Only the Moon Watching

Chapter 4: My First Enemy

"Who'd'you get for intake? Big guy with the beard but no eyebrows? Crossed teeth? Or the girl who–"

"Sergeant Gordon," I say, punching in the first of the bondmen's numbers.

"Yeesh," says Shiv. "Garda Girdle."

"Garda?"

The phone rings and rings. I hold it against my neck.

"It's what they call cops in Ireland. I love detective novels, but – that's how they all talk – and I hate Garda Girdle, she's one with a God-complex for sure–"

D'you think if American Gods were real there'd be a golf course one?

"–she's especially rude to anyone who's been to private school, or a bit of college, or can see through her Ice Princess act. Because she's not cool, right? She's a hot prison guard, fine, but that's only awesome on Halloween! Every other day of the year, she's just as trapped in here as the rest of us. I don't know why she can't see that..."

"She really didn't seem to like me," I say, remembering how rough she was with my cavity search. I hit an answering machine for the bondsmen, hang up, and try another.

"It's probably your hair. It's real blonde, right?" asks Shiv. "She dyes hers black. Wait a week until her roots are showing – she looks so insane, they're ash blonde but it'll look like she's going gray – tell her she's starting to look distinguished, she'll go mental on you. If you ever need a favor from her, grunge yourself up first – the grosser you look the less threatened she'll be. And if you ever need to get rid of her–" Shiv licks her finger and demonstrates how to give a wet willy. "–be gross. She's a huge germaphobe. Sneeze, give yourself a bloody nose, talk about your period... She'll abandon her post, she can't stand 'bathroom talk' as my mom used to call it.

"Anyway, we call her Garda Girdle because she's always dressed to impress, isn't she? Wears her belt a little higher on her hips than everyone else, cinched at the waist, heavy eyeliner, freshly-applied lippy... Never a hair out of place, nary a wrinkle in her clothes... All that stuff's fine if you're also a nice person, but when you're as bat shit insane as she is it just seems Nazi-ish, doesn't it? I mean, speak of the war criminal..."

Garda Girdle saunters down the hall.

"Any luck with bondsmen?" She asks, batting her dark eyelashes and looking like she knows full well they were all unreachable.

"No response yet," I say.

"Guess you'll have to wait things out in your cell. You'll be... more comfortable..."

I can tell Garda Girdle's lying through her highly polished teeth.