Pale Shelter

Micah Redmane always hated roller coasters. Ever since his mother took him to Coney Island when he was 8 and forced him onto The Hurricane with his older brother, Angus. It was almost like she felt compelled to forget they were immigrants by doing American activities. He would have been just as happy playing stickball with his mates. But no. She had to stuff him full of grimy Nathan’s hot dogs and Coke and pop him into the rickety seat with his brother. One minute they were headed up, the next there was projectile vomit from him landing on two seats ahead of him. That was his first and last carnival ride and he vowed never to be forced into anything and to always be in charge and control.

Now he’s the kingpin of Atlantic City and his band of Irish and Scotch boys protect him from the other gangs that would kill their own brother for an eight ball of cocaine. Hustling doesn’t even describe him. Micah had his hands in so many things, his enemies call him The Octopus. Drugs, prostitution, and guns — the big three made the most cash in the 70s. “Micah, we got the snow coming in from Panama. Still wanna unload in the city?” His brother Angus, dressed in a black suit with wide lapels and bell bottoms, yelled from across the hotel suite they used. Micah ran his hands through his long, red curly hair, eyes bloodshot from partying with his mates for the last three days. Looking up from the pile of invoices and checks he was working on. Sighing, “Ya sure. Just make sure MacDougall drives it. Had a few too many close calls with troopers lately. Can’t afford to get stopped, again. Declan, I need you to fly out to Vegas this weekend. Our connection out there is looking for heroin and I need you to bring him the load that just came in from Thailand. Angus, grab that other phone, will ya, ringing is making my head scream.”

“It’s ma. She says she has to talk to you.”

Waving his hand and shaking his head no.

“Ma, he’ll call you back.”

“She says it’s urgent, gotta talk to you right now.”

Rolling his eyes, Micah got up from the table and grabbed the phone from Angus.

“Ma. I’m busy. What is it?” His eyes widened as listened? “You didn’t tell them anything, right? Closing his eyes, his breathing ragged. “Ma, why would you do that? Do you understand what this means? No more vacations in the Poconos or trips to Paris. Feds will watch everyone, including you, so do nothing else stupid. Are we clear? Oh, I will talk to you in that tone because you just ruined years of work!” Throwing the phone across the room, he nearly hit Angus in the jaw.

“Wake up Angus, and get the car. Ma just ratted us out to the Feds. We need to fly. Get the passports. We’re all going to Thailand for a brief vacation. “

“Hey, Hey Cmon. Where’s the CO? Somebody better get in here and get this Flinstone suit off me. Now!!!.” Micah’s voice echoed down the long cell block of Lewisburg Prison.

“You screws know who I am? I’ll kill all of you with my bare hands.” As the COs approached his cell in solitary, he could hear them laughing.

“You dick heads think this is funny. I’m pissing blood. Look in the crapper if you don’t believe me. I’m sick. I know my rights. You gotta take me to the doc.”

“Maybe ya caught something in Thailand. Heard there’s a fish there that swims up your pee hole and bam, stuck forever. Guess you shoulda stuck with drugs instead of getting too greedy trying to sell guns to Russia.”

Opening the cell, the officers saw blood splattered on the toilet and floor, as well as pinpoint spots on the bottom of the suicide suit. While the COs worked to get Micah out of the restraints, blood spewed from his mouth like a fountain and he sunk to the floor. The CO moved quickly grabbing a rickety gurney that happened to be in the hallway and rushed him to the hospital wing.

Micah woke up with a crushing headache and his throat felt sore and scratchy and everything around him was white. The floor, the bed, the ceiling. All he could think was, you’re not in Kansas anymore as he heard talking outside the door of the room. Pushing into the room was the prison doc, followed by two CO’s.

“Mr. Redmane. Sorry to tell you this, but you have cancer. Probably started in your bladder, but now it’s spread into your stomach as well. We will be transferring you to University Hospital for treatment. Nothing we can do here. The warden wanted you to have this room to make a few calls.”

Weeping softly, he pulled the bedside phone onto his lap and began dialing.

“Ma. I’m so sorry for everything. The lies, the crimes, the drugs. I’m gonna make amends to everyone and I’m gonna stay alive and make a difference. No, I’m not crazy. I have cancer and I will beat it no matter what it takes.”