~*~ The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author's imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, Oz. For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

~*~ Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author's creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

~*~ Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

~*~ Address any type of question and/or feedback to jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 

It had been months since he was thrown into Solitary for assaulting Ruiz and Alvarez had felt the small space creeping into his brain since his first hour back. It hurt far worse this time because he had come so far with Julie, and himself, only to end up back there. The Latino looked up at the ceiling as he rested on his bed and waited for the morning to begin. It was lonely there and his mind was slowly unraveling to drag him back to the dark depth that would never be extinguished inside him.

Not that he was expecting it, because he had said that their partnership was over, but Alvarez always wanted a note, or something, from O'Reily. He checked with every breakfast, lunch, and dinner tray he had gotten. He had never found anything and had regretted punching the man and ending their partnership. Trust was an important thing though and the víbora knew how much he valued it above anything else. Alvarez had every right to get upset the way he had, but O'Reily had told him on his own accord about spiking the water. Maybe that was some sort of progress for him---someone who lied and manipulated every situation he was placed in.

"Good morning, boys," Howell addressed them all. "Today's the big day. All you yokels get to whine and snivel in front of the review board in hopes that we'll let you out of Solitary. Though, God knows why you'd want to leave this paradise."

"My man McManus---he's going to vouch for me," Omar White said in his annoying voice. "He's going to save me, you know?"

"I'd say my chances are fifty-fifty," Schillinger said.

"Glynn's a fuckhead! That motherfucker's never going to let me out," Alvarez said.

"You'll cast your vote for me, won't you, Officer Howell?" Stanton said is a sweet voice. "I'll suck your big, fat hole!"

"Where's breakfast? Breakfast!" Penders whined.

"What are you looking at, Martinez?" Howell said as she stopped in front of the man's cell.

"You," was the response.

"Step back."

"Make me," Martinez smiled and Howell opened the heavy metal door and gate to enter his pod.

"How'd you know I was in the mood for a little Mexican food?" she said and shoved up against him in a lewd manner.

"I'm Puerto Rican."

"Same difference. Strip," the ugly hack commanded.

Martinez pulled down his pants as Howell did the same to get the act started. It had been this way for weeks now---the hack never seemed to be satisfied and she was always screaming, much to the annoyance of the other inmates there. There were only a few minutes of silence before skin started smacking against one another and grunts became more escalated and vocal.

"Oh---Martinez is fucking Howell," Penders said.

"He's fucking her again?" Alvarez replied, annoyingly.

"He must need to make a phone call."

"Damn!"

Alvarez went back to his bed and buried his head under his pillow because he knew she was going to be screaming down the entire Solitary cellblock within moments. It was fucking annoying and getting out of hand. He had to get out of there, but Glynn was not going to let that happen. No matter how much progress he had made, and, aside from his relapse with Ruiz, the warden still had a hateful grudge against him. Alvarez knew he had to get used to smothering his ears with his pillow because he was going to stay right where he was.

"Guess I got my hopes up too high. I'm not going to do that again," the Latino sadly said to himself under the protection of the pillow.

It was irritating to hear Howell and Martinez go at it. She became a fucking banshee when she was being fucked, but Alvarez was also a little jealous. Martinez was getting to touch somebody, even if it was the ugly hack. He wanted nothing to do with her, but he missed the way he and O'Reily had touched each other on those few occasions. And sometimes, the Irishman's hand or breath would unknowingly brush against him and he felt shivers. That was how much he had craved being touched and kissed again.

It was just after lunch when Howell opened his cell door and imposed herself inside his small space. His claustrophobia had gotten better when he was in Em City, or had O'Reily to distract him when they were alone in the storage closets together, but it had returned in full force the minute he was thrown back inside there. The ugly hack informed him that the warden wanted to talk to him. Alvarez knew it was for the worst so he did not bother to get excited when he walked into Glynn's office and took a seat.

"By a vote of four to three, we've decided to release you from Solitary," Glynn said as he tried to hide the contempt in his face and voice.

"You're shitting me?" he was shocked.

"No, Miguel," McManus happily said. "You're coming back to Em City."

"McManus put himself on the line for you, Alvarez. Don't fuck him over with more of your nonsense."

"My nonsense---no. I've got enemies. I can't control their nonsense," Alvarez told them.

A hack escorted him back to Solitary to gather his things and he returned to Em City. He came back his pod in Em City and began unpacking his stuff. It was all happening so fast that he did not have time to think about much else. Alvarez soaked up all the free space of the quad---even the pods were bigger than the cells in Solitary. He packed his stuff away and seriously had to think about his next move. If he was not careful, these chances of getting out of Solitary would soon dry up and he was going to be stuck in there forever.

The Latino thought about reviving his partnership with O'Reily but he was wary about trusting him. But, as far as he knew, the Irishman had not betrayed him while they were partners. That had to mean something---especially for someone who lied and manipulated with every word that escaped his lips. Alvarez was knocked out of his thoughts by a hack informing him that McManus had wanted a word. He walked over to the office but stopped against the wall as he heard a conversation already going on inside.

"So, what was that little scuffle with Torres about?" McManus said.

"I don't know. He's crazy," he heard Guerra say.

"Okay, Chico. You know, I've been doing some sniffing around, and I've been able to piece together some information I thought you'd find sort of interesting. It's about Miguel Alvarez. Every problem he's had for the past five years or so, is somehow tied to you."

"Me? No."

