A Case in Question

by Herb Hamlet

  Sean looked at him and said quietly, “You can say that again, mate. He’s the number one heavy in here.”

  That same afternoon, as Jim made his way back to the cell, he was approached by Lurch Lincoln’s two henchmen. They blocked his path, and Jim felt his stomach turn. What the hell do they want? Abject fear drained the moisture from Jim’s mouth. One of the men was thickly built with a long scar running down his right cheek. The other could have been mistaken for a tall, lean, baby-faced youth. Although they looked nothing alike, their demeanor was the same - menacing.

  “Lurch wants to see you.” Scarface grunted, placing a heavy hand on Jim’s shoulder, squeezing hard.

  “Wha... what for?” Jim stammered, unconsciously licking his lips, barely able to keep the tremor out of his voice.

  “He’ll tell ya.” The younger of the two pointed the way.

  A number of inmates turned to mumble to each other as they watched Jim being led away. Arriving outside Lurch’s cell, Jim stopped in his tracks, uncertain if he should enter. Scarface pushed him through the opening, and Jim stood transfixed, amazed at the luxuriousness of his surroundings; one comfortable single bed, not a double bunk as was the case in the other cells at Pukka. A thick, quality mat covered most of the floor and a coloured television blared at them from the far corner.

  Lurch ignored him for a number of seconds as he continued to watch the cricket. At the end of the over, he used a remote control to switch off the set. “Ah, the new arrival to Fukka.” He slowly rose to his feet and yawned. “I thought it was time we had a little chat,” he growled. Jim remained speechless. “I been checkin’ up on you, mate.” Lincoln moved to a two drawer metal filing cabinet and retrieved a single handwritten sheet of paper. “Now, let me see.” He began examining the paper’s contents. “Oh yeah, that’s right. You’re a big time motor dealer up at Dalby. Whada bloody dump.” He made a face at his offsiders. “You cheated on your taxes. That right?”

  When Jim failed to answer, Scarface prodded him heavily in the back. “Answer him.”

  “I have a small Toyota dealership that was doing okay for a little while,” he muttered quietly.

  “You did the bloody Taxation Department outta fifty-six fuckin’ grand.” The tone was full of admiration. “Naughty, naughty,” he sniggered lightly and wagged a finger. “Not bad, not bad at all.” Lincoln’s demeanor suddenly changed and his upper lip curled. “We think as citizens of this wonderful country, we should be entitled to some of that money, don’t we boys?” His two henchmen nodded in agreement.

  Jim looked from one to the other, hardly knowing where to start. “That money was immediately reinvested in the business. I don’t have it anymore. I swear.” He lifted his shoulders despairingly. “Look.” He searched their faces. “We had to take out a loan just to repay the taxes and accrued interest owing to the Taxation department,” he explained. “And there were also legal costs which had to be paid.” Despite the truth of his reply, the words still sounded unconvincing, even to himself.

  “That’s all bullshit!” Lincoln took a menacing step forward, placing his face only inches from Jim’s. “You bastards in business always know where to get your hands on money.”

  Jim started to get angry, and was about to say something volatile in reply but common sense eventually prevailed. “I tell you, Lincoln, I don’t have it.” His breaths were coming in short gasps, and he began to shake. A chill ran over him imagining what sort of secrets a man like Lincoln might keep.

  “Then you’d better know where to get your hands on some dough, you fuckwit.” It didn’t take Einstein to tell Lurch was reaching the end of his patience. Jim watched his jaw tighten as he spoke through clenched teeth. “The boys and I want ten thousand bucks from you by the end of the month.” He pronounced each word slowly and deliberately.

  The tension in Jim’s shoulders increased, until his muscles felt like steel belts under his skin. “That’s simply impossible...” He regretted his words almost the moment he’d said them. Lurch grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and slammed him into the block wall where Scarface proceeded to deliver a number of blows to his body and face.

  “You better get hold of the dough or we’ll do ya. Understand, dickhead?” Receiving no reply, Lincoln screamed loudly, “You fuckin’ well understand, shit head?”

  “Y... yes,” Jim stammered, trying to recover the breath that had been knocked out of him.

