This particular tale is about a prisoner, who was once an enforcer for the brothers, getting a visit from a stranger that has interesting news for him. It’s called “Hell on Earth”. I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think.
Hell on Earth
by Robert Price
“Hardgrove, you got a visitor!” yelled the prison guard standing outside the grey, dingy cell. Reggie Hardgrove rose from the bunk, slow and steady, while eyeing Correctional Officer Stanley. He cocked his head to the left with a peculiar expression on his face. “This ain’t my day C.O.,” he said strolling to face him through the bars. His scrawny hands wrapped around the long cylinders like ashen clamps, wringing them as if they were the necks of chickens.
The guard stepped back and instinctively placed his hand on the pepper spray. Last month’s melee was still fresh in his mind and the last thing he wanted was to have the same demise as Bob Jordan with a shank in his throat. Preparedness was not an issue.
“Relax officer,” said a smiling Reggie, “I ain’t givin’ you no problems. I’m just surprised I got a visitor, that’s all. You all jumpy and shit.”
The tall, well-built black man sat straight-laced in front of the plexiglas within the cubicle, head down and deep in thought. A controlled fury marked his countenance as he went over his intending conversation, repeatedly forming several conclusions of the outcome.
“Everything must be on beat or he won’t learn the lesson,” he said to himself.
The grey slab that posed as a door opened to a lanky, caramel hued man with short dreads protruding from his head led by a sour-pussed guard. He sat him down in the chair opposite the plexiglas and stood toward the back.
The prisoner placed his shackled hands on the table and stared at his visitor. He winced at the sight of the healed over burnt flesh on the left side of the man’s face.
After picking up the receiver to the right of the cubicle, the tall man motioned the orange shirt prisoner to do the same.
“Good morning Reginald. How are your accommodations?” asked the man.
“Who da fuck is you?” answered Reggie
“Is that how you greet a visitor? Back in the day, I was always happy to get a visit from anybody who still remembered me.”
“Fo’ real man, I don’t know you. Why you up here and what happened to yo face?”
The man sighed. “Who I am is of no importance, but I do know the young man you murdered.”
In that moment, Reggie snickered and shook his head. “Yo you some kin to that nigga I shot on the bus. What, you here to gloat? I’m on Death Row, Nigga,” he said with an obdurate wave of his hands.
Annoyance crept onto the man’s face, moreover, a sense of disgust boiled in his gut. He kept his composure and continued with the conversation.
“Do you think you’re hard, Reginald? You think your manhood is measured by how tough you think you are. You got the heart to kill civilians like women and children. Could you do it? Watch as their insides spill out onto the street and you have to shoo away the dogs so they won’t eat them.”
The prisoner sat back in his seat and looked at him through squinted eyes. “You ain’t answerin’ my question. What chu here fo’? Want an apology. I ain’t give one in the courtroom. What makes you think Im’ma give one now? Muthafucka, you can leave on that shit, right now.”
Pulling out a photograph from his inside jacket pocket, the man held it underneath the table and viewed it for a short time.
Reggie sat there frowning and cursing under his breath at the stranger’s presence. He was a distraction that conjured memories of past sins.
In prison, time is long and memory is even longer. To dwell on transgressions left you vulnerable and weak. Reggie could not afford weakness and he be damned if he would show it.
“Do you know the definition of Remorse?” asked the burnt face man looking up from the picture. “It is a deep and painful regret for wrongdoing. In fact, I read a quote just the other day that sums it up perfectly: There is no refuge from memory and remorse in this world. The spirits of our foolish deeds haunt us with or without repentance. You can sit there and be as hard as you want, Reginald. Nevertheless, I believe there is still some humanity left in you, so I’m going to help you break through that veneer. First off, let me start by saying that it’s not your fault.”
Reggie, arching his eyes, stared at him for a few seconds. He surveyed his face for a quivering lip or a wink of the eye to signify that he was joking.
“Not my fault,” he thought. “I shot that punk for disrespecting me. Bump me and don’t say anything. Then wanna pop off like he was gonna throw blows, so I killed that shit before it even began. Shit yeah it wasn’t my fault.”