"So, I'm telling you this," McManus ignored him and went on. "If Miguel has anymore difficulties, I'm going to be looking to blame you. And now that we got a lot of free space in Solitary, my first reaction to any trouble will be to ship your ass there."

"Wait a minute!" Guerra began to protest but Alvarez walked in after hearing enough.

"Miguel---we were just talking about you," the unit manager said. "Guerra's got something to say to you."

"Yeah. You know---you and me, we started out as friends. And, even though a whole lot of shit has come down since then, I'm thinking maybe we could, you know---"

"Yeah, Chico," the Latino was cautious but said too. "Lo siento mucho si tradate de lastimart. Agradezco que estas vivo. Asi te lo puedo decir en la cara."

"Yo tambien," Guerra said back.

"Shake hands," McManus said.

So much shit had gone on between them over the years in Oz that it was hard to believe either was sincere when they both shook hands. Alvarez did not want to keep fighting the same battle and hoped this small step was going to make some kind of peace between them---or, at least keep them out of each other's way. A small brotherly hug happened between them and Alvarez left McManus's office without another word. Guerra had seemed sincere in his words, but his actions were going to have to show that. Maybe the hostility between them was going to change.

Morales had nodded at him through the glass door of his pod as he passed by. The El Norte leader seemed pleased that he and Guerra decided to put aside their differences. Alvarez nodded back and went up to his cell because he was not sure about joining the Latino gang again. He had been on his own for so long now and joining up with Morales was definitely going to skew his chances of being paroled anytime soon. Alvarez had to get out of here. He had to leave Oz behind him for good.

Inside his pod, the Latino was fighting with himself as to what to do about Ryan O'Reily. Their partnership had been something great, and still, no one had associated them together. Morales and Redding were just as clueless as everyone else was. At the very least, Alvarez had to say sorry for the punch. In retrospect, it had been a bad move on his part. O'Reily had apologized a few times for the boxing match---he figured it was his turn. Trust was still the big issue between them and a big part of him knew that just because the víbora hadn't bitten him while they had been partners, there was still no guarantee that Alvarez would never get bitten.

He knew it was impossible and selfish to ask O'Reily for that kind of guarantee, but he needed something to start rebuilding his trust. Hours had passed in his pod as he thought of the perfect place for them to meet. He thought of how he was going to get word to the Irishman without anyone being the wiser. With Meehan sharing his pod, leaving a note there was out of the question. Passing something in the cafeteria was too risky for his taste. At least the one time that had done that, Julie had served as the distraction for the other inmates' eyes. A risky idea presented itself to his thoughts and he went to rip a small piece of paper to write down the instructions.

Janitor's closet off the AIDS ward. Tomorrow, after lunch.

It was after dinner and most of the inmates were watching TV in the quad or waiting for lights out. It had to be precise timing and O'Reily had a front pocket in his shirt---it was perfect. They sat four chairs from one another and never looked at each other because it would have been too obvious---maybe it was also too hard to do so. The Irishman left to go to his pod and the time was coming close. As soon as Alvarez saw he was coming back, he stood up and started walking towards him. The note fastened tightly between his thumb and index fingers.

"Watch where you're going, spic," O'Reily said when Alvarez gently bumped into him and he felt a finger quickly go into his shirt pocket.

"My bad, O'Reily," he said as he let a small smile escape his lips to let the other man know their running into each other was on purpose. "That was my fault."

"Is there a problem here?" Murphy questioned them both as he approached.

"No, officer," Alvarez said and he walked away.

The Latino climbed the stairs and went to his pod for the night---count was going to be soon anyway and he did not feel like being in the quad anymore. The one person he wanted to talk to, he could not because they could not be associated together in public. Tomorrow, then. Alvarez brushed his teeth and waited for the hack to call for count. Hopefully O'Reily had felt the finger in his shirt pocket because he had pressed against his chest as hard as he could, without drawing more attention to either of them, to place emphasis on that particular spot of his body when he had passed the note.

At lunch the next day, O'Reily's eyes did not even cross his when he was in the lunch line---this worried him because maybe he had not found the note. Alvarez ate lunch quickly and, having bribing the guard earlier, was let out of the cafeteria practically to wander the halls of Oz freely---the irony made him sick. He hurried over to the AIDS ward. It was mainly quiet there now and hacks were rarely ever needed. He withdrew into the janitor's closet to wait. It was by far the biggest closet they had used and it instantly became one of his favorites.

He stood against the wall and began to wait. He hoped O'Reily read the note and knew about the meeting. It was going to be a little while because he had help clean up the kitchen after lunch was finished. Alvarez was a little nervous and kept licking his lips because they kept getting dry. At the very least, he was hoping O'Reily was going to accept his apology. Reviving the partnership would be great, but the Latino was not going to push anything because he was still cautious with it came to the víbora. He was just going to react accordingly to the words that were going to be between them soon enough. The doorknob wiggled and his heart jumped.

"Real smooth, yesterday," O'Reily said after he closed the door behind him. "Only every inmate and hack in Em City saw you run into me. Nice touch with the note, though. No one saw that shit."

"Hey---I had to get your attention somehow."

"Well, you got it---not to mention almost leaving a damn bruise on my chest," he resisted the urge to laugh. "What's going on?"

Alvarez took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry, Ryan. I'm sorry I punched you, you know. I shouldn't have gotten that mad about the boxing match. I---that's really what I wanted to say."

"Why now? I've been wanting to talk since before you got sent back to Solitary. What's changed?" O'Reily fired off his thoughts as he moved closer and away from the door.