  “Good!” Lurch switched on the television and resumed watching the cricket. “Now piss off.”

  Jim returned to his cell and Sean looked up from his bunk slowly shaking his head. “Who gotcha?”

  “Lincoln and his two companions.” He sat on the edge of his cell mate’s bunk and told Sean of their demands.

  “Bloody hell, mate. Ten thousand bucks.” Sean repeated in disbelief. “They never asked that much off anyone else.”

  “For some reason, they think I’ve got a lot of money.” Jim frowned. “I’m afraid they’re sadly misinformed. We barely have enough to keep the business going. “ He stared helplessly at the metal bars. “What little we had was spent on legal fees, fines and interest.”

  “What are you gonna do about it?” Concern showed in Sean’s voice.

  Jim pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. “I suppose I could go to the prison authorities.”

  “Shit!” Sean snapped. “That would be like giving yourself a death sentence.” He sucked on the remnants of his cigarette, the smoke curling around his nostrils. “You know what they do to snitches in here?” He stamped it out on the concrete floor.

  “But I’m in the right.” Jim’s eyes hardened.

  “It won’t matter to those bastards. They’ll still do ya. And even if you did go to that bloody turd, Weston, he wouldn’t do a bloody thing about it,” he said firmly. “He knows what goes on in this fuckin’ place, you know, the drugs, the bashings and the protection. He won’t give a continental shit about Lurch’s demands on you.” Sean’s face became thoughtful. “Can your wife get hold of the dough?”

  “No!” Jim answered emphatically. “And I wouldn’t ask her to. She has enough on her plate already, you know, having to run the business while I’m in here.”

  “You’d better do something about it, mate,” he solemnly advised. “These bastards don’t play games, you know.” He squeezed the tip of another cigarette he had just rolled before inserting it in his mouth.

  “What’s Lincoln in for?” Jim was curious.

  “Murder.”

  “My God.” He shuddered.

  ***

  Only one week had gone by when Jim became well and truly aware of what doing time actually meant. For the first time in his life, time, as a concept, had developed into something of an enemy. Lying in his cell bunk each night, one long minute seemed like five to him.

  On Sunday afternoon, Jim waited impatiently as the visitors filed into the open visitors’ room. He saw Judy as soon as she entered. She was third through the door, anxiously letting her eyes roam around the room, searching for him. Deep lines etched her brow. Sighting him, she ran to him, arms outstretched. “Jim, oh Jim.” She hugged him and her eyes filled with tears. “How are you coping, darling?”

  “I’m fine,” he lied, leading her to a table and chairs.

  They went on to chat about the children who’d begged to accompany her. Jim remained adamant they not visit him for the time being. Though desperately missing them, he didn’t want them to see him like this.

  Judy answered his questions about the business, which still appeared to be doing well despite the taxation setback. It seemed like no time before the bell rang. Visiting hours were over.

  “I’ll see you next Sunday, darling.” He could still taste her lingering kiss as she reluctantly departed, waving in his direction. She put on a brave face, God bless her.

  As the days
passed, Jim continued to wrack his brain. He could think of no immediate solution to Lincoln’s unrealistic blackmail demands. At the end of the month, Lurch and his two henchmen joined Jim one evening as he picked at his meal.

  “You got the ten thousand bucks for us, Rankin?” Lurch slumped down on the chair beside him.

  “No, I haven’t been able to raise the money.” Jim nervously looked from one to the other. “I told you before, we just don’t have it anymore.”

  Lincoln leaned forward, his voice ominously quiet. “Too bad for you, shit head.” His eyes narrowed. “You know I’m very disappointed.” He continued to glare. “You know what happens to blokes who disappoint me?”

  A shiver ran down Jim’s spine. His fingers began to tremble. “Look, I can pay you small amounts over a period of time. Or I could get you cigarettes like most of the other inmates do.”

  “Small pickings.” Lurch’s lips became a thin line. “You know, I was lookin’ forward to this payout. I had plans for that money. As I said, you’ve disappointed me, Rankin and you’ll regret it.”

  “Look, there’s nothing I can do,” he said, a desperate sincerity in the tone of his voice.

