Post by Deleted on Dec 12, 2019 2:33:39 GMT -6
JUNE 10, 2018 - RIKERS ISLAND
That buzz. The all-too-familiar deep zip through the air that indicated that the heavy steel doors had become unlocked and soon to follow was a short parade of men in matching jumpsuits who'd sit on uncomfortable metal stools in front of thick bulletproof glass that had an old school landline receiver hanging just off to the side. One rough looking customer in particular carried the remnants of a brawl that'd occurred a few days before, the most obvious being the raccoon eyes that were a telltale sign of a broken nose and a gash on his right brow that'd been superglued shut. He sat on the stool the COs directed him to and stared through the glass at a man who was diametrically opposed in appearance; though he was roughly the same age - somewhere in the late thirties or early forties - the clean shave, eyeglasses set in designer frames, lack of visual scars, and sharp three piece suit was a clear indicator that their paths in life had clearly diverged. The unwilling resident of the facility tried to force a smile and the closest he got to it was the evidence of a struggle to turn the corners of his mouth upright. His visitor offered a smile of his own, then picked up the receiver which was mirrored by the inmate.
"Hey Chuck."
"Sup Jeremy?"
"Making sure you're still alive. I don't want to show up in a few weeks to pick you up and find out I need to go to the morgue."
Chuck was the first to, well, chuckle and Jeremy followed suit.
"Y'know somethin'? I kinda hoped that would be what happened. Felt like I was gonna be in here for the rest of my life and the only way I was gonna get out was in a bodybag, man. Kinda nuts that I'll be out in like two months."
"You got everything figured out?"
There was a pause and a far and away look in Chuck's eyes that prompted Jeremy to follow up.
"For your release, I mean."
Chuck's eyes aimed downward in contemplation, then shrugged after he remade contact with the man on the other side of the glass.
"Shit, I guess. I'm still good to crash with you til I get on my feet, right?"
"Why wouldn't you be?"
Jeremy paused.
"Did Mickey call you and tell you that I told him that I was going to nix my address from your release papers? That son of a bitch!"
You know that one friend you've had forever but you always end up thinking to yourself, "God, he's an asshole"?
He's that asshole.
"Don't listen to him. He's just pissed that he owes me money. Thinks I rigged the matches he bet on just to screw him."
Despite the put together exterior, Jeremy was a much a street kid as Chuck and everyone else they grew up with. The difference was, he managed to take his street smarts and apply them to business deals. The knee-jerk reaction on behalf of the currently free man sparked a light laughter from the inmate.
"You know he's always been a sore loser, man. But, speakin' of money..."
"I don't need any ring crew guys or anything like that."
The twinkle in Chuck's eye was an indicator of the angle he was coming from. Jeremy didn't need that indicator though.
"I've moved out of doing shows in warehouses now, you know. We've got regular venues booked. Two, three shows a weekend. I'm getting names people recognize around here, Chuck. People that have prior experience."
"Don't be a pussy, Jerry."
"I'm looking out for your best interest."
"That's funny, you were talkin' and all I heard was one long-ass queef. Pussy."
Jeremy rolled his eyes. This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation. There were some things better left alone. Sometimes Jeremy felt like his point was a boulder, Chuck was a mountain, and he was Sisyphus.
"Alright! Fine. I'll get you on a few cards, see how you do, and take it from there."
Maybe fighting for legal cash would keep Chuck legit. Jeremy would be lying if he'd said he hadn't thought about talking to his childhood friend-turned-delinquent about penciling him in for a few bouts, especially after the stories he heard and the proof he saw firsthand about what went on in the inside. He fixed his blazer, which apparently acted like a light switch.
"Now that I'm thinking about it, maybe advertising that we've got a crazy-ass felon that's been recently released with a penchant for violence might get us a lot of eyes and a lot of cash."
Any sort of pleasure that had clung to Chuck's face fell away as Jeremy spoke. The latter watched the slow change, which prompted his own furrowed brow.
"The fuck's wrong with you? I wanna hurt people, in a ring, for money, and not end up back in this shithole and you're out here talkin' to me about doin' some pageant?"
Jeremy's head tilted to the side in confusion.
Wait for it.
Wait.
For.
It.
"Not "pageant", "penchant". Penchant. Something you really like. Jesus Christ, you've been in here for ten years. Didn't you ever read a book with all that free time?"
"Me and you both know I hate books, and why didn't you just say that I like violence instead of usin' some dumbass richboy word?"
BZZZZZT!
That sound cut the air again and served as the prelude to the guards' entrance.
"Time's up!"
The guard called from the inmates' entrance which earned him a quick, glancing scowl from Chuck.
"I gotta go. Set it up, man. Let's get me paid and get some fools hurt doin' it."
"I got you. I'll send some stuff for you to sign in a few days so we can get you booked as soon as possible."
You could feel the pressure from the guards bearing down on the inmates to wrap it up. Chuck nodded after a grin found its way onto his battered mug and hung up the receiver. Right after, the one in Jeremy's hand found its place on the hook. Chuck was pulled to his feet and pushed towards the door, but he was able to hear Jeremy's last - albeit muffled - message on his way out the door.
"August fourth! New York Fight Club presents Chuck Gacy's Release Party!"
Boy, did the sound of that turn the grin to a full-blown smile. Neither of them knew it as they each went back where they belonged, put their heads on their pillows that night, and closed their eyes.
It was the first step for a man who'd become known as one of the most outright violent human beings to step foot into a ring.