"Nothing. I had a lot of time to think when I was back there, you know. Nothing's changed."

"Tell that to my jaw," the Irishman rubbed his jaw in the same spot where he had been punched months ago.

"Shut up! There's no way that punch still hurts. Even my hook isn't that good. I overreacted---I admit it."

"It hurt for like five days after, though. You would've killed Cramer in the ring."

"We'll never know now," Alvarez said.

"I already said sorry for that. I'm not going to say it again," he got a little defensive.

"No---no. That's not why I asked you to come. It was mainly for me to say sorry."

The conversation was awkward and both felt uncomfortable for practically no reason. There were still so many unspoken issues between them---quieted feelings of exploration and sometimes comfort. Neither was willing to make the first move because touch and comfort was the quickest way to death in this shithole. There was still a physical distance between them, even though O'Reily had moved away from the door and closer to him. Alvarez wanted to trust him, but his instincts were puffed up like an animal on the defensive---an animal that was not willing to give up its territory.

"What about the partnership?" O'Reily became brave and asked. "Is that still an option anymore?"

"I---I'm not sure. I don't know," was his uncertain response.

"It's something great that no one ever had a fucking clue about. That's the best part about it."

"I know, but---it's complicated."

"What is? Is something going on here, Alvarez?" O'Reily almost demanded because he wanted an answer.

"No---nothing. I don't know if becoming partners again would do us any good," Alvarez said the words but even he himself did not believe them.

"What are you talking about? You going back to El Norte?"

"No---I don't think so. I made peace with Guerra yesterday in McManus's office, though," he replied.

"Peace---with Guerra? Don't be blind, Miguel. It could be some plot Morales is hatching against you," the Irishman said with conviction.

"I'm not fucking dumb! I'm still on guard---but, he seemed like he wanted to be sincere."

It was pointless for them to be arguing about Guerra because he was insignificant and not even worth their time. Alvarez wanted the buried shit between them to stay buried though, because he was tired of the lapdog's vendetta against him. O'Reily was worked up when he told him about them making peace and he wondered what that was about. The víbora had never been bothered by anything in such a public way unless it had meant something to him. He was definitely trying to hide something behind his eyes.

"That's it, then? You make nice with Guerra and Morales has you doing his shit all over again?" O'Reily said and was not supposed to be as upset and snappy as he was. "It's like a fucking cycle with you."

"Hey---it's not like that, all right? Me making peace with Guerra had nothing to do with Morales or El Norte."

"You say that now. Let's see if you're singing the same tune once Morales comes knocking."

"You think I'm that easily controlled---that easily manipulated? And by him?" Alvarez said with a flare of anger in his voice. `You do, don't you? You fucking do---I see it in your face."

"No. No---I didn't mean that. I didn't. Hey---I didn't. It's just---I mean, why can't we be partners again?" the Irishman finally got his question out.

"I don't trust you, all right," he replied in a firm and truthful voice. "I don't trust you."

"You're testing me---again."

"I have to figure out how to trust you again. I know it didn't happen while we were partners---I know that. But---I don't think I can right now, you know?" Alvarez said.

"You know, I've never had to work this hard with any of my other partnerships. But, this---this is different."

"How? Why is it different?"

"Because---because I want to be your partner, Miguel," O'Reily told him. "I want to be your partner more than I wanted to be partners with any of those other fucks I've partnered with before. You and I get shit done without anyone knowing a damn thing. I like that---I really like that."

"I---I don't know, man."

"Then, I have to do something to prove it to you."

The Latino looked at him and said, "What---no. You don't have to do that. It'll probably build back up in time."

"Time is something we don't got."

"What---what can you do to make me start trusting you right now? What are you going to do?"

O'Reily met his gaze and his face became critical when he said, "Suck your dick."

Alvarez had never seen the man's face so serious before and he almost choked on the air he was breathing when he heard the response to his question. A jolt of excitement electrified his spine when he heard the words, but it was wrong. He did not want to subject O'Reily to something like that just to prove his trust. He had to do it because he wanted to, because they both wanted to---not to be used as some sort of demented bargaining chip. It was wrong and he was not going to go for it---not this way. And, that part of their partnership had been taken off the table a long time ago, anyway.

"What? No, víbora. That's crazy! What the hell are you saying?" the Latino was uncomfortable because of how serious he was as he offered his proposition.

"I know," O'Reily said and he moved closer. "I've never ever done it before, but I know this is how I can get you to trust me again."

"Not like this---no. Not like this. I can't have you do it like this."

"I want to earn your trust. I---I want to do this," he stumbled over the last words but said them as confidently as he could, given the situation he was in.

"No---it's not right. Not this way."

"So, you're turning down a blowjob---from me?" O'Reily grinned as he moved even closer now. "Is that correct? Am I really hearing you correctly?"

"Ryan---I want this. I want this, but---it wouldn't feel right," Alvarez said, but felt himself giving in the closer the other man got to him. "Not like this."

"Trust and loyalty is important to you---I get that. Hell, I even admire that about you. It's hard for me to trust---really hard. That's why I lie. It's easier for me to lie to someone than trying to trust them. I want to do this, loco. I want to try."

"You don't have to prove yourself like this. We can be partners again---"

"Hey, Miguel---shut up! Just shut the fuck up. Shut up and go with it. I don't expect anything in return."

