Free Skin Games by Adam Pepper Page B

only have made things worse.
    Never show weakness to a hyena.  Ever.  More importantly, this wasn’t about money.  This was about saving face.  This was about having the upper hand.  In my neighborhood, face was everything.  It was the thing you protected.  Face was reputation.  Face was how you showed yourself to the world, and how the world saw you.  I didn’t bend over and kiss Broad Shoulder Guy’s ass when he wanted me to.  Now he was gonna save face, and there was only one way to do that: it had to come at someone’s expense.  At my expense.  That’s just how hyenas protect themselves in the wild.
    And hand, hand was about respect.  Having the upper hand meant you were someone.  In a world full of nobodies, we all just wanted to be somebody.  On the outside, Broad Shoulder Guy was unemployed.  He probably sold a little weed or maybe he was a stickup kid.  Who knew?  But in here, he was somebody.  He was a man to be respected and feared.
    Broad Shoulder Guy didn’t want my money.  It wasn’t about that.  It was about power.  It was all about face, and hand.
    The lights came up, and a guard called, “Let’s go.  On your feet.  Breakfast in ten.”
    I washed with the tiny bar of soap and brushed my teeth.  Then I put my stuff in a small cubbyhole that was next to my bed.  My cellmate took a piss and didn’t wash his hands.
    The doors to our cell came open, and a guard shouted, “Let’s go.  Breakfast.”
    We walked single file down the corridor and down two flights of steps into the mess hall.  Ski Cap Guy was three men in front of me.  Broad Shoulder Guy was somewhere in back of me.  A few guys back in the line.  I could hear him calling.
    “You’re my bitch, O’Donnell.”  He paused, I guess for dramatic effect, then said, “Mine.”
    Ski Cap Guy turned and looked at me.  He smiled.  His top two front teeth were gold and he bit his lip with them.
    “Eyes front,” a guard yelled, and Ski Cap Guy turned forward.
    We filed slowly through the mess line.  I got a small plastic cup of juice and some oily oatmeal.  I was hungry, and I ate it fast once I sat down.
    There wasn’t much talk at breakfast.  Everyone ate quietly and quickly other than a few guys that just seemed to love being here.  They were constantly smiling.  The rest of us just wanted to eat and be done with it.
    After breakfast, we marched single file out of the mess hall and outside onto the yard.  Out in the cool open air.  I looked out at the East River to see Manhattan on the other side, cars moving by on the FDR Drive, people bustling in all directions.  I looked north, towards the Bronx.  I could almost see home.  Sort of.
    Home wasn’t far, but it might as well have been another state, another country, another planet for that matter.
    I felt wind behind me, then heard shuffling.  Before I could react, I felt a sting.  My vision blurred with spots and spirals and the buildings of the Bronx went foggy.
    “Yeah, bitch,” I heard.  Then nothing but the hyena’s laughter. 
    My neck hurt.  I took a shot to the gut.  Something hit the back of my leg.  I wobbled.  I tried to stay up and keep my composure.  Even though I didn’t know what was happening to me, I was sure that the hard ground of the flat recreational area was a bad place to be.
    Unfortunately, gravity is a bitch.
    On the ground I instantly covered up.  I’d been in fights before, but to tell you the truth, I’d never really had my ass kicked before.  I’d taken some punishment along the way.  No one wins every fight where I come from.  But for the most part, I’d avoided a true ass-kicking.
    But that came to an end, out there in the chilly autumn air.  The light wind blowing off the East River sent specks of dust and debris into my eyes.   The same eyes that I was trying to protect from kicks coming from standard issue, spankin’ new white jailhouse sneakers.
    Broad Shoulder Guy had something in his hand.  It