by Simon King
8.
A few of the lads were madly rushing around the common area before lockdown. The officers must have already called for muster when I stepped through the airlock. I didn’t hesitate, climbing the nearest stairs to the top tier.
“Moody, lockdown time,” one officer called to me, but I pretended not to hear, reaching the top in 3 quick jumps. Frank’s door was 4th from the top of the stairs and his door was open. All 3 screws were down stairs still, only the one watching me. “Moody?” he called again.
“One sec,” I called back, holding a finger up, as if to point out how long it would take. Without waiting for an answer, I stepped into Frank’s cell, the man already standing in the middle of the room, patiently waiting for his visitor.
He didn’t speak, nor move, as if waiting for me to serve him his delivery on a silver platter. The prick had a look of expectation on his face. I held out the carton and he paused a few seconds before taking it.
“You did well,” he said as he peered inside the carton and pushed the cloth aside. I nodded and waited for him to excuse me. He didn’t immediately, putting the delivery under his pillow as an officer yelled for muster outside.
“Here,” he said, picking up that day’s newspaper and holding it out to me. “I finished with this. Feel free to take it.” I did just as a screw stuck his head into the cell.
“Frank, sorry. I need to lock up.” It was Petrie, another one of Frank’s hired help.
“All good,” Frank said, waving me away. I took the paper and walked out, the screw following me down the stairs. I looked up to the tier as I reached my own door, Frank already locked behind his door. Something felt very wrong and it scared me not to know what it was.
9.
It felt good to finally lay back on my bunk after the screws locked my door. Evening count was always the easiest one of the day, regardless of whether the muster was right or wrong. I threw the paper on my desk and fell into my pillow, briefly closing my eyes. Unexpectedly, I fell asleep almost immediately.
10.
I didn’t wake for four whole hours, the light still burning brightly above my bunk when my eyes finally opened again. I groaned as I realized the error of my ways. It was hard for me to return to sleep after that length of a nap. I knew I’d now be awake half the night, then walk around like a zombie the next day.
Once I’d taken care of my full bladder, I decided that some hot noodles would be good and boiled the kettle. As it was heating, I flicked the television on and skimmed through a few channels, before deciding on an episode of Stargate.
The noodles were good, despite the bad rap they often received from health experts. At 25c a packet, I figured they were probably made from plastic, but the seasoning was delicious, the chicken flavouring reminding me of my mum’s chicken roast. I devoured the noodles within a few minutes, drinking down the remaining juice before washing my bowl in the sink.
I relaxed on the bed and tried to lose myself in the Stargate episode but it didn’t work, my mind repeatedly returning to the gun I’d just delivered to Frank. I couldn’t make sense of it. It was highly unlikely that he would use it for anything in the unit. A weapon like that served no real purpose in the prison, not unless it was used to…
“Holy shit,” I cried, sitting upright. “That’s it.” I knew what the gun was for, the only true purpose of a weapon like that in a place like this. It would be used to hold guards up during an escape attempt. It was the only thing that made sense. Of course, it did.
A gun in the hands of a crook would only be used to overpower officers. Someone was planning to bust out and the gun would be their key to the outside. I let the scenario float around my mind for a few minutes, a strange grin on my face I couldn’t shake. I was right, of that I was sure. But who?
I didn’t know and as I began to relax, saw the newspaper Frank had given me. I reached for it, then sat back against the wall, resting the paper on my legs as I slowly began to flick through the pages. The first few pages held nothing of interest, save for an article here and there about world affairs. But the headline on page 8 gripped my attention instantly.
Shooting Victim Remains in Coma
Something about that headline called to me, willing me to read further. I did and to my horror, the words immediately answered a number of questions.
One of two men gunned down in a vicious late-night attack 2 days ago remains in an intensive care unit, clinging to life in an induced coma. Francisco De Bane was brutally gunned down with another man in his Milton Park home 2 nights ago. While the second man, believed to be De Bane’s personal lawyer Giorgio Ling, died at the scene, De Bane himself continues to hang on to life, with doctors unsure of whether the victim will survive.
