Read Online Power in the Blood by Michael Lister - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Lister
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Who’s Johnson?” he asked, but it was unconvincing. He knew who Johnson was.
“The inmate who was killed,” I said. “The one in the trash bag.”
“Oh,” he said. “Well, that’s a good question. You see, usually I pick up the trash from every department early in the morning. They set it outside their back door, and me and an inmate pick it up. But yesterday, there was no trash outside of medical.”
“So what did you do?” I asked.
“I had already parked the truck between medical and laundry. So I walked over with the inmate, and we picked up the bags from laundry. When we got back to the truck, medical had already put theirs in.”
“Have they ever done that before?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. “But not very often. And usually we see that old black inmate ’cause he’s so slow, but we didn’t see anybody put it in the truck. Why all the questions?”
“I’m just trying to figure out exactly what happened.”
“I can tell you what happened. A dumb inmate tried to escape and became a dark meat shish kebab. Everybody’s saying what a great job I did. Hell, I’ll probably get Officer of the Month. And, if anybody has anything else to say about it, they can say it to my lawyer.”
“You have a lawyer?” I asked. It was the most surprising thing I had heard all day.
“Hell, yes,” he said. “I been grieved and sued so many damn times by these dumb nigger sons a bitches I had to get one. What kind of world do we live in? A bunch of stinkin’ inmates can make me need a lawyer.”
“So you think Johnson was trying to escape,” I said. “How do you think he got into the bag and into the back of the truck?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t. All I know is that I didn’t put him back there.”
If they were telling the truth, neither Shutt nor Jones had put medical’s bags in the truck. But, somebody had, and there was a good reason why that somebody had, and I intended to find out who that somebody was. But, first, there was something more pressing on my mind.
Chapter 7
Every eleven minutes, someone in the U.S. died of AIDS.
In Florida state prisons, those with HIV outnumbered those in Florida’s free population two to one. In fact, HIV and AIDS was spreading throughout both federal and state prisons at extraordinary rates. Many inmates came to prison already infected with HIV—the result of illicit drug use and unprotected sex. And in prison, it spread. Tattooing, drug use, and especially unprotected sex caused HIV to spread inside prison nearly as quickly as the latest rumor—and only six prison systems in the U.S. distributed condoms. Florida’s was not one of them.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I asked Nurse Strickland when I had found her again. This time, she was in exam room two looking through some supplies.
“Sure,” she said as she turned around to face me, her blue eyes sparkling even under the dull fluorescent lights. She was really beautiful, and so delicate. Laura and Anna were beautiful, but they seemed to be as strong as they were pretty, but this woman was pretty in a fragile, vulnerable way, like a ceramic figurine. “Come in,” she continued.
I did. And, when I had closed the door, she looked a little surprised.
“What is it? Are you okay?” she asked, and I sensed her genuine concern. She was a good nurse, I could tell. I had come to the right place.
“I need some help,” I said, “and I really don’t know where to turn.”
“Sure. Anything. What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t really quite know how to say this.”
“Take your time. It’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Okay?”
“Okay, here it goes. I found out today that the inmate that was killed yesterday had AIDS.”
She nodded her head slowly. “Yes, I know,” she said.
“His blood got all over me. I can’t quit thinking about it. I can’t concentrate on anything else because I think I might have gotten AIDS through his
“The inmate who was killed,” I said. “The one in the trash bag.”
“Oh,” he said. “Well, that’s a good question. You see, usually I pick up the trash from every department early in the morning. They set it outside their back door, and me and an inmate pick it up. But yesterday, there was no trash outside of medical.”
“So what did you do?” I asked.
“I had already parked the truck between medical and laundry. So I walked over with the inmate, and we picked up the bags from laundry. When we got back to the truck, medical had already put theirs in.”
“Have they ever done that before?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. “But not very often. And usually we see that old black inmate ’cause he’s so slow, but we didn’t see anybody put it in the truck. Why all the questions?”
“I’m just trying to figure out exactly what happened.”
“I can tell you what happened. A dumb inmate tried to escape and became a dark meat shish kebab. Everybody’s saying what a great job I did. Hell, I’ll probably get Officer of the Month. And, if anybody has anything else to say about it, they can say it to my lawyer.”
“You have a lawyer?” I asked. It was the most surprising thing I had heard all day.
“Hell, yes,” he said. “I been grieved and sued so many damn times by these dumb nigger sons a bitches I had to get one. What kind of world do we live in? A bunch of stinkin’ inmates can make me need a lawyer.”
“So you think Johnson was trying to escape,” I said. “How do you think he got into the bag and into the back of the truck?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t. All I know is that I didn’t put him back there.”
If they were telling the truth, neither Shutt nor Jones had put medical’s bags in the truck. But, somebody had, and there was a good reason why that somebody had, and I intended to find out who that somebody was. But, first, there was something more pressing on my mind.
Chapter 7
Every eleven minutes, someone in the U.S. died of AIDS.
In Florida state prisons, those with HIV outnumbered those in Florida’s free population two to one. In fact, HIV and AIDS was spreading throughout both federal and state prisons at extraordinary rates. Many inmates came to prison already infected with HIV—the result of illicit drug use and unprotected sex. And in prison, it spread. Tattooing, drug use, and especially unprotected sex caused HIV to spread inside prison nearly as quickly as the latest rumor—and only six prison systems in the U.S. distributed condoms. Florida’s was not one of them.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I asked Nurse Strickland when I had found her again. This time, she was in exam room two looking through some supplies.
“Sure,” she said as she turned around to face me, her blue eyes sparkling even under the dull fluorescent lights. She was really beautiful, and so delicate. Laura and Anna were beautiful, but they seemed to be as strong as they were pretty, but this woman was pretty in a fragile, vulnerable way, like a ceramic figurine. “Come in,” she continued.
I did. And, when I had closed the door, she looked a little surprised.
“What is it? Are you okay?” she asked, and I sensed her genuine concern. She was a good nurse, I could tell. I had come to the right place.
“I need some help,” I said, “and I really don’t know where to turn.”
“Sure. Anything. What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t really quite know how to say this.”
“Take your time. It’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Okay?”
“Okay, here it goes. I found out today that the inmate that was killed yesterday had AIDS.”
She nodded her head slowly. “Yes, I know,” she said.
“His blood got all over me. I can’t quit thinking about it. I can’t concentrate on anything else because I think I might have gotten AIDS through his
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