The man continued. “You see, you’re just a boy in your thinking trying to be a man in this crazy world. I know all about you. You grew up in Southwest Philly over there on Florence Ave. Your mom raised you and your sister by herself. She worked the customary two jobs and was never home to supervise you. You fell into the wrong crowd. Same ‘ole thing around the world and now you reside at this fine correctional institution on Death Row for murder. It just writes itself. A damn shame.”
Frustrated at the sad rundown of his life, Reggie asked through clenched teeth, “What da fuck do you want?”
“I wanted to say that I don’t blame you. I do, however blame your mother. She should have done more.”
“Muthafucka. Who do you think you are talkin’ about my Moms? You don’t know shit.”
“But I do Reginald. I know that she’s dead.”
Blood flushed from his face. “What?”
“I killed her. And before you fly off the handle,” He held up the picture and asked, “Do you know who this is?”
Reggie steadied himself. Hands became clammy. Sweat beaded and ran down the side of his cheek.
“That’s my sister Aniya.”
“Correct. She is very sweet and still alive I might add. She can stay that way, but you have to keep quiet. See, if I hear that you told the Warden about what happened, well, let’s say that will force my hand and I would hate to have to be unkind towards her.”
Tears caught in the wells of his eyes. In all the acrimony that has emanated from his choices in life, he never once thought of the dangers to his family.
His mind inundated with images of his mother at the trial sobbing for the mistakes she made with him. Her eyes wearing defeat like bloated fish floating on a sea of despair. Reggie could not turn to look his mother in the eye and see the disappointment. Deep down, he knew that it was more to her gaze. He saw regret.
Since being in here, she has not visited him. Aniya has come by from time to time and sent him money, but he longed for the day his mother would come and forgive him for the mess he made of his life. His date with the needle was imminent and he needed solace. Now a pipe dream.
“See that. I knew there was a human being under that stony façade you wear,” said the man putting the photograph back in his inside pocket.
“You betta not hurt my sister,” said Reggie shaking his leg like a jackrabbit underneath the table.
“Please, save your threats for the knuckleheads in here. You are in no position.” He paused and asked, “How does it feel? It feels like your guts have been ripped out, don’t it? How you think the parents feel about the son you murdered? You think they feel the same way you do? I mean…what you care, right? You just waved it off as everyday business. Collateral damage. Fuck him and fuck his family.”
The burnt face man leaned forward, almost touching the thick glass, and stared at the distraught prisoner. He smiled and said, “I want you to suffer and fret. I want you to wonder every waking hour if your sister is still alive. Then, I want you to wallow in your mourning for your mother and ask God why she was taken away. See if he answers.”
The man sat back and spoke, “You’re going to need some time to process all this. Therefore, in a week, you will receive a visitor who will tell you if your sister is still among the living. Let me reiterate the seriousness, if you mention this to anyone, and I will find out, your sister’s head will be sent to you in a box. Hang up the phone and go back with the guard. And yeah, have a nice day.”
All Reggie heard was the click of the receiver and the man quickly leaving the area. Too much information swam through his head and all he could do was close his eyes and let the tears flow. His act of stolidity before was now a turgid display of emptiness.
Reggie glanced at his calendar with the crossed off days leading to this moment while he sat on his bunk. The walls of his 6 x 9 x 9.5 feet high cell became more confined and unbearable as the week progressed. C.O. Stanley stood at the cell ready to open when Reggie shifted his eyes toward the door. As a chill ran down his back, he shivered, giving rise to goose bumps over his flesh.
The building tension weighed him down like cinderblocks causing him to stumble when he rose from the bunk. He needed to believe that his sister was still alive. He did everything that the stranger told him to do and did not mention it to one soul. Now it was time to get his answer. His mother was gone. Aniya was not going to fall by the wayside.
While the guard walked him into the Visitor room, His already weak knees became more unstable as he saw his sister sitting in the dingy white chair looking happy and healthy.
Aniya smiled with straight teeth created with the assistance of braces at eleven years old. When Reggie rushed to the cubicle, she grabbed the receiver and asked, “What’s the matter?” with concern in her voice.
