Rumored that he once hacked off a roommate's arm at the elbow, with a 16th century samurai sword, during a heated argument over whose turn it was to toss the Caesar salad, Perry "Beak" Stiller had little dirriculty in convincing fellow inmates that he was the ideal candidate for the newly vacated job of shower room janitor. Standing only 5 foot, 6 inches and weighing in at a mere 143 pounds, not many possessed Beak's switchblade-quick reflexes, awesome physical power or fearless courage. [Related author's note: in the summer or '73, while resting comfortably on a small plot of grass in the exercise yard, hearing commotion, I glanced toward the weightlifting pile. There, towering above Beak and shouting insults, stood SCI-Dallas' Champion power lifer, 6 foot, 7 inch, 357 pound, Otis Van Heusen. Though my eyes at no time wavered or shifted from the scene, I never actually saw Beak's fist strike Otis' chin. But I did hear it...CRACK! and Otis hit the ground like a sack of dead cats.] The only visible characteristic that set Beak apart from the average Joe, was his long, thin, wedge-shaped nose that would have looked more at home attached to the face of a macaw parrot, hence, the handle, "Beak." Wide spread speculation, however, was that Beak wasn't exactly "right in the head." It prevented all but the bravest of the brave from bringing this flawed facial feature to his attention. Add to the mix his valid reputation as a bully, a sexual predator bully, and you quickly understood why, while in his presence, you wished to be some place else. His partner in crime, John "Dog" Padogna, of average height, tipping the scale at 180+ pounds and, loyal as a wet puppy dragged in from a thunderstorm, brought to the table an equally impressive dossier of dastardly deeds: six prison escapes, two bank robberies, five assaults on corrections officers, a partial decapitation, one obscene phone call and twenty-seven assaults on inmates, sexual assaults. Dog had only a mediocre success record as a jailhouse rapist and deviant sexual predator. Y'see, Dog wasn't the brightest match in the box. After cornering an innocent, helpless victim in a secluded area of the prison, then ravishing him in ways that would chill the bones of a seasoned sexual predator, he'd make the battered victim "promise" not to tell. Satisfied the young lad wasn't lying, he simply let him go. Whereupon, the mauled pummeled victim would make a beeline to the proper authorities. Unfortunately, no lesson of any lasting value was ever learned from this important oversight. Thus, Dog always got caught. His justifying logic for being apprehended so many times (the reason he'd served fourteen out of sixteen years of his incarceration stripped naked and locked away in the Hole) was always, "That asshole [the victim] snitched on me!" Or, "Goddamn! that was a bit of bad luck." The Dog's luck, however, was about to change. It was Beak who, after a few days on his new job as shower room janitor, convinced Dog to fill out a job request slip applying for the job of "assistant" to the shower room janitor. Beak informed Dog, "Man, the pickin's down there are great!" After a thorough evaluation of Padogna's job request, his counselor, Mr. M.F. Knott, summoned Dog to his office and announced, "You begin your new job tomorrow. You'll be working with Mr. Stiller, as his assistant. Any problems with that?" "No, no problem," replied Dog. As if monetary gain was actually the motivating factor to Dog in this devious scenario, he inquired, "how much will I be a'makin'?" "Twenty-three cents an hour," replied Mr. Knott. "Boy-oh-boy!" exclaimed Dog, "Now, I'll be able to send my dear ol' mother (who died giving birth to Dog 27 years earlier) a few bucks to help with her bills." The shower rooms at the state Correctional Institution in Dallas, Pennsylvania, are located in the basements of each housing block. There inmates are allowed to take showers three times daily: at 9 am to 11 am, 1 pm to 3 pm and again between 6 pm and 8 pm. At the completion of each showering period, in preparation for the next group of inmates, the janitor with his loyal assistant enters the shower room and (for approximately an hour) they scrub and disinfect the place. Sitting on a wooden bench down in the basement opposite shower stall number 9, Beak and Dog hatched their obscenely foul scheme. "Okay, Dog, here's the plan," informed Beak. "Y'know that new red-haired kid in cell 23?" "Yeah, I've had my eye on his hind-parts since he moved on the block. Man! that kid's handlin' big time in the butt department. I'd sure like to plug that gopher hole!" "First, we gotta get him down here by his self," instructed Beak. "Have ya peeped his lips? He's got the prettiest, pouting, pink lips I've ever seen." "You ain't gonna kiss him, are ya?" inquired Dog. "Maybe, maybe not," shrugged Beak. "It all depends on how things go. But, he's gonna kiss 'this," added Beak cupping a hand over his crotch. Dog inquired, "How are we gonna get that sweet thing down here?" Remembering