"But---"

And with that, O'Reily closed the distance between them and planted a kiss on those soft and pouty lips that tasted like candy at the moment---maybe a blow pop or something. His emotions were driving him and his brain was silent because he had thought about this practically since Alvarez had been thrown back into Solitary. There was something more than partnership there, and the Irishman was trying not to fight it. The word `fag' still bothered him, but those thoughts were hushed by his raging adrenaline and need to prove himself---the want of doing this.

Tongues clashed for supremacy and the Latino used his arms to grip their bodies together while his hands trailed up inside O'Reily's shirt and was touching his back. A small grunt leaked out of the side of his lips and he closed his eyes because the touching overloaded his senses. It had been denied for far too long and he wanted it all back. O'Reily grabbed his dick through his jeans and rubbed on it---the hard fabric chafing against the sensitive skin was a dramatic pleasure in itself. Alvarez moaned when his mouth was free. O'Reily stood close and looked down to his hand as it cupped and squeezed the Latino's crotch.

"Ryan, Ryan---Ryan, I don't think I can do this," he tried to say. "Uhh---ohh."

"Your body says different. Seems like we've switched positions from the first time we did this, loco," the Irishman smiled at the irony of the change.

"I can't. Not this---not this way. Uh-huh."

"Hey---do I need to come back there and shut you up again?"

Alvarez knew this was going to happen no matter how much he protested it. He body did not care about the moral implications of the act itself---it just knew it was being touched and kissed and caressed. He had to enjoy what his body craved. O'Reily wasted no time as he got on his knees and looked a little scared at where his face was. He was really going to do this---he was really going to suck another man's dick and, a part of him had wanted to. Alvarez looked down to give him a small smile and he reached his hand out and touched the fabric of the jeans again. The Irishman was on his knees and in front of a man with every intention of orally pleasuring him.

He was already hard behind his clothing and O'Reily's heart was beating faster as he continued to stroke Alvarez's package through his pants. A button became undone and a zipper slowly slid down as boxers came into view. O'Reily pulled down both articles of clothing far enough and his dick came flopping out. Alvarez sucked air when he felt himself exposed and knew he was already leaking precum. He looked nervous as he hesitated to touch it. Alvarez was going to speak up but the Irishman grabbed the base of his dick and immediately put the uncircumcised head into his mouth to keep him quiet.

O'Reily tasted salt on his tongue and was surprisingly not as disgusted by it as he thought he would be. He had no idea what he was doing though, and it was awkward. He tried to go deeper but it was too much for him---his teeth kept getting in the way and Alvarez winced in slight pain every time something sharp scratched against his hypersensitive organ. O'Reily stroked the hairy base but he could not find a rhythm or take more than the head into his mouth. It felt so unnatural---like a hockey stick was inside his mouth. He continued to try and suck but his teeth scraped against both the top and bottom of Alvarez's dickhead.

"Oww---oww! Ahh---shit! Watch your teeth," he said because the pain was not pleasurable.

"Cut me some slack, loco," O'Reily defended as he looked up for their eyes to meet. "I ain't ever done this shit before. I don't know what to do."

"You've gotten head before, right?"

"What the hell do you think?"

"Use how those women did it to you as a guide," Alvarez told him. "Maritza used to lick the head and use her lips to suck on it. Try that---and without your teeth."

"This is hard," O'Reily said and saw the Latino grinning at him. "Not what I meant!"

"You can't take it all---I know that. Just do what you can. It was feeling good---aside from your teeth."

"Hey---pleasure is pain."

"Yeah, well---not this time," he said.

This was not how he was expecting it to go, but he was no expert at sucking dick. Alvarez's dick was the first he had ever touched like this---a sexual way. He and Cyril had jerked each other off a few times when they were preteens, but there was nothing sexual about that. It had just been two brothers helping one another out and, even then, it had only happened a handful of times before it had stopped completely. It was some kind of rite of passage O'Reily suspected that all boys had went through, so he had never thought anything else of it. There had been nothing else to think about.

He wanted to pleasure the man, so he took his time and tried to follow the advice that was given to him. He pretended Alvarez was a popsicle he wanted to suck on and lick, but not bite---his teeth would stay out of the equation that way. O'Reily also drew on all his experience of being on the receiving end to try to get this over with. He licked the head and tasted more salt as one hand jacked Alvarez at his bushy base and the other went down to fondle his balls. He was slowly beginning to find the rhythm between his stroking and sucking.

The Latino groaned and murmured words of encouragement at the improvement and gently began swaying his hips back and forth as the fingers from one of his hands got lost in O'Reily's hair. His eyes were closed and he grunted as he felt lips suction around his head as if they were trying to swallow completely. Teeth grazed against his pulsating shaft occasionally, but he was too gone in pleasure to care about the pain. Alvarez held on to his head with the one hand and began easily thrusting into his mouth because he was close.

O'Reily jacked him off as he sucked on the head and the first couple of inches Alvarez was thrusting into his mouth. He knew he was going to choke if it went any further down his throat. His body was shaking though so it meant he was getting close. The Irishman quickened his sucking and licking while his hand created a little heat as his rapidly jacked off the base of Alvarez's dick. He spoke a flurry of English and Spanish words that made no sense, but his low and blissful voice was sexy. He was a fucking sexy man with a face and body that would make anyone stop and stare. O'Reily realized that he was sucking Alvarez's dick more because he wanted to than wanting to prove his trust to the man. It was dangerous territory.

"I'm cumming! Shit---I'm cumming!" the Latino finally spoke in words that made sense. "Uhh!"