  “Have it your way, fuckwit.” Lurch rose from the table, a sinister expression filling his features. “I’ll have to think of a suitable punishment, won’t I boys?” He shared an ugly grin with his two henchmen.

  Bile rose in his throat as Jim watched them slowly amble toward the main entrance to the dining room. The following morning, a guard called at Jim’s cell, beckoning to him from the doorway. “Come on, Rankin, Mr Weston wants to see you.”

  The guard accompanied Jim to the office where Weston sat reclining comfortably in his high-backed office chair. He looked up as Jim entered. “Ah, Mr. Tax Cheat, I want to have a little chat with you.” He sat forward in the chair. “I heard on the prison grape vine that Lincoln is trying to screw you for ten thousand dollars.” He made a face. “That’s quite a tidy sum, if I may say so.”

  “Is that a question?” Jim asked politely. “If it is, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Weston slowly rose to his feet, his face thunderous, an ominous silence fell as he fought to maintain control. After several moments, he began to speak in an even tone. “Don’t try to be funny with me, Rankin or you’ll come off second best I promise you.” He leaned forward and spread his hands on the desk glaring. “Do I make myself clear?” When Jim didn’t respond, he yelled, “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes,” he mumbled.

  “Yes, bloody what?” he snarled.

  “Yes, sir.” Jim wanted to roar his disapproval at being spoken to in such a way, but bit his tongue.

  “Right, let’s get down to the important matter at hand.” Weston resumed his seat, raising his eyebrows, gazing expectantly at Jim. “You’re going to help me get Lincoln.”

  “What!” A rush of apprehension flew over Jim as he stared incredulously at the man.

  “You heard what I bloody said, Rankin. You’re going to help me get Lincoln.” He leaned back in his chair and eyeballed Jim. “Lincoln runs the drugs in here, and arranges the bashings. A couple of deaths at Pukka can also be attributed to him, but we can’t prove it. And of course, no one will talk.” He hesitated for a moment. “If I can get that bastard, it’ll mean a promotion for me.” His eyes gleamed wih anticipation. “You can be my eyes on the inside, Rankin.”

  “You well know I can’t do that.” Jim swallowed. “They’d kill me.”

  “My informant tells me there’s no possibility of you raising the ten grand. That’s a terrible pity for you, Rankin,” he said with mock sympathy in his tone. “But don’t worry, they’ll have something nasty planned for you if you don’t pay up.”

  Jim’s mind raced. He felt between a rock and a hard place. He started to consider Weston’s proposition knowing full well it would mean certain death if he agreed. He’d not been left with any alternative.

  “If you act as our informant...” Weston folded his arms. “I promise we’ll protect you.” He managed the trace of an assuring smile.

  Jim wasn’t fooled. “You can’t protect me all the time.”

  “Right, what’s your answer? Will you help us?”

  “No, I can’t.” Jim felt like a caged animal.

  Weston’s eyes widened, then narrowed to glittering slits, an ugly scowl twisting his lips. “First thing tomorrow morning, I’ll have a new work detail for you, Rankin. It’s one I keep for special cases. That is, inmates that don’t do what I request of them.” He took a deep breath. “Starting first thing tomorrow, your work detail will be changed from kitchen duties to working in the garden storeroom.” He looked gratified by Jim’s horrified expression. “Yeah, that’s right. For much of the time you’ll be all alone. You know what that means?”

  Jim felt his stomach twist as if he’d been kicked. “B... but you’re a corrective services official. Y... you can’t knowingly put me in danger,” he stammered as the full realisation hit home. He stood, numb.

  Weston’s visage turned ice cold, an eerie transformation. “You’re a prisoner in Pukka, Rankin. I can do what I bloody-well like. There’s also the big staff cuts.” He smiled mockingly. “I haven’t got the manpower to protect you, have I?” He shrugged. “When you’ve had enough, tell one of the guards you’re willing to help us. Now, get out!”

  Sean was horrified when Jim explained the situation to him. “Jeez, they usually give that job to two or three blokes together for protection.” His face was grim. “That bastard Weston’s leaving you to the sodomisers.”

