Love Handle

A short woman as round as a medium-sized boulder and sporting a platinum-blonde, Dutch boy haircut too short for her fat face sat down behind the desk across from Mark and adjusted her glasses, which were too big for her quinty eyes. She traced one chubby finger across the top sheet of paper in front of her, then looked up at Officer Swallow, who stood guard behind Mark. She nodded once, twice and then turned her beady blue eyes to Mark. "Um," said Pam Randall, the warden of Cedarville State Prison, who was affectionately known to the inmates who hated her backstabbing personage as The Love Handle, "you have another 6 months before you are paroled, Mr. Dennison-"

"Please, call me Mark-"

"Okay, then, Mark, you have another 6 months before you are paroled, however-"

Mark leaned forward at his waist, which was chained to his hands, and flicked his head toward a picture on Randall's desk, which depicted a young mulatto-colored girl with slanted eyes. "That your daughter?"

Randall drew in a large volume of air. "Why do you ask that?"

"No reason. I just know a lot of guys in here who would love to tap that-"

"Mr. Dennison-"

"Mark, please-"

"Mark, if you're trying to get on my good side, it's not working." She nodded towards him once, twice, then continued: "Making threats against my daughter-"

"Whoa! Who's making threats? Do you think your daughter's pretty?"

Randall adjusted her mass, which hung from her bones like thawed meat from a hook, and straightened her tie. "Why, yes, I do. I think she is beautiful, the most beautiful girl in the world-"

"Well, then, wouldn't it make sense that men, even men here, would want to go out with her?"

Randall looked him in the eye as best she could through her two little, meaty slits of eyelashes. "I don't know what you're getting at, Mark, but it's not going to work-" She nodded once, twice-

"What's with all the nodding?"

"What do you mean?"

"After everything you say, you nod twice. As if you're playing a Jedi mind trick on somebody or something-"

"Oh, I didn't know I did that. Thank you for informing me of that...involuntary habit-"

"You're welcome-"

Randall leaned back in her chair, the creaking of which sounded like a baby being raped and murdered, and threw her hands softly behind her head. The stains on her arm pits were massive, stretching from her biceps to her ribs. She narrowed her eyes. "Okay, no more bullshit, Mark-"

"No more bullshit-"

"The state's attorney is willing to offer you early release for any information you may be able to give the state regarding its current investigation into the drug dealing of your friends Donte Washington and Delonte Jackson since they have been confined to Cedarville State Prison-"

"Donte and Delonte are drug dealers?"

"Come off it, Mark, you know damn well they are. And you also know that they're about to be implicated in the murder of Devin Licebringer-"

"What?" yelled Mark, his knuckles purpling as he grabbed the arms of the plastic chair that held him. "There's no way-"

"Yes, sir, their semen was found deep - very deep - inside Licebringer's rectum-"

"No way!"

"Yes-"

"I can't believe it. It must be a set up. Those two sweet guys would never do anything like that. And the drug dealing..." Mark shook his head. "I just don't believe it."

"Believe it." Randall put her elbows on the desk and leaned forward, her hot breath full of either garlic, rotten toes, or turd. "Assistant Warden Beering just demoted Officer Larry Lickies to the wash room this morning after we found that he too has been involved in drug dealing with Mr. Washington and Mr. Jackson. They've been pulling in thousands a week-"

"Thousands?" Mark could hear his heart in his throat.

"Yes."

"Well, why do you need me?"

"Officer Lickies is refusing to testify, and frankly, we've got nothing on him but our suspicions. Otherwise, we have nothing but flimsy circumstantial evidence-"

"But there must be others-"

"Yeah, and they're all pieces of shit, excuse my French. And the two main ones involved with them are gone: Licebringer's dead and Anderson's still on the run."

"But still. Me?"

"Yes, you. You're a model inmate. You've caused no trouble since you've been here, and you've got several credits for good behavior. If you agree to testify and help us convict these two, you'll be out next week."

Mark looked down into his lap. The veins in the backs of his hands thump thump thumped, small rivulets of anger pulsing against his knuckles. Donte. Delonte. Lickies. Licebringer. Anderson. He looked up at the obese warden. "I don't know anything about any drug dealing," he said.

Randall leaned back in her wobbly chair and glared at him. "You know, you're in here because of those two-"

"No, I'm not-"

"Yes, you are. I know your story. You took the fall for them so they wouldn't go to jail, then they ended up in here anyway." She began to nod but stopped. "What, are you afraid of them?"

It was Mark's turn to glare at her. "No," he laughed, "I'm not afraid of anyone. Can I go?" He nodded once, twice.