Third Shift - 9. Chapter 13 Jabez Stone, the Conclusion

Chapter 13 - Jabez Stone

February 25^th – 2:48 am

Coolidge heard his stomach gurgle. It made him think about his lunch break which was only about forty-five minutes away. He casually walked down C section. All he heard were the sounds men made while sleeping. Occasionally there was a snore or a rustling of sheets and blankets, but for the most part it was very quiet.

It had taken some time to adjust to working the third shift. His mother called it the ‘graveyard shift’ and didn’t like him doing it. She thought, and had expressed it often; real professionals worked nine-to-five. They didn’t work overnight shifts even though it was actually easier and paid better. The three-dollar differential was a significant bump, especially for a young guy like him. Working the eleven pm to seven am shift gave him extra money. Besides, most of the time all he had to do was this, listen to them sleep.

The idea prompted him to stop in his tracks. Not all of them slept. There were a few who, for whatever reason, couldn’t sleep through the night. He pursed his lips and turned around. Coolidge decided to check on Lawson. It was about the time he usually woke up. He figured he should see how the man was doing. As he rounded the corner, he could hear the usual disturbing sounds.

The Hennepin County Detention Center didn’t have bars and traditional jail cells. They had rooms, secure and bare, but with doors and wire reinforced windows. He walked past three doors peeking in to see men in various normal positions on bunks. At the fourth door, he saw there wasn’t anyone on the bunk. Instead, a man was crouching on the floor, his head in his hands. Coolidge could hear the muffled sobs of the man with the occasional harsh gasp of breath. He touched the door handle, but didn’t move at first.

Wayne Coolidge didn’t know how to react. He knew McDaniel and Lawson had a confrontation. McDaniel refused to say what it entailed. However, he knew the guy was seriously upset from whatever it was Lawson said. A sense of protectiveness washed over Coolidge whenever the slight man was attending to the inmates. He wasn’t sure exactly where it came from.

Coolidge shook the thoughts out of his head and pulled the card out of his holder. He ran the magnetic strip through the reader and heard a click. He then slid the key into the lock. The guard twisted and the speaker came on. “Are you okay?” he asked through the speaker.

Lawson’s sobs stopped. He looked up, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and looked up at Coolidge. The look of despair was so powerful; Wayne felt his chest seize up.

“Do you need to see a counselor?” Coolidge asked.

Lawson sighed and made a ‘come in’ gesture with his hand. Coolidge nodded and turned the key the other way. He picked up his radio and told the dispatch he was entering the room.

“Roger that. Let me know if you need any backup,” was the response.

Coolidge acknowledged this, and then entered the room. By this time, Lawson had gotten off the floor and was seated on the bed. He was in a kind of defensive posture hunkered over with his face partially hidden by his hands.

“Do you need a counselor, John?”

“I can’t talk to Mr. McDaniel,” Lawson answered. His tone was dead and had no inflection.

“Why?” the guard asked. He kept his distance from the other man. Until the detainee was in restraints, he wouldn’t let slip his wariness. Coolidge had learned this lesson before. These men couldn’t be trusted.

“I fucked things up. I always fuck everything up,” Lawson answered. He choked on a sob.

“What happened?” Coolidge asked, his entire body now tense and with fury growing within.

“I insulted him. I didn’t mean to, but I called him names.”

“Like what?” the guard asked. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Coolidge was trying to look casual, but felt anything but.

“I called him ‘gay’,” Lawson said, sniffling, “Only not in those words.”

Coolidge felt his spine stiffen. “What exactly did you call him?”

The other man didn’t respond right away. “I need to talk to someone, I think. I just can’t talk to Mr. McDaniel.”

“He’s not here tonight,” Coolidge said. “But I am. Wanna talk to me or another counselor?”

“I fucked up,” Lawson said, looking up. “The nightmares are getting worse.”

“I thought they were getting a little better,” Coolidge said.

“They were,” Lawson said softly. “Then I got mad again. I pissed off McDaniel.”

The guard watched as the other man struggled with his emotions. It was obvious he was hurting, physically aching from his thoughts. Lawson’s suffering was very apparent.

One of his instructors at college had told him there was more mental illness in prisons and jails than there was in mental treatment facilities. Coolidge recalled the professor had characterized it as this.

“The nature versus nurture argument regarding criminal behavior is absurd. It is like a dog chasing its own tail. If some people are born bad, they will probably find themselves among other people who also are bad. Therefore, their ‘evil’ nature will be buttressed and strengthened. If people are made bad, it is impossible to extract them from their environment. Society will never be able to isolate and neutralize all negative situations. What we as criminal justice professionals must do is twofold. We keep criminals from hurting the innocent. Also, we try to keep criminals from hurting the small part of them that is innocent. Before all else, keep the innocence safe.”

Coolidge could only watch the man for so long. He took a deep breath and said, “Cory is a very forgiving guy. If you say you’re sorry and mean it, I’m sure he’ll accept it.”

Lawson looked up. He seemed almost hopeful for a minute. Then his face sagged. “I don’t deserve it.”

Coolidge thought about his professor’s words. He had really taken them to heart. “John, there is part of you that is good, very good. You need to protect and nurture that part. Don’t let your weakness kill off what’s good in you.”

Lawson stared at the corner above the guard’s head. He swallowed and then his good eye slid down to meet with Coolidge’s. “Do you think so? Would Mr. McDaniel forget about what I said?”

“Cory McDaniel is a good guy. He probably already knows you didn’t mean it.”

“I didn’t,” Lawson said quietly. He looked up and over Coolidge and then said, “Not really.”