Betrayed and Set Up

Three and a half years. Not a long time. Unless you're in prison for a crime you didn't commit. This was the fate of one person: Vincent Taylor. Wearing the very same drab black-and-white striped suit the whole time, only having it washed on occasion. He was a handsome guy, smart, well-groomed, six feet two inches, black, and in tiptop shape. He would put you in the mind of a younger version of Maxwell but with a shadow of a beard and moustache. His eyes were kind but serious, and you knew when he meant business. He was never the kind that got in any big trouble, until now that is ... just the normal things a kid might find himself doing. But he wasn't a kid anymore, and even though he had done some time for menial crimes, it certainly was not for murder. However, that was just what he was in prison for.

The long corridor that led to the "special room" was nothing more than gray cement blocks decorated with cobwebs and dust along with the smell of fresh piss, musk, and farts. One could see how the mold on the walls had taken residence. Graffiti had to be removed almost on a daily basis. How the prisoner got the markers was always the unsolvable mystery. Passing by the cells, you could hear sneers, jeers, and cheers for the appointee of the hour. You could hear them but could only make out a few phrases. There was no jealousy, however. This was one of those rare occasions when being in the cell was a good thing for a prisoner. Seeing as how it was February, at the height of the winter season, and it was New York, you would have thought someone would turn up some heat. But neither the guards nor the warden seemed to care. They only cared about getting paid and making it alive through the week to collect. A chill overtook Vincent for a second.

The "special room" was nothing more than solitary confinement here at the New York State Prison Facilities. Even though there was nothing special about it, the warden got a kick out of calling it that, and the guards quickly grasped onto the idea. There was no phone, no lights, no motorcar — not a single luxury. Even when the guards would bring the "tray of the day," you could tell that no well-known chef put his part into preparing it. This was just another so-called fun phrase the guards would use at the expense of the prisoners. It was just enough to sustain a man but just enough to piss him off as well.

Vincent was being escorted down this corridor as the "special guest" of the moment, and for some reason, this walk seemed to go on forever. One could say that this was not a bad thing since he really wasn't in a hurry to get to the "special room" anyway. His arms, neck, and legs ached with pain since he had to be subdued by a couple of the guards. Turns out that an inmate had been put up to reaching around Vincent and grabbing him between his legs ... as a sort of "massage therapy." That particular inmate also thought that if he could get V, as Vincent would be called, to be his pimp daddy in prison, then no one else would mess with him. He figured wrong. V tried to kill this inmate but fell short of his task when he was grabbed by who he thought was his friend. This inmate would spend quite a few days in the infirmary though.

Officer Kevin Casey was one of those rare guards who too often cared about prisoners, especially about those who were dogged or jumped on by other inmates. He was six feet six inches, weighed 260 pounds, in great shape, and since he was balding on the top of his head, he kept his head shaved. He had a light mustache and goatee, but it was graying in spots. You could see how his job made him look a lot older than he was. Even with lotion, you could see how his hands were weathered, and there were a couple of scars on his arms and back from scuffles at the prison that he wore like badges of honor. He was proud to do what he did, so his uniforms were always pristine.

When V first arrived at this prison, a gang of horny inmates jumped him, and Kevin, who just happened to be making his rounds, heard the scuffle. V thought to himself, Somebody's gonna die before they get this ass! Might be me, but it won't be only me! Kevin wound up stopping what would have been a painful and embarrassing situation for V, but it also prevented V from killing maybe one or even two of the assailants. Vincent Taylor and Kevin Casey started a friendship from then on, and for three and a half years, V has had his back watched ever since, whenever possible that is ... except for this last time. V knew Kevin couldn't watch him all the time, so he made sure he would do three things while he was here: He would continue to work out, he would continue the art of jiujitsu that he had practiced since a teen, and he would visit the library as often as he could, if nothing more than to become a little more educated. After the inmates learned that V was convicted for killing a judge and was on death row, it really wasn't necessary to watch his back all the time anyway; he became an instant hero among the majority of the inmates. Some couldn't care less, and you know what they say: "You cant please everyone." They knew they had to serve their own time for whatever crimes they were convicted for, so hey, "to each his own." And for the ones who were convicted by Judge Mumford, they almost cherished V! If Kevin hadn't stopped him, V would have murdered that "massage therapist." Self-defense? Sure, but while in prison, it would have still been looked upon as murder. He was trying to protect his ass literally, but because of his actions, he found himself in more trouble and sore as well. He was already accused, convicted, and sentenced for murdering a man outside of prison that had no witnesses. But to actually murder someone inside of prison that would have had witnesses would not have been good for V. But the inmates learned another valuable lesson: They knew not to fuck with V.

