“Fuck!” Ryan flung open the door to the computer room, kicking a chair as he passed it. “I fucking hate this place.”
Torquemada was the only occupant, seated at the far end of the row of monitors, one hand on the mouse, the other flipping a coin back and forth across his knuckles. Gold blazer with a shimmery white shirt accompanied by a ruffly lime green scarf, pale pink floral-patterned fingerless gloves and blood red nails – his long legs stretched out underneath the table, gold jeans practically painted on. Hair bleached white again to match his bad eye, half spiked up, half slicked down, pointedly artificial bedhead; hadn’t wasted a second getting back to looking as weird as humanly possible.
He didn’t say anything at Ryan’s entrance – didn’t look at him, didn’t react at all – just kept staring at his screen, clicking around absently. As per usual.
“No updates,” Ryan muttered as he flopped down into the chair beside him, getting it out of the way. “Can’t get an in with any of these new fucks. You say anything to them and they just look at you like you’ve got a second head, bark at you to move along. Querns really knows how to pick ‘em.” He stabbed at the power button on his own monitor. “I know a guy who knows a guy in Unit B, might be interested. But it’s a big fucking might.”
Torquemada still didn’t reply, merely bit his lower lip. Continued clicking.
“Pain in the ass,” Ryan added, and kicked underneath the table at the chair across from him, making it wobble. He kicked it again, more purposely, and tipped it over, which wasn’t as satisfying as he’d hoped it would feel. “Fucking Keller. I hope he’s enjoying hell.”
The guy he’d found at Lardner had been good – a veteran who understood and accepted the transient nature of their business agreement. Discreet, didn’t throw his weight around, just moved the product and took his cut. Probably the easiest plug he’d ever scored, and completely useless now that they were back in Em City.
It should have been even easier, back on what he now considered home turf, but every single guy he could have counted on before had seemingly been replaced in the months they’d been away; gotten new jobs or been transferred to other prisons. More than half the staff at Oz was now unfamiliar, and it would take awhile for him to figure out who could be trusted, who knew who.
To make things even more difficult, restrictions had tightened since the re-opening post-anthrax attack (or whatever the fuck it had been – Ryan still couldn’t get a straight answer about that); everything and everyone coming into the prison now carefully monitored to avoid a repeat performance. The fact that Pancamo’s kitchen connect was still an option was nothing short of a miracle.
But of course, Torquemada didn’t give a fuck about that.
I give up my supplier, I might as well cut my own throat and save everyone the trouble, he’d said, then patted Ryan on the hand, smiling at him in a weird, cold way – everything friendly except for his eyes.
You’re smart, sugar. You’ll figure something out.
Well, he hadn’t, so far; and each day without progress made his blood pressure a little bit higher and his bank account a little bit lighter. No connect, no supply, no profits, no payment – not just for him, but for anyone. And while Torquemada clearly wasn’t in it for the money (guy seemed to be loaded, on the outside), that wasn’t the case for everybody else involved, and the other members of the operation were getting antsy, and people getting antsy in here usually resulted in someone getting acquainted with the business end of a shank. Probably wouldn’t be Ryan – made more sense for Pancamo to just take out Torquemada and return to old reliable – why he hadn’t already was something of a mystery to Ryan, though it probably had something to do with the unexpected popularity of Destiny in comparison to the heroin everyone had grown used to.
(Something different, you know? Poet had said once, during a card game. Nicer high, too.
Not for everyone, Alvarez had chimed in, folding.)
But if Torquemada’s ass was in danger, so was his – all because he’d been too fucking bored for his own good. Bored, and –
Well, everything else. But he didn’t feel like thinking about any of that right now.
“I’ll keep asking around,” Ryan finished. “But so far, nobody’s biting.”
Still no response. Click. Click.
It was fucking irritating – probably meant to be, another one of his stupid little mind games, meant to denigrate Ryan more than actually chewing him out for his failure would be. Too useless to waste air speaking to, or whatever.
Normally he’d just take it on the chin, but it had been a bad fucking day.
“In other news, my dad is still a raging cunt,” he continued, finally reaching down to turn the actual computer on. “Called my mom earlier today, big surprise – she’s not coming back. Says this place has too many bad memories for her. Decided to pass that news on to him, because I’m a fucking idiot I guess, and his response? ‘Didn’t want to stick around when you were a kid, why the fuck would she want to now?’” Ryan laughed humorlessly. “Thanks a lot, pops. You always know exactly what to say.” He tapped his foot impatiently as the computer slowly booted up. “You know, you should consider yourself lucky you don’t have any family in this fucking place.”
Torquemada made a face, barely, just sort of pouted his lips mostly, moved them around aimlessly. Click. Click.
