6
There were three men in the room, all in uniform, all wanting to hit Cary Oakes. He could see it in their eyes, in the way they stood half-tensed, cheekbones working at wads of gum. He made a sudden movement, but only stretching his legs out, shifting his weight on the chair, arching his head back so it caught the full glare of the sun, streaming through the high window. Bathed in heat and light, he felt the smile stretch across his face. His mother had always told him, ‘Your face shines when you smile, Cary.’ Crazy old woman, even back then. She’d had one of those double sinks in the kitchen, with a mangle you could fix between them. Wash the clothes in one sink, then through the mangle into the other. He’d stuck the tips of his fingers against the rollers once, started cranking the handle until it hurt.
Three prison guards: that’s what they reckoned Cary Oakes was worth. Three guards, and chains for his legs and arms.
‘Hey, guys,’ he said, pointing his chin at them. ‘Take your best shot.’
‘Can it, Oakes.’
Cary Oakes grinned again. He’d forced a reaction: of such small victories were his days made. The guard who’d spoken, the one with the tag identifying him as SAUNDERS, did tend towards the excitable. Oakes narrowed his eyes and imagined the moustached face pressed against a mangle, imagined the strength needed to force that face all the way through. Oakes rubbed his stomach; not so much as an ounce of flab there, despite the food they tried to serve him. He stuck to vegetables and fruit, water and juices. Had to keep the brain in gear. A lot of the other prisoners, they’d slipped into neutral, engines revving but heading nowhere. A stretch of confinement could do that to you, make you start believing things that weren’t true. Oakes kept up with events, had magazine and newspaper subscriptions, watched current affairs on TV and avoided everything else, except maybe a little sport. But even sport was a kind of novocaine. Instead of watching the screen, he watched the other faces, saw them heavy-lidded, no need to concentrate, like babies being spoon-fed contentment, bellies and brains filled to capacity with warmed-over gunk.
He started whistling a Beatles song: ‘Good Day, Sunshine’, wondering if any of the guards would know it. Potential for another reaction. But then the door opened and his attorney came in. His fifth lawyer in sixteen years, not a bad average, batting.300. This lawyer was young — mid-twenties — and wore blue blazers with cream slacks, a combination which made him look like a kid trying on his dad’s clothes. The blazers had brass-effect buttons and intricate designs on the breast pocket.
‘Ahoy, shipmate!’ Oakes cried, not shifting in his chair.
His lawyer sat down opposite him at the table. Oakes put his hands behind his head, rattling the chains.
‘Any chance of removing those from my client?’ the lawyer asked.
‘For your own protection, sir.’ The stock response.
Oakes used both hands to scratch his shaved head. ‘Know those divers and spacemen? Use weighted boots, necessary tool of the trade. I reckon when I lose these chains, I’m going to float up to the ceiling. I can make my living in freak shows: the human fly, see him scale the walls. Man, imagine the possibilities. I can float up to second-floor windows and watch all the ladies getting ready for bed.’ He turned his head to the guards. ‘Any of you guys married?’
The lawyer was ignoring this. He had his job to do, opening the briefcase and lifting out the paperwork. Wherever lawyers went, paper went with them. Lots of paper. Oakes tried not to look interested.
‘Mr Oakes,’ the lawyer said, ‘it’s just a matter of detail now.’
‘I’ve always enjoyed detail.’
‘Some papers that have to be signed by various officials.’
‘See, guys,’ Oakes called to the guards, ‘I told you no prison could hold Cary Oakes! OK, so it’s taken me fifteen years, but, hey, nobody’s perfect.’ He laughed, turning to his lawyer. ‘So how long should all these... details take?’
‘Days rather than weeks.’
Inside, Oakes’s heart was pumping. His ears were hissing with the intensity of it, the swell of apprehension and anticipation. Days...
‘But I haven’t finished painting my cell. I want it left pretty for the next tenant.’
Finally the attorney smiled, and Oakes knew him in that instant: working his way up in Daddy’s practice; reviled by his elders, mistrusted by his peers. Was he spying on them, reporting back to the old man? How could he prove himself? If he joined them for drinks on a Friday night, loosening his tie and mussing up his hair, they felt uncomfortable. If he kept his distance, he was a cold fish. And what about the father? The old man couldn’t have anyone accusing him of nepotism, the boy had to learn the hard way. Give him the shitty-stick cases, the no-hopers, the ones that left you needing a shower and change of clothes. Make him prove himself. Long hours of thankless toil, a shining example to everyone else in the firm.
All this discerned from a single smile, the smile of a half-shy, self-conscious drone who dreamt of being King Bee, who perhaps even harboured little fantasies of patricide and succession.
‘You’ll be deported, of course,’ the prince was saying now.
‘What?’
‘You were in this country illegally, Mr Oakes.’
‘I’ve been here nearly half my life.’
‘Nevertheless...’
Nevertheless... His mother’s word. Every time he had an excuse prepared, some story to explain the situation, she’d listen in silence, then take a deep breath, and it was like he could see the word forming in the air that issued from her mouth. During his trial, he’d rehearsed little conversations with her.
‘Mother, I’ve been a good son, haven’t I?’
‘Nevertheless...’
‘Nevertheless, I killed two people.’
‘Really, Cary? You’re sure it was only two...?’
He sat up in his chair. ‘So let them deport me, I’ll come straight back.’
‘It won’t be so easy. I can’t see you securing a tourist visa this time, Mr Oakes.’
‘I don’t need one. You’re behind the times.’
‘Your name will be on record...’
‘I’ll walk across from Canada or Mexico.’
The lawyer shifted in his seat. He didn’t like to hear this.
‘I have to come back and see my pals,’ nodding towards the guards. ‘They’ll miss me when I’m gone. And so will their wives.’
‘Fuck you, slime.’ Saunders again.
Oakes beamed at his lawyer. ‘Isn’t that nice? We have nicknames for each other.’
‘I don’t think any of this is very helpful, Mr Oakes.’
‘Hey, I’m the model prisoner. That’s the way it works, right? I learned a fast lesson: use the same system they used to put you where you are. Read up on the law, go back over everything, know the questions to ask, the objections that should have been made at the original trial. The lawyer they had representing me, I’ll tell you, he couldn’t have presented a school prize, never mind my case.’ He smiled again. ‘You’re better than him. You’re going to be all right. Remember that next time your pop is chewing you out. Just say to yourself: I’m better than that, I’m going to be all right.’ He winked. ‘No charge for my time, son.’
Son: as if he was fifty rather than thirty-eight. As if the knowledge of the ages was his for the dispensing.
‘So I get a free flight back to London?’
‘I’m not sure.’ The lawyer looked through his notes. ‘You’re from Lothian originally?’ Pronouncing it loathing.