Chapter 6
It didn't take long for Farley Brock to size up the warden; he was undoubtedly one of Harris' men. It was written all over his face. He gave a little, took a lot-part of the setup, It goes without saying, then, that Farley Brock, had no use for Phineas Plane. The feeling was mutual.
Plane had no use for outsiders, for defenders of law and order, the anti-Harrises. Frankly, he hadn't thought the species to exist in the state, but Brock obviously proved him wrong.
The man had to be stopped.
"Well Mr. Brock, I suppose you're down here about Sills," he said, sitting behind his desk. The flat expanse of his polished oak separated the two men, giving Plane a mantle of authority that Brock didn't give a damn about, one way or the other.
"That's right. How is she?"
"Fine, I'm sure-it's difficult for me to keep ac count of every prisoner here. But I haven't heard anything, one way or the other, about Sills."
"Naturally," Farley said, not bothering to hide the caustic note that crept into his voice. He had Plane sized up as a pompous little bastard, who, at the drop of a hat, would run for his life. A scared little worm trying to come on like a python.
"Any luck with your appeal?' Plane asked, Farley thought bitterly, You know the answer, you bastard, you 're one of the gang, aren't you?
"No. I can't afford justice, and my credit doesn't seem much good." Brock laughed shortly. "I'd like to see my client now, if I could."
"Certainly." He watched Plane pick up the receiver and speak a short message into it. He spoke to Brock briefly, "You're clean, aren't you? No guns or files or anything like that?"
Yuk-yuk.
Brock was silent.
" 'You can let Mr. Brock through," Plane said into the telephone, and hung up. The great god had given his Great message of importance, Brock thought, Man, what an overstuffed little bird!
"Thanks," he said, rising out of his chair. "Nice meeting you," That was. a lie, but you had to give a guy something, even if it were just hollow, empty formality. In a way, it had been nice meeting Phineas Plane.
Now he knew crud grew everywhere.
When he saw Sue, he was momentarily shocked. The changes that had taken place in her were simply amazing. In something like four months, she had become a different person altogether.
"Sue, how are you?' Brock asked, shaking her hand through the bars while Big Bert, in regulation uniform, unlocked the cell.
"Fine," he heard her reply without emphasis.
She looked older, more tired, and the confusion of naive youth had completely gone out of her eyes. Now she looked wise and her eyes glinted with the cold assurance that she was untouchable, unsurprisable, You can't crap me, buddy-boy.
He waited for the guard to disappear; he didn't like the bitch's looks, anyway-one look at her, and you knew she, it, was a Lesbian, probably a brutish, brainless sadistic type. He regarded the face devoid of make-up, of a smile, of compassion, of any womanly feature whatsoever. The eyes, he had noticed, were flat and one-dimensional, utterly without feeling. He waited for her to leave, and close the cell door behind her.
They were alone.
"Well," he said. "I brought you some stuff." He opened a cardboard carton containing a carton of cigarettes, some candy, a few paperbacks-trivia become vastly important behind bars.
"You're looking well," Sue said.
"You live here all alone?" Farley asked, seeing two bunks, both of them made.
"No. But Cindy's at work in the shop, where I'd be if it weren't for your visit."
"Oh. Look, Sue, I have to level with you. I haven't had any luck in getting an appeal-I've used every legal means at my disposal; unless I get some kind of evidence, new evidence, good evidence, we're wiped out."
"What else is there, if you can't get evidence?"
"Nothing," he said flatly. "Not one damned thing." He lit a cigarette and regarded her thoughtfully. "Is there anything, anything at all you can tell me? God, you've got to give me something to run with."
"You mean about Howard and all?" she asked, "I saw him the other day. He and his wife're divorced, and he's living real cool, Nobody can touch him yet. Did he ever say anything to you, let anything slip out?"
"Not actually." But then she brightened for a moment and looked steadily at Brock. "Once he said something about being able to do anything you wanted with enough money; about having power and people eating out of your hand and all."
