THE NEXT DAY
"I see you didn't take my advice, Reverend."
"Well, Officer--uh, what did you say your name was?"
"Bennington. James Bennington."
"Well, Mr. Bennington, I didn't take your advice about staying away, but I did seriously consider the rubber suit idea. You were right about the wool."
"Yessir, I was. And I suspect you're gonna find out I was right about my other advice as well."
"Yes, well, we'll see. But today, please let me stay in there until I return. Oh, by the way, is there any chance I could be let into one of the cells should one of the men request it?"
"No one goes in their cells. We don't even go in with less than three guards."
"I see. Well, thanks again. And don't worry, I'll be all right."
"Yessir," the guard said, doing his best to smother a grin.
The reverend managed a wry smile in return as he walked through the sliding door. He felt hopeful as he arranged the platter of cookies in front of him and walked purposefully toward the first occupied cell.
"All right! It's shitman Dan, the preacher man. You like that stuff, don't you Dan?"
"I do not. And I did not come back in here to get covered with it again."
"That's what's fixing to happen, if you don't get out quick. I think Mabry's asleep, but when he wakes up you're sure to get to know what he had for supper last night."
"Which one is Mabry?"
A voice answered further down the hall, "That's me, preach. I ain't asleep. Come down here. I'm two cells away. I can't see you real good from where you're standing. Why don't you slide down here and save my soul. Just ease down a little bit closer."
"Thank you, Mr. Mabry, but I think I'll stand here and talk to this gentleman for awhile. I'll be down your way shortly." Lowering his voice, he remarked to the celled man in front of him, "The other two men seem to be quiet today."
"They put something in the food last night. They been sleeping all day."
"Well, why are you and Mabry awake?"
"I didn't eat it, and the stuff usually makes Mabry jacked up like a bandit. Nothing tranquilizes him, it just makes him stay awake."
Nodding in response, the reverend smiled and spoke in his friendliest voice, "They said your name was Jackson. That's my name also. I am James Jackson. And you are William Jackson. I don't suppose we're related, but it's certainly not impossible. Do they call you Bill?"
"They call me the craziest son of a bitch in this place and if you got any sense at all you'll get the fuck away from me. I ain't gonna play any of them games the rest of these convicts play and you might as well figure that out now."
"They let me bring in a few cookies. Would you like one."
"Ain't you something! I told you I ain't playing them games. Now get the fuck out of my face. If you just have to get shit on, let Mabry do it."
"You can turn your back on me, but you can't turn your back on the Lord."
William Jackson walked to the rear of his cell and sat down on his bunk. Glancing once at the reverend, he lay on his back, crossed his legs, picked up a comic book, and put it in front of his face. Shrugging his shoulders in resignation, the Reverend James Jackson moved toward Mabry's cell.
"Oh yes! Come to papa. Just a little bit closer."
"Mr. Mabry. I have some cookies here. I know you'll enjoy them. Let me just leave you a few. We don't have to talk at all, if you don't want to. Just let me leave the cookies. That's all I plan to do."
"Well, why didn't you say so. Bring 'em on, just bring 'em right down here."
"Yes, well, thank you, I will. There you are, just help yourself."
"Chocolate chips. Umm, my favorites."
"Yes, just take what you need and give me the rest so I can leave them with the other men."
"Oh yes, preacher man, yes. Let me just get a few here. Uh huh, yes. Let me-just lay a couple down here on my bunk. Yes, let me-just put them right down here on my little bunky poo. With a shockingly fast motion a hand full of feces struck the Reverend as Mabry calls the play by play, "AND THENLETMESPLATTERSHITALLOVERYOMOTHAFUCKINSTINKINGUGLYBODYYOU STINKINGMOTHAFUCKINUGLYMOTHAFUCKA!"
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When the furor subsided the Reverend James Jackson stood nonplussed before the guard, who said, "I see Mabry made you drop your cookies."
"Tell me, Mr. Bennington.
"Bill. Call me Bill."
"Yes, well, tell me Bill, has anybody ever been able to establish a positive relationship with these men?"
"They wouldn't be up here if they could fit in anywhere else, Reverend. The psychologists call them uncommunicative sociopaths. What I call them is something else. I guarantee that if you keep coming up here you'll end up calling them what I call them."
"And what is that, Bill?"
"It's not the kind of thing I say to a Pastor."
"Bill, I want to break away from that stereotype. If you can't be comfortable telling me what you think, then I must be doing a terrible job."
"Well, I'd just rather not say, Reverend. But I will say this: if you don't mind me saying so, it would probably be better if you cleaned that stuff off before it dries."
"I understand. Tell me what you call them and I'll go."
"To be honest with you Reverend, we call them lots of things. I'll tell you what I think they are, though. I think they're maddogs. I honestly do."
Startled, the Reverend's head jerked around, "What did you say? What do you call them?
"Well, I don't mean to be offensive, but we call them maddogs."
"Mad Dogs. Yes! Of Course!" In a calmer tone, the Reverend continued, "That's precisely correct. Precisely. I'll see you tomorrow, Bill."
Raising his eyebrows in curiosity at the Reverend's response, the officer replied, "If you say so, Reverend."
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