Free Skin Games by Adam Pepper Page A

That’s good.”  The guard handed me an orange jumpsuit, a pair of underwear, socks and plain white sneakers.  “Put this on.”
    I put the jumpsuit on.
    He handed me a toothbrush, soap, and small tube of toothpaste.  “Hang on to those.  Don’t lose ‘em.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    The guard walked me to the end of the room and then handed me off to another guard.  The new guard didn’t gesture or say a word.  He just waited for me to start walking up the hallway, and then he followed behind.  The hallway ended at a door with thick glass.  It buzzed and then came open.
    I walked through.
    Once on the other side of the door, I heard noise.  A lot of it.  Undistinguishable and chaotic, just a mass of voices ringing out in the wide-open room filled with cells on each side as far as my eyes could see.
    I heard a loud voice, well louder than the others, shout, “New blood!”
    This turned the random shouts into purposeful taunts and catcalls.  “New blood!  New blood!”
    I heard lips puckering and tongues spitting out.  Guys were shouting.  I knew not to look.  Avoid eye contact.  Keep head up and forward.  No signs of weakness.
    I grew up in the Bronx.  Keeping up a firm exterior was second nature for me.  But inside, I was sure hoping my mother would find a way to post my bail, and soon.
    The guard walked me up a flight of steps and down a long corridor.  Small cells ran along my right and to my left was a railing.  Each cell had two guys in it. 
    The guard grabbed my shoulder and said, “Stop here.”  Then he called out, “Open seventy-two.”
    The door to the cell opened, and I turned.  Inside there were two small cots.  Some guy was laid out on one of them, passed out.  I walked in and sat down on the other cot.
    “Close it,” the guard called.
    The door slammed shut, and I looked around my cell.  There was a toilet, with no lid, and a tiny sink.  I didn’t see any tissue or toilet paper.  My cot had folded sheets at the foot of it and a grungy-looking pillow at the head.  I got up and made my bed.
    An awful snore was wailing out of my cellmate’s lungs as if they were clogged with tar.  I could smell his breath from the other side of the room.  I couldn’t see all of him, but I could see a gray-speckled five o’clock shadow and a wiry small frame.
    He wasn’t intimating, so that was good.  The guys on the outside were one thing; this smelly old drunk I could take, if push came to shove.
    The noise outside my cell started up again, and I heard the door to the outside open.  I stood up and looked out.  I saw Broad Shoulder Guy walking down the hallway.  He was smiling wide and nodding to guys as he passed their cells.
    “What up, bro?” he said to one.  Then to another, “J Smoove, good to see you, man.”
    Not far behind him was Ski Cap Guy.  He wasn’t wearing the ski cap anymore, but it was him.  Without the hat on his head, I could see a huge, black tattoo that covered the back of his neck as he passed by my cell.
    “Yo, yo, O’Donnell,” he said.
    Broad Shoulder Guy, from a few cells down said, “He’s here?  O’Donnell’s here?”
    “Yep,” Ski Cap Guy confirmed.
    “Okay, fellas,” said one of the guards.  “That’s enough fun for one night.  Lights out in five.”
    I couldn’t see Broad Shoulder Guy, as he was now settled into his cell, but I heard him call out, “See you in the morning, O’Donnell.”
    * *
    The sharp springs of a shitty cot grinding into my back woke me long before morning.  The mattress was probably once three inches but had been flattened to an inch from use.  I guess I slept an hour, maybe two.  Between the flat mattress and my cellmate snoring most of the night, it was a miracle I got that much rest.  Not to mention the fact that Broad Shoulder Guy was gunning for me.  He had something to prove.  For a second, I thought maybe I should have given him money back in the bullpen when he asked for it, but I knew that would