Date: Wed, 03 Jan 2001 19:40:47 -0500
From: Charlie <charlieje@nc.rr.com>
Subject: Andy-Revised Chapter 29

The following story is total fiction. Any relationship to persons living or
dead is purely accidental.

This story depicts sexual acts between people of the same sex (male), some
of whom are under age. If you find this concept distasteful, or if it is illegal
where you live, or if you are underage, please stop reading now.


The following two chapters contains some pretty detailed information about
two prisons that actually exist. I have spent considerable time in both of them
(no, not as an inmate, as an employee). Some of the details I will give are
true, others false. Please don't ask which is which because it is really
irrelevant, and I don't know how much detail I dare go into without violating
some sort of trust. I think I'm a long way from the line, but one is never sure.

If anyone wants to see a picture of these facilities, or investigate them further,
check out the following URL's:
www.doc.state.nc.us/dop/prisons/western.htm and
www.doc.state.nc.us/dop/prisons/foothill.htm Unfortunately since I originally
wrote this chapter, the picture of Foothills has been removed, but the
description and other information are still there. As you can see on these web
sites and the ones linked to them, there are a lot of programs in place for the
inmates; things to make their lives more full, more enjoyable. But even with
all these programs, they are still kids locked up, and that in my opinion is
very sad. The answer? I have no idea! But the many people across the country
involved in our many prisons should be commended; their jobs are NOT easy.

You will also see in these two URL's reference to the Cashless Canteen
system. I have no idea how generally they are used across the country, but
they are becoming very popular in North Carolina. They are LAN based,
which is how I got involved in the prison system. I do LAN's.

I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. (Didn't someone else say that once?)


                     XXIX Prison Life

"You've been doing a lot better than I expected you to, Charlie," Dr. Ramsey
said to Charlie. "I'm going to have you moved to your permanent cell today.
What do you think of that?"
"Does it matter?" Charlie answered sullenly.
"Yes, it matters. I didn't ask your permission, only what you think about it.
I'm interested in what you think, Charlie. That's my job."
"I'm sorry, doctor, I guess I'm just looking for a fight today."
"Wrong day to be looking for a fight, Charlie. You're being integrated into
the population. The last thing you want to do is get into a fight down there.
You'll be back on 16 and probably stay here for three months, not to mention
the beating you could get. I strongly advise you to get to know the boys first,
then pick your opponent carefully before you start any fights."

Charlie had been working very hard to learn the routine of this foreign place
and fit into it. He had been here almost a month, and it was getting pretty
boring. He still wasn't allowed visitors, wasn't back in school, had no work
assignments. His only task right now was to keep his nose clean, visit Dr.
Ramsey, the shrink, for two hours every day, then go up to the roof on nice
days for his hour of fresh air. That left a lot of time to himself, nothing to do,
and Charlie was not used to having time on his hands. He had not been
allowed off the floor unless escorted, which was getting old very quickly.
Sargent Brady had come and taken him to the exercise room at least three
times a week, but Charlie wanted more. Working out, lifting weights, even
shooting a few baskets, were not the sort of thing he enjoyed doing, but it
sure beat lying on his back staring at the ceiling. Charlie also realized that he
would have to work out pretty intensely to keep his muscle tone, and that was
important to Charlie.

As soon as his counseling appointment was over, Charlie went back to his
cell. Sargent Brady would be up to get him, he was told. There was nothing to
pack, he still hadn't been given his CD player back and the two books he'd
brought with him had been read at least three times. This was a part of his life
that Charlie would have some problems getting used to: being able to move
with a moment's notice, with no thought to what he was leaving behind
because he'd be leaving nothing behind! Everything he owned now he could
carry in his hands. The only clothes he owned were those on his person, and
he'd be giving them up in the morning for another set which was exactly the
same.

