Saint Paulie and prison bells, Part 6

by Ray Ray Smith

Part 1 is here.

Part 2 is here.

Part 3 is here.

Part 4 is here.

Part 5 is here.

The Christmas season is tricky for many of us who are widowed, estranged, divorced, in prisons, hospitals, or despair. Some of us find it challenging to focus on what we have; our minds constantly shift to what we are missing. Three years have passed since my wife Nadine died, and I still expect her to walk through the door.

As I entered the Everglades Reentry Center control room, I noticed a piney scent and saw that all three hallways had pine wreaths tied to grids of the high drop ceiling. If I concentrated, I could hear the Christmas bells from a distant room.

Levi entered the meeting room in his orange jumpsuit. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but he seemed happier. He sat down across from me and quickly explained.

“Ray, I think I’m going to get out of here sooner than I thought. My inmate assessment meeting went great. I blew a little smoke at the panel and told them that my mentor has been helpful and we have several avenues for my successful reintegration into society. Of course, I didn’t mention that I had no idea what in the hell that plan was. Fortunately, they didn’t ask.”

“That’s great news. Now lean back, and I’ll fill in the blanks. It’s one of those weird stories where one thing leads to another.”

He actually leaned forward, and I began, “Did you ever hear the name Larry Berry?”

“No, it sounds like a kid’s cartoon character.”

Larry Berry is a top dog in Florida real estate. With his deep tan and open-neck shirts to show off a gold chain, Berry comes across like he is auditioning for a Godfather sequel. He carries a walking stick. I met him six or seven years ago during a project involving a shopping mall that he wanted to tear down and rezone. I was representing another company that was interested in the opportunity. Larry Berry isn’t a popular guy, but he is unique.

“Why a cane?” asked Levi.

“Not a cane, a walking stick with a glass knob. Who knows why? He is only in his mid-50s and as solid as a brick. He is a strange guy.”

Levi tilted his head and said, “He sounds like a nut job. What does this have to do with anything?”

I leaned back to explain. “During the negotiations, we had lunch a few times and hit it off. He talks and thinks like a machine gun. Retail real estate is a small world. About five years ago, I noticed he purchased a large horse facility in central Florida. It’s in a remote location, with rows of barns and a racetrack.”

“That doesn’t make sense, you said there isn’t any more racing in Florida.”

“There isn’t, but hundreds of young horses and racing people still come to Florida over the winter to train horses and then go back North to race. Some stables with young horses continue to train on his property.”

“So, you wanted to get me a job.”

“I did at first, but Berry had other ideas.”

As I continued, Levi locked his green eyes on mine and tilted his head.

I said, “Larry Berry is a reformed addict; it’s not a secret. He tells anyone and everyone about his past within the first five minutes of meeting them. He still goes to NA meetings. I arranged lunch last week to pick his fertile brain. I outlined your situation, and he immediately came up with an idea.”

“What idea?”

“He told me that there are two small houses on his horse property. They are very neglected since they have been unoccupied for years, and he has been undecided about knocking them down since the day he bought the land.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

“He suggested that you rehab one of the houses. You can live in it while you work. He said that anyone with half a brain who can use YouTube could build the Taj Mahal. There is a shed with tools, and a few folks have mobile homes on the property. He will give you a Home Depot credit card for purchasing materials. You can have everything delivered to you.”

“Berry came up with this whole idea in five seconds; he could see the big picture. You don’t need a car, and you would have a home and a specific purpose. When I complimented him, he said, ‘I’m not a guardian angel. I’m not paying the guy, but I am paying taxes on a pair of unoccupied houses. The first thing the guy needs to do is order a window air conditioner. If it works out, I’ll have a house to sell or rent, possibly two houses. One thing I will do is take the guy to a meeting. There are two meetings a week at a church he can walk to.’”

“I said you would have to eat, and that it sounded lonely. Berry was ready with an answer. He will give you a prepaid DoorDash card, and I’ll help you find a job mucking stalls for a few hours each morning so you can make a few bucks. Maybe you’ll like the horse business. Three retired couples live on the property full-time in trailers so that you will have some company.”

Levi Thomas sat frozen. He did not blink. I could feel him thinking. When he finally spoke, it was almost a whisper. “Ray, I won’t screw this up. If I do, I don’t deserve another chance. I can’t wait to start.”

We talked for the next hour. Levi was alive, like a kid at Christmas. I had one more gift under the tree.

I opened the pre-approved iPad I had carried into the prison and set it on the table in front of Levi, facing him. I did not need to see the screen. I had watched the video clip three times already. I wanted to see his face as he watched it.

From the iPad, there was chaos and several voices.

“Turn the phone around, you’re filming your Egg McMuffin.”

“Now you got the ceiling.”

“Is the sound on? Can he hear us? Is this live, like a FaceTime?”

“No! Weren’t you listening? It’s a video he can watch.”

“Hey, kid, can you please shoot a video? Each of us wants to say a few words.”

Muffled voices and a wildly spinning screen film the interior, settling on the face of a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt.

“Thanks, sweetheart, I’ll leave you the biggest tip you’ve ever seen.”

“You can’t leave a tip in here; you might get her fired.”

“Watch me. We live in America, and I’ll buy her a car if I want to.”

Throat clearing. “Hello Levi, I’m Jerry, leader of the Neigh Sayers. You know, neigh like a horse. Ray Ray has been keeping us up to speed. We all have big hopes for you. Have a good Christmas. Now here is the next clown.”

“Levi, Ricky Z speaking. Please get your ass to the McDonald’s on Raimer Road. I’m the only person here who was born after the Clinton Administration, and I could use some reinforcement.”

Another face filled the screen. “Parlay Paulie here. I’m guessing you don’t even know what a parlay is. Put us on your post-prison program, and I will explain it in person. Holy smokes, that’s a lot of P words.”

Another face. “Hello Levi, my name is Gill the Thrill. I know Ray told you that the five of us share ownership in a young horse. Each of us has agreed to give you 1 per cent of any profit the horse earns. No contracts or blood oaths. We figure this will give you something to follow, and maybe a few bucks when you get out. I cannot think of anything to say, but Ray Ray, Mister Music, is making us all sing a chorus of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” Smush together so she can get us all in the shot.”

And they did.

And they sang.

And they laughed.

And bells chimed in the distance.

The end.