Both men were gunned down execution style, receiving gunshot wounds to the back of the head. Police believe the men knew their attackers, with no forced entry found at the home. With very few leads to go on, detectives are appealing for anyone with any information to come forward.
By the time I finished reading, my head felt hot with anger, tears flowing freely from my eyes. I knew instantly that it was Frank. Maybe not directly, but he’d had a hand in whatever happened to my father and Giorgio. I jumped to my feet and briefly paced my cell. I was trying to calm the rage building within me, but it was no good.
I ran to the cell door, punched it once and then kicked it repeatedly.
“MOTHERFUCKER!” I screamed, then continued to kick the door. I barely heard the response from a few of the boys out in the unit, but their shouting was there none the less. I felt torn in half, the murder of Aiden pouring back into my mind as I looked at the paper in my hand. I began to hit the edge of the shower stall with it, again and again. Bits of paper were flying this way and that, some of it floating on air. After a few seconds, the cell looked as if someone had had a pillow fight, the scraps filling the air like snow.
I dropped to my knees as I realized it was no good. I remained as much a victim now as I did back then, the only difference was those pulling the strings. I needed to get out, either from the unit or the prison. I needed to distance myself from this place as soon as possible, before I dealt with matters in my own way.
Chapter 4
1.
It was Hal that saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life. I didn’t sleep the entire night and was ready to kill Frank by the time the unit was unlocked the next morning. It was my luck that Hal’s cell was unlocked before mine, waiting for the screws to unlock my door before making a beeline for me.
We met just as I walked through my door, the unit’s common area still relatively empty.
“Back in your cell,” he hissed as I walked out. I went to object, to push him aside and march on up to Frank’s cell, but Hal punched me in the stomach, the wind knocked out of my lungs before I knew what was happening. Hal ceased the opportunity and pushed my wheezing corpse back into my cell and closed the door behind us. “You wanna get killed, dickhead?”
2.
To his credit, he was right. I don’t know whether he knew just how right he was considering the weapon I had delivered to Frank the previous night. It would take a really stupid man to attack someone they knew to possess a handgun and I wasn’t about to get shot by that.
It took all of my conscious will to calm myself enough to sit down. Hal looked concerned for me; genuine concern I could feel. There was a quiet tap on my door and when I looked up, saw Jack poking his head in. He looked just as anxious as Hal and I suddenly realized they knew.
“How long have you guys known?” I asked, finally calm enough to suck good clean air into my lungs again. I felt a little woozy and hoped I wasn’t showing it to these 2.
“Saw it in the paper a couple of days ago,” Jack said, Hal nodding in agreeance. They exchanged a look that reminded me of Frank and Danny that day back before Nick’s daughter.
“What are you guys not telling me?” I asked. I could see the pair of them shift in their seats, the information they held wei
ghing heavily on their minds. “Jack?” I asked, knowing he would be the weakest.
“Word is, it was Razzie,” Hal said as Jack opened his mouth to speak. I turned to him, completely dumbstruck. “I heard Frank sent Razzie after your dad to make up for stealing from him. I don’t know why, though. I’m sorry, Dylan.”
The name hit me hard. Razzie was a friend and a close one at that. Not as close as Jack but he was one of us. To find out that he’d betrayed me cut deep. The emotions surrounding the whole thing were confusing to say the least. It was betrayal, loss, anger and fear all mixed into a giant drink bottle and I was forced to drink it all in one giant gulp.
“Why the fuck would he do it?” I said, walking to the window and staring out at the stream of traffic out on the footpath. Crooks and officers were heading to appointments, work or to the gym. Right then I thought of Rock McGovern. I don’t know why that scumbag popped into my head, but I could see the spot where Aiden died from here, Red Block angled just right to give me a slightly obstructed view of the place.