Lunch time came, and still no Sargent Brady. Charlie knew that if he didn't
eat at his appointed time, he didn't eat at all. This had happened twice
already, and was perhaps the only reason Charlie was anxious to get out of
segregation. He sighed, wishing the man would hurry up. He was hungry! He
contemplated going on his own. He knew the way, but he'd probably be
stopped at the elevator, wouldn't he? And even if he did get to the cafeteria
alone, he'd end up in segregation for the rest of his life for breaking one of
their stupid rules! Couldn't they see he had no intention of trying to escape?
Couldn't he make them understand he meant to get along the best he could?
No, of course he couldn't! He was a FELON! And Felons were not to be
trusted, nor given any credit for intelligence or common sense. So he stayed
put.

"Come on, Conner," a voice he didn't know called. "I haven't got all day.
Time to meet your new roomie."
"Roomie?" Charlie questioned.
"Yeah, roomie! You didn't think you'd get your own private room for the
next four years, did you?"
"I dunno, sir. I guess I never thought about it at all."
"Well, come on. You're moving to my kingdom."

Charlie was getting rather tired of correction officers who didn't bother to tell
inmates their names. Of course his name was obvious, it was printed on his
picture id in large letters, just above the word "FELON" which was in even
larger letters. That word bothered Charlie; to him it was telling the entire
world to watch out for this guy, he has already proven himself to be a piece of
garbage. Charlie squinted to see the officer's small brass name tag as they
walked to the elevator. "Name's Sargent Ackerman," the officer said gruffly
when he realized what Charlie was up to. "I'm in charge of your floor. You
can call me sir."
"Yes, sir," Charlie replied. The remainder of the elevator ride was in silence.
Charlie knew he wasn't going to like this dude.

"About time you got here," the boy scolded as Charlie was ushered into his
new cell. "I been waitin' to take you to lunch."
"Sorry," Charlie said. Then he wondered why he'd apologized. Obviously
there was nothing he could do about it, but he did have to live with this guy,
so perhaps it was best not to get off on the wrong foot.

"My name's Mullin," the boy said as he offered his hand, "Larry Mullin."
"Hey, Larry!" Charlie answered as he shook the hand. "I'm Charlie Conner."
"You're also a freakin' white midget!" Larry said with what Charlie thought
was disdain. "How old are you?"
"Fourteen," Charlie answered.
"Don't look more'n twelve to me," Larry observed. "Anyway, c'mon, let's
do lunch. We can talk as we eat. If we don't get there pretty soon we won't
get any." Larry was grinning widely, evidently very proud of his 'do lunch'
attempt at humor. At least that's the only thing Charlie could see that was
even remotely approaching humor in this whole situation.

"I'm seventeen," Larry said as they rode down the elevator. "I been here
three years, an' I don't plan on leavin' any time soon. How 'bout you?"
"Well," Charlie said, "like I said, I'm fourteen. I've been here just a couple
days under four weeks."
"And you're out of segregation already! I'm impressed. What'd ya do, give
Ramsey a blow job?"
"No!" Charlie snapped back. He was offended at the suggestion and wanted
his new roommate to know it. Might as well get those ground rules
established from the start.
"Sorry," Larry said. "I was just kiddin'." Charlie was beginning to see that
Larry fancied himself quite the kidder. So far Charlie did not share that
opinion.

As the elevator descended, Charlie took a good look at his new cellmate.
Larry was taller than Charlie, but then so was everyone! Charlie judged him
to be perhaps average in height for a seventeen year old. He was black and,
Charlie thought, rather handsome. He wore his hair cropped close to his skull,
perhaps a half inch in length or less, which was about the way Charlie's was
now. He looked to Charlie to be quite muscular, so Charlie assumed he'd
spent a lot of time in the weight room. Good, he thought, they could spot each
other, encourage each other. Charlie was beginning to hope they'd become
good friends.

