

  He lifted the pillow off his face and answered, “Man, I’m already part dead.”

  Quiet time was hardest for Shaky because he couldn’t sit still like everybody else. After seeing him jump around for the first hour, Johnson got smart and sent Shaky to work with the house gang.

  Shaky pushed the pail along for one of the dudes who was mopping, talking to kids as he passed their beds.

  “Don’t nobody carry on with him! I want silence!” barked Johnson.

  After that, it was just Shaky talking to himself as he walked.

  There weren’t any clocks in the house you could look at. All of the COs have wristwatches. Inmates can wear watches, too, as long as the bands aren’t metal. And a couple of the kids on our side had them. I never wanted one because it only mattered what time the COs said it was. They could make their watches say anything they wanted. Besides, the only time that really counts in jail is days.

  Brick was going through his bucket, taking inventory. I saw him juggle with guys in the beds next to his. He even had some dude pass smokes off into the next row for him.

  For all his tough talk, Brick didn’t act like a killer. He acted like a greedy kid that wanted to be somebody.

  Maybe he just needed to learn some manners.

  Sanchez told me Brick had been in the Sprungs for almost four months, and that he moved in on kids because he’d been locked up before and knew how the game was played. Then he picked doldiers that were too stupid to run the game for themselves.

  Brick was already on probation for robbery and couldn’t afford to cop out to a new charge. If he did, he’d get even more time for breaking his promise to the state to stay clean after his last case.

  “I got a paid lawyer. A good one,” I’d heard Brick bragging to dudes. “My grandmother had the money to bail me out. But I said nahhh. I can live here, no problem. Take that cheddar and buy me the best mouthpiece there is. There ain’t a shred of evidence against me a smart lawyer can’t knock down.”

  Just after lights-out it started to rain. It beat down on top of the bubble like a drum. I ran my fingers over my scar where the skin had gotten tight and hard. You couldn’t escape the sound of being inside that drum, nobody could. You could only learn to deal with it.

  FRIDAY, JUNE 12

  CHAPTER

  26

  I was awake when the Turtles started across the yard the next morning. I saw them through the windows of the emergency doors in the back of the house and I knew what to expect.

  They brought crowbars, dogs, and an X-ray machine. There were at least twenty regular COs behind them. That whole outfit settled in front of Sprung #3 for a minute. Then the Turtles came inside first.

  Most of the house was still asleep when the Turtles’ captain got on a bullhorn.

  “Everybody up!” he ordered. “Stand beside your beds with your fingers locked behind your heads.”

  “Do it now! Do it now!” hollered one Turtle after another, punching inmates in the kidneys if they didn’t move fast enough.

  Some kids didn’t know what was happening.

  I’d got on a pair of pants and sneakers before they even came inside. But most dudes were caught sleeping and had to stand barefoot in their underwear.

  The Turtles are always on point, acting like super-COs 24/7. And they’re looking for high drama from the word Go.

  They get their name from the gear they wear. When there’s a riot in the jail, they get dressed in helmets and big chest protectors that cover them from front to back. That way no one can stab them with a banger. When they put everything on, they look just like turtles in their shells.

  They wear a darker uniform than the regular COs—one that’s almost black, like Darth Vader’s. And even when they aren’t wearing those shells, kids still call them “Turtles.”

  Most dudes knew them from the corridors in the main building.

  If your house is on the move and Turtles pass your way, inmates have to play the wall and let them go by first. They even make you put your head down, because you’re not allowed to look them in the face.

  There’s always one Turtle that will make a show of it and start to scream at some kid who’s hanging on the wall.

  “Are you looking at me, maggot? Put your eyes on me again!” he’ll warn.

  Two or three Turtles will circle around the kid in case he talks back. But the kid just usually shits a brick in his pants. Then everybody goes back to their house talking about how crazy the Turtles are and how nobody in their right mind would ever want to fight them.

  The Turtles stood watch inside the house while a search crew of COs went through everybody’s stuff.

  COs patted down dudes and
emptied their buckets onto the floor. Then they flipped the beds over and made everyone drag their mattresses to the X-ray machine. Most of the mattresses were stink-old. They were so ripped you couldn’t tell if a dude had buried a weapon in one or not. So they used the machine to make sure.

  All the COs wore rubber gloves while they searched. It was like our shit would give them some sort of disease if it touched their skin. The only things I had in my bucket were a couple of shirts and an extra pair of pants. The COs went through them quick and then made me open my mouth and move my tongue around to see if I was hiding any razor blades.

  The search team found a homemade banger in Luis’s mattress.

  “All right, there’s number one,” said a CO, celebrating.

  The COs with the X-ray machine saw it clear as day on their monitor. They dug it out of the stuffing and were waving it around in the air like a prize.

  The banger was made from a sharpened piece of metal, with tape wrapped around the bottom for a handle.

  “This was ripped off the bottom of a chair,” said a CO. “Probably from the school trailer.”

  “Hey, genius. I’m glad you picked something up in that school,” a CO taunted Luis.

  The Turtles’ captain served Luis with a write-up on the spot and then packed his ass up.

  Luis would do sixty days in the bing for sure.

  It doesn’t matter if a weapon is yours or not. If they even find it near your shit, you get charged. Lots of times a dude will slide a banger across the floor, just to get rid of it when things get hot. If it winds up under your bed, you’re the one that gets screwed.

  The dogs sniffed around for drugs, but didn’t find any.

  Dawson and Arrigo were watching from up front with Captain Montenez. They didn’t show much expression at all. The less the search team found, the better those three were going to look.

  Brick was standing at his bed stone-faced. If the house got burned for the banger, it would be because of his doldier. I wondered if other dudes would get brave and give him lip for that. He was already weaker with Luis out the door.