By Hunter Perez

After the back-to-back craziness of Nicky and his pals plus the O’Dwyer incident, the prison went into lockdown. We had no idea how long it would last – Patterson told me the warden returned from his trip and ordered an indefinite confinement period there was an investigation into how Nicky and his fellow intruders broke into the prison and took guards as hostages, as well as a probe of how O’Dwyer managed to get his hands on dynamite and a horse-drawn wagon that he packed with his fellow prisoners.

Patterson and Charleson spent a great deal of time during the lockdown outside of my cell, speaking with myself and Zeb through the iron bars. Both were deeply appreciative of how we subdued the intruders, and they brought us items to keep us distracted while we were confined – magazines, blank notebooks and pens, cookies, candies and thickly packed sandwiches. The Jones boys also came by the cell to express their thanks for rescuing them, and when we began to converse I realized that my opinion of them was completely wrong – they were not dull and indolent, but were charming and unexpectedly funny once you got to know them. They shared their dissatisfaction with their work and confided they were looking for opportunities elsewhere. They also asked if Zeb and I could give them boxing lessons once the lockdown was over.

And something very unexpected began to happen. Each day of the lockdown, different guards would stop outside the cell and start to engage us in conversation. I recognized a few of them but never knew their names, while there were others I never saw before. Each guard began his visit by thanking us for saving Holmgren and their colleagues, and then they invited us to call on them if we ever needed help in anything. Some of them spent a good chunk of time talking about themselves or sharing the news of the outside world. Even the guard whose nasty taunts resulted in Zeb’s extended imprisonment came by – he offered a sincere apology for his actions and an extended hand through the cell’s bars to affirm a new friendship with Zeb.

There were two men who never stopped by to talk – Merrifield and Holmgren. I was a bit surprised at Merrifield’s absence, since he was among the hostages that Johannsen and his gang were holding, and I thought the least he could have done was to express thanks. Holmgren’s absence bothered me greatly – Nicky pummeled him badly, and the stress of having the warden return to chaos must have frayed him emotionally. I asked the guards if they had any news on Holmgren, but no one had seen or heard anything about him.

At first I welcomed the new attention that was being provided, but soon it began to annoy me. I felt like rare animal in a zoo that people came out of their way to see for a few minutes before going on with their lives. I maintained a pleasant façade with the visitors, but after they left I sank into a depression and would sit on the bed and stare out the cell bars into the empty corridor. Poor Zeb was confused at my sour mood, and after unsuccessful attempts to cheer me he realized it was best to leave me alone – he retreated into his own routines, sitting on the floor at the opposite side of the cell while making endless sketches in the notebooks that Patterson provided. Sometimes he would break the silence in the cell with a gentle reminder that he loved me – occasionally I would smile back to him, more often I was too depressed to acknowledge his sincerity.

“Maybe I should have jumped in the wagon with O’Dwyer,” I thought while staring through the cell bars. “I could have been on the road to Australia by now – or up the steps to the gallows. Either way, I’d wouldn’t spend day after day locked in this damn cage.”

* * *

Ten days into the lockdown, Patterson came to the cell after lunch and informed Zeb that Holmgren wanted to see him. Zeb was laying naked on the bed and he quickly bounced up, put on his prison uniform and raced out of the cell when Patterson opened the door. Patterson locked the door, nodded in acknowledgment to me, and the two walked down the corridor with Patterson laughing and rubbing Zeb’s back.

“Okay, what’s that about?” I said to myself. “Why does he want to see Zeb and not me? Is Zeb’s sentence over? I’ve lost track of time – I have no idea what day it is anymore. Did Zeb serve his sentence through or did he get paroled? But if he’s getting paroled, what about me? After what I did for Holmgren, am I going to be stuck in here for the rest of my life?”

I fell on the bed and curled into a fetal position while facing the cell’s back wall. Chills and nausea took over my body as I became fixated over the prospect of Zeb going free while I remained behind bars.

