TTHHEE  PPRRIISSOONNEERR

Part 2

Monday morning came not a second too soon for Roy. He was up at dawn, and busied himself in the kitchen making coffee and breakfast, trying to pass time. Joanne was up shortly afterward, and he heard the sounds of his children getting ready for school. Joanne padded into the kitchen and began packing up the children’s lunches and school books. Her husband looked tired, she thought, and she had felt him tossing and turning throughout the night. Neither one of them had gotten much sleep.

Soon, the children were off to school, and Roy absently gave Jennifer a peck on the cheek, and ruffled Chris’s hair as they passed him on their way out. Joanne poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the table across from her husband. She saw he was reading the paper, and noticed he had been looking at the same page for at least twenty minutes. She reached up and pulled the top of the paper down, so that she could look at her husband.

With understanding in her eyes, she said, “Roy, I know how worried you are about Johnny.  You didn’t sleep well at all  last night, did you?”

Roy sighed and looked at her with weary eyes. He smiled wanly. “Yeah, I am worried. Aren’t you?”

“Of course I am, Roy. The thought of Johnny in prison with a…a bunch of criminals and murderers, well, it makes me sick. I don’t think we should tell the children about it – not just yet, anyway.”

“I agree. They don’t have to know…yet. Maybe we’ll be able to get Johnny out and the kids’ll never have to know. I mean, I know Johnny didn’t do it, but still, the kids, well, they might not understand, you know? I don’t want them to think Johnny is a bad person or that he did anything wrong.”

“I know. But you’re going to have to try to act normal, and not so stressed out and depressed, or they’re going to know something’s up.”

Roy nodded. “Okay.”

“Roy?”

“Yeah?”
            “What do you think the chances are of getting Johnny out of prison?”

The worried look on Roy’s face deepened. “I don’t know, Jo. I don’t even want to think about not being able to get him out. I’ve got to believe that they’ll realize he’s innocent, and let him go. At the very least, maybe we can get him out on bail.”

“I wonder how much that will be?”

Roy looked up at his wife uneasily, knowing what she was thinking, but not really wanting to address that issue right now. Bail could be a lot of money, money they didn’t have much of. And Johnny didn’t have any family members to help him out. Roy didn’t care how much it was, he would find a way to get it. He wasn’t about to let his partner stay in jail with a bunch of animals.

With a somewhat more stern tone than he intended, Roy answered, “Whatever the bail is, we’ll find a way to pay it. I’m sure all of Johnny’s friends would be willing to pitch in.” He needed to make it clear to Joanne right now that even though money was tight, this was one thing he would not give in on. Though Roy knew how much Joanne cared about Johnny, he was worried that when it came to finances, they might find themselves on opposite sides of the fence.

“I’m sure they would too.” Joanne was smart enough to sense the conviction in her husband’s voice, and for now, know to simply agree with him.

Roy looked at his watch. It was just after eight o’clock. “I’m going to go try to call Barney Oleson’s office. Maybe he comes in early.”

“Okay, honey.” Joanne watched as her husband pulled out the telephone book and looked up the number.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Johnny stood in line at the cafeteria waiting to get his breakfast. He felt like an old man. The so-called “bed” he had lain on only exacerbated the discomfort of all his bruises, and he’d felt so stiff upon rising that he could hardly get out of bed. His stomach was still queasy from yesterday, but had settled down for the time being. He was relieved when he saw the small cartons of Minute Maid orange juice at the end of the line, and felt glad he didn’t have to drink the water again.

The morning had not started out good. The lights had abruptly come on at six a.m., glaring at them all to get out of bed. After a fitful night, he awoke to find that his bag of personal belongings had disappeared. He looked around at the other men, knowing they had stolen it from him, and was angry. Here his whole life had been turned upside down, all his belongings and freedom taken from him. All he had was this little bag of insignificant items, and it too had been stolen. Angrily, he asked if any of the men spoke English, and they all ignored him. He tried in Spanish to ask if they knew where his items were, and they just looked at him, small smiles upon their faces. Fortunately, his toothpaste had fallen out of the bag, and he still had that. He’d been forced to brush his teeth with his finger, which was no easy feat, considering more than half of them were broken.

The day had droned on after that, boredom setting in. The only good thing that had happened was that Johnny had been able to convince one of the guards to take him to the infirmary to have his fingers taken care of. His left hand now sported a wooden Popsicle stick under each finger, held straight and wrapped together with tape; with the same configuration on the right hand, only on one finger. It was a small dose of relief to have the painful joints now immobile so that they could heal.

The high point of the day had been the hour they got to spend outdoors. Even though there wasn’t much to do, at least Johnny was able to get some fresh air and sunshine. The scenery left much to be desired; the dirty and cracked blocked walls of the compound hid any glimpse of the outside world.  Here and there, however, a small stray flower had managed to push its way between some of the cracks and offer small splashes of color to brighten the day, even if only a little.

Some of the men played soccer, and there was a basketball court, but most of them just stood around and smoked cigarettes. Johnny was too sore and tired to do anything, so he had just relaxed in the grass and observed the others. He looked around for James, but didn’t see him. Johnny was surprised at how crowded the prison was, and at the apparent lack of security. True, there were guards up in the towers, but very few of them could be seen out in the prison yard. Johnny wondered if anyone had ever escaped.

That day had seemed to last forever. Johnny lay on his flimsy pad long after the lights had gone out, and wondered if any of his friends would ever come to get him.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roy lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The day had been one frustration after another. Barney had not been in at eight o’clock that morning, and Roy had been so impatient to talk to him that he got dressed, and drove down to his office so that he could be waiting at the door at nine o’clock when the office opened. The secretary met Roy upon his arrival who, to his immense dismay, informed him that Mr. Oleson was on vacation until the next Monday. Sensing his intense disappointment, she invited him in to check her appointment book to see if Mr. Oleson’s partner would be available. Unfortunately, Tom Brown, his partner, was booked for the week. Seeing Roy was deeply troubled, she offered him a cup of coffee and asked him what the nature of the problem was. She wondered if maybe he was in some kind of trouble with the IRS, since he seemed so nervous and worried. She was surprised to hear Roy relay the predicament his best friend was in, and acted concerned and supportive.

There was nothing Roy could do but to wait, and the thought of that drove him crazy. Unable to bear the thought of Johnny spending a whole week in prison, Roy wracked his brain trying to think of what to do. He decided to call some friends he had in the police force, wanting to pick their brains for ideas. The only cop he’d been able to get a hold of that day was Vince, and while sympathetic to Johnny’s predicament, he wasn’t able to offer Roy much optimism. If only Johnny had been arrested in America, things certainly would have been different, but because he was in a foreign country, their hands were tied. Roy left messages for some of his other law enforcement friends to call him, hoping they might have something useful to offer. After Roy had returned home, he started making calls to other attorneys, hoping one of them would be able to see him that week. Vince had given him the name of a friend he knew, so Roy was hopeful he’d be able to get Johnny some help that week. He must have left over a dozen messages by the end of the day. Now, as he lay in bed awake, he thought about how awful it must be in prison, and wondered how his friend was holding up.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Johnny’s night was filled with dreams, the only escape he had from his harsh reality. In his arms at the moment was a beautiful nurse at Rampart that he had wanted to ask out before he left, but hadn’t gotten the chance. Now she was his, and her fingers made little trails down his smooth back as his mouth explored hers. Their kisses were intense, and he could hardly wait to get inside of her when he felt her mouth and tongue lower to his neck. He shivered at the sensation. She nibbled at his ear, then his neck, then her mouth went lower to his chest. The sensation gave him goose bumps. He longed for her mouth to move lower, but it stayed on his chest for a long while, until it no longer felt pleasurable, but ticklish and irritating. It started to drive him crazy, and abruptly, he awoke, blinking, to find himself once again staring at the springs on the bunk above him. He became aware that the tickling he had felt on his chest was still there, and horrified, he realized that something was on his chest – something crawling around. Something was moving under his shirt, and he jolted upward clawing at it, frantically brushing whatever it was off of him. He felt his stomach lurch and nearly vomited when he saw a large black cockroach fall out of his shirt and quickly crawl away. He tried to see where it went, but it was too dark. He closed his eyes, breathing shallowly from his mouth, his heart pounding. He sat frozen on his pad, afraid to move, too disgusted to lie back down for fear of the horrid creature crawling over him again. Johnny rested his elbows on his knees and laid his head down on top of them, trying to sleep. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, and he collapsed back down to the bed, the roach momentarily forgotten.

The night went on. It was near dawn, and Johnny was back to his dream. The beautiful nurse was back, and now she was doing exactly what Johnny had wanted her to do. It felt so good; Johnny wished it would go on forever. In his dream he was moaning, and he looked up at her long silky red hair as it fell about her naked shoulders. He entwined his fingers in it, then cupped her face with his hand. Her expression was one of ecstasy, her lips slightly parted as she softly panted, her hips moving up and down. He was about ready to climax when he suddenly felt a hot stale breath next to his face. It wasn’t pleasant, and suddenly the nurse was gone, and he was in a hot place, surrounded by grimy toothless prisoners. His eyes popped open to find the plump fleshy face of one of his cell-mates close to him, his rancid breath making Johnny’s eyes water.  He was one of the men who had been playing cards yesterday.

The overweight man’s hands were on Johnny, one of them down his pants, fondling him, and when Johnny realized what was happening, he gasped and jerked fiercely, pulling the man’s hand away. The man stayed where he was, once again reaching for Johnny, and Johnny painfully pushed his right hand into the man’s face, shoving him backward. Before Johnny could get out of his bunk, the man was back, and smiling, he said, “Quiero joderle. Usted me permitirá.” The only thing Johnny understood was ‘you’re going to let me’. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t going to let him do anything, and he drew his knee backward and planted his foot in his chest, pushing him away. Johnny was weak, but the man was heavy and out of shape, so Johnny’s foot managed to do the job.  The large Mexican lost his balance and landed on the floor with a grunt, which woke the other men, who lazily watched the scene unfold with amusement. Johnny painfully clamored out of his bunk, his eyes wide and wild with fear. All he could think of was that these five men together could easily overtake him, and the thought of that nauseated him. They never got the chance.

The sharp click of the heels of a security guard rapidly grew near, and before he even reached their cell, the lights flicked on. The guard stopped in front of the cell to observe what was going on, and stared steely-eyed for a long moment at the fat Mexican now getting up from the floor. His eyes moved to Johnny, then back to the fat one. “Sálgalo solo, usted imbécil. Moleste más de usted, y usted irá a la célula del castigo,” the guard spat at the Mexican.

Whatever he said seemed to anger the Mexican, but he backed off, his friends sneering at him. Johnny stood his ground, ready for another attack. The look in the fat Mexican’s eyes was frightening, and although Johnny didn’t understand what the man said to him under his breath, he recognized a threat when he heard one. 

A little while later, Johnny sat barefooted in the cafeteria eating his meager breakfast. He had been badly shaken by the incident in his cell, and was petrified that it would only be a matter of time before the fat Mexican would try again. He couldn’t get the vision of the man’s tattoo out of his mind. It was of a large knife with blood dripping off of it, and an ‘X” below it. A snake was wrapped around the X. Johnny tried not to think about the way the man’s hands had been touching his body, because it made him shiver with disgust when he did. The thought of what the filthy obese man had wanted to do sickened him. Having the cockroaches crawl on him would be like a picnic compared to that. Ugh! Johnny put his fork down, his appetite lost.

James sat diagonally from Johnny and peered up at him as he shoveled food into his mouth. “So, where’d they put ya?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“Where’s your cell?”

“Oh. First floor, near the end,” Johnny answered dully.

“I’m just up above you, second floor.”

“Oh.”

“What’re your cellmates like?”

Johnny snorted. He looked around and said in a low voice, “Oh, they’re a choice group all right. I don’t think any of ‘em have a full set of teeth. At least one of ‘em likes men.”

James raised his eyebrows. “One of ‘em try somethin’?”

Johnny looked down, wishing he hadn’t brought it up now. “Yeah. Fortunately the guard showed up at the right time.”

James nodded and resumed eating. “You gotta watch yourself in here.” He looked up. “You know this is one of the most dangerous prisons in Mexico?”

“Thanks for telling me. You just made my day.”

“One of the guys in my cell killed his mother ‘cause she didn’t fix him breakfast one morning.”
            Johnny looked up at him incredulously.

“He’ll probably be out of jail in less than fifteen years.”

“Fifteen years!”

“Yep. Punishments in Mexico are a lot shorter than in the United States.”

Johnny shook his head in disbelief.

“Two other guys in my cell are doing time for selling drugs, and the last one is in for assaulting his girlfriend.”

“How’d you find all that out?”
            “I just asked ‘em.”

“Huh. I guess your Spanish is a lot better than mine.”

“I speak it pretty good, just not real fluently. Sylvia taught me a lot.”

“Doesn’t look like Sylvia’s gonna come through for ya,” Johnny commented.

James looked glum. “Yeah. The bitch. Man, I miss her though, you know?”

Johnny nodded.

“Man, the thought of spending a year in this shit hole sure is depressing.”

Johnny was surprised. “A year? That’s all you got?”

“Yep. They were harder on you because of the drug charge.”

