Most of the prisoners at Cortlandt hail from the Rotten Apple, but Zebediah came from Colden, New York, a small town near the Canadian border. Being inexperienced, he made a big mistake by accepting a pack of cigarettes from an inmate named Burt White. All three of us, Zeb, Burt, and myself, were working in the tailor shop at the time. Zebediah Peters didn’t have much money, but he was young and handsome, a perfect target for an aggressive homosexual like Burt White. Burt started in about Zeb returning the pack of cigarettes, the same cigarettes Zeb had been given and which he’d already smoked. Zeb offered to replace the cigarettes with another pack, but, of course, that wasn’t good enough. For some reason, boredom, perhaps, I stepped in. I took out a pack of cigarettes and handed it to Burt and said, “You’re even.” Burt didn’t argue. Most likely, he figured I was already putting it to young Zebediah. Zeb, on the other hand, attached himself to me like a puppy at the end of a leash.