About an hour later, there was a tapping on the cell’s bars. I turned over and saw an unsmiling Merrifield, who slowly unlocked and opened the door.

“Get up, the lieutenant wants to see you,” he said in a bored voice.

I got out of bed and stepped outside of the cell. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here…Sir?” he snapped. “You still can’t address me properly? And I work here, that’s what I’m doing here.”

“No, it’s just that I never see you around here, at my cell,” I said.

“At my cell, Sir,” he stated. “I’m assigned here today. Put your hands behind your back.”

I was going to ask why I needed to be restrained, but I could tell he had no pleasure in this assignment and opted to remain silent. Merrifield handcuffed me, then locked the cell and gave my back a slight push. We walked in silence through the corridors to Holmgren’s office. As we approached the destination, Patterson and Zeb exited Holmgren’s office. They were all smiles and good cheer, but when they saw us Patterson’s smile dropped but Zeb became more animated and pointed at me.

“Hey, the Monster Man captured Jesse James,” Zeb announced. “Watch out, Jesse James, you don’t want the Monster Man to whip you.”

Patterson took Zeb’s arm and hurried him away. Merrifield grunted in disbelief at Zeb’s remarks and knocked on the office door. Holmgren called us in, and we found him sitting behind his desk, a cigar burning in an ashtray while stacks of paper were spread before him. A white bandage was wrapped around his forehead, with a small gauze padding at the spot where he received his injury from Nicky. He looked up as we entered and quickly became agitated.

“Private Merrifield, I did not request that you put this man in restraints,” he said in a too-loud voice. “Please explain yourself.”

“As per the rule book, Sir, it is the guard’s prerogative to decide whether an escorted prisoner should be restrained during transfers from the cells to the officer’s stations,” Merrifield replied.

“Private Merrifield, this man saved your life on two separate occasions,” Holmgren yelled. “He is clearly not a danger to you. Do you genuinely believe that was necessary?”

Merrifield began to answer when Holmgren banged his fist on the desk and demanded my release. Merrifield unlocked the handcuffs and Holmgren ordered him to wait at the guard’s station down the hall. As Merrifield left the office and closed the door, Holmgren came from behind his desk with his hands outstretched to me.

“I am so sorry for that,” he said. “His behavior has become ridiculous. If his uncle wasn’t the warden, I would have fired him a long time ago. Please, sit down. What can I get you, a bourbon or a whiskey?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” I answered while taking a seat.

Holmgren fished into his desk and pulled out a whiskey bottle and two metal cups. He filled both cups, handed me one and then sat on the edge of his desk in front of me.

“And I’m also sorry that I didn’t get to see you sooner,” he continued. “It’s been a crazy time since everything went berserk. I had to calm down the warden and then arrange for five separate prisoner transports to Albuquerque and then deal with the court in Albuquerque for the trials – it’s been nonstop hell. Thank goodness for Harry because invited me to spend the weekend at his place – he has a huge home in the nice side of town, and his cook makes meals like you can’t imagine.”

“Tell me about the trials,” I said.

Holmgren sipped from his cup and nodded his admiration at its contents. “Good blend – they did it right this time. Oh, the trials. Well, obviously O’Dwyer is going on trial for blowing up part of a building, stealing a horse and wagon and trying to escape with a half-dozen convicts. He’s already serving a life sentence, so the question is whether he gets another life sentence or a noose. I’m advocating for another life sentence – I spoke with the judge, who I know, and told him how I felt. That trial is going to start next month. The real mess is Nicky and those other guys – we had to transport them to the courthouse one at a time, because we didn’t know what they could pull if they were bunched together. They’re also being kept separately in different towns until their trial starts.”

“How did you explain their presence here and what they wanted?” I asked.

Holmgren took a deeper sip of his whiskey. “I didn’t. Mercifully, they clammed up and aren’t answering any questions. If they start talking about time travel, they’ll get a one-way trip to the insane asylum.”

“How is Nicky?” I inquired before sipping at my whiskey.

