by Gary Sapp
full control of himself or the situation at hand.
“Thomas wrote that one of your most compelling traits is that you had a sincere since of honor. He said that you always told the truth.” Warden Bright leaned over his desk. “Why don’t you put this charade and fill in the gaps of what this video doesn’t reveal. Why don’t you tell Rose and me the truth of what really happened that afternoon a couple of weeks back?”
The two men stared at one another a long time—when the prison’s alarm blared.
Xavier Prince and Rose Dixon jumped at the sound. Warden Donald Bright kept his gaze fixed on Xavier, almost oblivious, a bitter smile beginning to grace his lips. He’s cooler than even I am. He truly has ice running in his veins. Circumstance guaranteed that Xavier could never call this man a friend, but he admired the collective way he carried himself. “Did you have Davenport killed?” Bright’s voice was barely audible through the wailing of the alarm. “I want to know if Pepper had you judged correctly.”
Three officers from Xavier’s escort used their passcodes to bypass the lock and let themselves in, their weapons drawn. “My apologies, Warden,” The most senior of the men had blood dripping from a gash of his forehead, and sweat was pouring from his armpits. “We had no idea whether you were in danger or not—“
“It’s alright, Thompson.” Warden Bright said. “What is going on?”
Thompson took a deep breath and steeled himself. “We have an emergency situation up on the third floor. A full-fledged riot is on. We’ve estimated that 70 to 75 percent of Calhoun’s population is loose. Our situation is critical.”
Warden Bright stood, but if he was in panic mode he wore the look of anxiety well. He pulled his jacket off, kneeled at a safe besides his desk, zipped through the combination and produced a nine millimeter pistol. He checked the chamber for rounds, disengaged the safety and tucked the weapon into previously concealed shoulder holster. “Do we know what happened?”
Thompson shook his head. “Most of the details are sketchy as of right now, sir.” The officer seemed to hesitate a second, and Xavier gathered that Thompson was trying to measure what he should say in front of him. “We do know that members of the Black population initiated the hostilities.”
The warden asked for a map of this facility and one of the younger officers thought he remembered where one was. He returned to the office after leaving so quickly that it was difficult for the others to remember that he had exited at all.
“Where can I be of the most use right now, Thompson?”
“Their leader,” Thompson hands a torn piece of paper with the inmate’s name jotted down on it to the warden. “A Julian Moore is asking to meet with both of you on Alpha Wing.”
The warden pats Rose Dixon’s shoulder with his left hand. “Alright, you heard the man. Let’s go, Rose.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Thompson stepped into their path from exiting the room. “I probably didn’t make Moore’s instructions clear enough. The two of you that the prisoner was referring to was yourself and this inmate, Xavier Prince.”
The warden cursed. Xavier would have sworn on a thousand Bibles that Donald Bright’s skin lost one tone of color at that exact moment. Yet, the man recomposed himself and Xavier saw him working muttering something, working out a plan in his mind.
Warden Donald Bright shook his head, no.
And Xavier noted another sense of déjà vu—at this scene played out eerily similar to his own moment of decision a few weeks back.
“You take three other guards and escort inmate Prince back to his cell.” Bright pointed at the junior man, the one who had fetched the map and had returned to his office so swiftly.
The junior man whose name was Stuckey frowned in confusion. “Sir,”
“You men have your orders. Rose, you and Mr. Thomson are both with me.”
“Yes, sir,” The two said in chorus.
Two hours later, back in his cell, Xavier could hear many pairs of footsteps echoing against the stoned floor. He pulled an unlit Newport from his lips and planted a toothpick in his mouth instead.
Warden Donald Bright had come to his office.
“Julian Moore and about three dozen other inmates, mostly former gang bangers from this group that called their selves the Black Knight, have barricaded themselves up inside Alpha Wing up on the third floor.” It had only been a couple of hours since their meeting, but Warden Bright looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. “They have managed to get their hands on a handful of civilians and are threating to kill them if I don’t meet their demands.” Warden bright caught site of Xavier’s pack of smokes sitting in his shirt pocket shook one of the Newport’s loose and watched as Xavier lit the cigarette for him. Once again, Xavier was reminded that circumstance guaranteed that he could never call this man a friend, but he admired the collective way he carried himself. “Moore’s still asking for you.” The warden said after he exhaled his own long stream of smoke. “They are calling this their great campaign: A Riot’s Last Gleaming or some bullshit like that.” He shook his head dismayed. “I’m willing to provide you with any resource available to me, whatever you need to help free those captives up there.”