"So," Charlie said when they were seated with their trays, "what're you in
for?"
"Rule number one, Conner baby," Larry replied. "Ya don't ask folks why
they're here. Most of the guys in here are innocent and don't wanna talk
about it. If you don't believe they're innocent, just ask 'em. If they wanna tell
ya why they're here, they'll tell ya without being asked."
"Sorry," Charlie said. "I didn't know."
"It's ok. I got life for killin' a store clerk in a holdup. How 'bout you?"
"But I thought..." Charlie started to protest, thinking he'd just been told it
was bad protocol to ask why someone was here, but he thought better of it.
"Second degree murder. I had my brother killed."
"Oh yeah, I heard about that! Cops killed him, didn't they?"
"Uh-huh."
"But I thought you kept sayin' you were innocent."
"I am, but you're not gonna believe me, are you? Besides, you didn't ask me
what I did, you asked me why I'm here. That's why I'm here."

After he'd given Larry his smart answer, Charlie regretted it. He really was
anxious to make their relationship as pleasant as possible, given the
circumstances. To his great relief, Larry laughed. "You're a little smart-ass,
ain't ya?" he said through his mouthful of food. "I think I'm gonna like you!"
"I hope so," Charlie heard himself saying. "I could use a friend. I kinda left
all the ones I had on the outside, an' I don't think they're gonna be joining me
any time soon."

Larry roared with laughter. "Man," he exclaimed, "you're funny! I can't
believe you're jokin' like that, an' you only been in here a month. Usually
little kids like you cry for their mommy for months!"
"What good would that do?" Charlie commented. "The Superintendent told
me I should make the best of things the way they are and I'd be happier, and
that seemed like good advice to me."
"The what? Oh, you mean the warden!"
"He called himself superintendent."
"Yeah, they don't call themselves wardens any more, as if it makes any
difference to us. We call him the warden. But I can't believe your attitude!
You must think you're gettin' outa here in a few weeks."
"Not really. I was kinda hoping at first, but now I'm thinking this could be a
long haul. I still haven't heard from my lawyer since I came in."
"They're all jerks. You won't hear from 'em unless someone finds some extra
money for 'em. An' all the way from Wilmington, hell, you'll never see him
again!"

Charlie thought about what Larry had said. He'd been told that they would be
contacting a local attorney who would act as liaison between Charlie and
Mark, but evidently they'd had some trouble setting that up. Or perhaps
they'd forgotten? "Don't matter anyway," Charlie said. "Soon as I get back in
school, this place won't be half bad."
"School? You LIKE school?"
"Uh-huh. At least I did. I haven't been to school for quite a while."
"What grade are you in?"
"I just finished ten. What grade are you in?"
"Well, I'm in ten, but I ain't finished yet."

"That's so cool!" Charlie exclaimed. "We can study together."
"I said I'm not finished. I gotta repeat ten. This'll make the fourth time."
"I can help you get through it."
"Why?"
"So you can go on to eleven, or course! Then we'll be in the same class."
"What's so important about school? Hello! You in there, Charlie? You're in
jail! For life! What're you gonna need an education for?"
"Don't make any difference where I am, I've still gotta live. I still need to
know things."

The two boys went round and round as they ate. Neither could even begin to
understand the viewpoint of the other, but Charlie refused to be discouraged.
He was anxious to get registered and begin classes, and he made a mental
note to ask about it in the morning. Finally when they were done eating, Larry
suggested they spend some time hanging out. "You wanna go up to four?" he
asked. "We can shoot a few hoops, lift some weights, maybe get us a couple
bags of chips for later, whatever."
"Sure," Charlie answered. "I'd love to. But don't we have to ask first?"
"Nope. You're out of seg now. We got free time till 8 PM. Then we have to
go back to our floor and be good little inmates until lights out. They lock us
down at 10:00."
"And we can go wherever we like till eight?"
"Not exactly, but we can go to the fourth floor, or hang around the day room
on thirteen."

Charlie was thoroughly enjoying roaming around the prison with his new
friend. Although he wasn't quite ready to admit it yet, Larry was equally
thrilled with having this kid hanging on his arm, his every word, really. Larry
had never allowed himself to get close to anyone. To him, to show love or
concern was to show weakness, and weakness or vulnerability had no place
in his world. It had been that way on the outside, and it was certainly the way
it was in here. He had never had a cell mate for more than three months, and
he liked it fine that way.