He pulled his mouth off Alvarez's throbbing manhood, but remained jacking him off, just in time to see a stream of the white liquid erupt and fall onto the floor in front of him. His body convulsed at the gratification and there was a serene smile on his face as his eyes were still closed and his head tilted a little to the side. O'Reily got up from his knees and pressed their bodies into the wall as he kissed the man to bring him back to reality. He was a little jealous because, for a moment, Alvarez looked like he had escaped Oz. Again. The Irishman wanted that too---now was not the time, though.

"Hey---hey," he called out and kissed him again. "Time to wake up, sleeping beauty."

"Fuck you!" Alvarez said after his eyes fluttered open. "That was---"

"Yeah. Pull your pants back up. We got to get going soon."

Alvarez grabbed a paper towel from a nearby shelf and wiped his softened dick clean before he replaced it in his boxers and pulled up his pants to button them. O'Reily was looking at him the whole time and it felt weird. He had actually done it. It was something monumental because everybody in Oz knew O'Reily was not a fag but it had happened for real. Alvarez remained quiet as he adjusted himself and wondered what this meant for them---wondered if it would ever happen again.

"Hey, uh---thanks," Alvarez was confused as to what to say. "I didn't think you'd do it, you know."

"Don't doubt me," O'Reily came up so close to his face and said. "Don't doubt the partnership. I'm serious about this, loco."

"No, yeah---I know."

"Good," he said and was happy with the progress they had just made. "I need you to do me a favor."

"A blowjob in exchange for a favor? It looks like you're back to your old ways already, víbora," the Latino smiled and teased.

"No it doesn't! That was never my old way," he got defensive and said. "I told you---I never did that with anyone before."

"Okay---okay. Relax. It was just a joke," Alvarez gave him a short kiss after he said. "What's the favor?"

"My mom told me about an idea she had and was going to tell the warden about---doing a play. I think you should join it."

"What---no, man. I ain't getting in front of people and doing that shit. Uh-uh---I can't act."

"Please, loco. You can help me keep an eye on my mom and we could see each other more without it looking too suspicious," O'Reily tried to convince him by saying. "I mean---it would be a lot easier to pass notes or information during practice than how we've been doing it."

"I'll think about it," he said after a momentary silence fell between them.

"Well, don't think too hard."

"Is that an order?"

"Maybe it is," the Irishman said because they both knew where the conversation was suddenly headed. "What just happened---it doesn't put you in charge."

"It doesn't put you in charge, either."

"Okay, look---we can work that shit out later," O'Reily said because their time had run out. "I'm asking you to join the play."

"If there are parts without acting, I'll sign up."

 

Redding was still mourning Hill's death so he did not care what was happening in the cafeteria and the homeboys were without a leader. O'Reily had seized the opportunity to his advantage and got back on delivery duty so he could see his brother on death row. He had to get away from the kitchen because it had become a zoo since Redding abandoned it. He saw that some of the homeboys were taking orders from the jester Poet. He was not a leader and it was impossible for O'Reily to take him seriously when he tried to give orders.

As he walked all around the cellblock to deliver lunch, his mind was on what he had done to prove his loyalty to Alvarez. Oz had finally broken him---he did something he had never thought he would. Alvarez's sultry voice and encouragement stuck inside his head, though. The man fucking nonchalantly dripped sex appeal and sensuality. O'Reily had been caught up yesterday and did not know what to think today---when his mind was clearer. He rolled the cart into death row.

"Hey, Cyril. We're meeting your new lawyer today," he said as he delivered lunch to his brother. "Some big hotshot that Meehan found."

"Can I come with you now?" Cyril asked.

"No, not yet---but soon, all right?"

"You sound awful optimistic there, O'Reily," Keller said from the cell behind him.

"I'm trying, Keller, but optimism isn't exactly my---what's the word I'm looking for? Forte."

"Yo---can I get some fucking food?" Hoyt said.

The Irishman walked over and dropped the tray in front of him and said, "Eat that, you hairy bitch."

"Hey, everyone," the hack Lopresti said as he walked in with a handcuffed Timmy Kirk. "Meet the new member of our clubhouse."

"Kirk---you fucking cocksucker!" Hoyt yelled from his cell and tried to grab him through the bars. "You should be dead, you little fucking prick!"

"Don't be angry, Jaz-man. It's not your fault I'm alive. The truth is---I can't die," Kirk said with a sinister smile and he was placed inside his cell.

"Bullshit! Just give me another chance."

"Won't do any good. I can't die."

"Yeah---why is that, pumpkin?" Keller took notice of the conversation and asked.

Kirk smiled again and said, "Because, I am Satan---and Satan will never die."

O'Reily looked at Kirk and figured he was going for the insanity plea. It was all an act to save his ass from death row. His only concern was getting Cyril as far away from this place as possible. They shook hands and he nodded as he went on his way back around the cellblock to pick up the trays. What Kirk said had stuck to him though. It seemed he himself believed that he was possessed by the devil. He was Irish, like O'Reily, but they had hardly ever done business because the man was not worth the effort or time. The little prick also drew too much attention to himself.

He sat in the quad and resisted the urge to look at Alvarez, who was sitting not too close by. There were stray looks here and there, but nothing too serious. O'Reily sat next to Meehan and watched him and Rebadow play a game of checkers. His mind was so full with Cyril's legal problems, and now with Alvarez---at least they were back to being partners. O'Reily did not even notice when McManus began to address Em City about his mother's plans of doing a play.

"We're not looking for Denzel Washington here. The point is to give you a place to channel your emotions other than fighting or heroin, and not everyone has to be in front of the spotlight," McManus said to them. "Suzanne needs a stage manager, lighting, props, scenery---the whole enchilada. So, I expect a strong representation from Em City. Get involved. Chucky, what about you?"