"Anything more specific? Think, girl, think!" Brock urged, leaning closer to her.
"Something about knowing a judge-I forget his name-that if you knew him, you had it made. This judge-he talked about was a real big shot, and had something to do with the bank Howard and I worked for; something about being a big board member or something, with a lot of money invested and deposited. Howard said if you knew this guy, you could practically commit a murder and get away with it or get off easy. Then we-talked about other things," she said, blushing.
"You can't remember the guy's name? This judge he talked about?"
"No."
"The bank'll have a list of its board members. I'll check it out when I get back. Anything else, Sue?"
"Nothing," she said heavily. "Mr. Brock, I'm not going to make it." She looked at him for a moment, then dropped her eyes again, and Farley cursed inside himself. How in hell was it possible for a whole state, the whole unthinking, unblinking System to let a girl like this rot behind bars?
Stupid question, Farley.
He knew, of course. The frustration lay in not being able to do anything about it.
"What do you mean you're not gonna make it?" he snapped.
She looked at him with hard, pained eyes.
"That guard that let you in?'
"Yeah, what about her?'
"She runs things around here, and man, when she says jump, you jump! You see what she was wearing?' "Yeah, so?' he asked.
"That isn't what she usually wears. She walks around in big black boots and a leather jacket, and she takes the girls around here and-"
"Does she force them?'
"They don't have any choice. She can ride herd on you all day and all night if she wants to, and man, there isn't a damned thing you can do about it. You either break or she breaks you. Know what I mean?'
"You? What about you?'
"She hasn't gotten to me yet." Farley was silent.
He knew she wasn't lying, had no conceivable reason to do so. But he couldn't quite believe, couldn't really believe, that such things were possible in normal, democratic society. Concentration camps, yes but an American prison, a state prison, no. Maybe the months of prison had affected Sue, maybe she was getting a little stir-crazy....
"You ought to read more, Sue. I think you think too much." He meant it as kindly advice.
"You think I'm nuts, don't you?" she said bitterly. "You think I'm dreaming it all up. Maybe you'd like to talk to my cellmate?'
"I would. When'll she be back?"
"What time is it?"
Farley looked at his watch. "Four o'clock," he said.
"She'll be here in a half-hour," Sue said, "and you can ask her. For God's sake, why don't you believe me?" It was painful that not even her attorney believed her.
"I do, Sue. That is, I know you're not making up intentional lies-but-well damn it, I need proof. It's my training."
They were silent, lost in their own private thoughts. Farley thought of Howard Hardin's ex-wife Lil, and wondered if she knew any of the political big-shots? A woman like her could possibly have access-It was very possible. And if she did, would she help him? Sure, she'd said she wanted to see Howard behind bars, but suppose she had second thoughts on the subject, like not wanting to be disgraced by her exhusband's sullied reputation? It could be. Anything could be. Damn it, he thought, why was it that the legal side of the question was eighty thousand miles apart from the human side? If you knew the answer, you wouldn't have to work, he decided with a quiet laugh. Philosophers had been kicking that one around for. centuries, and it was highly un-likely that he was going to be the great discoverer.
Cindy returned.
"Cindy, this is my lawyer, Mr. Brock." Farley regarded the young Negro-woman, saw that her eyes too were distant, vacant, hard-but even more so than Sue's. Maybe she'd been here longer, or just fell a bit harder. Maybe she had more time to serve than did Sue, assuming he'd never get the case appealed. Maybe, maybe, maybe! Damn maybest
"Cindy, nice to know you," he said, shaking hands.
"Go on, just ask her," Sue prompted. Cindy looked bewildered as she looked first at Sue, then at Farley.
"Huh?' she said finally.
"Sue tells me that guard-the one who just let you in, has been giving you a pretty rough time. That she's made you do certain things immoral and illegal-"
"Huhhh?' Cindy exploded, feigning incredulous indignation. "What in hell are you talkin' about, girl? Puttin' the man on like that!"
