The United States marshals were two clean-cut muscular young white boys dressed in khaki pants and dark polo shirts with badges clipped to their belts. They carried lots of chains. When they came on to the tier to get Eddie all the inmates came to their doors to watch and holler. It reminded me of hyenas at the zoo, all lined up in a row against the bars with muzzles drawn back showing sharp teeth, yipping and howling.
When they came for Eddie he moved like a doomed man. He walked out of the cell then turned and grabbed onto the bars, pulling himself up close to me. I reached through the bars and put my hand over his and didn't say anything. Where could they possibly hide somebody like Eddie? Somebody who looks like him, acts like him, talks like him? Somebody who couldn't make it for long on the outside even when people weren't trying to kill him? He looked at me and stayed quiet too, and when his eyes started to well up he turned away abruptly. "Let's get out of here," he said to the marshals. They put on the leg irons, waist chain and cuffs, then led him away with a hand on each bicep. They walked him off the tier and out of my life forever, and that was the last time I ever saw my friend.