“It doesn’t even make any fucking sense. I mean, Cyril wasn’t even her kid.” He didn’t really know why he was bothering with any of this – not like Torquemada gave a shit, and Ryan didn’t really give a shit either, but the words were pressing against his skull like they were going to burst through his forehead if they didn’t escape through his mouth. “She knew him for like five fucking minutes and suddenly that’s it, she can’t come in anymore. It’s bullshit. I knew him my entire goddamn life. We shared everything, and I’m stuck here in this shithole with every fucking memory and I can cope with it just fucking fine. So I don’t know what her fucking problem is.” The lump that had formed in his throat when he’d listened to Suzanne on the phone threatened to reassert itself, and he swallowed hard to push it back down. He kicked out again, but there was nothing to kick anymore. “Whatever,” he said after a while, once he could trust himself to speak again. “Maybe I am just a huge piece of shit.”
Torquemada made the coin in his hand disappear and turned off his own screen abruptly, then shifted around to face Ryan, crossing his legs and resting his hands atop one another. “Maybe you should kill yourself,” he suggested.
Ryan scoffed.
“I’m not going to kill myself.” He clicked his mouse several times in a row, glaring at the loading screen.
“You sure? Your life sounds hard, sweetheart. Maybe it would be best for everyone if you just got it out of the way. Put yourself out of your misery.” His good eye was twinkling – a phrase that Ryan had always found stupid when he encountered it in books, but since meeting Torquemada he wondered if that was just because nobody had ever been all that happy to see him before.
Cyril had, every fucking day, no matter what. His eyes had probably twinkled too – you just never noticed.
“Right. Where does that leave you then, huh? You gonna find your new connect by yourself? Couldn’t fucking do that in the first place.” Ryan’s computer had finally loaded up, asking for a password; he entered the one he’d been given, didn’t work. Incorrect. Try again?
He tried again.
Incorrect. Try again?
“Oh, I’m sure I’d survive.”
Ryan entered the password he’d been given a week ago, just for the hell of it. Incorrect. Try again?
“Thought you liked me.” It was meant as a joke, but it ended up sounding a bit more – something, than Ryan intended. Whiny. Needy.
He typed “FUCK YOU” into the password bar.
Incorrect. Try again?
“I like you very much,” Torquemada replied smoothly. “Tuesday?”
“What about it,” Ryan muttered. LET ME IN. Incorrect. Try again?
“Are you doing anything?”
“No.” COCKSUCKER. Incorrect. Try again?
“You can kill yourself on Tuesday, then,” Torquemada said, turning back to face his now-blank screen. “I’ll mark it down on my calendar.”
“Why? So you can find a new guy?” EAT SHIT. Incorrect. Try again?
“So I can watch.” Torquemada pressed the button on his monitor, reviving the screen. Ryan saw something on it flash unpleasantly out of the corner of his eye. His hands hesitated over the keyboard.
“I don’t want you to watch. You’d probably jerk off to it or something.” I HATE MYSELF. Incorrect. Try again?
“Is that a problem?”
“If I’m going to kill myself, I don’t want you to get off to it.” I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE ANYMORE I FUCKING HATE IT I WANT TO GO HO
Character limit exceeded.
Ryan jabbed at the backspace button.
“How cruel.” Torquemada resumed clicking. “I’d let you pleasure yourself to my death.”
“Yeah, thanks for the offer. Pass.” FUCK YOU. Incorrect. Try again?
Torquemada waved his hand. “Merely a hypothetical, darling. My life is too precious to put an end to.” Click. Click. “My day was good, by the way.” Click. Click. “Thanks for asking.”
“Fine,” Ryan gave up, turned away from the computer and sat sideways on the chair, facing Torquemada. “How was your day.”
Torquemada’s lips twitched. “Oh, it’s too late now, sweetie.” Click. Click. He started humming to himself. Ryan inexplicably felt like crying all of a sudden.
“Okay.” He started to get up, and Torquemada stopped humming.
“I got a letter.” He pulled it it from the inner pocket of his jacket, waved it about lazily. Ryan sat back down.
“From your boyfriend?” he asked gruffly, and Torquemada merely smiled – the same inscrutable smile he always put on whenever Angelo came up. It bothered Ryan, and he didn’t know why it bothered him, and it bothered him that he couldn’t figure out why the fuck it bothered him. Not like it fucking matters.
It was all the bullshit fucking mystery, he supposed. Annoying. Like everything else.
“What’s it say?” he said, when it was clear he wasn’t going to get any new insights about whatever the fuck their relationship was meant to be.
“Don’t know.” Torquemada put the letter back in his pocket. “Saving it for lockdown.”
“Why?” Ryan drummed his fingers on the table. “You scared to read it?”
“Scared.” Torquemada laughed heartily, for what felt like a bit longer than necessary, as far as Ryan was concerned. It wasn’t that fucking funny. “No, my love. Delayed gratification. It makes things sweeter.” He turned his head langorously to look at Ryan through heavy lidded eyes, eyelashes quivering. “Don’t you think?”
