“So, what’s your point?’
“My point is that you can’t believe what the residents tell you, and that to solicit their input is an exercise in futility.”
Jed couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Right or wrong, then, your staff is always right.”
Johnstone considered the statement for a long moment before buying into it. Then, “In a word, yes.”
“Jesus Christ, Johnstone, you’re inviting corruption!” Hackner protested. “You’re telling me that your staff can do whatever they please, and as long as they hide it well, that’s okay with you.”
Johnstone slammed his fist on his desk, sending a ripple through the surface of his abundant torso. “Don’t lecture me, Sergeant. Open your eyes. This whole system is corrupt already! We pretend there is hope for these kids when there is no such thing. We use words and phrases to soften realities that no one wants to face. These kids are animals, Hackner. Animals. And we are the fucking zookeepers. So, do I think the residents here lie? Yes, because they do. And do I accept what my staff tells me as true? Yes, because I have to. In a place like this, it’s the only reality there is.”
For the longest time, Hackner just stared, his fa’ce showing a combination of disbelief and disgust. He’d spent enough years on the force to know what these kids were capable of, but from his perspective, Johnstone, given the position he held, should at least be giving lip service to the goal of rehabilitation. Instead, he’d clearly given up. Every two weeks, he collected a paycheck on false pretenses. On a different case, the hypocrisy might not have registered, but on this one, it really pissed Jed off.
“Is it standard procedure to relieve a resident of his shoes when placing them in the Crisis Unit?” Jed asked, shifting gears.
Johnstone appeared relieved to be once again discussing factual issues instead of theoretical ones. “I wouldn’t say it was common, but it certainly isn’t unusual.”
“What’s the purpose?”
Johnstone spoke as though he were prepared for the question. “When residents arrive here, they arrive with nothing of their own. They’re made to shower in the stall immediately adjacent to the in-processing area, after which they hand over all of their personal belongings. At that point they become dependent upon the system for everything. We give them their underwear, their clothes, their toiletries, everything. To be so dependent on others—particularly on others whom you dislike—has a severe impact on self-esteem. Beginning on that first day, they learn that dignity is a function of respecting the system. If they behave, for example, they can earn points toward the purchase of their own bar of soap, or a bottle of their favorite shampoo. These things then become status symbols. When they misbehave, however, the most basic elements of self-esteem become vulnerable. Thus, it is not uncommon for a resident to be relieved of something of importance as they’re placed into the Unit. In severe cases, they must strip completely for their term in the Unit. It’s all part of a behavior modification program with which we’ve had a great deal of success.”
Hackner launched his next question like a weapon. “Your records show that Nathan Bailey was raped with a broom handle during his first night at the JDC. Was that part of your dignity deprivation program?”
Anger burned behind Johnstone’s eyes, of a magnitude beyond hatred. “Think what you will of me and my operation here, Sergeant,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “but I have never once condoned an act of violence on these premises.”
“Yeah, I’m touched,” Hackner replied. “But you don’t seem to do much to prevent it, either.”
“I merely live in the real world, Sergeant. ‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.’ That’s not a bad prayer to live by.”
“Yeah, well, I prefer, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’”
Chapter 16
Nathan sat impassively on the sofa in the family room, using the nuclear-powered remote to thumb endlessly through the channels—all 153 of them. How on earth did these people ever decide on what to watch? Half of what he found was old crap that he’d already seen a dozen times before, and the rest was a collection of infomercials, foreign-language variety shows, news and the “life sucks” shows hosted by Phil, Oprah, Geraldo, Jenny, Sally and anybody else who could convince a group of weirdos to go on television. Even the news about him had gotten boring, with sad-faced anchor people saying the same things over and over. He did note, however, much to his relief, that at least one of the stations had found a better picture of him, the one out of his fifth-grade yearbook.
Partly because he had been raised right, as his dad used to say, but mostly out of sheer boredom, he’d laundered the sheets from the master bedroom. It wasn’t right to leave a place without making the bed. Especially if you broke a window to get in while your hosts were on vacation. He was also careful to clean up during his ongoing eating binge. He was almost sorry he’d found the Pepperidge Farm Cookies and vanilla ice cream in the freezer. Absent anyone telling him he couldn’t have another helping, he’d pretty much obliterated the contents of both containers.
Despite his desire to be a good houseguest (breaker?), he couldn’t bring himself to do anything with the JDC jumpsuit, which still lay where he had shed it on the floor of the hall bathroom. That would remain behind closed doors at least until he left. He did feel sorry, though, for whoever would have to clean up the mess.
It took enormous self-control to keep from executing his plan early. While he realized the importance of darkness to his chances of success, this was July, and it didn’t get dark until almost nine, for crying out loud. But wait he would, because impatience spelled a trip back to the JDC, or maybe even worse. If all it took was a little patience to keep that from happening, he could endure the boredom.
As he flipped mindlessly through the channels, his thoughts turned once again to the trouble he was in. He was developing a new perspective on it all. He was beginning to accept his situation as an unchangeable fact that had to be dealt with, rather than a series of events to be regretted. Okay, so he’d killed a guy and that was bad, but it really was an accident, and it really was in self-defense. In his heart, Nathan was certain that he only intended to make Ricky jump back. It might take a while for him to sleep through the nightmares of the blood and the noise, but there wasn’t a lick of remorse in his heart for protecting himself.
He conceded, however, that running away from the JDC might have been a stupid thing to do. It sure made him look guilty, and in retrospect, with Ricky dead, he probably didn’t have to worry about anyone else trying to kill him. So, why had he run? The best answer he could think of was the simple truth: because he was scared, and most important of all, because the opportunity presented itself. Given those circumstances, who wouldn’t run? And now that he was out, staying out seemed more important than… well, anything.
What really surprised him was how quickly his list of crimes grew. He had already added burglary—he supposed that’s what it was called—to the list, and within the next few hours, he was planning to steal a car. By the time he reached Canada, he figured he’d have to burgle at least two more times, and steal at least two more cars. No doubt about it, if he got caught, he’d be in deep shit.