Johnny sucked in a deep breath and then let it out. “Man, I don’t know how I’m gonna handle this place for three years.” Or four. Or five.

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing, John. Nobody’s gonna fuck with me while I’m here.”

“What makes you so sure?” Johnny asked.

James leaned forward and said softly, “I’ve got a black belt in karate, and I used to be a fighter.”

Johnny tried to keep the skeptical look from his eyes. “A fighter, huh? Like, a boxer?”

“Yeah. I trained for five years.”

“So, uh, how come you’re not fighting.”

“Well, I was good, but not quite good enough I guess. My trainer dumped me after I lost my third fight.”

“Oh,” was all Johnny said. He glanced up at James and noticed his build was pretty solid and muscular, solid enough to verify his claim to be a fighter. He supposed that James could be telling the truth.

Breakfast having ended, they got up to leave. James noticed Johnny’s bare feet. “Hey, where’s your shoes?” he asked.

Johnny looked down, embarrassed that he was such a wimp hadn’t even been able to keep his cell-mates from stealing his shoes. “They mysteriously disappeared overnight, along with the rest of my stuff.” Anger welled up in him at the thought of it.

“Well, you’re in luck – that is, if you’ve got any money.”

“What do you mean?”

“Today is canteen day. You can buy yourself a pair along with the other stuff you need.”

“They took my money away from me.”

“They probably put it into an account for you here at the prison. That’s what they usually do, I’m told.”

“You think so?”

“Maybe,” James answered.

James had been partially correct. When Johnny got to the canteen, he discovered that he did indeed have an account with money in it, however, it was less than half of what he had put in his wallet when he left LA. He had brought two hundred dollars in cash with him and a credit card. The canteen worker informed him that he had about five hundred pesos to spend, which he calculated was somewhere about fifty dollars of American money. Apparently, someone had taken it upon themselves to keep the rest. He bought himself a cheap pair of tennis shoes, not nearly as nice as the Nikes he had had, and some other essential items. He decided he would just have to sleep with his shoes on, and find somewhere to hide the other stuff. The weight of all of it hit him again as he was walking back to his cell, and he once again became overwhelmingly depressed.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The A-shift was back at work again, and everyone was anxious to hear what Roy had been able to find out about Johnny. Everyone had slumped down in their seats with disappointment when Roy had told them he hadn’t been able to get an appointment with Barney until Monday. Roy was finally able to set up an appointment with one other attorney, after countless phone calls, but for some reason, Roy had an unexplained feeling that this attorney wasn’t going to be able to help him. He didn’t know why, maybe it was the lackadaisical attitude of the secretary on the telephone, he wasn’t sure.

Marco hadn’t fared any better. His cousin couldn’t get a hold of his friend, but Marco was still hoping he would get a call as soon as his cousin was able to reach the man.

The telephone rang in the station just before three o’clock. Captain Stanley answered it; the person on the other end of the line had a thick Spanish accent, and asked for Marco. “Marco,” Captain Stanley called to the man sitting on the couch with Henry, “phone’s for you; long distance.”

Marco went to answer the phone, and everyone became quiet, hoping it was his cousin with information.

“Hello?” Marco answered. The crew listened intently to the one-sided conversation.

“¡Hola, Josef! ¿Cómo hace usted? Da las gracias para llamar. ¿Ella le dijo por qué llamé yo? Sí…” Marco became quiet while he listened.

Chet and Roy looked at each other, wondering if the other had understood anything Marco said. “Sí,” they heard him say again.

“Uh, huh,” Marco said in English, then glanced over at the guys, a worried expression on his face. Roy sat up straighter in his chair, as if straining to understand the significance of the look on Marco’s face.

“Ah. Entiendo. Eso es demasiado malo.” Marco sighed, continuing to listen. “Sí. Gracias. Hacemos. Adiós, Josef.” Marco slowly hung up the phone and turned to look at the others.

Captain Stanley raised his eyebrows. “Well?” he asked.

“Ah, that was my cousin calling,” Marco answered.

“What did he say, Marco?” Roy got the uneasy feeling he didn’t want to know.

Marco pulled out a chair and sat down. “My cousin wasn’t able to talk to his friend.”

“Why not?” Chet asked. “What was all that conversation about?”

Marco sighed, not really wanting to break the news. “He couldn’t talk to his friend because…his friend is dead.”

“Dead?” Three firemen’s voices rang out at once.

“Yeah. I hate to tell you guys this, but…”

“What, Marco?” Roy demanded.

“Well, my cousin’s friend…was killed by some inmates in prison. The same one Johnny’s in.”

Roy’s eyes grew wide and his mouth went dry. He could suddenly feel his heart beating fast.  Cap wearily ran his hand across his face and shakily muttered, “Oh, boy.” Chet looked at Marco incredulously, and for once, couldn’t find a word to say. They all watched in stunned silence as Roy turned and walked out of the room as if in a trance.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was Thursday. Only five days had passed since Johnny’s arrest, but it felt like an eternity. All Johnny could think about was how he was going to get through the next few hours, much less the next few years. That thought was incomprehensible at the moment.

During the first few days, his thoughts had been obsessed with escape, because he didn’t think he’d be able to take being confined with a bunch of savages for three years. A combination of common sense and observation, however, quickly dashed his fantasies.  Even though it outwardly appeared that the prison was not very well guarded, Johnny had to ask himself why prisoners who were much sneakier and more ruthless than he hadn’t attempted to break out. Or maybe they had, and they’d been shot.  Being shot to death didn’t sound very attractive to him, and right now just surviving was more than enough to fill Johnny’s plate. Thoughts of escape quickly dissolved, or at least recessed to the back burner in his mind, as he tried to keep his sanity. Now Johnny shoveled his tasteless dinner into his mouth along with everyone else in the cafeteria, trying as much as possible to stay away from everyone, except James.

While Johnny’s normal behavior was to be friendly to everyone, here he found he could trust no one. How could he trust a bunch of murderers, thieves, and rapists? Over the past few days, he had observed the intense hatred some of the inmates exhibited toward others, including himself. He’d been subjected to numerous bigoted insults and obscene remarks, and found out that Americans were generally hated. Blacks had it worse; they were continually harassed and threatened. The prisoners seemed to divide themselves up into ethnic groups, many of them members of gangs. Their many tattoos signified what group they were part of, and many symbolized the crimes they had committed. So far, Johnny had been purposely tripped, stolen from, pushed around, and harassed on a regular basis. Sometimes food was stolen off his plate, the look on the perpetrator’s face being so vicious and menacing that Johnny kept quiet about it. Just looking at them made him fear for his life. He tried to ignore them, but became increasingly aware that by staying neutral he could be making things much more dangerous for himself. Still, he loathed joining one of their racist groups. One thing was clear: the meanest and strongest were the survivors.

Johnny glanced up from his plate to see one of the prisoners staring at him. His mouth hung open, and his tongue wagged back and forth obscenely over his bottom lip. Johnny quickly looked away. Suddenly, his attention was drawn away from the lewd gesture when he heard a commotion at the next table, and realized that one of the prisoners was gagging. Instinctively, he looked around for the source of the distress and spotted a man hunched over his plate clutching at his throat and chest, his face turning blue. Two of the other prisoners were shaking him, trying to slap his back, to no avail. Years of paramedic training forced an automatic response, and Johnny hopped up from the table. In one fluid motion, he was immediately beside the inmate. Pushing one of the men out of the way, he ordered, “Move out of the way!” Caught off guard, the man backed away, and Johnny proceeded to position himself behind the choking man. He wrapped his arms around him, positioning his right fist just below his ribcage, and his left on top of his right. He administered three quick upward thrusts to the man’s gut, and on the third try, the piece of food dislodged from the man’s throat, and fell onto the table. The other men at the table looked up in disbelief at Johnny, while the choking man took in big gulps of air.

The security guards, seeing what was going on, thought Johnny was attacking the man, and ran over. Before Johnny even had the chance to remove his arms from around the man, three security guards yanked him away. They then manhandled his arms behind his back, and cuffed him.

Trying to defend himself, he struggled and yelled, “Hey, let me go! He was choking, man! I was just trying to help him!” Indignant, he continued to try to wriggle free. Two of the guards held each of his arms tightly, then the third came around in front of Johnny. Johnny’s jaw dropped and his brow furrowed in disbelief as he witnessed the man draw back his fist and drive it into Johnny’s abdomen. With an ‘ungh!’, all the air was forced from Johnny’s lungs, then he felt two more paralyzing blows to his midsection. Doubled over in pain, they dragged him from the room.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was Friday. The engine crew pulled into the station after battling a minor trash fire. Charlie Dwyer, Roy’s partner, was busy fixing the evening meal, while Roy sat quietly at the table absorbed in his own thoughts. His fingers were wrapped loosely around a cold cup of coffee, and he was intimately examining some unseen thing on the table a few feet away from him.

Captain Stanley strode into the kitchen, and peeked over Charlie’s shoulder at the dinner he was fixing, while pouring himself a cup of coffee. Turning, he saw the desolate expression on Roy’s face, and decided to join him at the table. He pulled out a chair and sat down next to him. Hank leaned his elbow on the table and rubbed at his mouth with his hand. Gage, he thought sadly, you’re going to send all of us to an early grave, especially your partner.  Hank scrutinized his senior paramedic for a moment, and saw the lines of fatigue in his face, feeling guilty for possibly being a contributor to those lines of fatigue. After all, HE was the one who sent Gage off on his vacation from hell. 

Breaking the ice, he asked, “You’re meeting with Barney Oleson on Monday, right?”

Roy turned slowly to look at his captain. This was nearly the first time anyone had said anything about Johnny all week. After the letdown Roy had experienced on Wednesday when the attorney he’d had an appointment with didn’t show, everyone seemed to be pretty down. They were all worried, but knew Roy was especially troubled about Johnny. So, knowing there was absolutely nothing they could do until Roy talked to the attorney on Monday, they had tried not to bring up the subject, in a feeble attempt to keep Roy’s mind off of it. Unbeknownst to them, Roy was wishing they would talk about it. He felt like he was bearing all the burden of the worry himself. He knew they were just trying to protect him, but just the same, Roy thought it would have helped a little to know the others were worried too; well, he knew they were, he just would have liked to hear them express it.

The rest of the crew were trying to purge the thoughts from their minds for their own selfish reasons, for no one wanted to be reminded of the horrors that might be taking place at that very moment to one of their brothers.

The crew’s lack of verbalization on the subject didn’t keep Roy from thinking about it. Every shift that Roy walked into the station and Johnny was not there was a reminder of what had happened. Every time Roy looked at Johnny’s replacement, it made him wonder what was happening to Johnny at that very moment. Every time Roy sat down in front of his locker without his partner sitting next to him, it called attention to his absence. Roy had even taken to start tapping Johnny’s Smokey the bear poster every morning, in a superstitious gesture of luck directed at Johnny.

“Yeah,” was all Roy said in answer to Cap’s question.

Hank patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. “Roy, everything is going to work out okay.”

“Cap, I….I just feel so…guilty.”

Hank wrinkled his brows. “Guilty? Why? You had nothing to do with Gage being arrested. If anything, I should feel guilty. I was the one who ordered him to take a vacation.”

“I, I know that, Cap.” Roy turned to face the Cap. “It’s just that Johnny’s been in jail now for almost a week! He hasn’t heard anything from any of us. I’ve been trying to help him, but I keep running into dead ends!  He’s got no family to help him. We’re his only family. I’m his only family. And we haven’t been able to contact him. He probably thinks we’ve forgotten about him, or worse, that maybe we just don’t give a damn. Can you imagine how he must be feeling?”

Hank nodded. “Of course I can. Don’t think I haven’t had those exact same thoughts myself. It’s just that I know it’s useless to stew about it all day. There’s nothing I can do about it. There’s nothing any of us can do about it.”

“We could go see him,” Roy said softly. “One of us should go see him. I should.”

Hank sighed. “It’s a long way down there, Roy. Would you drive?”

Roy shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s probably over a thousand miles. I guess I’d fly. Tickets at the last minute like this would be expensive. An attorney’s going to be expensive.” Roy sighed deeply, worried about the money. “Cap, if Johnny has to stay in jail for an extended period of time, will he continue to get a paycheck?”

Stanley looked down, pursing his lips together. “I doubt it, Roy. If he’s not exonerated then I imagine the department will terminate his employment. Even if we all believe Johnny is innocent, they’re not going to continue to pay a convict.”

Roy looked crestfallen. “I was afraid of that.” He shook his head. “It’s just not fair, Cap! Johnny’s a good man, and honest man. After everything he’s been to the department, the loyalty he’s shown, and everything he’s done for the paramedic program, how could they just cut him off like that?”

“Roy, you’re preachin’ to the choir here. Look, if it gets to that point, you know I’ll do everything humanly possible to persuade headquarters not to let him go. But, I’ll be honest with you; I don’t think it’ll do any good. They’re gonna have to follow procedure.”

Roy looked somberly into his captain’s eyes. “Cap, Johnny’s got a mortgage, and bills to pay. What’s going to happen to all that?”

“I don’t know, Roy. I guess those are some things you’ll have to ask the attorney.”

Roy leaned his cheek against his fist glumly.

