J is for Judgement

every corridor, and I knew we were being observed by the; deputy manning level-one control. The smells changed subtly from one area to the next. Food, bleach, burning chemicals, as if someone had set fire to the plastic ring on a six-pack of canned sodas, musty blankets, floor wax, rubber tires. Sergeant Ryckman conducted a couple of administrative transactions, apparently minor matters fraught with clerical jargon. There were a surprising number of women working in the processing unit -- all ages, all sizes, usually in jeans or polyester pants. There was a nice air of camaraderie among the people I observed. Lots of telephones ringing, lots of movement from department to department, as we cruised through.
    Finally, he steered us toward the small employee cafeteria. The menu for the deputies that day was lasagna, grilled ham- and-cheese sandwiches, french fries, and com. Not quite enough fat and carbs for my taste, but it was coming close. There was also a salad bar, featuring stainless-steel bins of chopped iceberg lettuce, sliced carrots, green pepper rings, and onions. For drinks, one had a choice of orange juice, lemonade, or cartons of milk. The prisoners' menu was listed on the board above the hot table: bean soup, grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches, beef Stroganoff or lasagna, white bread, french fries, and the ubiquitous com. Unlike the meals at the jail in Santa Teresa, which were served cafeteria style, the food here was prepared and dished out by inmates onto trays that were loaded, in turn, into big stainless-steel hot carts. I'd seen several being rolled into the industrial- size elevators en route to jail levels three and four.
    Ryckman still had the unruly hunger of an adolescent. I watched him pile his tray with a serving of lasagna the size of a brick, two grilled sandwiches, a mound each of com and french fries, and a hefty side of salad with a dipper of Thousand Island dressing poured on top. He tucked two cartons of low-fat milk into the remaining space on his tray. I followed him in the line, picking up plastic flatware from a bin. I opted for a grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich and a modest log pile of fries, hungrier than I thought possible given the institutional nature of the setting. We found a free comer table and unloaded our trays.
    "Were you working in Perdido when Wendell formed CSL ?" I asked.
    "You bet," Ryckman said. " 'Course, I never invest in deals like that myself. My dad always told me I was better off with my money stashed in a coffee can. Depression mentality, but it's not bad advice. Actually, you better hope the word on Jaffe doesn't get out. I know a couple deputies lost money on that scam. He shows his face, you're gonna have a posse of irate citizens riding down on that dude."
    "What's the deal?" I asked. "I don't understand what these guys are about." He squirted ketchup on his fries and passed the dispenser to me. I could tell we shared the same intense interest in junk food.
    Ryckman ate quickly, attention focused on his plate as the mountain of food diminished. "System works on trust -- checks, credit cards, a contract of any kind. People perpetrating fraud feel no inner moral obligation to make good on their agreements. They operate along a continuum that runs from financial irresponsibility to civil consumer puffing to fraud to criminal lies. You see it all the time. Bankers, real estate brokers, investment counselors. . . anyone exposed to large sums of cash. After a while they can't seem to keep their hands off it."
    "Too tempting," I remarked. I wiped my hands on a paper napkin, uncertain whether the grease was coming from the sandwich or the pile of french fries. Both were heaven to a person of my low appetites.
    "It's more than that. Because it's not just bucks these boys are after as far as I can tell. The money's just a way of keeping score, like they say. You watch these guys operate and pretty soon you realize it's the game they get off on. Same goes for politicians. It's a power trip. Us ordinary mortals are just fuel for their egos."
    "I'm surprised anyone in law enforcement fell for his scheme. You guys ought to know better. You probably see enough of it."
    He shook his head, chewing on a bite of sandwich. "Always hope to make a killing. A little something for nothing, and I guess we're not above it."
    "I had a conversation with Jaffe's ex-partner last night," I said. "He seemed pretty slick."
    "He is. Went right back into business, and what the hell are we