"What... Uhhhh... happened to your last cell mate?" Charlie grunted as he
lifted 130 pounds over his head.
"Hey!" Larry exclaimed. "You're pretty good, for a little guy. Where'd you
get strength like that?"
"I lived on a farm all my life. So what happened to him?"
"Who?"
"Your last cell mate. What happened to him?"
"He's gone. He turned 18 so they moved him to Foothills."
"Does Everybody go to Foothills when they leave here?"
"No, just the lucky ones."
"Why? What's so great about Foothills?"
"Hell, man, you drove past it coming here. You blind? That place rocks! It's
the newest prison in the system that takes kids from Western. You'll get to go
there sometimes, to see a doctor, or maybe take a class there or something."
"You've been there?"
"Yeah. Last year I had my tonsils out. They didn't have room for me here in
the hospital on fifteen, so they took me over there."

"They took your tonsils out at foothills? In the prison?"
"No, stupid! There's no operating room there! They took me to Central
Prison for that."
"Central? In Raleigh?"
"Uh-huh. Now that place REALLY rocks!"
"But that's maximum security! There's only lifer's and death row guys and
stuff in there."
"That's also the only place in the prison system where they do surgery. The
open and minimum custody guys get to go to local hospitals with a twenty-
four hour guard, but we bad-asses have to go to Central."

It was a sobering thought to Charlie, that if he needed surgery he'd have to
first endure that four or five hour drive, more than likely in a van; then he'd
be in with the worst of the worst. He still wasn't up on every aspect of what
happens in prisons, but he wasn't totally ignorant either. In fact he was a little
surprised that he'd already been here a month, and hadn't had to fend off
sexual advances even once. He wondered if he should ask Larry about that,
then decided he'd better just let sleeping dogs lie. He was learning very
quickly that the less he did or said to put himself in a compromising situation,
the better off he'd be. But that wasn't the only sobering thought Charlie had.

"So," Larry said as he took Charlie's place on the bench press, "you want me
to be your protector or not?"
"Protector?" Charlie questioned, "Protector against what?"
"You can't be that dumb, Conner! Just look around you at all those horny
studs that don't get no sex. You can't tell me you haven't noticed 'em
checking you out."
"Yeah, I've noticed. I'm tryin' to ignore them."
"Ignore 'em all you like, but they're not gonna ignore you. It's only a matter
of time till two or three of 'em get you alone somewhere and rape your ass
off. Unless..."
"Unless you protect me? Is that where this conversation is going?"
"You got it."
"But there's lots of guys bigger than you. What makes you think..."
"Call it prison protocol, honor among thieves, whatever you want. Bottom
line is, if I'm doin' you regular no one else will bother you. That's just how it
is."

"Ok," Charlie said, "I understand. Either I get raped by you or I get raped by
someone else. I don't see the difference."
"The difference is that you said you liked me, at least a little. You know me.
I'll be more careful an' try not to hurt you. An' the biggest difference of all, I
don't have AIDS. At least I don't think I do."
"But you're not sure."
"No one can be sure, Conner."
"I'm sure I don't. And I don't plan to get it either. I appreciate it, Larry, but
I'll take my chances."
"Suit yourself."

"Uhh Larry?" Charlie said tentatively as they munched on an ice cream bar.
Charlie had bought them each one, together with a bag of chips each and a
soda. It was only the third time he'd used his card at the cashless canteen,
and he was thrilled at how well it seemed to work. He was also a little
surprised that the canteen was run by an inmate, and had vowed that he
would work himself into a job there.
"Yeah, Conner?" Larry answered.
"Is there a library in the prison?"
"Sure! But what the hell do you want a library for?"
"I want to get a book! What else would I want a library for?"
"I have no idea. You wanna read? Without being told?"
"Yeah, I like reading. What hours is the library open?"
"I have no idea, Conner! Dammit, man, you wanna ruin my reputation? Ask
the sarge!"