the dirty-thirds he got stuck with back in '71, he quickly added, "I'm first! I go first." "Fine with me," replied Beak. "Okay, listen up! I've been watchin' him, watchin' him close. He'll be coming down here with a couple of his punk-ass buddies about 7:30 tonight. You pull him aside when he's done showering and keep him occupied until his asshole buddies leave." "How?" asked Dog. "He might get suspicious. I can't get near that kid without my joint stiffenin' up." "I don't give a shit," responded Beak. "You just keep him distracted until his jerk-off pals takeoff." "Then what?" asked Dog as he adjusted the throbbing bludge in his state issue trousers. "I'll close the door like always," said Beak, "but this time I'll wedge it shut with a scrub brush. That way no one can get in...or out. The guards will think we're just doin' our job. If all goes according to plan, we'll have a little better than a hour with Reds. Try not to leave any marks on him, okay?" "Hot damn!" exclaimed Dog. "An hour! Shit, that's enough time to make him like it!" "Don't matter if he likes it or not," snarled Beak adjusting his own bludge. "Beacuse we're gonna like it!" "Remember," Dog reminded, "I'm first! And, I'm gonna plug me a gopher hole. I'll bet that sweet, young thing don't have a hair on that s-m-o-o-t-h, soft ass anywhere!" "Just keep your distance from those lips," warned Beak. "I got me somethin' real special planned for those pretty, pink, pouting chops." Reds hated the shower! The place scared him to death. The way those animals looked at him, especially that one with the big nose, it was sickening! Disgusting! They were nothing but perverts...all of them! Oh, yeah, Reds knew what they wanted all right...they wanted sex, but knowing what they wanted was even more frightening than not knowing. "It just turns my stomach to think about," Reds often thought. Except for his two good buddies, Elmer and Clyde, who always went to and from the shower room with him so they could protect and look after one another in that awful, dreadful shower room, they were all disgusting, perverted sleazeballs! Waiting nervously in his cell for Elmer and Clyde to arrive, Reds, undressed to his shorts, tossed on the robe his mother had sent him and gripped-up his soap dish, wash cloth and towel. When his buddies, Emler and Clyde, showed up, they all headed to the shower room...where Beak and Dog waited! The plan worked perfectly. When Reds stepped from his stall and quickly covered himself with his robe, Dog approached the prey and, under the pretence of selling Reds a radio, ushered him around to the back of showers and out of sight. Next, Beak slithered up to the still soaped-up and showering Elmer, then shouted menacingly, "hey, snot-face! get your sorry, sissy-punk ass outta here right, NOW! And take your numb-nuts pal, Clyde, with ya! If either one of you worthless, son-of-a-bitches say a word about this to anybody, I'm cuttin' your balls off!" Elmer and Clyde ran, lickety-split, from the shower room. Slamming the door, Beak wedged it with the scrub brush. "Okay, he ordered, "bring that pussy out!" There, in the shower room, they had their wicked, evil way with Reds. As anticipated, Reds didn't like it. At least, not at first. He did nothing except cry, whine, blubber and beg for his life for, oh, an entire five minutes or so. Then, to Beak and Dog's surprise (and delight), Reds stopped sobbing and began muttering slight sounds of pleasure. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes into the nasty goings-on, Reds experienced a stunning self-awakening and thought to himself, "Dog's not such a bad guy after all. He's just misunderstood." Approximately three weeks into this sorted affair, Dog lost his mind. He fell madly in love with Reds who, likewise, formed an adoring affection for Dog. It all began, as the story goes, with an inquisitive request from Reds for a "reach-a-round" from Dog while Dog was gopher holing him from behind. From there, the affair just seemed to mushroom. Beak, shortly after negotiating a complex deal that insured him sole ownership of Red's pretty, pink, pouting lips, and masquerading as an ordained minister of the Tijuana Church Of The Good Shepard, joined the loving couple in holy matrimony on June 1st, 1975, in the shower room at SCI-Dallas. The ensuing honeymoon, which promptly took place in the large double-wide shower stall mainly reserved for the handicapped, was an event no human being in his or her right mind would've wanted to witness. Among the many strange and perverted sexual acts performed in the "honeymoon" suite, it's rumored that Dog's gopher-hole became community property. [Additional author's note: This is a more or less true story. It's noteworthy that Beak and Dog were, and are, a more rare breed of sexual predator that normally stalks dark prison corridors for prey. Beak and Dog were white boys. Furthermore, to all you potential sexual predators out there: BEWARE of the inquisitive request for a "reach-a-round."] View a related story.