Atkins was fuming. No upstart, high-strung bitch was going to threaten him over some shit-for-brains convict. Maybe some day he'd teach her a couple of things. But it would have to be soon, before the parole hearings began. It was a spot decision, but it excited him, so he wasted no time acting on it. He kept an eye on the Camaro while hurrying to his 4x4 pick-up truck. For the next hour, he followed her while she stopped at MacDonald's with Andy, and then picked up a few things, carefully keeping a safe distance. He chain-smoked as he fantasized how sweet it would be to show her and her convict who was boss.
When she finished her errands, he followed her to her apartment and carefully wrote down her address. As he drove off, he smiled inwardly. He had wanted to do a number on Cabraal for a long time, and the opportunity that now presented itself was more than he could have hoped for in his wildest dreams.
*********
Jimmy Atkins had just arrived back at the prison when his cell phone went off. Billings’ text said he wanted to see him immediately. Pain in the ass that Billings could be, Atkins knew that he held the key to his future. Five minutes later, he’d arrived at Billings’ office where they now sat huddled together.
“You're sure about this?” Atkins asked, with the glee of a greedy child.
“Dead certain,” Billings answered. “Maxwell tendered his resignation this morning, but it won't be announced until next week.”
“Hell of a job, Number Two position in the Bureau of Prisons. Can't understand why he'd want to give it up. Lot of people going to be fighting over it.”
“Not if I get there first. I have the right political connections, but I’m going to need a special calling card. Get me the one I want, and I'll take you with me.”
“Speak to me...” Atkins said, leaning forward.
*********
Meanwhile, Adrian sat outside Billings' office with a half dozen other men. As usual, it was the waiting game, while Billings and Atkins jerked everyone off one at a time behind closed doors. Fifteen hundred pork chops were waiting to be cooked, while he sat there doing nothing. They were forty-five minutes late already. Even for them, that was a lot. Donovan, his boss, would be pissed when Adrian got back. Finally they called him in.
"Sit down," said Atkins, motioning to a wooden chair six feet from his desk. Adrian wondered if they were trying to show him how alone he was in the world by seating him in the center of the room. His folder was spread on the desk.
"As you know,” Billings began, “the Parole Board will be meeting in three weeks. I'm sure you're aware that you'll be seeing them this time around. After reviewing your folder, I'd say you have two chances of making it -- none, and none at all. Although you've kept your nose clean in recent times, that doesn't make up for everything else that's happened while you've been here. Your constant refusal to cooperate with prison authorities during investigations will weigh heavily against you, as will the eighteen days you've spent in the hole. Your companions leave a lot to be desired as well. Of course, there's no law that says you can't see the board, and I'm not going to stop you. But the handwriting’s on the wall."
"What the warden’s saying,” Atkins interjected, “is that the Board is going to knock your dick in the dirt unless someone goes to bat for you."
"Someone like you, right?" said Adrian. "And we know what that means."
"Not at all," Billings purred. "I didn't say anything like that. I’ll offer you a simple, one-time deal, no more, no less. Let me explain it to you before you reject it too hastily.
"There are those of us in the prison system who have higher aspirations, people like myself and Mr. Atkins. Something has just become available, and I want it. However, there are other qualified people who also want it. Therefore I need an edge, something that will set me apart from my competitors. And that's where you come in."
"It stands to reason that if the warden moves up," added Atkins, "I will, too. You help us; we’ll help you. And you won't even have to go on my list."
This came as a surprise. "If I don't have to go on the list, what would I do?"
"Visit your friend Carmine Ruffino," said Billings. "While you’re there, casually leave something in his cell. Out of the way, of course."
"Like drugs or something, right?" asked Adrian.
"Oh no," said Billings, "nothing as basic as that. A sheet of paper with the names, address, and schedules of his prosecutor's family, and phone numbers belonging to two members of his crime family known to be hired killers. We let word out that Carmine has become very unhappy here because of his overzealous prosecutor. He's making plans to get even. I and Mr. Atkins will discover Ruffino's intentions, and notify the FBI before he can carry them out."
"You don't expect anyone to actually buy that bullshit, do you? The head of one of the biggest crime families in the country making notes about a hit, like he might forget or something?"
