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Upstate. Our guys are," he continued, pausing for the right
word, "twitchier."
"I see that," Rusty nodded, dipping his head for a moment.
He had close-cropped sandy hair, tight against his scalp. "But
it's looser here too, seems like."
"What do you mean?"
"He had that blanket stuffed up into the vent, blocking the
air flow," Rusty said. "God knows what he had hiding in there.
Could have been anything. But he's going to get the blanket
back?"
Grant smiled. "Normally, no. But this is Big Harry you're
talking about."
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To Serve and Protect
by Chris Owen, Tory Temple, CB Potts
"And he's different why?" An eyebrow arched upward.
"There's bigger guys down the street and they've still got to
comply."
"Yeah, but they're not crazy in the head," Mark cut in. "Big
Harry, he's fucked right up."
"That right?" Rusty was looking to Grant for the answers.
"In a way, yeah." Grant nodded. "The blanket's in the vent
to keep the angels out," he explained. "Big Harry's haunted.
He thinks the angels of his victims come back through the
vent at night to, uh, violate him."
"Violate him?" Rusty laughed. "You're serious."
"I am." Grant had seen the big man down, more than a
few times, screaming and crying and begging to be saved
from his invisible assailants. "Puts him right over the edge, it
does."
"Serves him right, you ask me. Man does what he done, he
deserves a little torment." That was Mark, still edgy.
"That may be," Grant agreed. "But do you want to deal
with this shit every night for the rest of his life?" He turned
toward Rusty. "Big Harry isn't going anywhere, ever. He's got
three lives, back to back. So he keeps the blanket.
Sometimes you've got to have some kind of compassion, you
know?"
"I guess," Rusty said.
"At least until they let us shoot all these bastards," Mark
added.
* * * *
136
To Serve and Protect
by Chris Owen, Tory Temple, CB Potts
An incident that can take five minutes out of the day can
result in five hours of paperwork. Grant sighed and sat down
with his stack of papers. At least he was getting off easy as
a bit player in Big Harry's takedown, all he'd have to do was
the basic stuff. Rusty, on the other hand, would be
documenting the incident for hours.
What a way to start a new assignment. Grant found
himself watching the new guy out of the corner of his eye,
and he liked what he saw. An easy-going attitude, a quick
smile. None of the dark intensity he was usually attracted to
nine times out of ten, Grant would seek out men with some
Spanish in their veins. Men like Alejandro, he thought with a
sigh, who would have nothing to do with him, or men like
Darien, who'd not taken time out of the evening to discuss his
heritage with him.
Rusty, however, looked like his name. Short sandy hair
matched the spray of freckles on his neck. Pale skin, bright
green eyes. Thin as a thought, but if he'd been pulled up to
Upstate from Bare Hill, he had to be tough.
Tough was good.
Grant shook his head. There was a time and a place for
everything, and work was definitely neither when it came to
checking out men. Corrections wasn't exactly the most
liberated field in the world, anyway. That's why Grant,
although not exactly closeted, was extremely discreet about
being gay.
Besides which, Rusty was probably straight anyway.
* * * *
137
To Serve and Protect
by Chris Owen, Tory Temple, CB Potts
Four a.m. meant it was time to wake up the inmates who
worked in the kitchen. Good guys, most of them. Working in
the kitchen was a privilege, and those that managed to win a
spot tried to hold on to it.
The six that lived in Grant's dorm never gave him any
trouble. He could count on them being up and ready to go at
first light, ID's ready and dressed for work.
But this morning, Russell didn't come out of his cell.
"Russell?" Grant called, shining his flashlight into the
narrow, darkened space. He'd never had to call the older man
twice before. "You all right, buddy?"
There was no response. Russell's cellie, Edgar, sat up,
blinking into the light. "What the fuck, man?"
Russell was lying in his bed, eyes closed, not moving. Not
even his chest.
"Oh, man," Grant groaned. He hit his radio, calling for
help. Every instinct he had was telling him to go check the old
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