By the time the new friends got back to the thirteenth floor, it was 8 PM.
Sargent Ackerman had gone home, but the night Sargent, a man whose name
Larry told Charlie was Kincaid, was there. He seemed to Charlie a lot more
pleasant that his daytime counterpart, but Larry assured him that none of the
"cops," as he called them, were to be trusted.

"The library is usually open all day during the week," Kincaid told Charlie,
"and sort of sporadically on the weekends. Is there something in particular
you need?"
"A couple things, sir," Charlie answered. "I was wondering if they had books
I could check out to read in my cell. You know, a novel of some sort. And I
forgot my Bible at home. I was hoping there'd be one in the library I could
use until I can get my own from home."

"The library is mostly for reference," Sargent Kincaid explained. "There are a
few novel type books I'm sure you can borrow, but we're mostly dependent
on what people donate. We don't have many guys in here who like to read.
Actually a lot of 'em can't read. As for a Bible, you should ask the chaplain,
Captain Eggerton. He can also tell you about the church group that meets
downstairs every Tuesday night. I'm sure they can help you out if the captain
can't. I doubt there's one in the library. It's not exactly on the best seller list
in here."
"Tuesday night? A church group? Am I allowed to go?"
"Long as you're not on disciplinary action or in segregation. Everyone's
allowed to go. Just go down to the ground floor on Tuesday night. They meet
in the visitor's room at 7."
"Cool!" Charlie said. "Thank you, sir."
"Would you like me to get word to the chaplain that you want to see him?
Actually I'm a little surprised he hasn't been up to meet you anyway. He
usually visits new inmates during their orientation."
"That would be great, sir! Thank you!"

For the first time since his arrival, Charlie got a good look at his new
surroundings. The floor was essentially divided into two halves, presumably
each half being a mirror image of the other. They were separated by the
elevator banks, a small control center, two sergeants' offices and other
service functions. Each half had a large day room which was ringed on two
sides with 25 cells. About half the cells were double, the rest single. The day
room faced the front of the building, with a large TV in one corner, barred
windows along the front wall. It had been through these windows that Charlie
had heard the voices when he'd first arrived. They were arranged in such a
way that one could not see the ground, only straight outward and upward.
Their function was obviously to provide light and fresh air, not to give the
occupants a view. It was certainly not the most luxurious accommodations
Charlie had ever seen, but in all it was much better than he had dared hope.

The cells were large enough for a two level bunk, two desks and chairs, two
small shelf units, a toilet and a sink. Certainly not the spacious bedroom he'd
shared with Andy, but they looked comfortable enough to Charlie. The doors
were solid steel, remotely controlled sliders like all the others Charlie had
seen, with a small window near the top. They were all open, a normal state
until lights out. They could be operated individually, making it possible to
isolate an inmate in his own cell if necessary.

"Hey, Mullin," someone called, "that your new squeeze? Man, you're kinda
robbin' the cradle this time ain't ya?"
"Mess off, Johnson," Larry answered. "Guys, this here's Conner. He's gonna
be in our block for a while, unless you guys make him so sick with your ugly
faces he decides to leave."

The twenty or so teenagers in the day room wandered by and introduced
themselves. Charlie forgot almost every name as soon as he heard the next
one, but he knew he'd have lots of time to get to know everyone, so he
wasn't worried about it. Some shook his hand, some punched him lightly on
the shoulder, others showed outright disgust, probably at his small size. Pretty
typical guy stuff, he thought. Then after the introductions they all settled
down to watch the TV show that was on. "You take the top bunk, Conner,"
Larry instructed when Charlie started for their cell.

Charlie didn't answer. He climbed up on his bunk, stripped to his boxers and
crawled under the blanket. He lay there listening to the chatter, the noise from
the TV. I'll never get to sleep, he said to himself; but Charlie was tired. It had
been a long, emotionally taxing day. In minutes, he was sound asleep.

