Chapter 7: 1969-1976

Lutz and I did okay together. We became kinda buddy-buddy that being the operative term. His wife had sorta dumped him too, once he was inside, though in point of fact, she had not so far divorced him. And she did write him on a rare occasion. Still, though she had kinda unofficially dumped him, such was so because of interference from some of her friends: they’d convinced her that it was bad news to be paired with a convict—one convicted of aggravated armed robbery in his case. He’d already been in for seven years of a twenty-five-year ticket with no chance for parole when we were teamed up. Hell, he was more fucked than I was; he shouldn’t have pistol-whipped that customer.

I was doing okay in C-block. A couple of fights over the next years; lost ‘em. Forced to my knees to perform personal service a number of times, but other than those I was making it. It was prison; there was no getting around it. I didn’t complain to anyone, but I did mention stuff to my lawyer.

The thing about my lawyer was that he was there for me. He kept asking me if I wanted him to make trouble for my inhouse tormentors. I always told him no; had I done so things would not have been good. And Lutz had my back most of the time anyway. He was better than any lawyer when it came to that stuff.

And time passed and now it was 1975, almost Thanksgiving again. I’d gotten a note from mister Golding; he would be up on the holiday. I should likely note here, if I hadn’t already, that mister Golding did not have any family. He was a refugee from Germany—he’d been a toddler at the time—whose entire family except an older sister, who had since died, had been victims of Hitler’s murderous regime. Hence, the man seemed to care a bit more about incarcerated souls than most law dogs.

“So, your lawyer’s coming up for the big dinner?” said Frank.

“Yeah, that’s what his note said.”

“You are one lucky dude for sure. I haven’t seen a lawyer since a year after I came here,” he said. “That was fourteen years ago, more actually. Think you could get your lawyer to do for me?”

“My lawyer? You want him to be your lawyer?”

“Hell yes. But I can’t pay him. Which brings up the question, how do you pay him. You a secret millionaire or something?”

“Hah! I wish. No, not a millionaire. I was his first murder case. He’s following my career in here as a matter of research. And, he says he gets some reimbursement from the state for doing pro bono stuff,” I said.

“Would it be too much to ask ... I mean...”

“I can ask. But I really don’t have any torque with the man,” I said.

“Okay, I get it,” he said. He was looking down.

“Never mind, I’ll ask. I will,” I said.

“Okay, thanks. It’d be appreciated,” said Frank.

Almost ten years inside. For Frank almost fifteen years. And then it was the big day, Thanksgiving. And my lawyer, William Golding, showed up for the big dinner, and it was a big dinner, lots of family members of the inmates were there, and a few lawyers, and again, mine was among those.

We were chowing down at a small improvised two-person table, kinda unusual, but it did happen on rare occasions, mostly the bigger holidays. Technically our part of C-block was still max, but more like max-lite. We had more time outside our cells and most of C-block were two-inmate cells. It was way better than B-block for sure. My lawdog and I were talking.

“He wants me to be his lawyer?” said Will. “So where is he? Is he having dinner today?”

“No, he’s too down in the dumps. He’s just sitting in our cell brooding. And yes, he asked me to ask you. He’s desperate. His wife dumped him, sort of, and he wants to somehow get parole. He’s hoping he can hook up with her again. She has sent him letters kinda off and on. All kinda saccharin, but better than nothing. He lets me read ‘em since I don’t have a woman of my own.

“What?” I said, noting his look.

“Chase it’s true you don’t have a wife anymore. But your ex-wife still has feelings for you and feels guilty about her new man adopting your daughter. That was so clear to me when I spoke to them the times I’ve had to deal with them: you know, about the divorce and the adoption. It’s actually really odd, the way she acts.”

“I don’t care about them. They can rot in hell. The lawyer was nodding but it was a negative nodding.

“Will?” I said.

“Chase, you say that your bud has a no parole status. That so?”

“Yes, twenty-five with no parole; but there’s always a way, right?” I said.

“Hmm, ‘Always a way’ is a slight exaggeration. Does it happen sometimes that things can change? Yes, but it is always a long shot and usually loaded with conditions. Technically, you’re eligible next year, and I’m working on that even now. Your chances? Maybe ten percent. His? Maybe one percent. But...”

“But...?” I said.

“Political clout could make it happen, but apart from such clout...” he left that hanging in the air.

“Will, what’s going on?”

“Your ex’s husband has the clout. At least I think he does. He’s filthy rich and has a lot of contacts. And he’s made it clear to me that they do want to help you. So?” I stared at the man.

“You saying, that if I knuckle under to them, that my enemy could get Frank a second chance?”

“In a word, yes, probably, and you too,” he said. We sat in total silence for what had to be five very long minutes just nibbling on our food. He waited me out.

“If he helps Frank, I will appreciate it. Tell him that. But as for me, it’s a no go. And if he won’t help Frank without me knuckling under to him, then no help for Frank either. My hate for the two of them is way too deep seated for me to give an inch when it comes to me taking anything from him; I’d rather die in here. Am I understood?” The lawyer nodded.

“Yes. I understand. I think you’re nuts, but I will deliver your message. Sit tight and don’t make any promises to Frank until you hear from me. This request is so out of left field, deep left field, that I can’t promise anything,”

“Okay,” I said.

“So?” said Frank.

“He’s considering the request. He’ll try, but it’s a long shot—his words.” My cellmate nodded. “He said he’ll get back to me, or maybe you. Put him on your approved visitor’s list.”

“I will, for sure.”

“Help his cellmate! But not him? Do I have that right?” said Herbert.

“Yes.”

“And Chase is eligible next year.”

“Yes, but without a miracle, he won’t be getting out, not next year for sure,” said Will.

“Sweet Mother of God!” said Valerie. “I guess he is still just so angry!” The lawyer looked down.

“Even so, this could work for us,” said Herbert. “He’s asking us to help him with his cellmate. And it’s Chase asking for the favor not his cellmate. He will owe us one and that big time.”

“Maybe not,” said William. “He made it clear to me, that if you demanded a quid-pro-quo, then he was ready to just cancel the whole thing. And, Herbert, Mister Cooper, he meant what he said. You had to see his face. He really wants nothing to do with the Cooper family or business. Herb, the man is primed to turn you down cold.”

“Yes, and I believe you, him. We will ask for nothing, not right away. But after a little time passes. We will ask him for a small favor. His bud will already be out. There will have been no quid-pro-quo, and he would have to have serious balls to turn us down cold as you say.”