Chet walked over and set a dish down on the table. He had been listening to the whole conversation. “You know, I think there’s a very simple solution to this problem.”

Roy and Cap looked up at Chet. “And what is that, Kelly?”

“Well, if someone could just find Johnny’s suitcase, wouldn’t that let him off the hook?”

They thought about that a moment. “Yeah, I suppose it would, Chet. But how are we supposed to find his suitcase? I would assume they already looked for it at the time of John’s arrest.”

“I know!” Marco said. “What if we call the airline? Or the airport in Acapulco? Has anyone checked those things out?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Roy said, standing up. “Marco, do you think you could….”

Marco smiled. “Not a problem, Roy. Cap, would it be okay to make a long distance call from the station?”

“Have at it, pal,” the Cap said, and standing added, “why don’t you come into my office and we’ll make the call from there.”

Everyone except Charlie, who stayed in the kitchen to ready the dinner, crowded into the Cap’s office, their moods lightened momentarily at the thought that maybe now they could actually play a part in doing something to help Johnny.

Their hopes were quickly dashed, however, after Marco talked with the airport authorities. They told him they would look in their lost and found for the missing bag, but that they weren’t optimistic about finding it, especially since a week had already gone by. They informed him that they would notify him if the bag was found. A similar response was given by the airline, saying that they would initiate a search for the missing suitcase, and that they would call if it was found. Marco even went as far as calling the Acapulco police once more to check with them if they had found it, to no avail. They had no information. When Charlie Dwyer called to the men that dinner was ready, they trudged begrudgingly into the day room, all having lost their appetite.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Johnny lay alone on the hard concrete floor curled up on his side in a fetal position. It was pitch black; the only indication of light coming from around a small opening in the bottom of the steel door, which was briefly opened twice a day to slide food in to him.

He’d unwittingly found out just what the ‘punishment cell’ was. Nothing more than a barren concrete isolation room, it had only an open commode and ceilings too low for a grown man to be able to stand up in. Johnny would never forget the terror he had felt when being forced to duck down, then being shoved inside this dark hole, and hearing the heavy steel door boom shut behind him.

The first day had been awful, and by the afternoon, Johnny sat sweating, his body aching from lying on the hard floor, the feelings of claustrophobia threatening to overwhelm him. Resigned to his destiny, he’d spent quite a bit of time exploring the room with his one good hand, for lack of anything else to do. He told himself that he had to keep his mind busy, and tried to psyche himself into remaining calm, but it wasn’t easy to do. Johnny reminded himself that being in this dark hole was infinitely better than being back in his cell at the mercy of the other men. At least here, no one could touch him.

He spent hours occupying himself by trying to remember every rescue he had been on. He divided them up first into fire rescues, high-rise rescues, climbing rescues, water rescues, and rescues in tight places. Somewhere half-way through that he had fallen asleep, he wasn’t sure for how long. When he had awoken, he smelled food, and could tell that his dinner had been delivered, but when he picked up the plate and went to eat it, he felt a large bug crawl up his arm. It had been sampling Johnny’s dinner for itself. With a sudden jerk, Johnny brushed the large insect off his arm.  Sickened and distraught, he had thrown the meal into the hole that was his commode, then vomited into it after not being able to prevent the feeling of bile rising up from his gut. The trembling in his stomach moved to his shoulders, and he found he was unable stop himself from breaking down. His shoulders shook silently as the tears finally came, an unwanted but needed release.

He began to lose track of how long he had been held prisoner in the tiny room; before he had been able to figure out the time and passing of the days by the rising and falling temperatures. Nights were cold, and he shivered much of the time. By morning, it seemed slightly more tolerable, and by afternoon, the heat inside was stifling, causing him to sweat and feel short of breath. As the days wore on, the loneliness and isolation grew nearly intolerable.

He estimated that he was on his fourth day, but wasn’t really sure any more. Reality was waning, and the days were beginning to swirl together. Johnny drifted in and out of sleep, as there was nothing else to do. While awake, abstract thoughts plagued him, and he wondered if he was going crazy. Maybe they were planning to keep him in here forever until one day he just withered away and died. He was beginning to hope that day would come soon.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roy fidgeted in his seat in the reception area of Barney’s office. He looked at his watch. It was nine-thirty; he had been waiting a half hour already. Finally the door to Barney’s office opened, and Barney Oleson came out to greet him.

“Hello, Roy,” he said jovially, shaking his hand. “Good to see you again.”

Roy reciprocated the handshake, and took a seat in front of Barney’s desk. Barney perched himself on the edge of his desk while Roy explained everything that was going on with Johnny. When he was finished, Barney sat with his arms crossed and took a deep breath, then blew it out.

“My secretary, Susan, explained a bit of this to me on the telephone last week, so I’ve already done some research for you.”

Roy listened with bated breath. “Is there anything we can do?” he asked hopefully. He had been so certain that Barney would be able to come up with something, but now, seeing his somber expression made Roy feel tense.

“Well,” he sighed, “I’ve made some calls and talked to some people at the Acapulco police station. I’m sorry, Roy, but I’m afraid there aren’t a lot of options available.”

This was not what Roy had waited a week to hear. “Nothing?” he asked incredulously. “Well, what about bail?”

“Okay, Roy, I’m going to lay the whole cold hard truth on you. First, there is no bail for drug traffickers in Mexico.”

Roy suddenly felt sick to his stomach and found it hard to find his voice. “What?”

“That’s right, there’s no bail.” Barney picked up a booklet and began reading from it. “Every person who transports, or attempts to import into the state or to give away any controlled substance which is a narcotic drug, unless upon the written prescription of a physician, must be punished by imprisonment in the state prison for three, four, or five years.” He tossed the pamphlet onto his desk.

“Three, four, or five years?” Roy’s voice raised up a notch.

“That’s right. Mexico’s Office of the Attorney General is the central coordinating authority for drug control, and these are the rules. They’re coming down hard on drug offenders. Lately the police have been given expanded powers to arrest and hold suspected criminals in custody. There’s also been an enormous increase in the military presence at the border. The United States military even trains the Mexican police in sharp shooting, and other maneuvers, and they have orders to ‘shoot to kill’ any suspected drug traffickers as they cross the border.”

Roy felt overwhelmed trying to take it all in. This was just getting worse and worse by the minute.

“Many people don’t realize, Roy, when you cross the Mexican border, you’ve just crossed into a Third World country. Americans have to abide by their laws, and any questionable behavior will be checked out. In Mexico, one is deemed guilty until proven innocent.”

That’s exactly what Marco said, Roy thought.

“Now, also, there are no jury trials in Mexico, which, in the U.S. is a fundamental right in most cases. The judges control the process. Mexican judges have a much more active role in developing a case then do U.S. judges. They narrow the legal and factual issues, select witnesses, and gather evidence, making it nearly impossible if the defendant wants his lawyer to have control over his case. In many cases, the judge never even sees the defendant, and issues his decision based on written record. In John’s case, the judge reviewed the evidence and administered the sentence as he saw fit.”

Barney could see the profound devastation in Roy’s face. “I did try one other avenue, Roy. I contacted the American embassy in Mexico City, and I’m waiting to hear back from one of the officials there. But American officials are not allowed to interfere with the Mexican judicial system at all. So, I don’t have high hopes. The embassy can help American citizens obtain legal assistance, but they won’t be able to get John released.”

Roy stared down at the floor, speechless; a mixture of dread and fury spreading through him like a hot fire. “There’s got to be something,” he said through clenched teeth. He looked up angrily. “Damn it, Barney! Johnny’s innocent! He’s not a drug dealer. He would no sooner do drugs than he would jump off a cliff!”

“I know, Roy. The one time I met him I could tell he was a decent guy. Look, let’s go through this one more time. Why don’t you tell me again exactly what happened to the best of your knowledge, and I’ll see if I missed anything.”

Roy slumped back into his chair and told Barney everything he could possibly think of about Johnny’s Mexico trip. When he had finished, Barney silently shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, Roy. I don’t think there’s anything I can do from here. If John’s suitcase had been recovered, that would be a different story. Now, if you want, I could go down there and nose around and see if I can come up with anything. But it’ll cost you.”

“How much?” Roy was almost afraid to ask.

“Seven hundred dollars a day, and that’s giving you a break since you’re a fellow firefighter.”

Roy’s heart sank. “Seven hundred?” he echoed. It took him nearly three weeks to earn that much, and he had bills to pay with usually nothing to spare when he was done. Swallowing, Roy stood up feeling totally defeated and depressed. He looked up at Barney, his shoulders slumped, “I’ll…I’ll let you know. I guess I’d better be going. Thanks, Barney.”

Barney shook hands with him once more. “You’re welcome, Roy. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. You’ll let me know how things go won’t you?”

Roy nodded gloomily. “Sure,” and with that, he turned and slowly walked out of Barney’s office, the only chance for Johnny’s freedom now lost in the wind.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Sometime that afternoon, the steel door clanked and unexpectedly swung open, and intense bright light poured into the room, assaulting Johnny’s eyes. He squeezed them shut in agony while holding his hands over his shut lids to block the light.

“Salga, verdín Americano,” he heard someone order. Johnny tried to open his eyes a crack and peak through his hand. The silhouette of a large security guard stood in front of the door, his legs spread menacingly, his hand resting on the gun in his belt. “Salga!” the guard ordered again. Johnny assumed that meant he was supposed to come out.

His body ached fiercely from laying on the hard concrete for four days, and he felt weak as a kitten. Barely able to crawl out, he stumbled on his first step and his knees nearly collapsed as he tried to follow the man’s orders. The guard handcuffed Johnny and pulled him away, and he walked hunched over, trying to straighten his back. The large Mexican guard escorted him back to his cell, where he proceeded to collapse onto his meager bed pad, alone for the moment while the others were at dinner.

Sometime later, Johnny heard the other inmates shuffle back into their cells, and once again, listened to the harsh echo of the heavy steel door being slammed shut. His eyes were closed, and he pretended to be asleep, only so that he wouldn’t have to face his cell-mates, especially the fat one. His tennis shoes remained on his feet, and he kept his personal belongings in a bag under his mattress close to the wall, where it couldn’t be reached. After the lights were out that night, he lay in his bunk staring into the darkness. A cold chill was in the air, and he shivered, pulling his thread-bare blanket around him. Unsupported by the flimsy mattress, the bones in his spine sunk through the pad and rested uncomfortably on the concrete. He hadn’t felt this sore and achy since he’d contracted that monkey virus several years ago. And tired; he was so tired, but he couldn’t sleep.

He rolled onto his side, trying to relieve his aching back, his shoulder now squashed uncomfortably against the hard floor through the thin mattress. An even deeper depression had sunk its claws into him now, and was clutching at his soul. He swallowed; he was beyond tears now. His heart felt so heavy, and he didn’t even try to stop the despair that overwhelmed him. A thought came to him that he had been trying to avoid for days, but couldn’t be ignored any longer. He had been in captivity for ten days now, and hadn’t heard from anyone. Not a letter, not a message, not a phone call, he’d heard nothing from any of his friends. His face cracked into a weak grin when he considered that last thought. A phone call? Right! Like I’m gonna get a phone call in here. Yeah, they’ll just come down to my cell with a phone in their hand and say, ‘Gage, you’ve got a phone call’. The vision that scene conjured up in his mind was so ridiculous he nearly burst out laughing. Seconds later, that smile fell away from his face. Gage, you’re losin’ it, he told himself. Maybe if I go crazy I’ll be able to deal with this place. Yeah, maybe that’s how everyone in here tolerates it; they just lose their minds, then they don’t care any more.

Thoughts once again turned to the station, and the life he had lost. He wondered what they were all doing right at that moment. Maybe they were at a fire. Maybe they were inside some burning structure and the hoses were blasting away at the beast. Johnny could almost smell the smoke and feel the searing heat of the fire through his heavy turnout coat, could nearly feel the familiar sweat as it trickled down his back as he battled the raging flames. It was a feeling like no other, and those were the times he felt most alive.

Maybe they weren’t at a fire. Maybe they were all at the station, sitting around on a quiet night watching a movie, enjoying popcorn. Johnny recalled fondly now all the nights he had stayed up with Chet watching some bad B-flick, and a bittersweet feeling ran through him.

Maybe Roy was out on a run with the squad. He could be helping a heart attack victim right now, or maybe he was at Rampart enjoying a cup of late evening coffee, chatting with Dixie. Oh, how he’d give anything to be there now; he felt such an ache in his heart, and an emptiness in the pit of his stomach to go along with it.

I wonder who Roy’s partner is now? Man, I hope it’s not Brice. I hope Roy gets someone good for a partner. Johnny swallowed as a not so pleasant thought occurred to him. Maybe he’ll get someone he likes better than me. I know sometimes I really annoy him. He’s often told me as much. Maybe…maybe he’s glad I’m gone…maybe……nah, what am I thinking? Roy’s my best friend!

 I wonder what he thought when he heard about my arrest? I’m sure the Cap told everyone. Man, I hope Roy doesn’t think I’m guilty. I hope he knows me well enough to know I would never do what they accused me of.

What if he does think I’m guilty? What if he thinks I really did it? Maybe he’s wondering, I mean, all the evidence was against me! What if everyone believes it! Maybe that’s why I haven’t heard from anyone!