  Jim tossed and turned in his bunk that night, confronted with a problem for which there was no apparent solution. He couldn’t sleep. Instead, his mind conjured up a number of scenarios that could befall him at the hands of these despicable people. What will I do?

  Work details were allocated the following morning and Weston’s promise became a reality. A guard accompanied Jim as he carried cleaning equipment inside the large converted garage housing the garden tools and supplies.

  “Clean this brothel up.” The guard pointed to bags of fertilizer and potting mix, tools spread all over the floor, filth everywhere. He turned away to leave then looked back at Jim. “Do you want to see Weston?”

  “No!”

  “Suit yourself.” The guard strolled through the only exit door.

  Jim stood alone in the dank eerie atmosphere of the shed and shivered uncontrollably. He tried to marshal his thoughts into some sort of order. His heart beating wildly, his eyes darting toward the entry doors every few seconds, Jim used a stiff broom to sweep the spilled potting mix and fertilizer. He checked his watch, anxiously. The first hour crawled by with no unexpected interruptions. Jim started to relax a little, hopeful he would be left alone to complete the task. The untidy array of tools came next. He started gathering them in some sort of order, placing them in the cupboards running along one wall. He stood riveted to the spot at a slight scraping sound behind him. He swung around, almost mesmerised, as three men slowly ambled though the door in his direction. He tried to swallow over the sudden constriction in his throat, just managing to force back the brackish taste. Bloody hell!!

  “Hello, sweetie pie, we’ve come for our bit of tart.” The smile on the tall thin man’s face indicated he was well pleased with his little witticism. “Lurch asked us to pay you a little visit. Promised us desert for our trouble.”

  “Not an ugly one for a change, Ned.” A small bald man next to the tall thin man leered. “I would have done this for nothing. The drugs Lurch gave me are just a bonus.”

  “Yeah,” a short fat man agreed.

  “The first one to come near me gets this.” Jim gritted his teeth, his knuckles gleaming white as he clenched the rake’s long wooden handle.

  “Oh! He’s not just a bowl of jelly. Good, I like it when th
ey won’t come across willingly.” The tall man smiled in anticipation.

  They moved in closer and began circling him. Jim didn’t wait for them to make the first move and struck out with the rake’s handle, taking the short fat man by surprise. He howled with pain, holding his arm and screaming, “Bastard.”

  “Not a very nice thing to do to you, Trevor.” The tall man’s voice was full of mock sympathy. “But don’t worry, we’ll enjoy making him suffer.”

  Jim again struck out. The broom handle missed its mark. In no time, the three were on to him, quickly wrestling him to the concrete floor, the rake reefed out of his grasp. The short man started kicking him while his two companions set upon him with their fists. Jim tried to fight back. A fog threatened to envelope his brain as he felt himself being lifted over a low bench. He struggled violently as his trousers and underpants were reefed down. This reaction was met with more pounding fists. Just as the merciful blackness threatened to take over, he turned his head appealingly toward the door. A prison guard stood watching from the shadows. He only caught a fleeting glimpse of the man. Two of the attackers pinned his body and arms to the bench, while the third, he knew not which one, proceeded to violate his body. The pain was unbearable as again and again the rapist violently pounded into him. As soon as he was expended, another followed, then another. By the time they’d finished with him, Jim was oblivious to everything.

  Emerging from the swirling clouds in his head, Jim found himself on the floor. Barely able to breathe, an excruciating pain in his chest, his bruised body ached all over. The fire burning in his posterior was unbearable. He grabbed the bench and attempted to struggle to his feet, but collapsed to the floor. Again and again he tried, finally succeeding. Swaying back and forth, he gazed down at a pool of blood on the concrete floor. He placed his hand on his bottom. It came away bloodied. My arse is bleeding

  Pulling up his underpants and trousers, he staggered through the door into the sunlight as if in a drunken daze. He took his bearings and headed for the infirmary. Once inside the building, small groups of inmates looked on knowingly, watching him lurch from side to side in the narrow passageway. No one had the courage to come to his aid. They all knew what was in store for them should they assist him in any way. On the point of collapse, he reached the infirmary.