"Men under duress do irrational things, Mr. Cabraal, Especially men filled with hate and the desire for vengeance. Men like Carmine Ruffino."
The whole idea stuck Adrian as incredulous, a bad scene out of a ‘B’ movie. And apparently, it showed on his face.
"We're serious about this, Cabraal!” said Atkins. “Serious like a heart attack, as they say."
Adrian became a believer when he gauged the look in Billings and Atkins eyes. They were indeed sincere. "What you’re talking about is a death wish."
"Do I take that as a refusal?" asked Billings.
"Yes, that would be correct."
"Then it's also the kiss of death for your parole," said Atkins. Turning to Billings, he said, "I told you the dumb shit wouldn't go for it. If he had a brain he'd stick his dick in it."
"That's unfortunate," said Billings. "A standup guy like you, who already knows Carmine Ruffino, would have been a perfect candidate. Worse, I can't erase our little proposition from your memory, and will now have to consider you a major security risk."
"Maybe not," said Atkins. "Seems I remember a certain wife and child I met in the Visiting Room. There ain't no telling what might happen to them if he did anything stupid like telling Ruffino. Isn't that right?"
Adrian quickly realized their vulnerability. "You’re right. I wouldn't want anything to happen to them. I can keep my mouth shut. Besides, your dreams are none of my business. I don't care what you do. Just keep me out of it."
"Good. It'd be a shame if I had to send a couple people I know around to see ‘em if your mouth got out of control."
Adrian stared at Atkins without saying anything.
Atkins smiled in satisfaction. "We'll just keep our little discussion to ourselves. Now run along now and forget everything you heard here. And forget about making parole, too."
When they were alone, Billings shot Atkins a nervous glance. "What if he goes to Ruffino?" he asked.
"Ruffino won't believe him."
"Why not?"
"Because I’ll arrange for Ruffino to hear that Cabraal just got orders to kill him."
*********
Neither Billings nor Atkins could have known that elsewhere in the penitentiary an even deadlier scenario was developing. Benton Fulmer, Bobby Joe Weiss and Flatline were climbing opposite ends of the circular stairwell that led to the fourth tier in ‘A’ cell house. They’d studied Adrian’s actions, learned his schedule, devised a plan, and were now about to act on it. Flatline would enter from one end of the tier, Benton Fulmer and Bobby Joe Weiss from the other.
It was mid afternoon, and nearly everyone in the institution was at work. Not even correctional staff were around. Fulmer knew Adrian's daily work schedule ended just after the noon meal, and he always took a nap before continuing with his day. What they hadn’t anticipated was Adrian’s schedule being delayed because of the proposition Billings and Atkins had offered him.
Fulmer was seething with hatred as he moved along the tier. Without knowing it, Adrian had been correct in his assessment about long festering resentments. Another, much deeper resentment of Fulmer's had resu
rfaced the day Andy and Jennifer had come to visit Adrian. The horrors and longings of his nightmarish childhood, the violent relationship he'd had with his father, his inability to raise, or even visit, his own children because of the restraining orders his two former wives had taken out against him, and his insatiable drug problem had condemned Fulmer to a life of crime, isolation and bitterness. But for all the harm he had done others, all the promises and commitments he had broken, he had always perceived himself as the victim, never the victimizer. The thought of him being his own worst enemy was, to him, incomprehensible; he'd never have contemplated that in a dozen lifetimes. No one had ever blamed the world for their problems more than Benton Fulmer. And because he'd wound up on the wrong end of his own short stick so many times, he'd adopted a callused and hateful perception of people who had the things he thought he deserved, but which had always eluded him because of his misdeeds. Not only had Adrian bested him in two physical confrontations, he also had the ultimate prize that Fulmer would never have: a relationship with a wife and child that clearly loved him. Now Benton Fulmer would square that account.
He and his accomplices had entered the tier from opposite ends simultaneously. Alert for any sounds, they paused briefly and listened. Hearing nothing, they each drew home made knives and silently hastened along the tier toward Adrian's cell. As they neared it, Fulmer motioned for them to stop. He inched his way forward and looked inside to see if it was occupied. It was.