"Sorry about the chokehold, V. You know I can't just let you kill a man in here, no matter what he does."

"Just doing your job, huh, Kev?" Everyone else called Kevin "Casey," but a bond was formed between these two men, so "Kev" was acceptable for V. V was pissed, and even though Kevin was a guard, V had come to like him and consider him as a friend, and since he was in his forties, V looked at him like he would an elder brother.

"Come on, man, you know I got your back ... to a degree. You're cool and all, and you know some shit, but a judge is dead all because of your black ass!"

"Damnit, I told you, Kev, I'm innocent! Someone framed me, son! I was set up from the get up!" V stopped long enough to look Kevin straight into his eyes. He was obviously upset and in pain, but he was still determined to stand his ground about his innocence. "I didn't do it!"

V's mom always told him that the eyes were the windows to the soul. He just hoped that someone — anyone — would look into his eyes and be able to tell he wasn't lying. Kevin wanted to believe him, but as an officer of the law, evidence always overruled emotions. It had to.

"Man, that's what they all say, but you see, I get paid by the hour, not by who I do or do not believe. If it makes you feel any better, I want to believe you."

V, by this time, felt betrayed and hurt by everyone, and seeing that his "friend" didn't believe him, that hurt even more. Sure he was a guard, but in his time on the job, he had to have run across a prisoner who was truly innocent of a charge. V could see that talking was getting him nowhere, so he shut up as they reached solitary confinement. Kevin opened up the door to the much smaller and a lot colder cell than the regular ones. It was just a little bigger than an office cubicle, and there was only enough room for one to lie down but not comfortably. There were no sheets or beddings or even a toilet ... just a hole in the floor to squat over. One could tell that no main housekeeping was done to this cell. On one wall, there were markings someone put there to keep up with how long they were there. There was a grate in the middle of the floor so when the guards would hose the room off, all the shit, piss, and vomit could just flow down the drain. After that, they would just let it dry out until the next "guest." It still smelled of shit, piss, and regurgitations. This time, however, it seemed that they hosed the room right before V got there ... on purpose. By all means, no one wanted to stay here for more than a week.

"See you in a week, dude," Kevin said through the cell door's slit. "Yo, V? I'll be checking in on you, aw-ight?"

There was no response, but Kevin knew he was doing what he was paid to do, even if it hurt a friend. Kev started to walk away.

"Say, Kev?" V called out.

Kevin turned back to V and got close to the cell. "Yeah, V, what up?"

"Ain't nobody mad. We're cool, man," V said.

Kevin smiled. "It'll be over before you know it," he said. It hurt him to know what V was about to go through, but he knew he had to do his job. He left V to his punishment and his thoughts. A week in solitary was plenty of time for a person to think. Good times, bad times, happy times, sad times. At this point, all V could think about was feeling betrayed and how he would get out of this mess. He was innocent; he and God knew this, but there was no way he could prove that while in jail, and God wasn't making any personal appearances on his behalf. His mom got a chance to look in his eyes at the trial, and she knew in her heart and soul he didn't do it. She would do what she could for him, and his girlfriend Cassandra said she had his back, but V was having his doubts about Kevin. He had a best friend named Junior, but he had no idea where he was. And to make matters worse, V had an identical twin brother by the name of Victor Taylor. This brother was the best defense attorney in the state and one of the best in the country. Let Victor tell it, he was probably the best in the world. It just didn't make sense that when Vincent was sentenced over three years ago, Victor had not even tried to help his case or even come to visit him. Three years and not even a phone call. There was no card — nothing. But if the truth were to be known, Victor detested his look-a-like brother.