Chuck Gacy. He's a bad motherfucker.
That buzz. The all-too-familiar deep zip through the air that indicated that the heavy steel doors had become unlocked and soon to follow was a short parade of men in matching jumpsuits who'd sit on uncomfortable metal stools in front of thick bulletproof glass that had an old school landline receiver hanging just off to the side. One rough looking customer in particular carried the remnants of a brawl that'd occurred a few days before, the most obvious being the raccoon eyes that were a telltale sign of a broken nose and a gash on his right brow that'd been superglued shut. He sat on the stool the COs directed him to and stared through the glass at a man who was diametrically opposed in appearance; though he was roughly the same age - somewhere in the late thirties or early forties - the clean shave, eyeglasses set in designer frames, lack of visual scars, and sharp three piece suit was a clear indicator that their paths in life had clearly diverged. The unwilling resident of the facility tried to force a smile and the closest he got to it was the evidence of a struggle to turn the corners of his mouth upright. His visitor offered a smile of his own, then picked up the receiver which was mirrored by the inmate.
"Hey Chuck."
"Sup Jeremy?"
"Making sure you're still alive. I don't want to show up in a few weeks to pick you up and find out I need to go to the morgue."
Chuck was the first to, well, chuckle and Jeremy followed suit.
"Y'know somethin'? I kinda hoped that would be what happened. Felt like I was gonna be in here for the rest of my life and the only way I was gonna get out was in a bodybag, man. Kinda nuts that I'll be out in like two months."
"You got everything figured out?"
There was a pause and a far and away look in Chuck's eyes that prompted Jeremy to follow up.
"For your release, I mean."
Chuck's eyes aimed downward in contemplation, then shrugged after he remade contact with the man on the other side of the glass.
"Shit, I guess. I'm still good to crash with you til I get on my feet, right?"
"Why wouldn't you be?"
Jeremy paused.
"Did Mickey call you and tell you that I told him that I was going to nix my address from your release papers? That son of a bitch!"
You know that one friend you've had forever but you always end up thinking to yourself, "God, he's an asshole"?
He's that asshole.
"Don't listen to him. He's just pissed that he owes me money. Thinks I rigged the matches he bet on just to screw him."
Despite the put together exterior, Jeremy was a much a street kid as Chuck and everyone else they grew up with. The difference was, he managed to take his street smarts and apply them to business deals. The knee-jerk reaction on behalf of the currently free man sparked a light laughter from the inmate.
"You know he's always been a sore loser, man. But, speakin' of money..."
"I don't need any ring crew guys or anything like that."
The twinkle in Chuck's eye was an indicator of the angle he was coming from. Jeremy didn't need that indicator though.
"I've moved out of doing shows in warehouses now, you know. We've got regular venues booked. Two, three shows a weekend. I'm getting names people recognize around here, Chuck. People that have prior experience."
"Don't be a pussy, Jerry."
"I'm looking out for your best interest."
"That's funny, you were talkin' and all I heard was one long-ass queef. Pussy."
Jeremy rolled his eyes. This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation. There were some things better left alone. Sometimes Jeremy felt like his point was a boulder, Chuck was a mountain, and he was Sisyphus.
"Alright! Fine. I'll get you on a few cards, see how you do, and take it from there."
Maybe fighting for legal cash would keep Chuck legit. Jeremy would be lying if he'd said he hadn't thought about talking to his childhood friend-turned-delinquent about penciling him in for a few bouts, especially after the stories he heard and the proof he saw firsthand about what went on in the inside. He fixed his blazer, which apparently acted like a light switch.
"Now that I'm thinking about it, maybe advertising that we've got a crazy-ass felon that's been recently released with a penchant for violence might get us a lot of eyes and a lot of cash."
Any sort of pleasure that had clung to Chuck's face fell away as Jeremy spoke. The latter watched the slow change, which prompted his own furrowed brow.
"The fuck's wrong with you? I wanna hurt people, in a ring, for money, and not end up back in this shithole and you're out here talkin' to me about doin' some pageant?"
Jeremy's head tilted to the side in confusion.
Wait for it.
Wait.
For.
It.
"Not "pageant", "penchant". Penchant. Something you really like. Jesus Christ, you've been in here for ten years. Didn't you ever read a book with all that free time?"
"Me and you both know I hate books, and why didn't you just say that I like violence instead of usin' some dumbass richboy word?"
BZZZZZT!
That sound cut the air again and served as the prelude to the guards' entrance.
"Time's up!"
The guard called from the inmates' entrance which earned him a quick, glancing scowl from Chuck.
"I gotta go. Set it up, man. Let's get me paid and get some fools hurt doin' it."
"I got you. I'll send some stuff for you to sign in a few days so we can get you booked as soon as possible."
You could feel the pressure from the guards bearing down on the inmates to wrap it up. Chuck nodded after a grin found its way onto his battered mug and hung up the receiver. Right after, the one in Jeremy's hand found its place on the hook. Chuck was pulled to his feet and pushed towards the door, but he was able to hear Jeremy's last - albeit muffled - message on his way out the door.
"August fourth! New York Fight Club presents Chuck Gacy's Release Party!"
Boy, did the sound of that turn the grin to a full-blown smile. Neither of them knew it as they each went back where they belonged, put their heads on their pillows that night, and closed their eyes.
It was the first step for a man who'd become known as one of the most outright violent human beings to step foot into a ring.
Chuck Gacy. He's a bad motherfucker.