"Conner!" Sargent Ackerman yelled as Charlie got off the elevator, "where
the hell have you been? The chaplain's been here twice to see you."
"I just came from my appointment with Dr. Ramsey, sir," Charlie answered.
"I got to see him every morning. Sorry if I did anything wrong, but I went
right to sixteen from breakfast."
"After this, you check with me before you go wandering off. I'm supposed to
know where you are at all times."
"Sorry, sir, I thought..."
"You're not supposed to think. You're supposed to do as you're told. You do
that again and I'm gonna write you up."
"Yes, sir. I'll remember. May I go now?"
"Go where?"
"I thought I'd go see the chaplain. He's on the third floor isn't he?"
"You stay the hell off the third floor unless you're invited, you got that?"
"Yes, sir. But the chaplain..."
"He'll be back. So I suggest you go back to your cell and wait till he comes."
"Yes, sir." Charlie wanted to tell the ignorant SOB that he hadn't done
anything wrong, that he'd been told he had the run of the place and in fact
had an obligation to be where he had to be at the appointed times; but he
already knew it wasn't going to do any good, so he said nothing.

"We got a letter from Charlie today," Dennis announced at the dinner table.
"Yeah?" all the boys chorused, "what'd he say? How is he? Is he comin'
home soon? Can we go see him? Is he in school? When does his appeal to go
court?"
"Hold on!" Dennis exclaimed as he shielded himself from the barrage. "One
at a time! He says that he's going to school in the prison and tutoring his cell
mate. He finished his time of isolation and orientation, and he's now in the
general population. He is hoping to be able to call next week, and by then he
should know when we can go visit him."
"Can we all go?" Paul demanded.
"Not for now. Charlie said he'd be limited to two or three. He wasn't sure if
that's a permanent limitation or just until they get to know him better. He said
that everything they do is a privilege based on a point system. If you lose
points by not doing right or getting into trouble, you don't get to do all the
things you'd like to do."

"Does he ever get out?" Andy asked, "I mean, like, for field trips or anything
like that?"
"I don't think so, Andy. He said there was a computer course he wanted to
take, but it was being held at a computer lab in the Foothills prison. He
wasn't allowed to go because he hasn't accumulated enough merit points
yet."
"What's Foothills prison?" Christopher asked.
"That's another prison real close to where Charlie is," Dennis explained. "He
said it's a new prison and they have all sorts of things there that Western
doesn't have, but the kids at Western don't get to go there very often. He said
it's one of the things the Western kids strive for."

"Wow!" Billy exclaimed. "Imagine, having as one of your main ambitions
going to a prison! Even a new one! I don't know how he can stand it in
there!"
"He seems happy enough," Dennis said. "You guys can read the letter after
supper if you like."
"Maybe it means he's given up," Paul suggested. "Maybe he's getting to
where he's planning on staying there the rest of his life, so he's making the
best of it."
"He's definitely making the best of it," Karen agreed. "That's just how
Charlie is, and I'm very proud of him for that. He is without question the best
I've ever seen at taking whatever situation he's in and making it work for
him. But I seriously doubt that he's given up. That just isn't Charlie."

"Conner!" Charlie's name being shouted only three feet away jolted him out
of his nap. It was almost 2:30, and he was still waiting for the Chaplain. He'd
missed his lunch, afraid to move lest the good chaplain should arrive again in
his absence. He knew that would land him in more trouble than he wanted, so
he'd just stayed in his cell.
"Yes, sir?" he answered as he sat up, then jumped down off the bunk.
"You wanted to see me?"
"I guess so. You're Captain Eggerton?"
"Last time I looked. What did you want, Conner?"
"Well, sir," Charlie answered, "I was talking with Sargent Kincaid last night.
He told me you might be able to help me get a Bible."
"Where did he ever get that idea?" the man demanded.