"Cindy, I'm telling the truth!" Sue said, afraid to raise her voice above a semi-whisper while every fiber of her being wanted to scream with emotion and frustrated expression.
"Bert's no worse than anyone else. She's a screw, and we're cons. That's as far as it goes, Mr. Lawyer man." She turned away, lit a cigarette.
Farley looked at Sue.
Sue sat there on the edge of the bed, wordless, helpless, confused. What was happening? What had happened between her and Cindy? And why was Cindy intentionally lying to Mr. Brock and making her look like a liar, or worse, like she was out of her mind?
She didn't know.
Farley patted her shoulder and smiled wanly. "Look Sue, I'm not giving up-I'll be down next week with more stuff, and I hope some halfway decent news."
"Thanks," she said hollowly, and added to herself, for nothing.
"Sure. I'll see you then, huh? Keep slugging, girl. Nice seeing you, Cindy."
"Yeah, man. See you next time." Cindy flashed a pretty smile, one that showed her white, even teeth and pink mouth-but the eyes remained hard and frozen like two almond-shaped diamonds.
Sue watched him leave. His retreating, fading back seemed to take away her last ray of hope, and she flung herself down on her bunk without saying anything to her cellmate.
What was there to say?
Cindy had already said everything there was to say: I'm on Bert's side now.
"Look, Sue-" Cindy talked to the figure that lay facing the wall, "What am I supposed to do? Hell, I saved you from gettin' in trouble. S'pose Big Bert got an earful of what you were sayin'?"
"Maybe he could've done something, if you hadn't lied."
"Hah! You kiddin', girl? You really have gone stir! Can't nobody do nothin' around here, you know that. You either play their way or get flushed down the pot."
"Maybe-"
"Everything is maybe, girl, and you got to turn some of those maybes into yes's and no's. That's what I did. Stoolin' to some mouthpiece ain't gonna help things."
Cindy's tune was too changed, too discordant for Sue to grasp; she was a totally different person, and now she seemed directly hostile towards her.
"You down on me, Cindy?" she asked sadly.
"No girl, I'm not down on you; I'm tryin' to hip you to the facts so you can make it outta here. Now why don't you just play ball-?"
"No! Damn it, no!" Sue shouted, so loudly, so violently that Big Bert came storming in, looking floridly angry and shouting.
"What in holy hell's happenin' around here?"
Her sudden angry presence hushed Sue into silence. "Nothing," she muttered, her face still toward the wall.
Big Bert herself was silent for a moment. Her mind whirled madly through its instinctive channels. The mouthpiece was gone-the whole bit had been to snow him-now he wasn't around to snow So, "Nothin' my eye-balll What in hell were you screamin' about?"
"I said, nothing," Sue told her evenly, her body beginning to tremble. Only with a real effort did she prevent her voice from trembling as well.
"I'll damn well give you somethin' to scream about!" Big Bert promised, and walked away stiffly.
"Now you are wiped out, girl." Cindy shook her head sadly.
The following afternoon, Big Bert received a message from the warden. Damn Mm, she thought, he's not givin' the stock a rest.
He wanted a girl. A new girl, someone other than Martha or Hannah. It didn't take her long to decide whom she'd give the man to try out. If not Hannah and Martha or one of the others-and Sills wasn't anywhere near ready for that (she had nothing to lose yet), so who did that leave?
Her newest filly.
One who knew how to whinny, and had the strength to do it.
Her name was Cindy Martin.
The sonofabitch was getting too randy, she thought, wanting a girl every other day. What'd he do with his wife, anyway? Nothing? Big Bert burned momentarily under a betrayed sense of propriety-cutting into her supply like that, using it all up. It wasn't fair, wasn't fair at all.
The girls were too tired for her.
She called Cindy outside, and led her to the guard room, which was quiet except for two guards playing a hand of gin, and who were so engrossed in the game that they didn't even look up when they came in.
"The warden wants to see you," she told Cindy.
"What for?" Cindy asked. She thought, I could never come out and ask questions before-when she yelled, I jumped. No, it's a little different.
