Steve Dawes was enjoying the life of a gang leader. He had never been in a real position of leadership in his life or in his family, so the experience was new to him. He was flattered by Goodboy’s devotion, and his readiness to obey Steve’s whims without a second’s hesitation. Steve was eating half of Goodboy’s food at each meal, keeping warm with Goodboy’s blanket in addition to his own at night, and enjoying Goodboy’s wheelchair chauffeur service anytime he wanted. Steve liked the shared showers and Goodboy's back rubs, too; he forgot about Marta, mostly. Life was good.
Steve’s moods had leveled with the medications. Most of the time, he was lucid and aware of his situation. He knew he was being held for psychiatric evaluation prior to a bond hearing, for seven charges of felony assault, use of a firearm to commit a felony, making a terroristic threat, and assorted parking violations related to the car he had left on the curb at Bear’s Bar. His court appointed attorney had explained to him that he must attend a competency hearing in three days, and if he was found competent he could petition the court for bond. His attorney had also explained that if he was found incompetent, he would be held in the medical housing unit for thirty days until a second hearing. Steve knew his only chance lay in escape, and that is where the Neckbeard Gang would come in.
As he figured it, Steve’s gang had only one problem: Goodboy was the only member. Fancying himself a great guerrilla leader and union organizer in the vein of Che' Guevera or Jimmy Hoffa, Steve talked to the other inmates and tried to convince them of the inevitable victory of the proletariat inmates over their bourgeois oppressors. For the most part, Steve was met by blank stares, but a few inmates moved over to his table in the dayroom, which Steve read as small victories. He didn’t notice, or chose to ignore, that the inmates who moved to his table had the same blank stare.
In the span of two days, the Neckbeard Gang had six members. Goodboy was slowly growing his neckbeard, if four hairs on the underside of his chin could be called a “neckbeardâ€. The other inmates followed Goodboy’s example, shaving their faces with the battery powered shaver and leaving the hair on their necks. The detention officers and nurses quickly noted the new fashion, and notified the Sheriff’s Department gang unit. The gang specialists could find no record of a prison gang made up of mental detainees who didn’t shave their necks. They seemed harmless, just sitting around one table in the dayroom, so the gang unit reported that they were probably not a security risk.
The day before the competency hearing, a new inmate moved into the medical housing unit. Steve felt he knew this prisoner, who was short and stocky with stubby legs and straggly hair. The new prisoner was dressed in a blue scrub shirt and white scrub pants, which niggled at a spot in the back of Steve’s head. He was sure he recognized this new prisoner, so he sent Goodboy to find out more. “Be subtleâ€, Steve told him. “I’m a good boyâ€, Goodboy replied, and walked across the dayroom.
Ten seconds later, Goodboy returned, leading the new prisoner by the hand. Steve sighed and said “I said to be subtleâ€.
“I’m a good boyâ€.
“Yes, I knowâ€. He noticed the new prisoner had the potential for a fine neckbeard.
“I’m Steve Dawesâ€, he said by way of introduction.
“Suffice it to say, I knew that. Omaha Steve is well known in certain circlesâ€, the mysterious stranger replied. Steve couldn’t place the accent, but his mind simultaneously volunteered Speedy Gonzales, Boris Badinoff, and Bela Lugosi. Maybe equal parts of each, in a weird verbal stew.
“Do I know you?â€
“Oh, da, you know me, Steve Dawes.â€
The realization that he did recognize the stranger hit Steve like Marta’s rolling pin.
“You’re Napoleon Bonaparte!â€
“No.â€
“Yoda? Danny DeVito? Grover? The Taco Bell Dog?â€
“No! I am Nadin. I’m here to help you escape,†the stranger said in the same guttural croak.
“How did you know I was here?†Steve asked, bewilderment showing on his face.
“Suffice it to say, when you didn’t post on Democratic Underground for a few days, I knew the Conservative conspiracy was underway, and you had to be a political prisoner. And, of course, I was right.â€
Steve asked, “How did you find me here?â€
“Don’t inquire into the ways of the Force,†Nadin said menacingly. “I’ll ignore you.â€
Something else occurred to Steve. “This is a males-only unit. How did you get in?â€
Nadin told him. “When they picked me up, they didn’t ask and I didn’t tell.†That made sense to Steve. No matter how closely he looked, he could not find a single secondary sexual characteristic he could identify as female.
“When they picked you up?â€
“Da. I allowed myself to be arrested by the local police. I packed my car with canned milk, stuck the 10 inch knife into my boot, grabbed the Geiger counter and the Good Rig, and came to your rescue.â€
Steve felt some apprehension. He was worried that Nadin would take over the Neckbeard Gang, his gang, and he didn’t want that to happen.
“I’ll get you out of here, Steve. Leave it to me,†Nadin said, as she patted his hand.
Goodboy saw the stranger holding hands with his Steve, and his face darkened.