They made their approach...
*********
Adrian was glad his day was finally over. Because of his meeting with Billings and Atkins, his entire schedule had fallen behind. The grille work had been done without him, but it left him with cleanup duties that would otherwise have been someone else's. Having been up since four a.m., and an hour behind schedule, he was exhausted. He always looked forward to an hour's rest when he got off work, and today he really needed it. He unwrapped his apron, tossed it in the dirty laundry hamper, then waved good-bye to his boss and headed for the stairwell up to the fourth tier...
*********
As Benton Fulmer and his two accomplices reached the cell they took one final look up and down the tier and, seeing no one, they rushed the lone figure who was wrapped in the blanket, sleeping. Knives drawn, they began their murderous assault without warning. The first stab wound produced a soft grunt, at which point the thrusts came so quickly and violently that there never was another sound. Again and again, the fusillade of thrusts continued, ensuring that their intent would be fulfilled.
As they were finishing their assault, there came a voice from behind them.
"Sonny Boy, I bring you more books I think you would like to read--" Seeing what was happening, the elderly Dimbrovski halted in the doorway, looked at the bloodied corpse on the bunk, the knives held by the assailants, and reached for his two-way. He was about to call Control when Benton Fulmer took two quick steps, knocked the radio out of his hand, and pitched him against the wall.
"Sorry, old man, but you're in the wrong place at the wrong time." Fulmer hit him across the mouth, then spun him around and drove his knife deep into Dimbrovski's back. Withdrawing the knife, he motioned Bobby Joe Weiss and Flatline toward the door. They bolted from the cell and ran toward the stairwell at the far end of the tier.
As they were exiting the tier through the door at one end, Adrian entered from the opposite end. He caught a glimpse of three men rushing to the far stairwell, and then noticed an ankle and foot protruding from the door of a cell. His cell.
Abandoning all else, he ran to his cell. Standing in the doorway, his heart began pounding. The body of Dimbrovski lay across the entrance, and a second body lay wrapped in a blood-soaked blanket on the floor beside his bunk. Adrian raced to the body, rolled it over, and then pulled back the blanket from over its face. It was Warren.
"Warren! Warren! Come on man, say something!" Adrian reached for Warren's wrist, tried to find a pulse, but there was none. Warren was gone. In their rush to complete their task, Fulmer and Company had killed the wrong man. He had died without ever knowing who killed him...or why.
Behind him, Adrian heard a groan. He wheeled, went to Dimbrovski's side and knelt down beside him. "Mr. Dimbrovski, can you hear me?"
Dimbrovski's voice was weak, as though coming from a great distance. "Sonny Boy... Sonny Boy, I thought...I thought..."
"Don't try to talk, Mr. Dimbrovski! Save your strength. I'll go for help." As Adrian gently laid Dimbrovski on the floor, the old man muttered several words in Russian, and then passed.
Adrian freaked. "Mister Dimbrovski, hold on! You? Warren? What the fuck!" Beside himself, he rushed out of his cell. As he looked down the tier, he glimpsed guard Ray Fergus entering through the same door he himself had just entered.
"Send for help, Mister Fergus!" Uncomprehending, Fergus stopped and frowned. "Dumb fucking hack, send for help!"
Fergus then ran toward him along the tier. When he reached the cell, he stopped, took in the scene at a glance, and was on his two-way all in one motion.
"Fergus to Control. We got bodies on A-Four, including a downed officer! Get up here, quick!"
Turning back to Adrian, he said, "Turn around!"
Adrian was stunned. "What?"
"I said turn around!" Fergus repeated. He roughly tossed Adrian against the wall, spun him around and handcuffed him.
"What the hell are you doing?" Adrian asked, bewildered.
"I'm placing you under arrest."
A door slammed at the end of the tier and a dozen guards came pouring onto the unit. Several more came running from the opposite end, one of whom was Jimmy Atkins.
Reaching Adrian's cell, Atkins asked, "What have you got, Mister--" He glanced inside the cell, and stiffened. "What the hell is this?"
"I saw this man rush out of his cell. When I investigated, this was what I found."
