I swear, Manuel Blanco is like Satan’s used car salesman.
Trapped on an island?Alone time is good for the soul.
Fires burning around you?You’ll never get cold.
Earthquake?Free foot massage. That sort of thing.
Thisfake it til you makeittype attitude applies to all aspects of guarding this place, including the way we control the prisoners.
Want an example? I gotchu.
Tank Foster. Inmate #8. This big psychopath with a glass eye who loves biting the nipples off of sex workers almost as much as he loves meth.
He’d somehow escaped incarcerationthreetimes, fromtwodifferent federal prisons in Arizona. But unsurprisingly, he wound up back in custody every time.
I swear, the dude’s IQ was also in the single digits.
Anyway, the D.A. in Phoenix was pissed, on the verge of losing his job over this cannibalistic tweaker. It wasn’t until they arrested Foster for thefourthtime that the D.A. remembered he had abusiness acquaintancewho’d recently been given a new facility on an island… The perfect place to send this heinous criminal, to ensure he would never be seen or heard from again.
Inmate #8 was due to arrive in a few hours, and I was in the Warden’s office, going over his file to prepare for the briefing with the team…
“Man, for a toothless moron, this dude is shockingly adept at escaping maximum-security prisons…” I grumbled, frantically scanning the pages.
“Do you want a Jarrito?” The Ivory asked while hunched over the fridge in his office.
“No, thank you.”
“Are you sure? I have pineapple… That’s the best one.”
“I’m good. It says here he shit his pants on the transport bus and made a run for it when the driver pulled over to throw up.” My face was the picture of horrified.
“There’s never anything to eat in here…” The Ivory muttered, more concerned with the contents of his refrigerator than the sicko we were about to bring in. “I’d kill for Empanada Mama right now… How fast do you think the chopper could get it here?”
“Are you listening??” I barked at him. “This is serious! We have an inmate coming in who once stashed a safety pin in his goddamn eye socket and used it to escape prison for thethirdtime!”
Releasing an audible sigh, The Ivory finally closed the damn fridge and turned to face me. “You have my attention.”
Swallowing became more difficult with him staring at me like that. It always did—still does—and I could feel myself clamming up, though I never could understandwhy.
Still can’t.
“I’m just saying…” I managed to croak. “That was a Supermax. We’re barely even a little Max.” His eyes continued to bore into me. “The guy escaped fully staffed prisons with cameras and armed patrolmen. There are seven of us and one set of keys. That’s it.”
“Jonathan… are you worried about this inmate escaping?” The Ivory’s tone was nothing shy of blasé.
I really didn’t want to say it out loud, but lying to him was more than useless. So I mumbled, “Yea, sort of.”
“Well… don’t let him.”
I stared at him blankly for a solid three seconds before snorting out a laugh. It quirked the corner of his mouth.
“I’m quite serious.” He stepped over, leaning against his desk to gaze down at me where I was sitting. “Other than the staffing and security issues, what are your concerns? Tell me.” He was being serious, but I’d seemingly lost my voice. “Speak, Jonathan.”
“Asidefrom staffing and security, which are two big issues… I just don’t think we should assume that being on an island gives us an advantage,” I said, pointedly careful. “We’re only five miles from the nearest shore. Shit, if I were desperate enough, I could swim that. Easy.”
The Ivory took in a breath, holding me with his eye contact for an extra moment before straightening and turning away. “Did you know that there is one guard to everyseventyinmates housed on Rikers Island?”
His tone was purposeful. And while I know he enjoys manipulating the truth, he doesn’t play around where facts are concerned. So I took his word that this statistic is true.