How long has it been? I think about ten days. It is a long way down here. It would be hard for any of them to get away and come to rescue my pathetic butt, not to mention expensive. Wouldn’t they at least have tried to bail me out by now? Maybe the bail is too high. It’s not like any of my friends make that much money, but still……maybe they’ve written me off. Oh, God, he closed his eyes. Oh please, God, don’t let my friends have written me off. They’re all I have! They’re the only chance I’ve got  to get out of here. Johnny felt a lump growing in his throat as it constricted, and moisture building in his eyes. What if they don’t come? What am I gonna do?

For a moment, he imagined everyone at Rampart finding out about his incarceration. Dixie’s blue eyes would be wide with disbelief at the news, and her mouth would drop open. Doctor Early would slip his hands in his pockets and shake his head; Johnny could almost hear him saying, ‘I never would have believed it of John’. Johnny could envision the somber expression on Doctor Brackett’s face and the twitch in his mouth as Dixie told him. Dr. Morton, well, he would just shrug and say, ‘Gage is always getting himself into something’.

It almost made him nauseous to think about the gossip that must be circulating about him by now. It was probably the talk of the hospital and the department. John Gage, in prison, for drug trafficking! Won’t everyone have a field day with that!

Then another sickening thought crossed him mind. If I survive this, and I get out some day, I won’t have a job. I’ll be disgraced, no one will hire me. My career is over. There’s nothing I ever wanted to do more than be a fireman. I’ll never hold a hose again, never do another rescue, never start another IV again on someone to save their life. My house will be gone by the time I’m outta here; the bank will repossess it. If I have any friends left, they’ll have gone on with their own lives. Roy’s kids’ll be teenagers; they’ll have forgotten all about their ‘Uncle Johnny’ by then. They won’t want me around by then anyway. I’ll have a permanent record; a permanent stain on my character. No one’s going to want to have anything to do with me. Who’s going to want to hang around and ex-convict? I might as well be dead.  I won’t have anything left.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“So, when are you going, Roy?” Chet asked.

“Saturday,” he stated.

The men of A-shift sat around the large table in the kitchen of the firehouse discussing Johnny. Roy had just relayed all the information about his appointment with Barney Oleson to his crewmates, and they were each just as disappointed as he had been.

“What does Joanne think about all this?” Captain Stanley asked.

“Well, we talked it over last night for a long time. We know it’s going to be expensive for me to fly, but we can’t just let him stay down there and let him think we’ve forgotten about him. Joanne loves Johnny,” Roy looked down at the table solemnly, “he’s…practically a member of our family. The kids miss him already, and he’s not even been gone two weeks yet.” Roy looked back up and around at the men. “He deserves to know what’s going on; I need to tell him what the attorney said.”

“Man, I’d hate to see his face when that happens,” Marco commented.

“I’m not looking forward to it,” Roy said solemnly. “I’m worried….that he’s okay…you know? I just want to see for myself. If nothing else, I can offer him some moral support.”

Everyone nodded. “You know, Roy, maybe we could each take turns visiting him,” Chet offered. “Maybe one of us could go down maybe once a month or something.”

“Yeah,” Marco chimed in, “you know, that’s a great idea, Chet!”

“Thanks, Marco. Maybe after Roy gets back, one of us could plan on going next month.”

Captain Stanley smiled warmly at his men. They were a tight-knit group, a family of friends who were like brothers, and his heart swelled with pride at how his men were sticking together to help one of their own. “I think that’s an excellent idea,” Hank said. He paused a moment, thinking. “You know, Roy, I’ve been thinking about what you said about the attorney going down there and checking things out. Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”

Roy looked up in surprise. “Cap, do you know how much that’s going to cost? I can’t afford that. None of us can.”

“Well, now wait a minute; I have an idea. Suppose we have a little, ah, fund-raiser of some sort to raise money for Johnny’s legal help? I’m sure we’d get donations from lots of guys in the department and from Rampart as well. We could use that money to pay any legal expenses for Gage, and anything left over could be used for us to go down and visit him. What do you think?”

All the men visibly brightened. “That’s a great idea, Cap,” Mike said. “What kind of fund-raiser would you want to have?”

“How about a party?” Chet chimed in enthusiastically. “Everyone likes parties!”

Marco scowled at Chet. “A party?” he said sarcastically. “How would a party help Johnny?”

“Well, we’d charge admission, of course. All benefits would go into the ‘John Gage fireman’s fund’. Maybe a big shindig with food and drinks, maybe a little baseball, you know.”

Hank Stanley slapped Chet on the back. “You know, Kelly, I like it. For once, you’ve got a really good idea there!”

“Uh, thanks, Cap.” Chet was pleased, sort of, at the compliment, although he wasn’t entirely sure it was a compliment.

“I like that idea, Chet,” Roy stated. “We could have it at my house if you want. Maybe everyone could bring something to eat or drink. I’ll talk to Joanne about it.”

Captain Stanley nodded. “Sounds good, Roy. Let us know what she says. We could also have it at the park if you don’t want the mess at your house. Now why don’t you guys start spreading the word and see what kind of reception you get from everyone, and then we’ll set a date. Now, gentlemen,” he said, slapping his palms on the table, “it’s time to get to work!”

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was Wednesday. It was a day that Johnny had actually been looking forward to, because it was one of two days where he would be able to shower. He felt absolutely grimy, having missed Sunday’s shower when he was in the punishment cell.

The last two days had passed uneventfully, at least for Johnny. There had a been a commotion yesterday when one of the inmates had hung himself inside his cell.  Prison guards and police had swarmed the cellblock for hours tearing the cell apart after they found his body hanging, managing to add a little unwanted excitement to the prisoners’ day.

It was evening, and it was finally Johnny’s cell’s inmates turn to shower, along with several other cells. Johnny trudged into the large bathroom along with the others. Standing in front of the mirror, he examined himself as he prepared to shave. He was slightly shocked at his haggard appearance, for a moment not believing it was really his own image he was seeing. A week’s worth of scraggly stubble shadowed the lower part of his face, and his eyes looked hollow and bloodshot. His hair was a tangled and dirty mess, his lip still slightly swollen from the blows he had received. The bruises on his face were fading, but still somewhat apparent. Man, if this is what I look like now, what am I gonna look like a few years from now? Sighing, he soaped his face, and began to shave. When that was finished, he brushed his teeth twice, not satisfied that he had scrubbed them enough the first time. With those chores accomplished, he peeled off his clothes, wrapped a towel around his waist, and stepped into the shower area.

He tried to pick one away from the other men, hung up his towel, and turned on the faucet. He shivered when at first the water came out icy cold, then stepped all the way in when it finally became warm. It felt heavenly. Standing under the soothing water, he closed his eyes, letting the warmth ease into his aching muscles and bruises. Next, he shampooed his hair, twice, like his teeth, then finished washing. Steam swirled around him, and he was determined to stand under the blissful cascade until the last possible minute. Finally relaxing, he remained standing under the shower with his eyes closed, imagining not only the sweat and dirt, but also his worries washing down the drain. Keeping his eyes closed had been a mistake.

Out of the blue, a beefy hand was slapped across his mouth, and he felt strong hands latch on to his arms on both sides. His eyes snapped open in panic as he was pulled out of the stream of water. He saw the fist coming but was unable to stop it when it smashed into his stomach, forcing the breath out of him, and doubling him over. The hands continued to hold him by the arms as more blows landed in his mid-section. Pain exploded in his lower chest, and he felt something snap. Then, like a limp doll, he was pushed into a waiting pair of hands. He caught a glimpse of two of the men just before another huge fist crashed into his mouth, then he was tossed to another man. Two more blows landed on his face, and he felt a wet warmth gush from his nose, followed by white stars dancing in his vision. After that, he was dragged away and forced face down onto something cold and hard, a counter-top maybe, and held there.

In one mind-numbing, gut wrenching instant, he knew exactly what was going to happen to him. He’d heard about it happening in prison with disinterest, never comprehending that someday he would have to face it. With a blood-curdling yell, he screamed, “Nnnoooo!” over and over again, his teeth ground together, until a hand was clamped over his mouth. He fought kicking and clawing like a caged tiger, with every ounce of energy he had, yet he wasn’t able to overcome the strength of five men. The pain in his abdomen made it almost impossible to move without feeling like knives were being shoved into him. His only defense, he bit deeply into the hand clamped over his mouth, and it was quickly yanked away, punctuated by a howl coming from a man somewhere behind him.

He felt his head being grabbed from both sides by his hair and lifted up, only to be forced downward and slammed into the surface he was lying on. The second time, consciousness waned briefly, and he went limp, but reality poured back into him with sickening clarity as he felt hands on him from behind.

Johnny wasn’t sure how many of the men had violated him before he passed out. Somewhere between the second and the third man, everything began to whirl, and then blur, and he let go, his last thought of being thankful that he was slipping away to end the torture.

Water dripping inside his ear brought him to a twilight level of consciousness, and he peeled one eye open, distantly aware that he was lying on the wet tiled shower room floor. The only noise he could hear was the hissing sound of several showers that someone had neglected to turn off. The water was now cold as it meandered its way around his body, trying to make its way to the drain. He shivered convulsively, and lay there unmoving, watching the red blood as it mixed with the cold water of the shower, then as it turned pink, then snaked down the drain. He realized vaguely that that was his life going down the drain, but it didn’t bother him any more. The blood could keep coming for all he cared, until he had none left. He wanted to die; he didn’t care about living any longer, not if life had to be like this. The water blurred, and began to swirl, and he let go again. His world collapsed into darkness.

Feeling himself falling, he jerked his arms outward to stop himself, his hands clenching onto something cold and metal. One eye opened. The other wouldn’t follow suit. He lay atop cool sheets, positioned slightly on his side. The slow drip of an IV bottle wavered into focus, then back out. I’m at Rampart, he rationalized. For some reason, he was in pain, quite a lot of it. Man, I hurt. Maybe they’ll give me some MS. Wonder why I’m here? I don’t remember anything. I’ll ask Roy.

He felt a cold sensation on his face. Someone laid an ice pack on his cheek. His eyes wandered to that someone. Pretty girl. Don’t remember seeing her before. Must be new here. Blinking, he focused a little more clearly on the young female. Boy, she’s young. I wonder if she’s a candy striper.

Her long black hair was pulled back into a braid behind her, her sad face set in a serious expression. She looked no older than seventeen or eighteen. Her large soulful eyes took in the battered man. She was not naive to what had happened; she’d seen it before. Looking down at him, she said, “¿Cómo se siente usted?”

Puzzled, he stared at her, uncomprehending. What’d she say? Funny, sounded like…Spanish.

“Iré obtiene el médico.” She got up to leave.

Huh? Something about a doctor…. His one eye followed her, and took in his surroundings. He was in a large room full of small railed beds; some were occupied by men. Above the pale yellow walls, several weathered ceiling fans slowly turned their worn blades, wobbling slightly. He noticed the ceiling was cracked, and little bits of plaster were missing everywhere. Oddly, the windows had bars on them. It didn’t make sense. It sure didn’t look like Rampart. The room was hot, and Johnny felt a single drop of sweat trickle down his side and soak into the sheet beneath him. Man, I hurt. What happened?

Just as his eyes began to slide shut again, his focus fell on something that gave him a jolt. Two men, dressed like some sort of police officer, stood at attention on either side of a doorway, their hands resting on their firearms. Unexpectedly, like a tidal wave bursting through a floodgate, his memory caught up with him. Squeezing his eyes closed, he turned his head abruptly, desperately wanting to block out the images that were rapidly assaulting his consciousness, but they wouldn’t go away. He inhaled sharply, and could feel the sudden increase of his heart rate as it pounded through his chest, and the beads of perspiration popping out. Distantly, he knew that his blood pressure was rising. Johnny brought the heels of his hands to his swollen eyes, as if that would stop the unwanted visions from forcing their way into his mind. His breathing became shallow and rapid, and he felt on the verge of losing control, as if he were hanging only by a slender thread of sanity.

No. No. No. No. No. No no no no no no no no, he kept chanting inwardly to himself. It didn’t help. He could keep telling himself over and over that it hadn’t happened, but he was unable to fool himself; he knew it had. Don’t think about it. I can’t think about it.  Never think about it. The images wouldn’t leave him. Think about a rescue. The fat man…that horrible toothless fleshy face…sweaty hands touching him. NO! No. Rappelling. Think about rappelling. Instead of rappelling, for some reason Johnny thought about the time he was bitten by the snake. He was running down the steep dusty hill to retrieve his forgotten handi-talkie. He leaned in the car; saw the handie-talkie. He opened the door, heard the rattle of the snake, felt its sharp teeth sink into his calve; almost immediately felt the burn of the venom as it invaded his body. He looked down, saw the snake, jumped back in alarm, the snake crawled back under the car….no, the snake was on the man’s arm….a tattoo of the snake…..the hand attached to the arm with the tattoo was clutching his hair, lifting his head up and down, slamming it into the counter….No. NO! I can’t! Can’t think about it! Think about anything else…Roy’s kids…Chris and Jennifer…the time I took them camping. We went fishing. Chris caught a fish. He was so happy, told his dad all about it when we got home. We had such a great time. I’m never gonna get to go camping with them again…I’m gonna die in here... His mind conjured up the vision of a fist headed for his face; he felt the impact, then the paralyzing pain a second later, tasted the blood. He glanced up, saw the bald-headed guy with the crooked scar out of his peripheral vision as he fell sideways…..the putrid breath of the shorter one near his face; he was smiling with yellow teeth, his greasy hair falling into his eyes. Then the hands, the filthy hands holding him down, dirt underneath the torn fingernails….he felt the cold hardness of the surface below him, the sickening fear overwhelming him, the sweaty men surrounding him, then a body behind him, the pressure, the pain…..NOOOOO!!! his mind screamed.