"He just wants to see you. Make him happy and you make me happy, see? Make me happy, and you'll be happy. That's how it works around here."
It sure was, Cindy thought.
It sure as hell was how things worked around here.
"When?" she asked. Big Bert broke into a rare smile and looked at her newest vessel of pleasure.
"Now. He'll give you some stuff if you ask him after. Cigarettes, a drink, some food. Just ask him, he'll give it to you."
"Is he-okay?"
"I couldn't care less what the warden does with his time," Bert said. "But they've all walked out of there in one piece, so I wouldn't worry." Then: "Come on, let's go see him."
Cindy walked across the long stretch of ground, with Big Bert behind her. In spite of her apprehensions, a fine tremor of excitement ran through Cindy. What was he like?
What would they do together?
She walked faster, stretching her legs out to their full length and feeling the young, animal vibrancy of youth. She felt fine. It was a brisk day, and she had been called on to do what only the young and beautiful could do. It gave her a sense of mission. She was on her way to see an Important Personage. Sure. Why not? Subconsciously, she realized that this was the way to think if she were going to cling to her equilibrium.
The office struck her. Any outsider would have been untouched, but to a mind and sense attuned to gray concrete walls, black, iron bars and sterile lights, it was too great a contrast not to be affected. She felt the great softness of carpet under her feet, blinked at the plum and deep red colors as she saw them in hazy succession.
Then she saw the warden. Involuntarily, she turned and saw that Big Bert had left. She was alone with this man. A man. A man. A man. God, how long had it been since she had seen a male, however unimpressive, as Phineas Plane certainly was? Seeing him now, being alone in a plush office with him, brought truth to the old saying that went around the prison, I'd do it with your granddaddy. Cindy didn't remember the time when she'd loathed men, for all the things they'd done to her, had made her do, for money.
"Your name is Cindy, is it?" Phineas asked. He saw a beautiful colored woman, chocolate-brown-gold, with flawless complexion and high-rising breasts that thrust youthfully against her thin dress. He saw tightly fleshed hips swelling against that same dress. He saw the bulge of firm thighs, the sumptuous curve and flow of her buttocks when he walked around to the other side of her. He saw a woman he had to have.
A woman he was going to have.
A woman he could have any way he wanted to!
"Yeah," she said. "That's right. Big Bert said you wanted to see me."
Phineas frowned. "A little respect," he said. "Remember who you are. For one thing, I'm Mr. Plane, or Warden, and your guard is Miss Starr, if you refer to her at all."
"Yessir."
"That's better, much better. Would you like something to drink, Cindy?" he asked with a softer tone.
"I can wait," she told him. He smiled and kept looking at her with unmistakable interest.
"You are lovely," he said. "Truly lovely. You know why you're here?"
"I got a good idea," she said coyly. She reacted naturally to the situation. What the hell, she thought, I'm still a woman "No, I think you're suffering under certain misapprehensions," he said sagely. "You're not here to pleasure me or anything immoral like that. I'm your warden and I have a responsibility toward you. Yes, a responsibility. I'm here to punish you, dear girl."
"Punish me?' she asked incredulously. She moved a step backward, and felt the edge of a chair behind her; she lowered herself into it.
"Of course. You are here for prostitution, I believe. An odious offense, indeed." He clucked his tongue. "A sin against morality."
Cindy shrugged.
She'd heard it called a lot of other things, but never that, not even by the judge, who had lightened her sentence later because of a certain "cooperative spirit" on her part. The old bastard'd almost croaked from exertion.
" 'So I have to chastise you-but punishment shouldn't be all pain. One should remember it, and take heart from it," Phineas went on sonorously, "and for that reason, you won't find it altogether harsh."
What in hell was he talking about, she wondered.
"Take your dress off, dear girl."
This was more like it. Now the man was making sense-so what was all that other crap about, punishment and all? What was punishing about lying on a couch and wiggling a little bit and making a man go to pieces while he grunted and strained on you and dumped his passion like you were a human pit?