That's my brother! My own flesh and blood! How can he just turn his back on me? thought V.

He decided that he'd better think of something else, or he would probably do something he couldn't fix or reverse. As long as he knew he was innocent, committing suicide was out of the question, so he decided to have positive thoughts about the last time he saw his girlfriend Cassandra. Even her visits became less and less, but when she did come, wow!

You're on Death Row, Fool

"Hey, Cassie," V said over the phone on the other side of a glass wall.

"Hey, boo." Cassie was looking especially good this day. She had her hair braided in those tiny braids that takes eighteen hours to complete. Her Bobbi Brown makeup complimented her dark chocolate skin, not that it wasn't already flawless. She had on some tight-fitting DK jeans, some three-inch black and gold high heels, and a gold silk blouse that looked like it was tailor-made just for her. She carried a black leather coat in her arms and wore a black pin-striped fedora. She was tight, and at five feet five inches, she was the finest thing in the neighborhood. At least in V's eyes, she was.

"I miss you so much, baby," she said with pouty lips.

"I miss you too, girl. A lot! Have you seen or talked to Moms?"

"I see her almost every day. She prays for you all the time."

"Okay. What about Vic?" he asked.

"I don't think Victor is praying for you. Hee hee! I'm joking, boy. What about Victor? I don't see him that often. I mean, all he does is work at his firm and doesn't at all seem concerned with what you're going through, but Moms and I are doing all we can to try to come up with something ..." She turned away, and her voice trailed off as if trying to think of the right thing to say.

"Boo? You didn't really kill that man, I mean Judge Mumford, did you?" Cassie asked.

V exploded. "What the hell do you mean, did I kill that judge? You know me! I wouldn't kill anyone! What the fu ... You think that I would kill a man just because he sentenced me for a few months in juvie years ago? Hell, I'm over that shit! I wouldn't kill him for that! Hell, I wouldn't kill anyone! I couldn't! You should know this! Damn, girl, I can't believe you just asked me that shit!"

V really didn't mean to go off like that, but Cassie hurt him. She was looking so good, but to him, she was talking so stupid. She doubts me, he thought. He stared at her like she was a complete stranger. She was supposed to be his girl, his lover, his squeeze; and he didn't want to alienate one of the few people who were supposed to be on his side. But right now, the pain of betrayal ruled his emotions.

"I'm sorry, boo. It's just that the evidence is so strong against you. I don't mean to show you any doubt or act like I don't believe you, and I'm certainly not trying to upset you. Look, if you say you didn't do it, well then, I guess you didn't do it," Cassie said.

V's thoughts were soaring. You guess? If this is how you really feel, how come you can't look me in the face when you say this? And you still didn't say that you really believe me.

Everyone's always talking about evidence. Doesn't faith have something to do with evidence too?

"Shit, Cassie. I'm sorry 'bout going off like that. It's just that I need to know you are on my side through all this. It's obvious you don't believe me now, but I'll tell you what ... You better believe that I didn't do it. It's as simple as that. And there's one more thing that you better believe: You know that there's never been anything that I've gotten into trouble for that I couldn't get myself out of. The only difference between then and now is that I didn't do anything to deserve this. You just wait and watch. A little brainpower and a little time and I'll come up with something. You know I'm right, don't you, baby?"

"Damn, V, you're on death row, fool! What, you think you're just going to walk out the front gates and they're going to just let you? You're in deep shit, boo!" Cassie said this as if she was trying to convince V to accept his fate, not even thinking about how it might make him feel. He just gave her a look that would have knocked her out of the chair she was sitting in as if the reality of being on the opposite side of a glass divider wasn't evident. Cassie tried to atone.

"I'm sorry, babe. You're right. You'll find a way out of this. I know you will. And I'm willing to help you any way I can."