Johnny was thrashing about on the bed, reliving the experience. Sweat poured from his body. He felt a hand grab his wrist and his eyes flew open. A man in a white coat stood over him, a concerned look on his face. Johnny wrenched his wrist away from the man’s fingertips and screamed, “Don’t touch me!” as he clawed his way backward on the bed.

“Obténgame el sedante,” the man in the white coat said. The pretty Mexican girl left his side, and another man appeared, also wearing a white coat.

Johnny stared wild-eyed at the doctors, horrified at what they might do to him. Johnny saw one of the prison guards approach the bed, and more terror filled him. “Get away from me,” he yelled hoarsely.

The Mexican girl returned with a syringe in her hand. She handed it to the doctor. He reached for Johnny’s IV portal, and Johnny jerked away, threatening to dislodge the IV. The other doctor and the prison guard reached for him to hold him down. Johnny thrashed and fought as they held him; he was screaming, “Let me go!” and “No!” over and over, until the doctor was finally able to inject the sedative into the IV portal.

Johnny felt the drug immediately, forcing his body to relax, and the fight left him. His abused body held no strength. The doctor gestured for the security guard to back off, which he did, returning to his spot by the door. The doctor spoke briefly to his colleague, then the other doctor moved on to another patient.

The doctor gazed down at Johnny and said something softly in Spanish, then walked away. Johnny’s eyelids drooped as his heart rate decreased and his blood pressure fell into a more normal range. The young Mexican girl was back by his side. The ice pack she had previously laid on his face had slid off and felt cold and wet as it rested against his neck. Gently, she picked it up, wiped it off, and placed it back on his face. Johnny felt her hand slide into his as he slipped into darkness.

Johnny awoke slowly from his drug-induced sleep. He felt so tired. His body was totally relaxed, in fact, he felt like jello. Everything in his mind seemed fuzzy, but yet he knew exactly where he was, and why he was there. The memories of the attack still lingered in his mind, but he felt numb to them, as if they were encased in a cocoon. He decided that’s where he wanted to keep them, in a cocoon, where they couldn’t touch him, wouldn’t bother him. They were there, but safely hidden away.

He was in the same room as before; the same cracks were in the dingy ceiling, the same pale yellow walls, the same bars on the windows, which the low lemon-yellow sun was now filtering through. Hm. It’s either morning or evening, he thought detachedly.

He felt the need to use the bathroom, but couldn’t imagine how he was going to get out of bed. The young Mexican girl was busy with her back to him. He cleared his throat, and she turned toward him. Remembering how to ask where the bathroom was, he asked, his voice thick with medication, “¿Tiene usted un cuarto de baño?”

“Sí. Yo le ayudaré.”

For some deranged reason the thought of this small female trying to help him nearly made him laugh. Then she reached for him and helped pull him to a sitting position. She was surprisingly strong. Sitting was excruciating, and he gasped as he sat up, then slid his feet off the bed to land on the tiled floor. He gasped again as he tried to stand, and nearly fell over from the intensity of the pain, steadying himself on the edge of the bed. An older woman that was caring for another inmate saw what was happening and quickly ran over to his side, a bedpan in her hand. She said something in Spanish, and held it out in an effort to suggest that Johnny use it instead of trying to walk to the bathroom.

Johnny looked at it with distaste, then looked at the older woman and shook his head no. Continuing on, he attempted to take a step, and the other nurse joined the younger one on his other side to assist them. Each one held him at the elbow; one of them pulling the IV stand along beside them.

They guided him to a doorway, which was the bathroom. When they tried to enter with him, he looked uncomfortably at them and held up his hand. “I can do it myself,” he said.

They gazed at him uncomprehending, then he said, “Ah, Gracias. Yo lo puedo hacer.” He was glad now for the little bit of Spanish Marco had taught him.

There was a small cracked mirror in the bathroom, and after he had relieved himself, he dared to look into it. The face staring back at him was frightening, because it looked nothing like his own. One of his eyes was swollen completely shut, surrounded by black and purple. His nose was swollen at the bridge, and he reached up to examine it, trying to determine if it had been broken. It was tender, but seemed okay. The lip that had nearly healed before had once again been split open, and was painfully puffy, punctuated by little specks of dried blood here and there. A large contusion swelled on his forehead near his hairline, a harsh reminder of their brutal act of slamming his head onto the counter. He cringed, suddenly remembering how badly that had hurt; the pain had nearly paralyzed him. Quickly, he shoved that thought away, not wanting to connect it to something that had happened to himself. He continued to stare at himself in a detached way. Most of his face was covered with bruises, and many were visible on his body, arms, and wrists. A heavy gauze bandage was wrapped tightly around his mid-section, and he assumed they’d cracked one of his ribs. It sure felt like it. He tore his gaze away, not wanting to see any more. The visual impact brought back too many reminders.

The two women were waiting for him on the other side when he opened the door, and they steadied him on the way back to his bed. Johnny noticed the guards keeping a close eye on him as he walked. Snorting to himself, he thought, Don’t’ worry, fellas, I couldn’t hurt a fly right now. I don’t think there’s any chance of me bein’ able to escape at the moment either. I’ll be doin’ good if I make it back to the bed.

Once settled back in bed, he fought to get comfortable, most every position put pressure on parts of his injured body that reminded him of his brutal attack. The young girl held out a cup to him, and he took it with the hand that didn’t have all his fingers taped together. It was broth. Johnny didn’t have any appetite, but knew he should drink it, so he forced himself.

The small bit of activity that he’d had that morning exhausted him, and he felt his eyelids drooping. Before he had a chance to drop off completely, he noticed a man in uniform had entered the room and was approaching his bed. Instinctively, he tensed, positioning himself as deep in the bed as was possible.

The mustached Mexican man walked slowly but purposefully toward Johnny’s bed, and stopped there. He had a clipboard and pen in his hand. He looked menacing, a man of about fifty, but spoke softly, and surprisingly, in English, although it was with a heavy accent.

“I am Adolpho Gonzalez, the warden at thees preeson. I have some questions for you, Señor.”

Johnny stared up at the man, saying nothing. The warden pulled an old wooden chair up next to the bed and sat down.

“Your name eees, John Gage?”

Johnny eyed him warily. “Yes,” he answered quietly.

“I want to know who deed thees to you.”

Johnny swallowed, hesitating. The animals in my cell. “I…I don’t know.” Why did I say that?

“Señor Gage, you need to answer the questions truthfully.”

He hesitated again. What are you gonna do, beat me if I don’t? That thought almost made him burst out laughing. I am going crazy. “I…I don’t know their names.” There. I didn’t lie. I really don’t know their names.

“Were they men from your own cell, or were they preeson guards? Or perhaps they were other inmates?”

Johnny looked away, thinking. I don’t wanna talk about this. I can’t tell him. If I tell him, they’ll probably punish the guys. Then, they’ll come after me again. It’ll be worse next time. He shuddered. They’ll probably kill me.

“Señor Gage, I am waiting for an answer.”

“Um,” he stalled, “they weren’t prison guards. They were inmates.”

“Wheech inmates?”

Johnny’s conscience fought inside him. I want to tell him.  I should tell him! The son of a bitches should be punished! Johnny’s forehead wrinkled, anger building inside of him. Those fucking bastards! I’d like to castrate every one of them…slowly…His mind wandered back to a few of the rape victims that he and Roy had treated. Now, he understood their anguish, their fear at revealing the perpetrator. The very real fear of having the one that harmed them come back and do it again. They had always counseled those victims to file a report against the rapist, to go to the police. Sometimes it stopped the abuse, but sometimes it didn’t do any good. This was prison. These guys were already in prison for raping and murdering people. Narcing on them wouldn’t instill any fear of punishment; it would probably only fuel a more cruel retaliation.

“Wheech inmates?” the warden persisted, sensing Johnny was at a breaking point. “Give me their descriptions.”

Johnny remained silent. He wanted to tell him so badly, wanted them to be punished for what they did to him. But fear choked off his answer, causing it to stay bottled up inside of him.

“They were your cellmates, weren’t they, Señor Gage?”

Johnny stared at the man, his breathing becoming shallow. The dull headache he’d had earlier was now pounding in full force. Resignedly, he looked down at a stain on the sheet covering him. He knows. He’s not going to leave me alone until I tell him. Finally, Johnny whispered, “Yes. And…there might have been others. I’m not sure.” The words came tumbling out. Oh God, why did I tell him? I probably just wrote my own death sentence.

The warden’s expression was unreadable as he nodded. “I see,” he said softly. He made some notes on his pad of paper, then said, “Señor Gage, I am sorry for thees unfortunate event. I assure you those men weell be taken care of.” The man rubbed his chin as he thought about his next words. “I do have some advice for you.”

Johnny looked up at him, his eyes questioning.

“Eef you want to survive in thees prison, you’d better learn to fight back. Be a man and stand up to them, or they will treat you like a woman. The guards can not always be watching. Otherwise….you are going to have a very hard time here.” The warden slid his pen into his pocket and rose from the chair, then turned and left the room.

Johnny stared after the man in disbelief. Fight back? How the hell am I supposed to fight back against four or five other guys? The warden’s words echoed in his mind, ‘be a man, or they will treat you like a woman.’ A woman! I guess he means……oh no, I can’t go through that again. I’d rather be dead.

His head was pounding and he closed his eyes, sinking into his pillow. Be a man. I AM a man, damn it! But I’m not fucking superman! Johnny had always thought of himself as a pretty macho kind of guy. After all, he was a firefighter. Weren’t firefighters supposed to be big strong macho guys? Granted, he wasn’t exactly Arnold Schwarzenegger, but still, he always thought he was pretty tough. And brave too. I mean, didn’t you have to be brave to walk into a blazing fire in a burning building? Didn’t you have to be brave to hang from a thirty-story building by a rope to save someone? Look at all the dangerous rescues he’d been on; it would curl a lot of people’s hair. He HAD been strong, and brave all of his adult life. Now all he felt was degraded and humiliated. How could this have happened? How did I let it happen?

He fought with himself, one side defending the other.

What the hell was I supposed to do? It wasn’t my fault, they caught me off guard. It was five against one.

I should have kept my eyes open. I was standin’ in the shower with my eyes closed, naked, like an idiot! I might as well have just invited them to molest me. Why wasn’t I thinking? It’s my own fault this happened. God, I did it to myself! I’m in prison, for God’s sake! I’m surrounded by murderers and rapists. These animals have no morals or conscience. How could I have been so stupid as to think I wasn’t in any danger? I’m gonna be in danger every day of my life in this place. If I don’t die at their hands, I’m gonna die of an ulcer or a heart attack.

His thoughts slowly blurred into others. I still haven’t heard from ANYONE. No Roy, no Cap, nobody. It’s been almost two weeks. I guess they’ve written me off. A feeling of intense sadness and loneliness washed over him at that thought. He felt hot tears building in the corners of his eyes, and he turned his head angrily. Be a MAN, he chastised himself. I’m in this alone……alone……. Nobody’s gonna come help me, I’m gonna have to help myself. I gotta get my shit together if I want to survive this place. I won’t go through that again. I WON’T. I won’t let it happen. I’ll die first, even if I have to hang myself like that poor slob did the other day. 

What if it does happen? What if they get me again when I’m not looking? There may be nothing I can do to prevent it. His head began pounding harder and he suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous. Don’t think about it. Stop thinking about it.

His physical discomforts intensified, and he found it hard to think and try to deal with the pain at the same time. He finally forced himself to shut off his mind and try to rest, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he would again be forced to confront his worst fears.

That time came quicker than he had imagined. The next morning, the young Mexican girl was back. Johnny watched silently while she checked his blood pressure, respirations, pulse, and pupil reactions. His bruised and swollen eyes made the latter procedure quite painful and he flinched when she touched him. Johnny knew it was time to go when she removed his IV and handed him a fresh prison uniform and some tennis shoes. Gesturing toward the uniform and then the bathroom, she said, “Usted tiene que ir ahora. Usted necesita cambiar sus ropas.” Comprehending only that he had to go, he understood what she wanted him to do, and slowly swung his legs off the bed. The pain in his backside drove through him like a knife, and he closed his eyes, taking in a shallow breath quickly. Stiffly, he managed to get to the bathroom, and commenced changing back into his clothes. He had to go very slowly; nearly every move he made caused severe discomfort. Exhausted from that tiny bit of exertion, he trudged out of the bathroom and back toward the girl. Johnny stood swaying, reaching out to steady himself on the bedrail. He had no desire to try to sit back down again.

