Guilty as Sin by Joseph Teller Read Free Book Online

months Hightower let Barnett start cutting hair himself, under his watchful eye. Before a year was up, he was an accomplished barber, at least to the extent one can become an accomplished barber with instruments designed for preschoolers.
    Barnett was doing a four-and-a-half-to-nine at Green Haven, and he made parole on his second try, after five years. He’d lined up a bed in a halfway house and a jobwashing dishes in a restaurant, the New York Department of State having informed him that despite the qualifications spelled out in his written request, his felony convictions disqualified him from obtaining a barber’s license. In his plan for parole, he’d listed among his goals reestablishing contact with his daughters and eventually getting them back from foster care.
    His parole officer told him to get real.
    Still, by the time of his release Barnett had won the trust of the brothers, earned his GED and kicked his heroin habit for good. He hadn’t realized it at the time he’d signed up, but practicing Muslims didn’t do drugs, drink alcohol, smoke cigarettes or curse their god. Had the Koran only thought to prohibit flying airplanes into buildings, it might be a different world we live in today. But this was 1981, a full two decades before that particular loss of innocence.
    On the day of Barnett’s release, Clarence Hightower was the last one in line to high-five him and wish him success on the outside. Hightower himself was doing a ten-to-twenty bit for aggravated assault and wouldn’t be getting out for another three years. There was no mention of favors done or favors owed.
    There’d be time for that later.
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    Barnett and Jaywalker were interrupted by a corrections officer, an old-timer known to Jaywalker by face, though not by name. Which was no surprise. Jaywalker had always been good at faces, while names and phone numbers eluded him. So the exchange of greetings became something of a guy thing.
    â€œHello, Counselor.”
    â€œHey, big guy. Howya doon?”
    Big Guy reached one hand through the bars and handedBarnett a couple of sandwiches wrapped in paper, and a cardboard cup. Then, without asking, he did the same for Jaywalker. The COs all knew Jaywalker, knew he spent more time in the pens talking with his clients than all the other lawyers combined. Knew he worked straight through the lunch hour. And knew he never turned down a day-old cheese sandwich or a lukewarm cup of something that passed for coffee. They considered him one of their own, and they looked after him and, by extension, his clients.
    â€œThank you,” Barnett and Jaywalker said as one.
    â€œYou got it,” said Big Guy, moving on to the next pen.
    They ate in silence for a few minutes, lawyer and defendant, separated by a dozen thick iron bars and the fact that one of them would be going home when the visit was over, while the other was already home, in a manner of speaking.
    â€œSo,” said Jaywalker once they’d finished eating, “what happened next?”
    As he always did, Barnett waited a few seconds before answering. And this time he took additional time to count on his fingers—backward, it would turn out. “Summer of 1984,” he said after a while. “I’ve been out three years. Drug free. Have an apartment to call my own. Not much to brag about, but still…I’m working as a grill man at a different restaurant, a better one. Got visitation with my daughters. Haven’t missed a single reporting date with my parole officer. Life is good.”
    Jaywalker nodded. These were significant accomplishments for anyone. For a recovering heroin addict and five-time felon, they defied all the odds.
    â€œSo who do you think shows up?”
    Jaywalker didn’t bother answering. He knew Barnett’squestion was a rhetorical one. They’d both known who was going to show up.
    â€œCatches me as I’m sitting on my stoop at the end of the day,