Chapter Twenty-Nine #3
After I leave her office, I head back to the worksite to face the music.
I start chastising myself for being too emotionally involved in Solomon’s problems. Sure, I feel sorry for the kid and want to help him, but he’s not really my responsibility.
Jackson’s got a daughter to support and so do I.
The best way for me to support Maisie is to keep my nose clean until I can get out of this place and be back in her life.
Solomon’s not my kid; she is. Still, I’m not as powerless as Jackson thinks.
Getting Anselmo and Piccardy fired is a long shot, but it could happen.
Inappropriate use of a state-issued weapon against a poor, dumb animal.
Somebody’s got to do something to expose those two and the shit they’re pulling.
When I get back to the barn, the sun’s on the descent.
I can hear the other crew members scraping.
I’m guessing about an hour to go until quitting time.
I grab my scraper and start climbing the ladder when someone grabs my foot.
“Hey!” I yell. “What the fuck?” Looking over my shoulder and down, I see it’s Piccardy and, behind him, Goolsby.
“Tell him, Officer Goolsby,” Piccardy says.
“Go back to your block, Ledbetter,” he says. “You’re off the crew.”
“You had a good thing going here, but you blew it,” Piccardy adds.
I’m tempted to say what I’m thinking: you COs have a better thing out here than we do. Pizza parties, pot parties, no one watching you. That would wipe that smug expression off Piccardy’s face, but I’d end up paying for it in spades.
Walking back to B Block, I decide that if I get the third degree from any of the other crew members, I’ll keep my mouth shut.
The less said, the better. I enter the block, climb the stairs to our tier, and stop at the control desk.
“What’s up?” CO McGreavy asks. I tell him I need an Administrative Remedy form.
McGreavy and I have never had any issues, but he gives me a suspicious look as he hands it to me.
When I ask him where it goes after I fill it out, he points to the locked box at the far end of the desk.
“Who reads these?” I ask.
“The unit officer who handles grievances for this block,” he tells me.
“Officer as in a regular CO?” He nods. “Who is it?” He says I’m not privy to that information. “It’s not Piccardy, is it? Or Anselmo?”
He looks around to see whether anyone’s watching. Then he shakes his head.
“So I write up the complaint and drop it in the box. Then what happens?”
“Depends. The grievance officer either dismisses the complaint or passes it up the chain to the unit supervisor, or sometimes to a captain or a lieutenant.”
“But not to the warden?”
“Jesus, Ledbetter, what is this? Twenty Questions? Maybe one time out of a hundred it goes as high as the warden’s office, but it’s usually dealt with before it gets that far.
You sure you and whoever you got a problem with can’t talk it out instead of putting it in writing?
Settle it that way?” I tell him yes, I’m sure.
On the way back to our cell, I try to second-guess which CO would be reading my complaint.
Kratt? Hernandez? Maybe even McGreavy himself.
Whoever it is, I get the feeling a lot of the other guards think Piccardy’s a douche, so it might make it to the next round.
And Captain Graham’s our unit supervisor; she’s no-nonsense but she strikes me as fair.
If it gets to her, she might follow up, ask questions, pass it up the chain. It’s worth a shot.
Back in our cell, when Manny asks me about my day, I can’t help but laugh, though nothing’s remotely funny. I tell him I got kicked off the crew.
“What for?” he says.
“Piccardy and Anselmo were abusing Solomon, so I walked off the job and reported them to Jackson.”
“Wow, that was either ballsy or stupid. Abusing him how?”
“Threw him on the ground and started kicking him.” I feel my anger bubbling up again just thinking about it. “Then they took him into the woods, made him get down on all fours and bark like a fucking dog!”
“Jesus, that’s bad. But I’ve seen worse, Corbs.”
I make him promise not to say anything about what I just told him—to let me handle it.
“Jackson’s going to have him checked out at the hospital,” I tell him.
“Get some X-rays taken and have him talk to a shrink, although who knows how that’s going to go?
But seriously, Manny. Don’t discuss this with anyone. ”
“Okay, okay. I get the message. Sheesh.”
“I’m worried about him, you know? He’s just a fucked-up kid.”
“You know who I’m worried about, Corby?” he says. “ You . You’ve gotten too involved with that kid. Yeah, he needs help and yeah, he doesn’t belong here. But you can’t fight his battles for him.”
“Okay, Manny. Thanks for the unsolicited advice.”