The doctor and two prison guards were waiting for him when he returned. The doctor spoke briefly to the girl; Johnny assumed she was relaying his vitals to him, then the doctor signed some paperwork on his clipboard, and nodded toward the guards.

Reaching for Johnny, they grabbed his wrists and began snapping a set of handcuffs on him. Startled at their sudden move, he instinctively tensed and withdrew from their touch, and they roughly yanked him toward them. Being restrained caused an overwhelming feeling of panic, and Johnny began struggling, his need to be in control almost frantic. Adrenalin surged through him as they dragged him away, wild-eyed and nearly hyperventilating. The young Mexican girl stood silently by, biting her lower lip as they manhandled Johnny out of the room. She stared after him long after he was gone.

Johnny could barely swallow his breakfast that morning. Sitting on the hard bench in the cafeteria was excruciating. His head was still pounding, and all the other injuries he had sustained were throbbing. The earlier struggle with the prison guards had left him weak and nauseous. Head bowed and hunched over his tray, he shakily picked up his juice in his less-injured hand and attempted to sip it, just as James sat down across from him with his tray.

“Hey, man. I haven’t seen you for awhile.” He slowly looked up while he was talking. “Where ya….been….?” James’ mouth dropped open as he oggled Johnny’s battered face. “Oh man, what the hell happened to you?”

Johnny closed his eyes, lowering his juice. A moment later, he answered in a low voice, “You don’t wanna know.”

James ignored his breakfast for a moment, and sat staring at Johnny, his chin resting on his fist. “They got ya, huh?”

Johnny picked up his tortilla and tore off a bite, chewing slowly, his mouth still cut and sore inside. He had trouble swallowing the tasteless starch over the lump in his throat. He merely nodded at James’ question.

James continued to stare at him a few more moments, then, shaking his head, dug into his breakfast. After a minute went by he said, “Man. Who did it?”

Johnny glanced up at him, and then scanned around the room. He didn’t see any of his cell-mates around. “The assholes in my cell,” he said barely audibly.

James considered this. “You tell the warden?”

Johnny licked his lips and met James’s eyes. “Yeah.”

James looked away. “Ooh, boy. Big mistake.”

Johnny just stared at him, the fears he had previously tried to quell now building back up inside. “Why?” He didn’t know why he asked that; he already knew why.

“Why? Because, they’ll get you again now, man. Once they know you narced on ‘em. Man, you could be in trouble.”

Johnny let out his breath. He knew that. He knew it when he confessed to the warden. He knew he shouldn’t have done it. Now James had just confirmed it for him. “It’s too late now,” he said resignedly, once again bowing his head. He picked at the food on his plate, what little appetite he had now completely gone.

“Listen,” James said. “I’ll stand by ya. If you stand by me.”

Johnny looked up at him, gratitude in his eyes. Could he have actually made a friend in this place? “Thanks, James, but then they’ll just come after you.”

“I can take care of myself. I’ll just need a little bit of….compensation.”

“Compensation?” Johnny looked warily at him.

“Yeah. Buy me some cigarettes. I’m low on cash.”

The left side of Johnny’s mouth turned upward slightly. “Okay. Small price to pay, I guess,” he muttered to himself.

James resumed his eating. A little while later he said, “I can teach ya to fight, if you want.”

Johnny snorted. “I’m not exactly in any shape to be fighting. I’m doin’ good just to be walkin’ right now.”

“You’ll get better. I’ll teach you then.”

Johnny knew a little bit about fighting. He’d had plenty of experience growing up on the reservation and having to deal with all the kids who picked on him because he was a half-breed. But he didn’t know much about the technicalities of fighting, the strategies, the little nuances about it, so to speak. What the hell, Johnny thought, it certainly can’t hurt. I hope I survive long enough for him to teach me.

A small relief flooded through Johnny when, as he was being taken back to his cell, they took him upstairs to the second floor, instead of back to his original cell. When the guard opened the door and removed his handcuffs, he saw that the men in his new cell were not all Mexicans. Four of them appeared to be American, three were white and one black, and another man looked Mexican. One of the Americans was an older man, and had a stoic look about him. A tall man in his early fifties, he was powerfully built; his muscles bulged as if he lifted weights every day. His gray hair was cut short in a military style crew-cut. His steely blue eyes bore through Johnny as the guards locked him in, taking in the battered condition of the unfortunate inmate, then cut away and back to the book he was reading.

Johnny could tell the black man was tall by the way his knees were bent as he laid on his bunk; he also well-built and completely bald, and he nodded slightly at Johnny in brief acknowledgment as he entered. Tattoos adorned both arms from wrist to shoulder. Johnny didn’t get a good look at the other two until they left later that morning for their prison jobs.

Johnny realized that once again the only available bed was the one on the floor, a thin pad laid directly on the concrete in no better shape than the last one. He decided to try something different than he had the last time, and nervously introduced himself to the men, hopeful to build some small bit of rapport with them.

He glanced around at all of them; each seemed engrossed in their boredom. “Ah, I’m John….Johnny,” he stuttered, “uh, any of you guys speak English?”

They all looked at him, evaluating him, saying nothing. Johnny looked briefly at each of them again. “Is uh, anyone using this bunk?” he gestured to the one on the floor.” He waited, and again, no one said anything. “Okay, then, I guess it’s mine.” He bent down to set his things by his bunk, and was nearly blinded by the pain that shot through his body. Gasping, his knees collapsed and he fell sideways onto the bed, and stayed there, motionless, until it began to subside.

A little while later as he lay there resting, he heard the prison guard open their cell, and all but one inmate left to go do their jobs. Good riddance, he thought.

No sooner had they left when a voice startled him by saying, “What’re you in for?”

Surprised not only by the voice, but also upon hearing the man speaking English, his eyes popped open and he lifted his head. “Huh?”

“Don’t you hear good? I said, what’re you in for, man?” A small man in the lower bunk across from him was lying propped up on his elbow, scrutinizing Johnny. He had dark curly hair and his beady eyes shone above gaunt looking cheekbones; his slight build was bony looking.

“Oh. Uh, drug trafficking.” Johnny saw no reason to elaborate on the fact that he wrongly accused. He figured no one would believe him anyway.

The man contemplated this a moment. “Drugs, eh? We could use some good drugs in here. How ‘bout getting’ us some?”

Oh shit, I should’ve known that was comin’. Now I have to explain.

“Sorry. I’m not a drug dealer. They arrested the wrong guy.”

“Yeah, sure man. Right.”
            “It’s the truth,” Johnny insisted. “Look, I wouldn’t know how to get you any even if I wanted to.”

The man snorted, so Johnny went into his explanation about picking up the wrong suitcase.

“Okay, fine. You don’t wanna help us out, you don’t have to. Just remember, you do us a favor, we do you a favor. And you just might be needin’ a favor some day, man, from the looks of you.” With that, the man laughed.

Johnny said nothing. Instead, he closed his eyes.

“So where’re you from?” the voice broke the silence.

“LA,” Johnny sighed. “Listen, do you mind? I really don’t feel like talkin’ right now.”

The man snorted again. “Guess you don’t want make any friends while you’re here, do ya?”

Not ones like you.

“Fine. You don’t wanna talk, I’ll talk.”
            Oh, man.

The small man proceeded to tell Johnny all about himself and everyone else in their cell. Johnny was forced to hear all about their crimes and the atrocities they had committed. The black man’s name was Archie and was in for armed robbery. The Mexican’s name was Francisco; he was in for assault. One of the other Americans was arrested for rape, and the small man talking to Johnny now was incarcerated for harboring and selling stolen property; his name was Leonard. The last man, the older, rather stony looking gray haired man, went by the name of Lou. Johnny was informed that he was serving time for a murder that he claimed was committed in self-defense. 

 Great. One murderer, one rapist, a robber, a thief, and a guy who likes to beat people up. Glad to hear you’re all such a well-rounded group.

The skinny man went on, unfazed by Johnny’s lack of response. “So, I hear you had a little run-in with “The Butcher” and his friends.

Johnny swallowed, nausea filling him now that he knew the colorful identity of the Neanderthal that had assaulted him.

“He’s a bad dude, man. What were you tanglin’ with him about?”

Johnny said nothing, and instead continued to stare upward to the bottom of the bunk above him.

Leonard leaned over the side of his bunk and looked down at Johnny. “Hmm?” he persisted.

“Nothing,” Johnny finally answered curtly.

“You wanna know why they call him ‘The Butcher’?”

No. I don’t wanna know.

“I’ll tell you.”

Great.

“They call him ‘The Butcher’ because he murdered his wife, and her boyfriend when he caught them together. First, he stabbed them both about forty times, then disemboweled them both, then he cut their heads off.”

Thanks for that lovely story.

“Just thought you’d want to know who you were messin’ with.” Leonard lay back on his bunk, folding his arms back under his head and sighed. “Man, I’m sure glad I’m not on his bad side,” he said as if talking to the bunk over top of him.

Lucky you.

The man finally clammed up after getting no further response from Johnny. Except for dinner, Johnny spent the rest of the day lying on his so-called bed, trying to deal with both the physical and emotional pain he was experiencing.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roy gazed out the window of the 727 jet and down at the brown landscape below. The plane would be landing in twenty minutes or so, and he was becoming more and more anxious as the minutes ticked by. He’d been worried sick about Johnny ever since the Cap had told him about the abuse he had suffered at the hands of the Mexican police. Roy couldn’t help agonizing over what other atrocities may have befallen his best friend in the past two weeks. He’d lost a lot of sleep. Now, he was just glad that he was on his way to see for himself how his partner was, and to maybe be able to offer him something, he didn’t know what exactly. He couldn’t offer Johnny encouragement, because he had none to give. What would he say to him? ‘Gee, Johnny, I’m sorry about what happened to you, sorry your career is over, sorry your whole life is in a shambles, oh by the way, see you in three to five years. Everything will be just hunky dory then.’ He couldn’t assure Johnny that everything was going to be all right, because it was looking like everything wasn’t going to be all right. The attorney had more or less said that nothing could be done, and Roy hadn’t heard anything further from the man since he’d visited him in his office on Monday. He dreaded having to face his friend to tell him that there was no hope.

Things went more smoothly for Roy in the airport than it had for Johnny. Roy made absolutely sure that he had his own suitcase, even opening it and double checking his belongings. However, he didn’t see any dogs at the Mexico City airport. It didn’t take long to find a cab, and soon he was on his way to his hotel room. After checking in, he hailed another cab and requested that the driver take him to El Reclusorio Norte, the prison in the northern part of Mexico City also known as Reno. It was quite a drive, and took over an hour to get there.

A bleak sense of foreboding filled Roy’s gut as the cab approached the inhospitable looking structure. Stepping out of the cab, a hot wind blew over him, and he started to sweat immediately. Dust swirled around him. He slowly walked up to the entrance, eyeing the sinister looking razor wire situated at the top of the crumbling and peeling whitewashed block walls. The place looked frightening, and Roy couldn’t even imagine spending one day in the place, much less three to five years.

Tentatively, he pulled the front door open, explaining to one of the prison guards that he was a visitor. Earlier in the week, Marco had called the prison and found out when visitors were allowed to see the inmates. Roy had taken an early flight, in time to arrive for the three o’clock visiting hour.

They took him into a room where he filled out some paperwork, then emptied his pockets of all his belongings. He was then frisked and made to walk through a metal detector before being escorted into the large visiting room.

Roy looked around at the prisoners who were already there with their family members and friends. Most were Mexican, and most were speaking Spanish. Many of them were frightening looking, and Roy felt nervous and out of place here. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Roy took a seat in the corner of the room and just observed, while waiting for Johnny. His stomach was in butterflies.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Johnny had been resting on his bed when they came to get him. He had just been outside for an hour, in which he had done nothing but lean up against the wall and stare into space, trying to stay away from everyone. Any moving around or sitting still caused a great deal of discomfort, so he tried his best not to do either.

He didn’t bother to open his eyes when the door clanked and slid open, but was stunned when the guard said in English, “Gage, you have a veeseetor. You too, Francisco. Your mama,” he said smiling.

Francisco jumped up quickly, anxious to see his mother, and held his hands out for the cuffs. Johnny was so taken aback by the fact that he had a visitor, that he thought it must be a mistake. He stared at the guard in disbelief, who was staring back.

“Let’s go!” he barked in his Spanish accent.

“Me?” he brought his still-bandaged hand to his chest.

“Sí! Let’s go – now! Or I leave you here.”

Johnny’s heart was pounding as he painfully pulled himself up from his bed. Still trying to straighten his back, he too offered his hands for the cuffs. With the guard behind them, Johnny and Francisco made their way to the stairway and out of the cell. Johnny followed Francisco, who seemed to know where he was going. The guard kept his gun trained on them.

As Johnny walked, he tried to imagine who could possibly be here to see him. He refused to believe it was any of his friends, not wanting to face the disappointment if he got his hopes up and then it was someone else. He reasoned that maybe it was a lawyer that had come. They had promised him before that the office of the Attorney General would supply him with an attorney to review his case, but they hadn’t delivered on that promise as of yet. His mind would not allow him to set himself up for a letdown. He approached the door to the visitation room, not knowing who he should look for.

