Newsworthy
Dignan (gen), implied Bob/Anthony, PG


Dignan imagined he must be a celebrity by now. He thought of his name and face splashed all over the six o'clock news - no, the eleven o'clock news; they saved the stories of hardened criminals until after the kids were in bed. Even now, there must have been updates on his detention - "Dignan (only his first name was necessary, he was so well-known) is still in confinement, with prison officials secretly increasing security by half, anticipating possible outbursts or altercations. More, after today's weather..."

His hair was still close-cropped, trimmed every time the barber came around. He liked rubbing his hand over the buzzed part at the nape of his neck, and besides, were there any new visitors, he wanted them to immediately recognize him, and perhaps even back away in trepidation. Each time he felt the cold scissors brush against his ear, he was reminded of a haircut he'd almost had months ago, a block away from a motel with an outdoor swimming pool (although he'd forgotten his trunks) and friendly maids. He would begin telling the barber about it, how he'd been laying low, but when he would hold up the hand mirror to check the cut, he could see the barber's eyes wandering, mind close behind. And Dignan always shrugged and said "hey man, it's okay, I'll tell you about it next time when you're not so preoccupied," and lowered the mirror to his lap, studying his hands.

He had recieved his first letter a few days ago, from Anthony's sister Grace. She had filled half a page of paper with her steady but childish handwriting, telling Dignan that it was a real shame he had ended up in jail and all, but that she hoped he was enjoying his stay anyway. Dignan read over the letter several times, one time taking it with him to dinner, holding it above the table to keep it away from sloppy portions and a spilled drink. Then he wrote out a reply, the pen gripped tightly in his slightly hooked left hand. He thanked Grace for writing, and asked her how school was going. He then told her that he was having a marvelous time, but he was pretty happy he wouldn't be staying forever - he figured he'd eventually get tired of the food. He carefully signed his name at the bottom - after a moment, he scratched it out and printed it; he wasn't sure Grace could read cursive yet, and wanted her to know it was from him - and folded the note, then put it under his pillow to keep safe until he had the chance to mail it. He had his own cell, but still, he wasn't too sure about the guards.

At night, after Dignan had pulled off his jumpsuit and lay in bed in his white undershirt and boxers, he often thought of the old gang. What were they all up to? He worried about Applejack, and how his heart was holding up these days. And Kumar - had he gotten his old touch back, and had the rigors of Cold Storage Day (as Dignan liked to call it in his mind) hurt him? He comforted himself by imagining that they were already back to their old selves, doing various jobs for Mr. Henry.

Mr. Henry. Was he proud of Dignan? Of course not, Dignan would think with the ghost of a frown; he wouldn't be proud of a man who had given himself up to the police like a coward. But...surely Mr. Henry understood? He had to know that sometimes, getting caught was just a part of the deal. You couldn't be on the run from Johnny Law your whole life.

Sometimes, Dignan wondered why Mr. Henry hadn't bailed him out or arranged another hearing. He figured Mr. Henry was teaching him a bit of a lesson. Toughening him up, so to speak. As long as it kept him in the gang, Dignan was okay with that.

Each week, Dignan would go off for the recreation hour and spend his time in the metalworking room. When he discovered how relatively simple belt buckles were to make, he decided to make a few for the old gang. He liked smoothing the metal, still warm to the touch, and carefully shaping it against the mold. He took extra care to round the edges, testing them against his finger until the rough bits no longer caught and tugged at his skin - he didn't want the buckles to accidentally cut anyone. He would rub at the metal with a threadbare cloth until it shone brightly, then stow the new buckles in his pocket.

On the whole, Dignan was enjoying his time as much he could. Sometimes the other guys would get attitudes and try to mess with him, but he'd just laugh, shake his head and amble off. And he had people to talk to - if not the other prisoners, then the guards, although he always kept an eye on their guns. But sometimes, Dignan would find himself thinking about Anthony. Him and Inez, mostly. Was she still off at the motel, or had Anthony gone to rescue her, to whisk her away? Dignan remembered how Anthony had lit up when Inez told him she loved him that one night on the phone, how Inez could communicate so much with a shy smile. Crazy lovebirds, Dignan would think, smiling to himself.

But maybe Inez hadn't come. Maybe Anthony was still staying with Bob in his pristine house with the thick carpets and grand piano. Dignan thought of them sitting out by the pool, Bob wearing Anthony's bathrobe, laughing at each other's jokes. He imagined them running upstairs at the sound of John's car in the driveway, breathlessly locking themselves in Bob's room, listening for John's footsteps to approach then fade. And before he could stop himself, Dignan imagined them sitting on the edge of Bob's bed, smiling as their lips met, forgetting everything and everyone else as shirts fell to the floor.

Dignan was usually in bed while his mind dwelled on these thoughts, and he would shift to face the wall, a slight grimace on his face. Dammit Dignan, you're doing it again, he'd think to himself. Snap out of it. And after a moment or two, he always did.

Life went on. He ate, exercised, showered, played some basketball, made belt buckles, and slept. But he also silently examined every chain link in the fences, and scrutinized the guards for weaknesses and routines. And every night he lay awake for long hours, formulating his plan. He would make his spectacular, newsworthy escape - the only remaining question was when.




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