Charlie thought in his mind: "Well DUHHH! You ARE the chaplain! Isn't
that your business? Or perhaps I should try the janitor?" Fortunately he didn't
express his thoughts. Instead he just said, "I'm not sure sir. I know my folks
will bring me mine when they come to visit, so I was hoping I could
borrow..."
"It wouldn't do for you to be without a Bible, would it Conner?"
"It isn't that, sir. I just... well, sometimes I like to read it a little at night
before I go to sleep."

The Chaplain eyed Charlie up and down, rubbing his chin the way Charlie's
father often did. Charlie was somewhat confused by his attitude, which was
not even close to what he would have expected from such a man. "I know all
about you, Conner!" he finally said with a venom that actually frightened
Charlie. "You go parading all over the state, singing your gospel music,
making everyone think what a good, pius little boy you are, singing the
praises of Jesus. Then you go and pull the stunt you did. Robbing, killing,
drugs, and probably more they never did catch you for. Did you think just
because you sing Gospel that no one would find you out? Do you have any
idea how much damage you've done? You get people all over the world
admiring you, your faith, your beliefs in that TV broadcast, and then you go
on a robbing, killing spree! There's some real low life in here, Conner, but
you've got to look up to every one of them. Give you a Bible? Not very
likely! The Bible is a sacred book, and I wouldn't defile one by giving it to
you. You're not gonna impress anyone in here reading your Bible, Conner, so
you can just forget it!"

"What in hell was that all about?" Larry demanded as he wandered into the
cell, watching the chaplain as he stormed off in the direction of the elevator.
"I..." Charlie stammered, "I really don't know." Charlie was so stunned, he
was completely at a loss for words. If he'd had his wits about him he
probably would have been devastated, but as it was, he just stood there dumb
struck.
"I never saw the chaplain get pissed off before," Larry said. "Man, what did
you do? What did you say to piss him off? He's really steamed!"
"I wish I knew," Charlie said wistfully. "All I did was ask him for a Bible."
"Well do yourself a favor and don't ask him for anything else. Man, he's
pissed! An' chaplain or not, he's a captain! Ya don't wanna piss off captains,
no matter who they are. You best just keep away from him, which shouldn't
be much of a problem. He don't mess with this floor much, there ain't anyone
here interested in the product he's selling."
"Until now," Charlie said. "Anyway, d'you suppose we got time to get
registered for school before supper time?"
"I don't see why not. But what's the hurry? We got till next Monday."
"No reason to put it off either, Larry. Now come on!"

Andy and Billy were spending more and more time together. They worked
together all day, each teaching the other some aspect of farming in North
Carolina. Not that Andy even tried to pretend he was an expert, but he did
know the Conner farm, at least as it used to be, and he'd learned a lot while
Charlie was in the hospital. But now Karen was starting to get concerned.
More and more often after their work was done and Andy had made a
reasonable attempt at homework, the pair would hop in one of their trucks
and disappear for two or three hours, sometimes much more. Karen was
pretty sure they were going to Wilmington, and sometimes Raleigh, but she
had no idea what they were up to. Were they chasing girls? Did they perhaps
have girl friends? Were they up to some sort of mischief?

Who were they meeting, if anyone? What were they doing all that time? Were
they drinking? Perhaps into drugs? Neither Karen nor Dennis had ever so
much as smelled alcohol on either of them, but they knew beyond any shadow
of a doubt that Billy did take the odd drink.

Dennis tried to convince her that she was being paranoid, to which she
replied "What do you expect, after what happened to Charlie?"
"You aren't beginning to think he did all those things, are you?"
"Of course not, Dennis! But if we'd only known where he was, what he was
doing those nights he disappeared, maybe we'd have had more of a defense."
"If only this, if only that. If we'd done this, if we'd known that. The point is
we didn't! But Andy's over eighteen now, and Billy certainly is, so there's
very little we can do even if we wanted to. And they certainly don't seem
anxious to tell us what they're up to."