“I tried to have a private conversation with him at the courthouse,” Holmgren said. “I wanted to explain what he was going to face when he is on trial, because it’s very different today versus the time we came from. But he wouldn’t speak to me. Oh, there is one other piece of news I almost forgot to share – the warden is stepping down at the end of the month to take a job with the War Department in Washington. I’m going to become warden.”

“Oh, wow,” I exclaimed, standing to shake hands with Holmgren. “Congratulations.”

Holmgren beamed and we shook hands before looking curiously at my wrist. “You know, I think this is the first time we ever shook hands. And I think this is the first time you’ve been in this office in a full conversation without being in handcuffs.”

“So, if you become the warden, then Sergeant Patterson is going to take your job?” I asked while sitting down.

“No, he’s leaving, too,” Holmgren added. “His health isn’t good and that fracas from the other week left him in rough shape. He wants to spend time with his family and I can’t blame him.”

I took a deeper sip of my whiskey. “Damn, so you need to fill your job and Patterson’s job? Who are you going to put in those positions?”

Holmgren laughed out loud. “I already have two guys to fill the vacancies. You saw Patterson’s replacement when you were coming in here.”

I thought for a second, but something was wrong. “I did? When I came in, Patterson was leaving with Zeb. There was no one else. Who’s taking…”

“No, you’re correct,” Holmgren said. “Zeb is taking Patterson’s job. And I want to give you a commission as lieutenant for mine.”

Holmgren took a long, slow drink of whiskey from his cup and poured himself a refill. I slumped back in chair and started to feel my heart beat a little too quickly. “How is that even possible? You realize that my last job was in the rock quarry.”

“The warden and I are going to Santa Fe this weekend to meet with the governor, who needs to sign the paperwork for me to assume the warden’s duties,” Holmgren said. “I am bringing along paperwork that will give you and Zeb a full pardon because of the heroism you showed the other week. What happened with Merrifield will happen again – your records will be expunged and you can begin training immediately. The funny thing is that nearly every guard here volunteered to help train you – Patterson told them what you did, which is why you suddenly became very popular. But you must learn how to fire a gun – seriously, I love you but you’re the world’s worst gunman.”

“Did you find the bullet that I fired at Nicky?” I asked sheepishly.

“It was lodged in the side of the well,” he answered with a smirk. “I won’t hold that against you. If the two of you get started familiarizing yourself with the rule book now, training can go much faster – probably a week and a half. After training, Zeb will be commissioned as a sergeant and you will be commissioned as a lieutenant. And I think the three of us will be a great team.”

I drank quickly from the cup and Holmgren poured me a whiskey refill. I began to fidget in my chair and Holmgren asked me what was wrong.

“Look, I don’t want to come across as being ungrateful,” I said nervously. “And I’m flattered that you think I can do your job, even though I’ve never done that type of work before. But – and I really don’t want to insult you and your generosity – if I can finally be free again, perhaps I’d like to do something except work in a prison. Maybe I can get a job with Thomas Edison and help him invent the vacuum cleaner?”

“I suspect that Edison will be a success without your input,” Holmgren said calmly. “But I wouldn’t be. I know that I’m steering you into this, but it’s a very good job. And you’ll be surprised how much of your time is not in this place. You’ll be in the town at least twice a week to deal with our suppliers, the bank, the sheriff, the post office and telegraph office. And when the trials start, you’ll be in Albuquerque. I’d also like to get you into some of the high schools to talk to the young men about working here – we need a better recruiting drive and you’re a great communicator. And you don’t work seven days a week, either – Harry would love to have you as a guest at his home. I’m having the tailor from town come here to measure you and Zeb for civilian clothing as well as uniforms.”

I put my cup on the desk, slumped forward and held my head with my hands, trying not to cry. “You still want to own me, don’t you? You say that all the time: ‘I’m your jailer and I own you.’ If you want to set me free, then set me free. Don’t tie me up with strings attached to my freedom.”