"Plays are for fags," Pancamo replied.

"Miguel---Miguel. Come on, this is a chance to show everybody the new you."

"No, I think I'd be a little embarrassed to be in front of people," Alvarez honestly said.

"So---be a stage manager," McManus came back with.

"What the fuck do they do?"

"Boss everyone else around."

"Really? All right, I'm in," the Latino agreed for himself and to also satisfy the favor O'Reily had asked of him.

"Okay, good. Hey, how about props?"

Their eyes met briefly and O'Reily let out a small smile as McManus motivated other inmates to sign up for anything else. He was like an auctioneer trying to fill every role and job for `Macbeth'. It had gone on for a while until McManus was satisfied with Em City's contribution numbers. The hacks then led them to the cafeteria to get the first rehearsal started. Alvarez took a seat with Fitzgerald at the table that was set up in front of the stage and they listened to Poet recite lines.

"`Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd as homeward he did come.'" he read from the script.

"That was very good, Poet," Fitzgerald encouraged.

"What the fuck am I saying?"

"You are telling your friends how you destroyed your enemy."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she said.

"Alight. So, in the real play, can I get a real thumb?" Poet stupidly asked as if it were possible.

"You got anybody in mind?" Stanton laughed and said.

"What'd you say, cumstain?" Poet said as he started to walk over to Stanton.

"What?"

"Hey---hey! Settle the fuck down!" Alvarez commanded to bring order back to the stage.

"How goes it, ma?" he heard O'Reily ask his mother when he came in.

"Well, if I can keep them from killing each other, I think I've got all my actors---except for Macbeth, so, I was thinking, Ryan," she sweetly tried to get to him.

"Sorry."

"Ryan, you'd be brilliant in the part."

"I love you, ma, but uh-uh---no way," he said.

"Oh---you got no balls, O'Whitey?" Alvarez teased him and laughed.

"I don't see you strutting your stuff there, Pepé," O'Reily came back with.

"Dick."

Their eyes were on each other until Meehan spoke, "Oh, come on, Ryan---it could be fun. I did the part once at the C.Y.O. See now, `Stay, you imperfect speakers, and tell me more: By Sinel's death I am Thane of Glamis; But how of Cawdor? The Thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman; and to be king, Stands not within the prospect of belief, Say from whence, You owe this strange intelligence, Speak, I charge you.'."

"Father Meehan, that was excellent," Fitzgerald clapped and complimented him. "How would you like to play Macbeth?"

"Me?"

"Yeah."

O'Reily breathed a sigh of relief as the role of Macbeth was filled. There was no way he was getting up there and making a fool out of himself in front of the entire prison. Something behind the scenes was more his style---as was evident by the way he survived in Oz all these years. He kissed his mother goodbye because the session had wrapped and they all walked back to Em City because it was almost time for lights out. He listened as Meehan spoke to him on their way back to the pod.

Having Alvarez there was fun because they were able to hang out outside of the closets they had become used to. Even though they had to bicker and act like there was nothing between them, it was great having him around. O'Reily looked as Meehan was on his knees praying---again. They had already been closed in their pods for the nights and the lights would be shutting off soon. He could not remember the last time he had prayed like that. His childhood had fucked up so many things for both him and Cyril.

"Lights out! Nighty-night, boys," Armstrong said as all the lights shut off.

"Amen," Meehan finalized his prayers and said before he got up.

"Well, it's about time."

"Ah---the power of prayer is a wonderful thing, Ryan."

"You know, when I was a kid, I'd bend my knees and ask God to stop dad from beating on us," the Irishman sadly said. "God never answered his pager."

"A prayer's more than asking for something," the disgraced priest said. "It centers you---gives you peace of mind. Pray with me."

"No. I figure between you and Sister Pete and Aunt Brenda, I'm covered."

"It would give me profound joy if some day, you would join me in prayer."

"Well, it would give me profound joy to fuck an eighteen-year-old virgin, so save your lungs, okay, Father?" he crudely remarked though he was not sure why he did so.

"Naughty."

The next day brought with it some hope because it was his first meeting with Cyril's new lawyer. Armstrong called him out during TV time and he was walking over to the interview room to hear what strategies the lawyer had come up with to get his brother off death row. O'Reily did not want to get his hopes up, but he wanted there to be a chance that Cyril could be saved. He wanted to find that chance to save his brother because he was not going to end up as Carolyn did. That was not going to happen without a fight to the end.

"So, you're the new lawyer?" O'Reily said when he entered the room.

"Arnold Zelman," the man stood up with his hand stretched out.

"You want to explain to me why my brother is still sitting on death row? Eight months ago, the Supreme Court ruled that executing the mentally retarded was unconstitutional."

"Each state has the right to determine for itself how retarded is defined," Zelman explained the loophole. "Our assemblymen have been squabbling over a definition all this time. Yesterday, they finally managed to make an agreement."

"Which is?"

"Well, basically to qualify as retarded, a person had to have demonstrated some sign of retardation before the age of eighteen."

"Eighteen? Cyril wasn't hit in the head until his late twenties," O'Reily said.

"Well, that's why he can still be executed."

"Oh, fuck. All right, so what do we do next?"

The lawyer laid out a plan of action by saying, "Appeal Cyril's conviction. At the first trial, the prosecution was able to make the case that Cyril's attack on Li Chen was premeditated."