“Guess he was scared. Frank probably-“ Hal began but I shut him down.
“Not Raz. Frank. Why would Frank go after my father? Why would he want to kill him?” I didn’t turn as I spoke so didn’t see the new guest enter the room. I’m sure he heard what I said but didn’t acknowledge it.
“Frank wants to see you,” Nails said from behind me. I turned to see him standing in the doorway, Hal and Jack staring up at him from their seats.
“I bet he does,” I said. “I’ll be there in a second. Need a piss first.”
“Now,” he said, taking a step forward. I stood my ground, unfazed by this prick.
“I wouldn’t,” I said, Hal and Jack both getting to their feet. “You don’t order me around, cunt. I’ll be there in a second.” He remained where he stood for a few more seconds, eyeing each of us before admitting defeat. He looked at me a final time, shook his head and left as quietly as he arrived.
“Fuck, Dyl. Don’t take him on. He’s psycho, man,” Hal said. Jack nodded in agreeance. I didn’t care. At that moment, I could have killed both Nails and Frank with the anger I had inside me.
“I don’t really care right now, I said, walked to the toilet and lifted the lid. Without needing to be asked, Jack and Hal went to go, each clapping me on the back. Almost in unison, both wished me luck as they left my cell.
3.
Nails watched me walk from my cell, up the stairs and towards Frank’s cell from his vantage point, leaning on the hand railing like a guard dog. I knew I had to watch him; I just didn’t know to what extent. Him and Frank were in cahoots those days, almost to the point of shafting the rest of us.
Our eyes locked for the last few yards and I could see he wanted me dead, or at least on the ground with the shit kicked out of me. My stomach felt on fire with rage and I wanted to reciprocate the feeling to the prick standing before me.
As I passed him, neither of us spoke, me turning to Frank’s door, him gazing back over the unit like a screw on watch. I suddenly had the urge to turn back, lift his legs and throw him over the railing. It would have been sheer bliss to listen to his screams as he plummeted to earth, hoping for his head to hit the linoleum floor first and smashing like an egg. Oh, how glorious that would have been. But not today.
4.
Frank was sitting back on his bunk, that day’s newspaper in his lap. His glasses sat precariously balanced on the tip of his nose. He didn’t acknowledge my arrival, remaining fixed on the paper as he continued reading.
I didn’t bother sitting, standing just inside the closed door. We must have remained like that for at least an entire 3 minutes. I followed his eyes as they scanned the page, picked up something of interest, then proceeded to read the article in its entirety. Only when he finished the page and turned to the next did he afford me a brief glance.
“My chair not good enough for you anymore, Dylan?” he said, sounding remarkably composed. I glanced down at it by my side, considered, then sat. I don’t know why, but knowing he had a gun seemed to convince me to keep my cool.
He began scanning the paper again, as if waiting for me to speak up. I didn’t, a fact I wish I could change now. It made me feel weak, despite the current situation that brought me to the meeting.
“San and I had our differences long before you ever came along,” he finally said, closing the newspaper, slowly folding it in half and sitting it on one leg. “So, before you think this has anything to do with you, there are things in this world that don’t involve Dylan Moody.”
“You shot my father,” I said, a little too quietly.
“I? I didn’t shoot anyone. Take a little more care with your choice of words.”
“OK, fine. You had my father shot,” I said, this time with a little more enthusiasm.
“Yes. Yes, I did. And do you know why?” he asked, sitting a little forward, as if following his words. I shook my head, not sure I wanted to hear his reasons. They didn’t really matter as far as I was concerned.
“You know, Dylan. You chose to join us; our little family. You. We gave you a choice and you grabbed the opportunity with both hands, if I remember correctly. No-one forced you. San crossed your family. The family you had long before he showed interest in joining yours. Remember that.”
“Why, Frank? Why was he shot?”
