Thursday, September 29, 2022

Inmate Padilla (Part Three of Three Parts) blog post #569

 Photo Courtesy of


Claudio’s done his stretch and is getting out of the pen, despite the authorities’ desperation to hang a murder charge on him. I wonder how Claudio will handle his pending freedom? Can he straighten up and fly right? Let’s see.



                                                             INMATE PADILLA                                           

The inmate clerk in the clothing room issued his two sets of civilian clothes an hour later. “This is the day, huh, Chief?”

“Yeah, I’m putting this clusterfuck behind me.” Might as well be civil. The guy had slipped him extra socks and shorts from time to time.

The hack in charge of the place stalked up and glared at Claudio. “Move it, Padilla. They’re waiting for you. I hope you find as good cock on the outside as you got in here.”

His blood went cold. He halted in his tracks.

The guard dropped into a crouch. “Try it, Indian. Come on. Please.”

Something was wrong. The hack was unarmed and out of shape. No way the man would take him on, not in a million years. Unless the cards were stacked. Claudio stepped back to the counter “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Talbert. You gonna wish me luck?”

The guard waved him away. “Stuff it. Go on, get outa here.”

He almost collided with two guards hanging around outside the door, the aces up the fat fuck’s sleeve. He spoke to them courteously, calling each by name as he fell into his macho gait on the way to Administration. The bastards were about to choke on that unsolved killing. They had a dead con with no one to pin him on. It drove them batty that their prime suspect was about to walk out the gate. They’d hung onto him as long as they could by lying to the parole board, like the sheriff down home had lied to get him in here.

He walked on eggshells through the discharge procedure and didn’t take a good breath until the gate clanged behind him. On the ride to the bus station, the world seemed odd, off-kilter. The whole universe was upside down. Being locked up and watched every minute of the day and night and sleeping in a cubby-hole with strips of iron for curtains was natural, and all of this space with nobody to tell you when to go to the crapper was strange? Weird.

Convinced the two old women sitting behind him knew he was straight out of the joint and had been fucked by fairies, he got off the bus in Albuquerque.

He left the depot and ignored the chilly wind to start walking. He had no idea where he was or where he was going. All the talk was about something called the Suez Canal Crisis and a hillbilly kid with the duck’s ass haircut and swivel hips called Elvis Presley.

After a look around downtown, he started up a long street that turned out to be East Central. He put one foot in front of the other for miles simply because there was no wall or fence to run up against. After passing the University Book Store and the University Drug Store, he realized the big buildings across the street must be the University. Was Paul Martinson still there?

On a side street in the university area, he found a used clothing store willing to trade him three worn pairs of dungarees, some cotton shirts, and a pair of boots for his two sets of brand new khakis and cheap prison shoes. The girl who waited on him was the only other person in the place. Short with long stringy hair, she chewed gum non-stop, but, man, did she have curves.

When he asked to change into his new duds, she waved him to the back of the small store and told him nobody would bother him. The clerk watched as he tore off his shirt. Beginning to get turned on, he shucked his pants. The woman walked over and eyed him frankly.

“You work out or something? That’s a damned good bod.”

“Yeah, I been with this work crew out on the desert.”

“Bullshit, honey. I know state issue when I see it. You been in the joint. I had an old man up there for a while.” She came closer and eyed him frankly. “How about it, want to work off some of that tension, or did they make a queer out of you up there?”

“They made me queer for girls with long hair who chew gum.”

She locked the door, and he took her on the floor of the crummy little shop. She was still shedding clothes when he threw her down and mounted her. He came almost immediately.

“Damned muscle boys. Got no staying power.”

He slapped her on the side of the head, and she came up fighting. As he pinned her to the floor, he got hard again and threw it to her savagely. She gasped and called him a dirty name. He stabbed her viciously with his body. By the time he climaxed again, she’d come at least twice. He sat up and tried to control his breathing.

“Man, that was some fuck!” She lifted her hips and pulled up her undergarment. “You ripped my panties, you shit. But you know what? I think I’ll set up camp outside the gates and catch all the cons when they’re turned loose.” She ran a hand over his chest. “Anybody ever tell you you’re pretty?”

“A couple of fags, but they were sorry.”

“I’ll tell you, and I won’t be sorry. You’re prettier than most women. You Mexican?”

He shook his head. “Apache.”

“Oh, wow! That’s groovy. I go for the natural things. You know… natural foods, natural fibers. I guess they don’t come any more natural than Native Americans.”

When he stood and began dressing, she kissed his groin and got up. She tried to talk him into staying, even offering to let him move in with her, but he’d already violated parole by not going straight to Terreon and reporting to the Sheriff’s Office. He stuffed his spare clothes in the paper bag she gave him and crossed the street to wander the University of New Mexico campus looking for Paul Martinson. All he spotted were lots of kids headed this way and that way like they were rushing to save the world.

Well, one thing about it. He hadn’t lost his taste for women. After fucking that good-looking kid, Luis, for a year, he hadn’t been able to be absolutely certain. He paused as he reconsidered. Maybe he’d find himself another Luis… you know, just for now and then.


So you tell me, did Claudio come out of the pen a changed man? Oh, yeah. He’s a murderer, isn’t he. But do you get the feeling he misses Luis… just a little?

 Stay safe and stay strong.

 Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it!

 A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:

 My personal links:



Twitter: @dontravis3

 See you next Thursday.



 New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Blog Archive