"Well inmate, we know all about you and Waters," retorts Warden James Hammond to Oil's denial of any knowledge of the whereabouts of his bunk mate. "Sodomy is a felony in Kentucky."
"We just share a bunk," contends Oil standing in front of the large desk on the top floor of the tower and trying hard to keep eye contact despite a view of the distant Ohio River valley out the picture window.
"Tell us how he escaped and we'll see about dropping the bootlegging charges. You'd be eligible for parole in a year."
Oil was no novice to plea bargaining. He hadn't hesitated to point the finger toward an out-of-state son when the Pennsylvania state police traced an intentionally burnt out car to his former bus garage. The favor was returned five years later when that son was arrested for bootlegging in Kentucky and named his father as the kingpin to save his own skin.
He would be sixty in December and, like any older person, knew that an intimate relationship ending might mean never again. Ratting out Waters for stowing away in the corn shipment might shorten his incarceration by a year or two, but it would be the death sentence for his diminutive young companion to be shipped to the notoriously violent maximum security penitentiary known as the Castle on the Cumberland.
"Sorry Warden," Oil mumbles down at his worn black boots to hide the welling tears.
"In that case Orville, we're sending out the flying unit to hunt down your bunk mate. Do you have anything else to add that might save Waters?"
"Roll on," Oil mulls across the broad floodplain, balding forehead reflecting a wan sunset with arms hanging limp and hands held forward by the manacles binding his wrists for another five years.
No comments:
Post a Comment