On his first day in prison, they stripped, probed, and penetrated, doused him in chemical cleaner, sheared his beautiful hair. Within hours, he had committed an infraction—so minor, a nothing little comment about the children of one of the guards—that landed him in solitary confinement. He had retched at its smell, sharp with aged and layered human mess. They had not told him how long he would be there, so the time stretched out like one long horrific night. When the hallucinations came, it was a comfort, because at least he wasn’t alone.
By the time he left solitary what turned out to be a week later, he had broken two fingers and stripped his nails and cracked his skull. He had spilled his own fluids, of every sort, and the stench had become a part of him, unscrubbable, a permanent stain. And in and out of solitary he went. It had come as a great shock that there was no way to predict or avoid what would get him in trouble. Charm, manipulation, cunning were of little use to him among the inmate brutes and the sadists that guarded them.
His great revelation had come during a particularly long stretch in the hole—such a fitting name, a dark, empty, swallowing thing. As usual, they hadn’t informed him how long he would be there, another form of torture, so it could have been three months or six, he couldn’t be sure. He could only describe it as the sensation of melting under immense and excruciating heat, where the thing that was melting was not the body, but the self. He felt himself melt, then boil, then evaporate, then vanish. And in the stillness, he sensed the awesome presence of God. It was a feeling of being held and accepted just as he was, and from nothing, he rematerialized, he was reborn.
From then on, Manny knew that he was not merely a son of God, but His right hand, the doer of deeds on His behalf.
The waiting was over. Now, he was coming for her.
He was ready.
The buzzer sounded and the steel gate opened, gnashing on its rails.
Manny stepped outside the prison walls and took a moment to savor his freedom. It was overcast and humid. In a lookout thirty feet overhead, an armed guard hocked a gobbet from deep in his throat. Manny squinted up at him and smiled, saluted. The guard spat and it splatted an arm’s length from where Manny stood. His younger self might have let the gesture spoil his day, but today he filled his lungs and merely felt grateful to be here.
A two-tone gray-and-black Cadillac blaring Guns N’ Roses pulled up on the wrong side of the road. A long, panty-hosed leg kicked open the door and Red unfolded herself from the driver’s seat. “Well, heyyyy! Am I late? I am, aren’t I? I swear to you I left the house early, I promise you I did. Sometimes I think the clock is playing tricks on me. But that’s not important, look at you! You’re so skeeeny!”
He smiled, let her talk herself out. Her round parts had withered some with time. Her spandex tank and skirt were the tired pastels of too many washings, and when she embraced him he smelled dental decay, heard the rattle of pleurisy in her lungs. She needed a shower more than he did. Still, he was pleased to see her. He had phoned her a handful of times while he was inside. Red was his only friend, and he had known he might need to call on her when the time came.
They had scarcely left the penitentiary grounds when Red slapped her hands to the wheel and ogled him. She twisted a knob on the radio to lower the volume.
“All right, spill it,” she said, her face pregnant with anticipation. “Did you let them F you in the fuckin’ B?”
Manny smiled and ignored the prompt, preferring to gaze at the blur of trees and stacks of clouds above them, feel the speed of the car charging down the highway, like flying. It was all so magnificent. God’s glory, a welcome. He rolled the window halfway down and closed his eyes against the wind.
“You did, you dirty boy,” she said, maddeningly satisfied. “What did you think? Not bad, right? Not my thing personally, but I hear it’s sensational if you’ve got a prostate. Y’know, I think all you guys would be effin’ each other if you weren’t so dang insecure. That’s just my opinion, but tell me, now that you’ve had a taste? I bet you had a ball—” She slapped him in the chest. “Ball!” she said loudly and laughed a little too hard at the accidental pun. Manny thought she seemed wired, maybe had a little toot before picking him up. He had seen her deteriorate over her infrequent visits, and the organized professional he had known was now little more than a junkie whore.
“I’m on a different path now,” Manny said calmly. “I’ve found the Bible.”
Red raised her eyebrows and puckered her mouth mockingly. He had damaged her pride by not playing along with the sordid inquiry. She lit a cigarette and turned the volume back up, some moody pop song that bored him.
“Okay, Father Manny,” she mumbled. “Good for fuckin’ you.”
Red kept her mouth shut, a rarity, the rest of the trip. When the Cadillac arrived at her weathered little bungalow, she muscled open her front door and pushed aside a pile of unopened mail, pocketed her keys. The once tidy home had the look of a flophouse, more litter was visible than floor. On the coffee table, a scattering of needles, cigarette butts, cracked eye shadow pucks, a clear plastic bottle filled with liquor or piss or lemon Squirt. There was a humid, cheesy smell about the place. Manny opened a window.
“Oh my word, is it that bad in here?” She fished a book of matches from her waistband, struck one on the sole of her shoe, and blew out the flame. As she waved the smoke around, her breasts bobbed together, but Manny felt only disgust.
“I’m so embarrassed,” she said. “You know in the good old days, I had a maid come twice a week to clean up after my sloppy ass.” She flicked her teeth with a long nail. “I guess I’ve let things go a bit. You always did like things just so, didn’t you? I just don’t know how you made it in prison, must have been— Well, I don’t even want to imagine, but it must have been awful. I bet you’re happier’n a bird dog to be out of there. Whew! Let’s toast to that!” She unhooked her bra, a graying lacy thing, and let it slither out her sleeve. She lifted an open bottle of Southern Comfort and poured the auburn liquid into a coffee mug, passing it to Manny.
He sniffed, grimaced, set it down on the windowsill. “I don’t mess around with this anymore,” he said. Red clicked her tongue and shook her head, a little venom in her eyes. “The tables have turned, haven’t they? Well, here’s to freedom.” She tipped up the bottle of SoCo, sending the fruity syrup down her throat.
“Looks like you’ve hit some hard times, Miss Red,” Manny said. “Why didn’t you mention it to me?”
Red laughed. “You know? I never did need a pimp before. Small town men were just kinda docile, easy to manage. Everyone had a wife, everyone cared if their wife found out. They never got rough with me, never anything I couldn’t handle. I don’t know what changed.” She trailed off and headed for the front door with a manic thrust. “What am I doing complaining to the man who just spent the eighties in prison? You hungry? I’m hungry. Man alive, I could eat a bear right now. Let’s go out.”
Manny took her by the shoulders and felt bones that were very close to the skin. “You still have running water?”
She nodded. “You have to ask?”
“Okay, go clean yourself up,” he said. Truth was, he couldn’t stand the smell of her.