I put the big mythology book on my lap, grab a pencil, and start filling out the grievance form. “What’s that?” he asks.
I read him the heading. “CTDOC Form 16-E, Administrative Remedy Regarding Alleged Staff Misconduct. Don’t you love all the bullshit euphemisms they have at this place? Administrative Remedy? The real remedy will be if I can get Piccardy and Anselmo fired over this.”
“For bullying the kid? Roughing him up a little?”
“No. You can’t file a grievance on another inmate’s behalf. This is about what they did to the turkey.”
Looking bewildered, he lets go a laugh. “The turkey? What turkey?”
“Never mind. I want to get this done. You can read it after I finish.”
But the day has taken its toll and I’m too emotional and too exhausted to phrase it right. I stop after the first three or four sentences. I’ll write the rest of it tomorrow. I don’t have work anymore, so I’ll have plenty of time.
I flop down on my bunk, face to the wall, and close my eyes. It plays in my head like a movie: the way they hurt him, humiliated him. I’m just starting to doze when I hear, “I wouldn’t if I were you.” I turn my head and there’s Manny, standing next to my bunk. He’s holding the grievance form.
“Except you’re not me.”
“Come on, Corby. You know how these things go. Anselmo and Piccardy will back each other up and you’ll end up standing in dog shit. Then they’ll want to get even. And frankly, I don’t want to get caught in the middle of it.”
“This isn’t about you , Manny.”
“The fuck it isn’t! What if they shake down our cell again and go through my stuff, too? See what I’ve got stashed away? I don’t want to get a ticket for contraband because of your grandstanding.”
He climbs up to his bunk, crosses his arms across his chest, and pouts.
“I’m not grandstanding! I’m standing up to a couple of bullies.”
He jumps down again and goes to the back window. With his back to me, he says, “And if you think you’re gonna get those two goons fired over a turkey, you’re fuckin’ delusional. You planning to take on their union, too? And Piccardy’s uncle?”
“No, but if my complaint travels a few links up the food chain, at least it will put the administration on notice that these two need to be watched.”
He pivots, facing me again. “Okay, man, if you want to stick your neck out, you better watch out for the ax. And keep me out of it.”
I snatch the grievance form away from him and tell him to chill out. “I fucking know what I’m doing, Manny.”
“Ha!” he says. Goes back up to his bed and pulls the sheet over his head.
The next morning on the way to breakfast chow, I catch up to Solomon’s cellmate, Daugherty. “How’s the kid doing?” I ask. He shrugs. Says he hasn’t come back from the hospital yet. What does it mean if they kept him overnight? Is he that badly injured? Has he had a breakdown?
After I eat, I go back and start in again on the grievance.
I go back and forth about including the part about them smoking weed while they were on the job, but decide against it.
Too hard to prove so I stick to the animal abuse.
They made a ten-dollar bet.… Piccardy was the one who pepper-sprayed her.
… She was suffering but still alive when he stomped her head and threw her into the woods.
… Her chicks can’t fly yet, so without her protection, they’ll be easy prey .
I probably should not have added the flourish at the end of the complaint.
If the matter is not taken seriously and dealt with appropriately, I will have no choice but to notify the SPCA about Officers Piccardy and Anselmo’s cruelty toward a defenseless animal and her young .
The instructions say to limit your complaint to the back of the form and one extra page.
By writing smaller on the last half page, I just make it.
When our cell doors pop for our five-on-the-floor break, I walk down to the desk to drop my grievance into the box, but I stand there, hesitating.
Maybe Manny’s right. Maybe sticking my neck out is a mistake.
But if I’m called in to talk about the pepper spraying, then maybe I can mention what they did to Solomon.
The trouble with thinking like Manny is that it’s defeatist. Jackson said she didn’t think I’d have a shot either.
They both assume inmates are powerless, but maybe we’re not.
I’m starting to lose my nerve a little, but I’m in it now and I’m doing it for Solomon and whoever else they’ve been bullying—myself included. I drop the form through the slot.
On my way back to our cell, Daugherty stops me.
“Couple of the guards just came in and packed up Solomon’s stuff.
Said he’s been transferred out of here, but they wouldn’t tell me where.
” Hopefully, Counselor Jackson performed some kind of miracle and got the poor kid into a psych facility.
I’m relieved that he’s out of this place, but I wish I’d had the chance to tell him goodbye and good luck.
He drove me nuts, but I’m already feeling his absence.
One day he’s here, the next day he’s gone.