"You've gone and done it this time, Cabraal. You've hit the big one." Atkins went inside and investigated. A moment later he came back out again and reached for his two-way. "Atkins to Control. Get the Crime Scene team up here on the double. We got a bad one."
He turned to Adrian, and looked him over for a moment. "Got no blood on you?"
"Of course not, I didn't do that."
"Who did?"
"You know, Mister Atkins, this is one of those times I'd like to tell you whatever you want. Truth is, I don't know."
"I'm not going to play the game with you this time, Cabraal." Turning to Fergus, he said, "Put him in Lockup, and hold him on suspicion of double homicide."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Adrian paced back and forth in his cell, pondering his dilemma. Warren was dead, Dimbrovski was dead, and he was being held on suspicion of double homicide. Deep inside, he tried to cling to the glimmer of hope that, being innocent, he would be vindicated. But another part of him wasn't so sure. It was one thing when a convict died; it was an entirely different matter when a guard went down. He'd seen some bizarre things occur in here, and he had reason to doubt that he would in fact be ‘vindicated'. He remembered a line Richard Pryor had used once. "You go down there looking for justice, and that's all you find, just us." He hoped that was just a joke.
Footsteps at the end of the hall interrupted his thoughts. They didn't sound like the echo of a guard's footsteps. By the nature of their work and out of necessity, guards wore rubber-soled shoes. These had the brittle echo of leather.
Billings appeared outside the door to his cell. "You're in over your head this time, Mr. Cabraal. Have you ever heard the term ‘NHC’?”
“No.”
“It stands for No Human Contact. It’s what happens to an inmate convicted of killing a staff member. They isolate you from ever seeing another human being for the rest of your life. You don’t get to see who feeds you, who brings your clothing; they’re not allowed to converse with you, and they can’t answer your questions. You’re held in confinement beneath ground level with no windows, no view of the outdoors. You don�
�t ever get to see the sun or the light of day again. It’s the ultimate punishment, and it’s what you’ve bought into.”
“Hey, I never—“
“But there may be hope for you yet."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Adrian asked suspiciously. He'd have been suspicious of Billings if he'd been telling him today's date.
"What does it always mean? For a man who did as many illegal deals as you did, you seem to have lost your instinct for them."
"Back to that again, huh?"
"Why not? It could be your passport out of this mess. Just leave some papers in his cell, I do the rest."
"You’re out of your mind."
"No, I just have lofty aspirations."
"They're too lofty for me."
"Do I take that to mean ‘no’?"
"Isn't it always, Mr. Billings?"
"Yes, sadly. And that's unfortunate. I had hoped you'd see the opportunity here."
Billings then did something that Adrian couldn't comprehend; he unlocked the cell door and opened it. "You're free to go, Mr. Cabraal."
"I thought I'm supposed to be in Lockup."
"Like I said, this is my penitentiary. And I'd rather see you in population."
***********
Adrian lay on his bunk, staring up at the ceiling, trying to calculate his options. Billings and Atkins were treacherous. That was a foregone conclusion. If they really did believe they could climb the bureaucratic ladder using Carmine Ruffino as a shortcut they were worse than treacherous, they were maniacal. But they had power, lots of it. Billings had released him from Lockup and had his charges dismissed. No verifiable evidence, he had said. Therefore, the institution wouldn’t press charges; there would be no indictment, no trial, nothing. And now that they’d revealed their intentions to him, he had become extremely dangerous to them. And visa versa. Billings was right -- he, Adrian, -- was a major security risk. Regardless of what had been agreed upon, they couldn't afford to let him remain privy to their plans. He had decided that Atkins' threat about Jennifer and Andy was a stalling tactic to buy time until they could arrange something. Holding him in Lockup would have thwarted that, not enhanced it. He'd be a lot harder to get at in Lockup than if he were in population. Survival had taken on a new dimension; it had become a race. No matter how he stacked it, his life was in serious danger, and he didn't have a lot of time or alternatives. At best, he'd get one shot at saving himself. Therefore, he'd do what his survival instincts told him to do; he'd go see Carmine Ruffino.
Rules of the Game Page 20