“You alright,” he said, eyes wide and frantic.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
His heart raced and he could not stop looking over her shoulder waiting for the man to rear his disfigured head.
“What is wrong with you?” she asked, turning around to view whatever had her brother so disturbed.
“I didn’t know what to think, ‘Niya. I didn’t tell anybody, though. I kept it to myself and you’re here. Did he hurt you? Did he ‘Niya….”
“Slow down Reggie. Who hurt me? If you talking about Kevin, we broke up a week ago and I haven’t seen him since…
“Not him,” he scowled, “The dude with the burnt marks on his face. He told me he killed Moms and took you—“
“I don’t know who’s playing games with you, Reggie. Nobody took me and Mom is out in the car. She made the trip with me, but couldn’t bring herself to step out of the car and see you.”
He stared into Aniya’s eyes, bewildered and relieved that his mother was still alive. For a week, he agonized over the entirety of the situation. Heavy lidded bags formed under his eyes from lack of sleep and he could barely keep his eyes open after the initial adrenaline rush wore off from his surprise visitor.
“This is bullshit,” he thought as he rubbed his temples.
While his sister explained why his mother would not leave the vehicle, Reggie stood up from the seat and stopped her in mid-sentence saying, “Aniya, I have to go. I’m glad you’re ok and tell Mommy I love her and I’m sorry.” He motioned to the guard that he was ready to leave.
C.O. Stanley escorted the prisoner back to his cell and watched as the sunken man collapsed onto the bunk. He laid there, eyes closed, replaying the scene in his mind when the guard said to him, “I got a buddy that was a lot like you.”
Reggie ignored him and kept focusing on who would do this to him.
“Yeah, we grew up together. Got into a lot of dumb shit together, too. We did our stint in Juvie. Never got to the Big House, though, thank God. But we learned from the mistakes we made.”
The prisoner, rolling his eyes, turned onto his right side facing the postered wall and covered his head with a pillow.
“He went on to join the Army and me, well, you see where I landed. Anyway, my friend is a serial bachelor. Can’t commit to one girl to save his life. I, on the other hand, have never had that problem.
Before he left to go into the service, he got this girl pregnant. She wanted to keep it, so he made sure that he sent money for her and the boy. Over the years, he would see his son, but his career took him places where there was no communication for long stretches of time. He lost track. Then the war broke out. You get my drift.”
Reggie turned around, annoyed, and asked, “Why are you telling me this?”
Stanley paused and then asked, “Aren’t you glad that your mother and sister are well? The same can’t be said for my friend’s son that you killed on the bus, but like he said, Fuck him and fuck his family, right?”
Reggie sprang from the bed, arms stretched out, flailing and grabbing as they went through the painted-white bars. The guard stepped back, removed his baton from the belt and struck the enraged prisoner across his hands.
As he shrieked in agony, a stoic Stanley quickly grabbed him by the face and whispered in his ear, “If you ever tell anyone what happened, my friend is still out there and he’s still pissed. Don’t fuck up, Reggie. You got enough to worry about, you being on Death Row and all.” He chuckled and shoved him to the floor.
He lay there, unflinching, eyes fixed on a jagged crack in the pale grey ceiling leading to another crack and then to another. For a long while, he followed every tributary that led from that one flaw and he realized that this was his life. One big crack splintering into many. What a revelation. The needle, however, does not care about self-assessments.
Michael Jennings ran his fingers across the faded picture as he signaled the bartender to pour him another scotch. The photograph of a baby boy, dog-eared and worn from years of traipsing through countless countries, still looked fresh in his alcohol-diluted mind.
Downing the scotch in one snort, he let the warm liquid engulf his senses, taking him back to the memories of his son, Charles. Oh, what he could have become.
He motioned for another shot and noticed his face in the mirror behind the bar. Burns and scars peppered the once handsome man. Result of too many skirmishes. Too many wars.
Once the bartender filled Michael’s shot glass, he lifted it to the air and gave a toast, “May God bless you in heaven, my son, while we rot here in Hell on Earth.” And to his lips, the scotch caressed.