What the two friends were doing, was roaming the inner city, trying to find
people who had known Garth. They were still convinced that Garth had set
them up, regardless of the fact that Charlie refused to believe it. "You didn't
see his face," he had stated adamantly. "He told me to go get 'em, that I was
gonna be great someday. And his face... I mean, he was almost crying. It was
like he knew we'd never see each other again. I guess I knew it then too, but
I didn't know what he had planned. I think he was sorry for all that had
happened, but he just thought it was too late. Yeah, I think someone set me
up, but it wasn't Garth."

Still, Billy argued, if they knew more about Garth, his friends, his habits, they
might learn something that could help in an appeal. And speaking of appeals,
that was another thing that wasn't going well at all. When he first took the
case, Mark Stevens had been optimistic. The case was so full of holes and
errors, he'd said, that no appeals court in the land would turn him down. But
as time went on, he began to seem much less sure of himself. He kept
delaying the final appeal process, stating each time that it was far easier to
knock down an accusation before the verdict than after.  Yes, he'd said,
errors had been made; but he needed hard evidence; evidence that there was
some sort of conspiracy, or comedy of errors, something besides a simple
claim that Charlie hadn't got a fair trial.

Billy was working hard, trying to use his connections in Texas to make some
political contacts in Raleigh that might help. He had been in touch with
faculty members at A&M, who had arranged for him to meet some of their
colleagues at NC State. Some of their mysterious visits had been to meet
someone who could possibly be an ally when the time came. He wanted to
get the attention of someone very high up in the state government; someone
who might see a political opportunity, even if he didn't care a flip about a kid
in prison for a crime he didn't commit. So he and Andy were taking their
time, trying not to jump to conclusions or go off half-cocked. They were
being very careful who they told what. They knew there was a conspiracy,
and they trusted no one. They didn't suspect Karen and Dennis of any
wrongdoing, but they did know that anything they knew they would tell to
Mark, and more and more the boys were doubting him. But progress was
slow and information scarce.

It was the morning after one of their trips to Wilmington in late October. They
had not got home until after 2 AM, then they'd had to get up at five. Now
they were in the machinery shed working on one of the big tractors. Again
they were having hydraulic problems. This tractor had been down most of the
summer with first one hydraulic breakdown, then another. Dennis was
starting to threaten the John Deere company, saying that he had two identical
tractors, one of which absolutely never broke down, the other was constantly
breaking. To Dennis it was obvious he had a lemon and he wanted it
replaced.

"Please don't bang so hard," Billy pleaded. "I got the worst headache I've
ever had in my freakin' life!"
"I know what you mean," Andy agreed. "We just gotta get more sleep. These
hours are killing me. But I really don't have a headache, I'm just tired."
"You're lucky. My head is achin' so damned bad my hair hurts."

"Your what?" Andy questioned emphatically as he stood up, dropping the
wrench he was holding.
"My hair. I said..."
"I heard you! Hair! That's it! HAIR!"
"Yeah, hair. That's what I said. It's just an express..."
"Not yours! Charlie's! Charlie's hair! That's it! That's the freakin' clue we're
missing!"

Billy eyed his buddy curiously. "I'm sorry, Andy," he said, "but I don't have
the slightest idea what you're talking about. I guess my brain is still not really
in gear, cause I can't..."
"Charlie's hair! Those store clerks identified a picture of Charlie with long
hair. But when he was supposed to have pulled those robberies, he had no
hair! He had just got out of the hospital and he was freakin' bald!"

"Andy!" Billy said, "are you sure? I mean, could you be mistaken about
dates..."
"I was there, Billy! Jeez, you think I could forget a thing like that? They came
so close to killin' him! Of course I'm sure!"
"Well then c'mon, lets call Mark Stevens. Let's get Charlie out of jail!"
"Mark? You think that's a good idea? He hasn't been much help so far."
"What choice do we have? He's still Charlie's attorney whether we like it or
not. We've got to trust him, Andy, it's all we've got."

             *               *               *

I sincerely hope you enjoy my writing efforts. If you do, or for that matter if
you don't, I would appreciate if you would write to me. My email address is
charlieje@mindspring.com.