Roy jumped when the door open and strained to see who was coming into the room. He sighed and slumped back into his seat upon seeing a Mexican man enter. The man made his way over to an elderly Mexican woman, and sat down next to her; she tenderly gave him a peck on the cheek.

A few moments later, the door opened again, and Roy’s stomach did a flip-flop as the tall dark-haired man stepped through. He knew it was Johnny, even though he could only see the back of him.  He watched, his breath catching in his throat, as Johnny turned and offered his wrists to the prison guard so the handcuffs could be unlocked. He noted the bandages on Johnny’s hands, and felt like he was part of a nightmare; the whole thing was so unbelievable. Johnny turned slowly, and began to scan the room.

Roy wasn’t sure exactly what to expect when he saw Johnny, but it wasn’t this. Things were much worse than he’d imagined. Roy knew the moment he saw his best friend that something terrible had happened. Roy could see it in his eyes; the haunted and traumatized expression spoke of something horrendous.

Johnny took a few uneasy steps into the room; he hadn’t spotted Roy yet. Roy remained glued to his seat, stunned, as he took in Gage’s battered and swollen face, the black eyes and bruises, and the slow strained movement of his gait as he approached. Johnny was obviously in a great deal of pain, but trying not to show it. Roy clamped his mouth shut and tried to keep his face calm. The last thing his friend needed was to see his partner gawking at him like he was some sort of circus animal.  Finally, Johnny’s eyes met Roy’s, and disbelief crossed his features. His forehead wrinkled as if he were trying to focus on Roy, which he had to do with one eye since the other was nearly swollen closed, and his mouth dropped open slightly. Wincing, Johnny began to walk in Roy’s direction, limping slightly, and Roy finally forced himself out of his seat, and stood up, suddenly feeling very weak-kneed. The sight of his friend in such dire straits almost made Roy physically ill.

            Making up the difference between them, Roy was quickly by Johnny’s side. “Johnny,” he said softly, his eyes pleading to know how his friend came to be in this state, but his mind afraid to verbalize it. “Here, come sit down.”

            Roy gently guided Johnny by the elbow to the spot he had found in the corner. Gage had cringed and pulled back almost imperceptibly when Roy had touched him, but the reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed by Roy. Awkwardly and slowly, Johnny tried to sink down into the chair. He was unable to hold back the gasp that escaped his lips as he sat, and his face contorted in pain as the three fingers on his right hand grasped white-knuckled onto the back of the seat while lowering himself down. Watching him closely, Roy’s eyes widened in alarm as the realization sunk in that something unspeakable had taken place. The thought of what he suspected happening to Johnny was almost unbearable. His imagination began conjuring up terrible images, which he fought to dissolve. Roy’s mind tried to deny the truth,  a truth too awful to contemplate, but the constant reinforcements of Johnny’s tortured movements were too much evidence to be ignored. With an imperceptible shake of the head, Roy forced himself to focus all his attention back on Johnny.

Roy was appalled at his friend’s appearance. His shock had quickly turned to disbelief and then to outrage, but he caught himself before his feelings became evident on his features. At least he thought so.

            Johnny instantly became aware of Roy’s scrutiny, and a sick feeling developed in the pit of his stomach at the thought that Roy might guess what had happened to him. The comprehension was evident on Roy’s face; and it was almost blatant how miserably Roy was failing at trying to hide his distress at his friend’s appearance.

Blue eyes filled with alarmed concern and anxiety locked on desperate brown ones, and Roy knew instinctively that he shouldn’t verbalize his suspicions to his friend. They had already been acknowledged.

            Not being able to stand the look on Roy’s face, Johnny immediately averted his eyes. It took all his concentration not to show how badly he was hurting, and he tried to breathe as deeply and slowly as possible. Johnny was thankful that Roy chose to keep his feelings to himself, because if he hadn’t, Johnny wasn’t sure he could keep from breaking down in front of his friend. Somehow just seeing Roy caused all the emotions he had been suppressing to rise to the surface.

            After pausing to collect himself, Johnny looked up into his friend’s face. The left side of Johnny’s mouth turned up ever so slightly and he said softly, “Roy. I don’t believe….you came…all this way.”

            Roy forced a tiny smile to his face, then it fell away. “I’m just sorry it took so long. I hope you didn’t think we forgot about you, because we didn’t.”

            Johnny shook his head. “No. ‘Course not.” Johnny seemed to relax visibly; his shoulders dropped every so slightly from his previous rigid posture. The comprehension that his best friend was really there finally sank in, and suddenly he felt light-headed and shaky. “Man, I’m glad to see you.”

            Even if it is only out of one eye, Roy thought. Taking a deep breath, he started, “Johnny – ”

            “Roy,” Johnny interrupted, stopping him before he said something that Johnny didn’t want to hear. The pained look Roy had failed to suppress was evident on his face, and Johnny wanted to stop him before he said something that confirmed just how bad things were. “You can’t know how much I appreciate you comin’ to get me. I promise, however much the bail is, I’ll pay you back every penny. And I’ll pay for your trip down here.”

            Roy looked away, sickened at what he was about to tell his friend.  Unable to make eye contact with John, his mouth went dry and he nervously licked his lips. “Johnny – ” he tried again.

            “I mean it, Roy. Every penny. However much it cost you to come down here, I’ll pay you back. I owe you a lot for doin’ this.” Johnny sounded desperate, as if he sensed that bad news was just lurking under the surface, but didn’t want to give Roy a chance to verbalize it.

            Roy wavered a second, postponing the inevitable. He felt his hands begin to tremble, and clasped them together in a futile attempt to stop it.

            Johnny sensed Roy’s hesitation, and uncertainty as to that hesitation crossed his mind. “You know I didn’t do it, don’t you? I mean, you do believe I’m not guilty….right?”

            “Of course I don’t think you did it, Johnny,” Roy defended fiercely.

            Johnny seemed relieved again, the small affirmation his friend had just given him settling his nervous stomach slightly. He nodded.

            “Johnny, I…there’s something I’ve gotta tell you.”

            Johnny recognized that he was about to be given some bad news; the look on his face pleaded with Roy not to tell him, but he kept silent.

            “Johnny, when I heard about what happened, I went to see Barney Oleson. Remember him?”

            Johnny looked warily at Roy. “Yeah.”

            “Johnny,” Roy sighed, closed his eyes briefly, then looked into the dark-haired man’s eyes. “There’s no bail. Barney told me, uh, he told me that….that Mexican law states that there’s no bail for anyone arrested on drug charges.” He swallowed reflexively, almost feeling the devastation himself that he had just bestowed upon his best friend.

            Johnny looked into Roy’s eyes for a long moment, stunned, then his head dropped and his gaze fell to his lap, as he realized the implications of what Roy had just told him. His breathing seemed to get shallower, and he whispered, “No bail.” He then swallowed and looked back up at Roy. With desperation in his eyes, he said, “No bail? Are you sure?” His voice broke on the last word.

            Roy saw the total misery in Johnny’s eyes, and hated himself for having to put his friend through such torture. He felt guilty for the fact that when this visit was over, he would be able to walk away free; his partner couldn’t. “Yeah. I’m sure. I’m sorry, Johnny. I’m really sorry.” Roy saw Johnny’s shoulders slump slightly, then his eyes closed, and his head drooped downward in defeat.

Roy then proceeded to tell Johnny everything that Barney had discussed with him. Johnny listened quietly to everything, all the while his insides were churning, but his head remained bowed. His eyes had opened, and he was staring into his lap. After awhile, he looked up, and his gaze wandered aimlessly around the room. “I’m stuck here…for three to five more years,” his barely audible voice was taut with unleashed anguish.

Johnny’s tone scared Roy. Roy thought he looked shell-shocked, and the heavy weight of Johnny’s despair hung in the air like a death sentence. Desperately, Roy tried to think of something to say. “Johnny, look. I’m not giving up. There’s got to be some way to prove your innocence. Listen to me. Barney Oleson offered to come down here and see if he could dig anything up, or find some way to help you. I’m gonna call him as soon as I get back and have him do that. Maybe he can think of something, some way to free you.”

Dazed, Johnny said, “I can’t afford that, Roy.”

“Don’t worry about it, Johnny,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You can’t afford it either,” Johnny said dully.

Roy was really frightened now, sensing his friend was giving up, realizing that maybe Johnny didn’t have it in him to live in this place for the amount of time he had been sentenced. “Johnny, don’t worry about me. If there’s some way, any way, to get you out of here, I’m gonna find it.” Roy’s voice was almost frantic with desperation.

Johnny drew in a deep steadying breath, then blew it out, wincing. Roy’s a true friend, he thought. “Thanks, Roy. I appreciate what you’re tryin’ to do, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to find my way out of this one.” His voice now sounded flat with hopelessness.

Something about the finality of Johnny’s tone made Roy go cold. “Johnny, don’t give up hope yet.” Johnny wasn’t the only one Roy was trying to convince.

Johnny looked back into Roy’s eyes. He was truly grateful for the fact that he had such a good friend who would come all this way to try to help him. He would have done the same for Roy. He knew Roy really wanted to help, and he knew how awful it must be for his friend to see him like this, understanding how he would feel if the shoe were on the other foot. He almost felt guilty for what he was putting Roy through. Johnny knew his appearance was bad; he probably looked worse now than he did when he saw himself in that mirror, what with the bruises having had time to deepen and spread. It was killing Roy, and Johnny could see it.

Sitting on the hard wooden chair was extremely uncomfortable, and Johnny tried to shift in his seat to relieve the ache. Unprepared for the sudden sharp, knife-life pain that nearly split him in two, his eyes squeezed shut as one hand reached up to cradle his ribs, while the other subconsciously flew to grab the edge of the seat he was sitting on, slightly lifting himself off the chair. His mouth clamped shut in an unsuccessful attempt to try to stifle the groan of pain that escaped his throat.

Roy instinctively reached out and grabbed Johnny’s arm to steady him. “Johnny?” The anxiety in his voice caused it to go up half an octave. Johnny forcefully pried open his eyes and began breathing in short pants. “Johnny,” Roy’s voice demanded an answer.

Johnny stared out in front of him, waiting for the agony to subside. “I’m okay,” he breathed, his taut, abused muscles slowly uncoiling.

“No you’re not,” Roy hissed. He was nearly beside himself, and his voice boiled in anger. “You should be in a hospital.”

“That’s where I’ve been…the last two days. They released me….yesterday.”

“They took you to a hospital?” Roy asked incredulously.

“No…they have some sort of a clinic here…at the prison. I was there.” Johnny wouldn’t look at his friend, unable to stand the look of disbelief on Roy’s face.

Roy was quiet, momentarily at a loss for words. He searched Johnny’s face, trying to make eye contact with him. Trying to remain calm, he ran a shaking hand through his thinning hair.

Johnny briefly brought his eyes up to meet Roy’s, not wanting to have to say more.

Roy found he couldn’t hold back any longer, and asked, “Where….where are you hurt?”

Johnny looked away. He couldn’t talk about it. Even thinking about it was too much. Though his gut reaction told Johnny that Roy knew what had happened, he didn’t want to admit it to himself; it was too humiliating and degrading. He finally said, shaking his head, “Please, Roy, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Roy knew he had pushed too hard, even saying that little bit. Bewildered at what to say next, he asked, “How’s….” his voice broke slightly, “how’s your fingers?”

Johnny looked back down at his broken appendages; the bandages were dirty now and fraying. Turning them over, he examined them absently and said for Roy’s benefit, “Better. They’re healing; don’t hurt so much any more.” Failing at an attempt to lift the dark mood, he joked, “Considerate of ‘em to only break all the ones on my left hand, eh?”

It was all Roy could do to keep himself from jumping up and screaming at the injustice of it all. Composing himself, he asked, “Anything else broken?” He had noticed Johnny grab his ribs earlier.

Johnny raised his hand to rub at his mid-section. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep anything from his friend he said, “I think…one of my ribs is cracked. They got me taped up. It’ll be okay. It’s not that bad.”

Roy scrutinized Johnny’s face further, despite the fact that he knew it made his partner uncomfortable. Roy reached up to examine the contusion on the side of Johnny’s head, but Johnny pulled back reflexively. Roy retreated slightly, then said gently, “Johnny, that’s a nasty bump you’ve got there. Let me take a look at it.” He reached out again, very slowly and deliberately, trying to turn Johnny’s head to examine the wound. He took note of the stark contrast between now and how Johnny had reacted to him in the past when he’d been injured in the line of duty, and wondered if Johnny would ever be able to return to ‘normal’. The last time John had been hurt badly was when he had taken that fall down the stairs in the old building with the gas leak. In that situation, Roy recalled how Johnny had just lain there, barely flinching while Roy had cleaned the blood from his face, and cut away his clothes to splint his broken leg. It was frightening how things could change so rapidly in such a short period of time. Roy lamented if after this Johnny would ever be able to trust anyone again – even himself.

A pounding headache was building behind Johnny’s eyes, adding to all the other discomforts. The last thing he wanted right now was to be poked or prodded, or even touched. He jerked backward, unleashing a new wave of pain that again cause him to catch his breath. Angrily, he growled out at Roy, “Roy, cut it out!” He looked around the room to see if anyone was observing them. “Things are already bad enough! You’re just gonna make it worse!”