“Maybe he’s breaking up with you,” Ryan said, ignoring the endearment. My love. It didn’t fucking mean anything, he was always saying stupid shit like that, and even if it did, he was a guy, and it didn’t matter if a guy had – if a guy loved – whatever.
Torquemada snorted. “Doubtful.” He returned to clicking, didn’t elaborate.
“Happens to a lot of guys in here.” Ryan didn’t know why he felt the need to push it, but did anyway. “Everyone thinks they’re different until it happens to them.” He stabbed at his own mouse, clicking repeatedly at the stupid fucking password button. Incorrect. Incorrect. Incorrect. “Everyone gets fucking left in the dust, in the end.” He thought about Gloria, and he thought about Shannon, and technically neither of those cases were what he’d meant when he said it. He meant guys like Hill, guys like Ricardo, guys like Alvarez; Torquemada should know about that one, at least. “Your letters are fucking numbered, hermano. Enjoy them while they last.” WHY ARE YOU NOT WORKING. Incorrect. Try again?
Torquemada looked amused. “You sound jealous.” He raised an eyebrow. “You jealous?”
“No,” and it sounded like the lie it was. STUPID PIECE OF SHIT WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU I HATE YOU S
Charatcter limit exceeded.
“Jealous you have someone who gives a shit, maybe,” he conceded, backspacing.“Even if it’s just some other fucking fag.”
Torquemada snorted again, and a sort of ugly look passed briefly over his face. Click. “What about your nurse?” Click. “She ain’t answer you?”
“Doctor.” I’M SORRY. Incorrect. Try again? “No.”
“Mm. Sad,” he replied, sounding anything but. Ryan finally looked over to see what the hell he was doing, and regretted it immediately.
“What the fuck is that?”
“My website,” Torquemada murmured. He shifted the monitor over slightly so Ryan could get a better look. “What do you think?”
The background was bright yellow, and the words THE WEBPAGE OF ALONZO TORQUEMADA were written across the top in chaotic blood-red script. Zig zag lines painted the sides of the screen, criss-crossed by pixellated chains – various cliparts of hearts, lipstick stains, and cocktail glasses danced and flashed in the negative space. Badly compressed images (a woman sucking cock, a guy sucking cock, a disembodied set of hands jerking off two cocks at once) were scattered seemingly at random on the page, and text (DINO’S BAR AND CLUB. LIVE SEX PARTIES. THE DUNGEON. FRAGRANCE REVIEWS) bounced from corner to corner.
It gave Ryan a headache. “It looks like shit,” he said.
Torquemada simply nodded and returned to clicking around. The screen changed color, to a lime green that looked radioactive, matched his scarf. “You’ve got caps lock on, by the way.”
“What?”
“Caps lock.” He reached over, tapped a key on Ryan’s keyboard. “The passwords are case sensitive, sugar. If that little light is on, none of them are gonna work.”
“Oh.” Ryan felt like an idiot. “Thanks.”
“Mmm.”
He typed in the password, logged in. Didn’t remember what the fuck he wanted to use the computer for, so he just stared at the screen and moved the cursor around aimlessly. Wondered if Torquemada had also been paying attention to – probably not.
“He doesn’t, by the way. If it makes you feel any better.”
Ryan glanced over at him. “Huh?”
“Give a shit. Angelo.” Torquemada grinned at him, but it looked more like a grimace, unpleasant. “Not a fag, either. He’s married. Got a pretty wife, cute kid. Two now, actually, que bonito.” Click. “Nice house in a nice neighborhood. A picture-perfect life all wrapped up cozy and nothing to do with me.” Click. “Owes me some favors and owes his uncle more. All it is, between me and him, nothing but business.” His gaze flickered over to Ryan. “Like you and me, right, sugar?” and he was wearing another one of those weird smiles, warm and wide but with something like anger in his eyes, manic and intense. It made Ryan uncomfortable.
“Sure.” Except we didn’t talk about business at all, he thought. You ignored me when I tried. And we talked about –
Well, nothing. Whether or not he’d kill himself.
Which he wouldn’t.
“I’ll let you know if I come up with anything,” he continued, steering things back to the business in question – logging off the computer, pressing the off button on the monitor. “Gonna keep trying.” His bag of tricks wasn’t quite empty, not yet, but it was getting down to the wire, and he was running out of options. Maybe he could call in a favor from – well, who knows. Somebody. Hopefully.
Torquemada said nothing, just kept looking at Ryan with that same smile half-frozen on his face, only slightly faltering, like he was still waiting for a response. Maybe Ryan was meant to apologise or something, but he wasn’t sure what exactly for. For not having the connect yet? For wasting Torquemada’s time with his complaining? For being too stupid to work a computer?
Finally Torquemada dropped the look, rolled his eyes, and returned his attention to his own screen. “Tuesday,” he said. “Remember.”
“I’m not going to kill myself.” He got up, started walking to the door – heard Torquemada tut behind him.
“Never say never, sweetheart.”