"Yeah---but it wasn't," he reminded him.

"Well, in the appeal, we have to prove it wasn't. I'm going to start by interviewing all if the witnesses."

"Great," O'Reily said sardonically. "Those fucks in Em City---they got no reason to help me."

"All we need is one, Ryan."

The meeting was over and he headed back to Em City, thinking about the lawyer's last words. He had to conjure up a witness to corroborate the proper events of the story so that Cyril could be saved. His first thought was Alvarez, but it would have been an awkward position to put him in. Plus, it would have looked suspicious if the Latino had stepped forward now, after all this time had passed. O'Reily did not want any more hostility between them, so he kept that thought for last. On his way to his pod, he saw Shupe alone in the phone room across the quad and found his target. The man was going to have to lie to tell the truth.

"Hey, Shupe---you need a hand?" the Irishman said after he entered.

"Stay away from me!" Shupe was freaked out and frightened.

"Oh---why you so testy, man?"

"It's because of you I'm like this."

"Uh-uh, no way, not me---spics chopped you up," O'Reily proclaimed his innocence and said.

"On your say so," he said and then spoke into the phone. "Hello, mom."

O'Reily quickly hung the phone up as he moved closer and said, "Whether I did or didn't have anything to do with your, what's the word I'm looking for there, Glen, disability, know this---a lawyer's going to be coming around asking people questions about the day Li Chen got whacked. And, unless you want to be dialing with your nose, you'd best tell him what he wants to hear. You got that, you stupid bitch?"

A few hours had passed since he had threatened Shupe in the phone room and he waited to hear word of what was going to happen now that the man was going to tell the truth. He was on his way to Sister Pete's office because that was where Zelman had asked the guard to bring him. O'Reily knew he had to play up the Shupe card because he was the only real witness that could make a dent in the prosecution's case against Cyril. Doubt needed to be casted on Li Chen's murder for him to get off death row.

"So, how's it going interviewing the witnesses?" Fitzgerald asked.

"So far, not so good," Zelman replied.

"What about Shupe?" O'Reily said.

"He's not very credible."

"Shupe is a compulsive liar," Sister Pete told him.

"The irony is that, this time, he's telling the truth," the lawyer sighed and said.

"Well then, use him," the Irishman encouraged.

"If I put Shupe on the stand, the jury won't believe a word he's saying. He'll do more damage than good."

"So, you'll find a credible witness," his mother said.

"I hope," Zelman said. "I'm down to my last few guys."

"So now, more rallies, more op-ed pieces?"

"Turn up the heat---press the public to show. I'll use my contacts to network."

Plans were crumbling around him and O'Reily was not used to it. It was not supposed to be this way---Cyril's life was hanging on by a thread and it was not the time for his plans to be falling apart or backfiring on him. He was frustrated when he left the nun's office and headed to the gym to blow off some steam. He had to get his mind away from all his mounting problems. O'Reily had come to be so protective and defensive of his brother---if he were no longer there, it would destroy him. He punched the bag with his naked hands but stopped when he noticed that Peter Schibetta was approaching him.

"Hey, Petey, you out of the psych unit?" the Irishman said. "Did you work out all your inner demons?"

"I heard something from a very reliable source yesterday, O'Reily."

"Oh yeah? What'd you hear?"

Schibetta looked at him and said in a calm voice, "That you ground up glass and put it in my father's food---cut his insides up slowly. You're responsible for my father being dead."

"Well, what you heard is true, except for one little detail," O'Reily decided to mess with his head. "Adebisi did the deed. It wasn't me. I was your father's friend. Hey, who's your reliable source, huh---some nut-job from the whack shack?"

"Never mind. I tell you who he is, he's dead," Schibetta said.

"Fair enough. But, what if what you say is true---which it isn't? What the fuck's a little prag like you going to do about it, anyhow, huh? Now, back the fuck away from me---you stink like anchovies."

O'Reily realized he was being a little hypocritical calling Schibetta a prag, since he had willingly sucked Alvarez's dick. That was something different, though. The crestfallen Italian backed away at the comment---the word especially. There was something in his eyes, but he was no threat to anyone so O'Reily brushed it off and looked at the clock. It was almost time to start rehearsals for the play again. He went back to punching the bag because Schibetta had wrecked his flow of adrenaline as well as his elevated heart rate.

There was no way he was ever going to be a prag---that was the lowest title in Oz and those who had no power. No one took Schibetta seriously or feared him anymore because he was raped twice. O'Reily was never going to let anyone get anywhere near his ass. He was confused about what he was doing with the Latino, but there was no doubt in his mind when it came to sex---it was not going to happen. He grabbed a face towel and wiped his face and arms before he left and headed to the cafeteria for rehearsal.

It was well under way when he arrived and Alvarez grinned at him when he entered and he did the same back. In a strange way, he exuded even more power and confidence as he ordered people around as the stage manager---it was a weird turn on. Alvarez had taken control of the rehearsal and was making sure everything ran smoothly. O'Reily walked back behind the stage curtain because he was in charge of painting the sets. It was better than being on stage---he did not want the attention to be on him like that.

"`A drum, a drum. Macbeth doth come.'" Stanton acted out.

"`The Weird Sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about: Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice again, to make up nine. Peace---the charm's wound up.'" Stanton, Poet, and Guerra recited together.

"`So foul and fair a day I have not seen.'" Meehan said to them.

"`How far is't call'd to Forres?'" Busmalis read.

"All right, shut up!" Alvarez commanded the attention once again. "Time's up."