Roy pulled back, realizing he had gone too far. “I’m sorry. I’m just…you’ve probably got a concussion, Johnny, and…” his voice trailed off, frustrated and bewildered at seemingly not being able to do anything to help his friend.

Johnny knew Roy only had good intentions, but the last thing he needed was for any other inmates to think Roy was doting on him. And on a subconscious level, he desperately felt the need to repel any type of physical contact.

Be a man, the warden had said. What kind of hell would they make his life if they saw this? Johnny looked over in Roy’s direction, he couldn’t bear to look at his face. It wasn’t lost on Roy that Johnny refused to make eye contact with him. Johnny’s gaze seemed to be fixed somewhere on Roy’s right shoulder blade.

Softly, Johnny said, “Roy, there’s nothing you can do.” He breathed in, then let it out. “I’ll…I’ll be all right. Don’t worry.” He finally glanced up into Roy’s distraught blue eyes. Johnny was touched by the look on Roy’s face; he’d never had a friend care this much about him before, he never realized until now just how much Roy did. It was almost too much to bear. He fought to put on his game face, now hoping to make Roy think he believed things would work out. Trying to take Roy’s attention off him, he inquired, “How’re the guys at the station?”

Roy nodded as he said, “They’re doin’ fine. They’re all thinkin’ about you. Chet and Marco said they’re comin’ down to see you soon. And Cap’s gonna try too.”

Johnny felt his heart clench at those words. Chet and Marco? And Cap? I can’t believe they’d come all the way down here to see…me…in prison. “Roy,” he said shaking his head, “tell ‘em thanks, but they don’t need to spend all that money to come down here – ” Besides, I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.

“Johnny, they want to.” Roy looked him right in the eye. “We’re a team, a family, remember? They’re your brothers. We’re all standing by you on this.”

Johnny turned away quickly, afraid he was going to lose it. After a moment, he finally looked up into Roy’s eyes and said, “Roy, could I ask you a favor?”

“Sure, Johnny, anything,” Roy was anxious to be able to help his friend any way he could, but a feeling of foreboding swept over him anyway.

Johnny tried to hold it together, because what he was about to say was going to be hard, but he had to be realistic, knowing there were things he had to take care of. He had to ask now while Roy was here; he might not get the chance later. He knew he might not even be alive later to make his wishes known. “Roy, I’m not gonna be gettin’ out of here any time soon. I need you to take care of some things for me.”

“Johnny, c’mon – ” Roy tried.

“Roy listen. This is important. I need you to….sell my house. You know you can do it; you’re my power of attorney. If you don’t sell my house, the bank’ll foreclose on it, and I’ll have nothin’.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Sell my house, and get all my bills paid off for me, would ya?”

Roy blinked quickly, not wanting Johnny to see the wetness building up in his eyes. “Okay, Johnny, but – ”

“Just take all my stuff and sell it. Have a….a garage sale or somethin’. I have an aunt; I give her money each month to help her out. She lives at Sunnybrooke Estates; it’s a nursing home. Roy, can you make sure she gets three hundred dollars each month? She’s my mother’s sister; her name’s Rose, Rose Evans.”

Roy was a little taken aback. He knew that Johnny had an aunt, but had no idea he was helping to support her. It occurred to Roy that maybe that was one reason why Johnny was a cheapskate sometimes. Maybe supporting his aunt taxed his savings quite a bit. Ashamedly, he admitted he really knew nothing about Johnny’s family, except that he seemed to have none. “Sure, Johnny, but I don’t think – ”

“You can have my Rover. If you run out of money, sell it. Be sure to take some money to pay Barney, okay? And…whatever this…cost you…” Johnny broke off, unable to continue.

“Johnny, stop it. I think you’re jumping the gun a bit. Look, let’s just – ”

“Roy, please. Just promise me you’ll do that for me, okay?”

Roy saw the despair in his friend’s eyes and finally agreed. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll do it. But let’s just give it a little time first and see if Barney comes up with anything, okay? Maybe you’ll be out of here and you won’t even have to worry about it.” He almost felt guilty trying to fill Johnny with hope that even he didn’t have.

The only way I’ll be out of here in less than three years is in a hearse, Johnny thought somberly. Johnny looked up at his friend appreciatively, the left corner of his mouth lifting minutely. “Thanks,” he said. He knew what Roy was trying to do. “Uh, Roy, there’s one more thing.”

“Name it.”

“My cat. Remember the cat I took home that belonged to the lady who…”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“My neighbor, Bob, was gonna take care of him while I was on vacation. Now that I’m not comin’ home…well, can you see if he would keep him, or maybe try to find a home for him? He’s a real nice cat.”

Roy’s stomach clenched at Johnny’s choice of words, but kept a straight face. “I’ll tell you what, Johnny. If Bob can’t keep him, I’ll keep him for you until you get home.”

Johnny had this terrible sense of foreboding that he would never see home again, and he swallowed, turning away. “Thanks,” he whispered.

Johnny ran the three fingers on his right hand through his hair. This was getting to be too much, too emotional. The whole time he’d been in prison, he’d wanted nothing more than to see a friendly face, to have a friend by him. Now that Roy was here, it was comforting, but it also served to remind him of everything he had lost. He desperately wished that Roy could stay, but knew their time was growing short. Johnny knew he would feel devastated when Roy left, like the small thread of contact he’d had with his past life was fraying and unwinding, ready to sever.

Roy sensed what Johnny was feeling, hell, he was feeling it himself. His partner was putting up a brave front, but Roy knew Johnny well enough to see that he was barely holding it together. It just wasn’t Johnny’s nature to hold things inside; and it scared Roy to think that what he was holding inside was just too painful to let out.

Sure enough, what seemed like minutes later, the prison guards were ending the visitation. Johnny and Roy watched as inmates said their good-byes and were handcuffed, then taken one by one through the metal doorway.

An intense feeling of dread nearly overcame Johnny. He had to summon every bit of strength he had to pull himself out of his chair and stand. Roy grabbed his elbow, pulling him up, feeling sick to his stomach as he watched Johnny’s face contort in pain upon standing. Roy walked part way with Johnny to the metal door, then they both stopped. Johnny took a step back from his friend and offered his right hand. Roy took the hand in his gently, being careful with the broken finger, and the two friends shook.

With his eyes focused somewhere on Roy’s chest, Johnny said, “Thanks for comin’, Roy. It was….great to see you,” he felt awkward; the words he really wanted to say stayed locked within, but Roy heard them nevertheless.

“You’re welcome, Johnny. I’ll be back,” Roy licked his lower lip, then continued, “and I’m gonna send Barney down; we’ll find some way to get you out of here, okay?”

Johnny’s gaze stayed on Roy’s shirt button. “Yeah,” evidence in his voice that he had no confidence that what Roy was saying would happen. “Say hi to the guys for me.”

“I will.”

Johnny took one last look at Roy, the solemn and desperate expression on his face was one of someone saying good-bye to someone they thought they’d never see again, as if he was trying to memorize this one last look to sustain him. Then, he turned away, and walking up to the prison guard, offered his wrists. His back was to Roy, and he didn’t turn back. Roy watched in somber silence as the guard slapped the cuffs on, then pushed Johnny through the door. He was gone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two days later, Roy pulled his Porsche into the parking lot behind the station. Chet was waiting there for him, and trotted over to him the minute Roy stepped out of his car.

“Hey, Roy.”

“Chet.”

“Did you see Johnny?”

“Yeah. I saw him.”

“Well, how was he?” The look Roy gave Chet was very disconcerting, and Chet’s eyes widened. “Bad?”

“Yeah,” Roy said somberly. He was tired. He had slept very little since he left the prison on Saturday afternoon. Now it was Monday. Chet stood waiting for Roy to tell him about Johnny. It almost made Roy smile as he thought how Johnny would react if he saw how concerned Chet was about him. “Look, why don’t we all go in and get changed and I’ll tell you all at the same time.”

Chet looked impatiently at Roy, but didn’t argue. “Okay.”

Ten minutes later, all the men were gathered around the kitchen table in the day room. Everyone wanted to know about Roy’s trip to Mexico to see their comrade. Each of them sat silently as Roy described the situation. Roy told them everything, except about his worst suspicions of what had been done to Johnny. He knew his friend wouldn’t have wanted that information made public. Roy didn’t think he’d be able to talk about it without losing it anyway. As it was, his voice broke several times, as he described the cuts, bruises, and shaky state of mind Johnny was in.  Each had a similar expression on their face, a combination of shock, fear, and anger, as Roy played back the scene in the visitation room. By the time he was done, they knew all about the fact that Johnny had been beaten, and how grave and hopeless the situation really was. The life of one of their brothers was slowly being destroyed, and it seemed there was nothing any of them could do about it.

Mike sat with his head bowed, and his hands clasped together on top of the table.

Marco whispered, “Madre di Dios.”

Roy merely shook his head.

Chet sat with his head in his hands. With exception to Roy, he seemed to be handling it worse than any of them. Part of it was the fact that guilt was engulfing him for the way he had sometimes treated Johnny in the past with all the pranks he had pulled against him, although the others would have said that Johnny held no grudge against Chet for all his tricks. After all, Johnny had pulled a few good ones over on Chet too. In the long run, they were nearly even. If only Johnny could be back here with them again, Chet would swear to lay off on his practical jokes against Gage forever.

The other part of it was simply the difficulty of comprehending how something so terrible could be happening to one of his best friends. Now he didn’t deny that for a moment; the fact that he was feeling so rotten about it belied any previous perceptions that he and Gage were merely sparring partners.

Hank Stanley felt worse about what was happening with Johnny than he let on. Being the Captain, the leader, he felt he needed to set an example to remain calm in the face of this dreadful situation, but he felt anything but calm inside. Hank cared deeply about all his men; he felt this crew that he was a part of had grown to be one of the tightest knit groups of men he'd ever worked with. When something bad happened to one of them, it tore him up inside, and he felt responsible for their well-being in more ways than one. He wasn't just a captain, he was a father figure as well. They all looked up to him. And for some reason when misfortune befell his youngest paramedic, which it frequently did, it got to him just a little bit more than the others.

Maybe it was because John was more of a loner; and even though he had close friends, it still seemed as though John was out there by himself. It appeared he had no family, though he never talked about it. Hank didn't know what it was, but right now he was feeling terrible. He also felt helpless, and that was hard to take. Knowing that they were John’s only hope of freedom weighed heavily on him. Despite the churning in the pit of his stomach, he attempted to break the somber mood of his men. "Well, I for one think we need to get going on planning this party, uh, fund raiser for Gage. We need to do it as soon as possible. We can’t expect Roy to pay for Barney Oleson to go down there; he’s gonna need some help. Now, I think whatever we don’t make at the fund raiser, the rest of us can all pitch in and make up the difference to pay for this investigation. Everyone agree?"

Everyone nodded or said ‘yes’ at the same time.

“Okay then, let’s all get busy. I’ve already notified headquarters of our intentions and they agree it’s a good idea. All we need to do now is pick a date and spread the word. We’ll put notices up at all the stations, and you can all contact your friends both in and out of the department who know Gage and see if they want to come. Roy, you and Dwyer spread the word at Rampart, okay? Let’s see how many people are interested in helping Gage, then we’ll decide how we’re gonna do this.”

“Good idea, Cap,” Mike responded.

Once again, Captain Stanley’s unwavering leadership abilities added a bit of uplift to his men while at the same time motivating them to take action.

Roy stood up, sinking his hands into his pockets. “Well, I’m gonna go call Barney and see when he can go down there.”

“Okay, Roy,” Hank answered. The rest of them remained at the table and began making plans.

They all decided to have the party a week from Saturday. Although it was turning into just that – a huge party, no one called it that, wanting it to remain low-key. Instead, they said it was to be a fund-raising picnic.

They all hated to let that much time pass after what Roy had just told them, each thinking that action needed to be taken immediately, but five days didn’t give them enough time to make plans. It turned out that so many people were interested that Roy decided he could no longer have it at his house. There were simply too many people wanting to get involved.  Roy never realized how many friends Johnny really had. Once the word was out, people wanting to help poured out of the woodwork, and many volunteered to help with the fund-raiser.

The party was held at the park the following Saturday. Nearly three hundred people showed up. Plans were made for Barney to make the trip to Mexico a few days after the party, after it had been determined how much money was made. Admission to the party was six dollars, but anyone could offer more if they wanted to. Hundreds of burgers were grilled, and mass quantities of food were consumed, all donated by the wives and families of the firemen. Even games were set up for the children to play, and they sold tickets for each one. When all was said and done, the party became a huge success; they raised nearly five thousand dollars.

The men at station 51 were thrilled; there was enough money for Barney to spend a few days down in Mexico investigating, and plenty left over to pay Gage’s mortgage and bills for a few months. At least that would buy them some time before they would have to sell all of Johnny’s belongings.

All were floored when they found out that Kelly Brackett and Joe Early had each donated five hundred dollars apiece. Roy could hardly wait to tell Johnny what his friends had done for him, and began planning a time when he could afford to go back down to Mexico to see Johnny. Johnny had been in prison exactly one month on the day of the party.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 3