No punishment.
Annoying, time-consuming, unless the man knew what he was about. The warden looked as if he weren't even in this world. Talked like it, too.
She took off her dress.
With an air of nonchalance, she unbuttoned it down the front and peeled out of it, tossing it carelessly on the chair she had been sitting in. She reached behind her broad, smooth back and unhooked the snaps of her brassiere. That too landed in the chair, and she heard Phineas's breath suck in sharply as her breasts plummeted free from their cup traps and felt the pleasant bite of fresh air. For a fleeting second, she caught a glimpse of her own nipples-they were deep crimson, a pleasure to admire. Two raspberry tips countersunk and raised in light-honey flesh-spheres that rose and remained suspended in an attitude of proud, young strength.
With a coquettish smile at Phineas, she squirmed her hips and pulled off her panties. Then she stood defiantly naked in front of him, and Phineas was sure, absolutely sure, that he had never seen a body so perfect, so beautiful.
And so free of punishment and suffering.
It was a sin, one of the paradoxes of life, that such evil and sin could reside in a body so physically lovely. It shouldn't be, he decided, it shouldn't be at all. It wasn't fair, it wasn't gust, that ugliness should be so deceptive.
It would not be.
He would change it, and show the world that sin was everywhere apparent, and enjoy doing it. She would suffer as his wife made him suffer "You're lovely," he said breathlessly, "too lovely for words. How can such evil exist in something so lovely?"
Evil?
There he went again, talkin' out of his skull. How in hell did he get to be warden, anyway? He was some kind of a kook. A weirdo.
"Do I look strong to you, Cindy?" he asked, almost offhandedly.
"Sure. Real strong."
"You don't really believe it, though, do you?' Hell no, you fool.
"Yessir. I know you're strong. You're over all of us, and-well, you've gotta be strong."
"Good. Then you know you're in proper hands." He slowly withdrew his belt from his trousers, and when Cindy saw that action, all became woefully apparent.
The sonofabitch was going to whip her.
A freak just like Big Bert. He was going to get for nothing what she'd charged for letting men to do her and they'd been satisfied with the idea of the thing rather than the thing itself, using a cloth cotton belt she'd given them; but this wasn't an idea, it was her fanny that was going to taste the sting of righteous leather!
Her own hide.
"Bend over, girl," Phineas snapped. She didn't obey immediately. She hesitated too long.
"Bend over, I say, and take your punishment!"
She saw the sudden, explosive wrath in his face, and became frightened. Such a transformation in a man like Phineas was astonishing to see. She sank forward, straining her legs without bending them, so her heart-shaped, golden buttocks loomed prettily before Phineas. He struck her.
The leather tip of the belt bit sharply into her tender, unmarked flesh and left a deep welt. Cindy closed her eyes and gnashed her teeth with the sudden pain of it. It seemed like forever before the next blow rained down on her other cheek. But it came nevertheless, with equal force, with equal pain. She bit her lip to stifle the scream. Through the singing in her ears, she heard the short, rapid panting of Phineas, who stood behind her wielding the instrument of torture for her and pleasure for him: an instrument of deadly double purpose. Her smooth, blank beauty turned into swimming red snakes of pain, and wiggled helplessly beneath the angry lashes.
"Scream!" he shouted, "show me your repentance."
She screamed. It was an old bit with Cindy, old except for the pain itself. Never had she been beaten with real leather, and never had she been marked and hurt, except by Big Bert-but that was different. This was beginning to scare her.
He whipped her thighs until the smooth, downy-fuzzed backs became red and burning like her buttocks, and then the belt, with a seeming life of its own, moved up her back and even across her neck.
Rude, rough hands grabbed her by the hair, yanking it by the roots, and as she screamed with humiliating agony, turned her over onto her sore backside. The wool of the carpet, so soft under her feet before, now became an instrument of total pain as it rubbed raw her sores engrained in her soft flesh by Phineas's devilish belt.