“Because he’s not just your father,” a voice suddenly said from the doorway. I turned to see Nails standing there, his chest out far enough to make his shoulders look uncomfortable.
“What?” I asked, a little too bemused by that arsehole’s attitude.
“It seems Aiden wasn’t your only brother, son. Young Russel here is also one of your clan.”
“Bullshit,” I said defiantly.
“Bullshit?” Nails sneered. “I felt the back of that cunt’s hand across my face more times than you’ve had hot lunches, motherfucker. Only I wasn’t good enough to treat with respect. You and your brother were all he cared about. Frank didn’t have him shot, I did.”
I suddenly saw red, leapt from my chair and launched myself at him. I wanted to spill his blood and I didn’t care how. My fist propelled itself out, connected with the side of his jaw and caught him by surprise. But Nails was fast and strong and one poorly timed punch wasn’t going to end him.
Before I could launch a second strike, a hand grabbed the back of my hair, right down in the sensitive area and pulled upwards. I let go with both hands, holding them out to each side, to show I was cool. Nails took the opportunity and punched me in the stomach, knocking the wind from my lungs and the strength from legs. The hand in my hair let go and I dropped heavily to the ground for the second time that morning.
“Dylan, Dylan. That’s not the way to greet your brother,” Frank said above me. I was wheezing, desperately trying to suck air into my lungs.
“Don’t call him that,” was all I managed. I struggled back to my feet just as Frank gave Nails the nod to piss off. He glared at me as he walked out, one final wink before he disappeared.
“CUNT!” I screamed. Frank grabbed me by the scruff, pushed me back hard into the wall and held his face an inch from mine.
“Don’t forget where you are, kid.” He held me for a few seconds to get his point across, then released his hold. Frank turned and sat back on his bunk, watching me as he did. “Sit down,” he snarled, pointing at the chair. I hesitated, then did as he asked. As much as I wanted to leave, I knew I couldn’t.
“That kid has been to hell and back at the hands of your so-called Papa. You think he’s a lovely man? He regularly beat the shit out of him and his mother. But what a man does in his own home is his business and his alone. If the silly bitch is stupid enough to stay then that’s her fault.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This idiot had an answer for everything, simply wiping his hands of anything that didn’t quite fit in with his own objective.
“Who’s busting out?” I asked, changing the subject. Frank’s gaze changed t
o one of surprise.
“Busting out? What makes you think anyone’s busting out?” he asked, my question catching him unaware. My stomach throbbed as the heat on the back of my head finally vanished.
“What else would a gun be for? Not like you’re gonna shoot anyone.” He paused, then nodded slightly.
“Sometimes I think you’re a little too smart for your own good.” I waited for him to tell me, but he never did. I guess there were some things not worth sharing with the family. “There’s to be no retribution against Nails. You hear me?” He pointed a finger at me to get his point across. “None. He did what he did for his own reasons. Just like you did with the people you attacked. I know there’s a reason for you to want revenge, but I’m telling you to let it go. Do you understand?”
I wanted to tell him to stick it. How the fuck did he expect me to let this go? He knew the shit I’d already been through.
“What’s he in for?” I asked, suddenly curious at what had brought Nails to the Palace. Frank leaned back against the wall before answering.
“Murder.” The word hung in the air like a bad smell. I was surprised, expecting more of an ‘assault-based’ charge.
“For real?” I asked.
“His mother died of an overdose. He killed her dealer. Hit the cunt with his car, then reversed over him several times, eventually doing a fucken burnout across his head. There wasn’t much left when he finished. The cops arrested him right there on the street.”
The words truly shocked me, especially learning that he was a lifer. He was someone that had nothing to lose, making him all the more dangerous.
“Is it him that’s busting out?” I asked, but again Frank avoided the question.
“Just don’t cross him, Dylan. He’s liable to end you without hesitation,” he said, picked up his newspaper and resumed his morning read, effectively ending our meeting. I didn’t respond, simply stood and walked out.