There was a long and awkward silence. Holmgren went down on his knees and gently lifted my chin up so I could look him straight in the eyes.

“I know what I said and please believe how sorry I am for saying and doing those things to you,” he said softly. “But even though I said that, I was always wrong – I never owned you. Yes, I detained you, I exploited you and I tormented you – but I never owned you, because to own you I would have needed you to be in a servile position. And you never once accepted that position. You pushed back at every opportunity, with your wisecracks and your attitude and your ability to bend situations to fit your needs. I never owned you – if anything, you owned me, and I’ve become dependent on you. I know that you can do my job better than I ever could. I know that you will bring an intelligence and humanity that I was never capable of providing, and you can make the lives of both the prisoners and the guards better than I ever could.”

Holmgren took my hands and held them tightly.

“My first action when I am warden is to increase the pay for your position,” he continued. “I am telling you this because I am opening an escape hatch for you. With the money you will receive, within three months you will have enough cash to afford train fare to get out of this area. You can go work with Edison, or go up to Alaska and get the gold before the prospectors show up, or whatever you want to do. And I won’t be able to stop you because you are going to be a free man – I would even take you to Albuquerque for your train. Please give me the next three months – I know that we can do great things together. And more than anything, I want to earn your friendship and I trust. I don’t want to be your jailer, but I do want to be your friend.”

I looked down at my hands in Holmgren’s hands and I nodded silently. He squeezed my hands lightly and then stood up.

“I am also moving you and Zeb into the guest cottage starting now,” he added. “Patterson and Zeb are gathering your belongings from that cell – they’re probably at the cottage now, if you want to go over.”

I stood up and took a final drink of whiskey. “Is your writer Mr. Quinn going to put me in his article about the prison?”

Holmgren laughed out loud. “I think the article is going to be delayed. I don’t know if you noticed when O’Dwyer had his wagon full of prisoners for the escape, but Mr. Quinn was among them. O’Dwyer is going on trial for the being the mastermind, but all the convicts that were in the wagon are getting another year added to their sentences – including Mr. Quinn. Strangely, when I told him this was happening he seemed very excited that he was trapped in a longer prison sentence.”

I smiled as Holmgren detailed Quinn’s predicament. “When real life turns into a Metalbondnyc story, eh?”

“I’ll walk you over to the cottage,” Holmgren said. “Without restraints, of course.”

“I need to get used to that,” I said. “I sort of feel naked without the handcuffs.”

“I can get Merrifield to come back and cuff you,” Holmgren laughed. “That will confuse the hell out of him, especially after I bawled him out for cuffing you.”

“I think I would rather get used to feeling naked,” I declared.

Holmgren roared and gave me a big hug. I pretended to enjoy his embrace, but inside I felt deflated. Because whether I was being handcuffed or being hugged, whether I was a convict or the lieutenant of the guards, I believed that he still owned me. Yes, Holmgren was very articulate and sincere – I suspect he was speaking from the heart and not from agenda talking points. But as I saw myself, I was still his prisoner. I was going to trade convict stripes for a guard’s uniform and I would be locking the cells rather than be locked into them. But at the end of the day, he took me out of my cage and put me on a leash.

Still, I tried to make the best of the situation. I realized that I would be able to interact with the townspeople – it would be my first time dealing with folks who weren’t captives and captors. And maybe in my free time I could see some of the Wild West that I read about – I was going to shoot guns, and perhaps my training would involve learning how to ride a horse. Yee-hah, pardner!

He claimed he didn’t own me and will never own me – maybe he was right and I never realized it. Perhaps I could detach Holmgren’s leash and set my own rules.

And who knows – maybe someday I’ll get my own handsome prisoner who I can stick in the pillory and play with. Wouldn’t that be fun? If that ever happens, I’ll be sure to let you know.

The End

Metal would like to thank the author, Hunter Perez, for this story! If you enjoyed be sure to check out The Friend Request, available on Amazon.