Xavier grabbed the prison bars with all of his strength. “Take me to where Julian is, unbounded.” Xavier said. The guards began to mouth a protest, Rose Dixon especially, but Warden bright pointed his cigarette at them with his left hand for silence. Xavier continued when the corridor had quieted. “I don’t know what Julian and his Black Knight are up to, but I give you my word on my father’s grave that I will not try to escape…and I’ll do whatever I can to help you resolve this.”
Xavier Prince was unsure of whatever answers the immediate future held for him. A part of him wanted to pray, but he was unsure of the words that God wanted to hear. And he knew even less what the dreams he’d been having of his father meant…though he was sure they meant something important was going to happen to him, and soon.
The one thing Xavier Prince did know for a certainty is that when Officer Rose Dixon approached his cell with the keycard and he heard the bolt unlatch with an audible click, he knew he had heard that revolting sound for the very last time. He could feel it in his marrow. He swallowed hard.
Xavier took his rightful place at the head of the pack, the warden struggling to match his purposeful stride. Rose Dixon hung several paces behind them, with intention, Xavier surmised. She wanted to guard Bright’s life from any enemy that may threaten him. Those threats include me, I suppose.
“You were scheduled for release in a day or so, Prince.” Warden bright doused the cigarette by stepping on it and caught back up with Xavier. “It looks as if that will be impossible now. Look, I’m not ignorant to what is going on upstate in Atlanta right now, The 411; I know how important it must be for you to get home to your city and to your sons.” He paused until they turned the corner where the old timer’s cell was. Prince wanted to stop and speak to the man one last time. “We’re stealing more of your time. What can I offer you as compensation?”
Xavier halted his progress, turned and caught a whiff warden’s dragon breath. “The damage has already been done. Atlanta will keep. And my son’s understand their father’s role in this…life.” He took a small step towards the other man. Out of the corner of his eye, Xavier could see Rose Dixon rest her hand on her nightstick once more. “That look of uncertainty and…fear you are wearing on your face is providing me all the compensation that I’ll ever need.” And just like in the warden’s office the two men stared at each other for a long time, until it was Warden Donald Bright who broke eye contact.
Xavier kneeled down to where the old man was usually seated on the floor. He found him sleeping. He didn’t want to disturb the old man, but Xavier was sure he would never pass this way again so he shook him at the shoulder…and then he shook him again. Slightly alarmed, Xavier Prince reached both of his hands through the bars and laid a hand on each side of his neck, measuring for a pulse.
But the old man was dead.
Xavier Prince lay the old man back down, eased his arms and hands from out of the prison bars, got to his feet and straightened his tunic before turning back to face the warden.
“After this is all over, I will pay for this man’s funeral arrangements. There will be no cremation as mandated by this state for inmates who parish while incarcerated.” Xavier said. “I’m holding you personally responsible that my wishes are met.”
“I’ll see to it.”
Xavier twisted back around and began walking towards the stairs, towards his an uncertain destiny and the others followed him in silence.
He didn’t look back at his dead old friend.
Xavier Prince never could say goodbye.
Angel
“Why in the hell is he here?” Dr. Angel Hicks-Dupree asked Agent Nicholas Sheridan of the man who exited the Chrysler with him a minute ago.
Justin Ryan:
He had grown a pot belly on an otherwise slim frame. He was shitfaced and wore too much moose in his hair, but Angel had to admit he was ruggedly handsome in his silky, black suit.
“Mr. Ryan happened to be on personal business up the street in Chattanooga, Tennessee, Doctor,” Sheridan shot her warning glance for her not to start, not here, not now. “Justin Ryan was The FBI’s Chief Hostage Negotiator for many years and Deputy Director Rice asked to consult here, for him