"But I barely got a line out," Busmalis said.

"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, Agamemnon," Fitzgerald told him.

"Here comes another volunteer," Meehan said to her. "Mr. Peter Schibetta."

"Great. Hello, Peter."

"Hi," the Italian said as he looked around.

"Ryan could use some help painting the scenery," Fitzgerald said and they both looked in his direction.

"No, I don't need any help---especially his," O'Reily coldly said.

"You know, I seen this play in high school," Schibetta jumped up on the stage and walked over to where O'Reily was painting. "It's got all those incantations. We Sicilians, we have our own version---our own spells. The Evil Eye. My wife's grandmother---she can give somebody the evil eye from a mile away. I'm not saying the stuff works, but who knows, right?"

"I thought I told you to back the fuck away!"

"No problem, cuz. No problem," he replied with a smug smile.

Neither had noticed that Alvarez was looking at them the whole time, but he was too far away to hear any of the actual conversation. He was going to have to ask O'Reily about it later---if Schibetta was going to become a problem, he would be handled like the rest of them. The Irishman entered his pod and decided to get some laundry done because he was running low on clean clothes to wear. Meehan wanted to accompany him so they went together. He knew the man had something on his mind but he did not want to ask anything on his own.

"Ah, Ryan. Look, I know you've done things you're not particularly proud of, but---sometimes we talk things through," the disgraced priest said to him.

"Skip the preamble, Father. What's on your mind?"

"All right. Peter Schibetta. I've seen the way you two look at each other---the hostility."

"Schibetta's a cornhole," O'Reily said insensitively.

"For God's sake, Ryan. Will you knock off this bravado? This---this bullshit, just for a moment," Meehan firmly said. "I know you think you have to be hard to survive here, but there are other ways. I've seen you with your brother---there's love, there's caring. There's goodness in you. Will you let that goodness rise, and be the man that God meant you to be?"

"How, Father?" he was not sure why he said it, but a part of him was interested.

"I'll help you---and, we'll start with your laundry. Now, you think you'd know by now that if you don't separate the laundry, the colors will bleed."

O'Reily really wondered if he could live the kind of life Meehan had wanted him to live---wanted for him. His bravado and being hard and tough was all he had known since being a kid and having his father beat on him. He had to protect himself and Cyril since before he had even gotten his first kiss. It was all he knew. He watched as Meehan separated the white clothes from the colored ones and put them into separate machines as they spoke about the kind of man God wanted him to be. Meehan excused himself to go to the pod but promised they would continue the conversation later.

He knew his survival rate in Oz would severely diminish if he were to take a more passive approach to survival in here. He had made too many enemies and betrayed too many people over the years. O'Reily started folding freshly dried clothes as he thought about it. He had worked so hard for so long to build up his reputation as a force to be reckoned with and destroying that now would surely mean his death. Most of the fucks here wanted him dead because they were either afraid of him or could not control him. The laundry was finished and he walked back to the pod.

"Oh, Christ!" O'Reily exclaimed as he opened the door and found Meehan on the floor. "Father! Oh, God---Father! Father, what's the matter? Father! Father! Shit! Help! Help! Help! Come here---help! Help!"

He started banging on the wall of his pod to get the hacks attention. Armstrong came running over with two more officers as the examined the scene and body while O'Reily looked on with an eerie pain inside his heart. Somewhere inside, he had already known the inevitable when they carried Meehan off to the hospital ward. He did not know what the hell had happened and looked around the pod, but there was nothing. There was no blood or pills or drugs---only shit on the floor from where Meehan's body was.

The quad was quiet to him as he was enveloped inside his mind replaying the last conversation they had. Meehan had wanted something better for him---something better for Cyril. But, in Oz, there was nothing better and death was promised much sooner than it should have been. O'Reily got word that Sister Pete wanted to see him so he was let out to go to her office. He listened to her babble about death and God's will until Dr. Nathan entered the office and looked at each of them.

"How is he?" the nun asked.

"Father Meehan's dead," she replied.

"Oh, fuck!" O'Reily said.

"An aneurysm. He died almost immediately," Dr. Nathan offered the culprit.

"How did it happen?" he asked.

"Who knows. I mean, we'll do an autopsy, try and figure out the cause, but---"

"But, he's still dead, right?"

"And yet, of all the ways he could have died in Oz, God chose the most peaceful," Sister Pete said to them both.

"Yeah, right," O'Reily said. "You know, when I found Father Meehan lying on the floor, he'd taken a shit in his underwear. So, what does that tell you about us human beings? The last thing we do before we die is shit?"

"Ryan, have some respect for the man," she scolded him.

"I do! You know, a couple of Sundays ago at mass, he read the part of the gospel where after Jesus was pulled off the cross, his friends took the body down and they washed it. I'd like to do that. I'd like to wash Father Meehan's body."

"Ah---I don't know," Dr. Nathan was hesitant.

"Please," the Irishman almost sounded desperate as he said it. "He wanted me to pray with him but, I never did---despite all that he tried to do for me and Cyril. I owe the man this much---please."

Dr. Nathan looked at him with uncertainty but her soft spot for him overrode that and she agreed. He borrowed a bible from Sister Pete and followed her out of the office and to where the body was in the infirmary. O'Reily had to do this because Meehan was one of the few people that had believed there was still good in him. No matter all the shit or deaths he had caused inside Oz, Meehan had still thought he could change and had been worthy of God's love. O'Reily began washing the body with a sponge as he read a passage from the bible. It was his first and final prayer to the man.