The tip of the belt nipped menacingly at her nipples, and she screamed with pain and fright, utter panicked fright that approximates the male's fear of emasculation in combat. Again and again, the tip nipped and snapped and cracked at her nipples, touching them lightly, painfully, before moving down to the cone-shaped spheres of tender skin and working them over.
He beat her belly.
Her thighs.
Her crotch. He beat her all over, except her face for some reason, he didn't touch that, not with the belt. The pain in that face was enough for Phineas, as he felt hotter and hotter with raw, animal lust, watching the beautiful young woman writhe and squirm naked and helpless against the carpet like a beautiful, tormented animal.
She didn't bleed.
He was much too clever for that. Her flesh was sore, raw, but it would heal-he knew how to hurt without maiming, how to torture without scarring. He was a past master at it, and now, as he stood looking down on his chastened child, he thought that indeed the punishment and pain was over.
He felt strangely excited, exhilarated.
And how good she must feel, knowing she had in part paid for her horrible sins against mankind! Yes, he had acted nobly and wisely. Now it was time for him to assert his generosity and indulgence, and show her a bit of the pleasure he had promised to her in the beginning.
"And now," he said sympathetically. "It is time for your reward."
She hurt all over.
Everywhere, her flesh was stung and mortified. What in the hell could he mean by reward, unless he meant a trip to the hospital for a few days where she could rest?
His meaning became very clear when she watched him, from her prone position on the rug, undress himself. She was unaware that she was being flattered-for Phineas seldom, if ever, completely undressed himself for a female prisoner. But with this one, this one of extraordinary beauty and evil, he meant to partake of unbridled pleasure!
She watched his excitement, his swollen, throbbing maleness as he lowered himself gently on top of her.
His lips moved down onto her breasts, swept wildly across them before settling around a nipple-then stiffened it with pleasure, in spite of her pain-racked body.
"A little something sweet for you," he whispered, and without further preliminary, was straining madly, bullishly against her, prying her thighs apart with his hands. There was surprising strength in those hands. They pried, they jerked, they succeeded, until she lay spread-eagled and sprawled, waiting.
He slammed in hard.
The pain was intense, and breath slowly ebbed out of her as she raised her hands automatically in resistance. He slapped her hard, and kept pumping wildly until he meshed, Cindy felt her thighs being raised and propped on trembling male shoulders as he slammed without mercy into her protesting, unexcited flesh; it turned hot with dry pain. Again and again he hit at her, slapping her face, raising her body with his shoulders, and when the end came for him, she saw the horrible expression in his face. His eyes bulged, strangely myopic, bug-like, and he whinnied and whined and snarled as his body twitched and jerked. Then he relaxed, and sank into weakness.
He rolled away, turning his face, his body from her.
"Get dressed," he said, Cindy wanted to cry. Never had she been used like this; just utterly, dispassionately used, like so much material. She felt worse than humiliated. She felt cheap, dirty. He had shown no emotion, no involvement, other than animal savagery and phony, heartless desire to punish. He was a beast. And how he had talked of her worthlessness-that crud, that bastard, talking about her.
But she would go back.
She would return whenever he called her, because Big Bert would get nasty if she didn't. Big Bert was behind it all. Without getting to Big Bert, you got nowhere, you did nothing but suffer from day to day and hour to hour and minute to minute. It was slow, insidious suffering, with no sudden moments of magnificent pain such as she had just now experienced.
Which, after all, was the worst?
Sure, she'd come back. And she'd go to Big Bert, and do anything, let her do anything she damn well wanted-she couldn't eat ideals and guts, could she? She couldn't sleep on promises. She couldn't live on courage. The only way to live was to make the system happy, and Big Bert and this insect of a crud in this office were the System, like it or not, "Good-bye, Cindy. I hope you learned something from today," Phineas said, with fatherly warmth.
"Yess! I sure did." She turned to Big Bert. "I sure did." Then she followed the guard painfully across the large yard toward her cell.