Lazy Blood: a powerful page-turning thriller

by Ross Greenwood

  * * *

  As he left the legal visit booth later that morning he was almost too stunned to make his way back to his cell. He filtered in with some new arrivals on their way to the wings. They hauled heavy bags with slumped shoulders, each with their own cross to bear. The only person who could have arranged and paid for all this for Will was Radic. Well he had certainly lightened his cross. The last phrase Grant had said kept recurring in his mind though and he wondered what he had meant by it.

  ‘Your time on remand may be lengthy, but steps have been taken to make your stay as comfortable as possible’, he had said with a wry grin. That half smile being the only display of emotion from his side of the table throughout the entire meeting. As he arrived back at the wing he could feel his headache subsiding, although he pushed down the rush that this glance of a different future had given him. He wasn’t sure if his head ached through his situation or the fact he was continuously banging it on things here. He frivolously wondered if Radic could get him a crash helmet sent in.

  The wing was mostly empty as the officer let him back into his cell. Jake was bouncing round the cell singing along badly to ‘Counting Stars’ by One Republic, which was blaring out of the radio channel on their ancient TV, looking pleased as punch.

  ‘It’s only sandwiches for lunch Will, you relax, and I’ll get them for you. The screws been in too, you’re moving to a single cell later and I’m going in with an old mate from Glen Parva. Sorted Bruv.’

  He stretched out on his bunk and allowed himself a fond thought of his daughter, and Elaine. He was so close to losing everything, could he hope for an escape. As Aiden often said, he had it all and didn’t appreciate it. He understood that now. What he would give now just to sit on his sofa and watch Baby TV with Jessica. Darren had always said that everything came up trumps for him though and he sent a small prayer up to the no doubt overworked prison deities. Strange how he thought he was directionless and scraping through life with a succession of near misses.

  When they unlocked for lunch, true to his word, Jake shot off with Will’s plastic plate and returned fifteen minutes later with a look of awed respect on his face.

  ‘Man, I knew you were the nuts. You won’t believe what happened,’ he shouted. Then he paused and said quietly, ‘Actually, you probably do.’

  ‘Tell me,’ he responded as a mixture of dread and hope got his blood racing around his body.

  ‘Jo-boy’s on his way to the hospital. He fell on a fucking screwdriver in the workshop. Full of Russians that place and no one’s saying nothing,’ Jake gleefully replied.

  At that moment there was a knock at the door. Jake opened it to find the skeletal inmate from earlier. He respectfully stayed at the door and in a subdued, quiet and raspy voice asked, ‘Do you young fellas mind if I come in, looks like tings got off on the wrong foot, so to speak. You need anything at all, then you tell old Terry and he’ll do right by you.’

  Young, Will considered. He supposed Terry was probably the same age as he was, but he was an advert for the ‘Just say No’ campaign. He could have been anywhere from forty to sixty. On top of that he had experienced the old prison adage there is always a bigger fish. His pasty visage which had earlier looked like the underbelly of a shark had been replaced by one with a livid set of colourful bruises. His right eye was swollen and near shut and his left ear was a furious purple with streaks of fresh blood on it. Will could not resist standing next to him and whispering closely into his normal sized ear.

  ‘That was a poor welcome you gave me, Terry.’

  Terry visibly flinched. You could almost see the fear emanating off him like radio waves from a cartoon antenna. He decided against any more close chat as the man smelt as though cleanliness and he were like chalk and cheese. Will knew not to push it though. Things changed daily in jail. All of a sudden someone got taken out, the balance of power edged the other way and your world altered. There would never be a shortage of men scrambling to the top in places like this. Men prepared to use whatever levels of threats or violence they deemed were necessary to achieve their goal. So he gave him a pass.

  ‘Look at me and remember this please Terry. I’m going to be here for quite some time and I really don’t want any agro. So let’s not mention this morning’s activities again and we will move on.’ With a raised eyebrow he laughed and said, ‘If you could find your way to getting us a couple of pillows, that would be greatly appreciated.’

  Terry looked like a man who had been told by the cancer doctor to book a holiday and to make sure it was in the next few months, only to be corrected a few minutes later and informed it was just a nasty case of piles. He threw down two boxes of Amber Leaf and two Mars Bars on the bottom bed and with saucer eyed relief backed out of the cell, shouting as he went.

  ‘No worries Mr. Reynolds, consider it done.’

  It appeared Radic’s reach was both long and mighty. Jake looked longingly at the goodies, as though a naked model had wandered into his cell, sat at his bed and winked at him. Clearly pleased as punch to be thought he was included in the power struggle, but momentarily unsure of his position.

  ‘Just take it Jake,’ Will smiled and then laughed. Catching himself, he wondered ruefully if Jake would end up paying for his involvement in this series of events. The boy shot out of the room again, Mars Bar stuffed down his trousers.

  ‘Sweet, I saw them cleaning your new cell. I’ll give you a hand packing later.’ He beamed as he left.

  Will laughed out loud at that too, as he suspected he would be able to carry a pack of tobacco and a bag of sweaty clothes on his own.

  As Will debated having a shit in their cell toilet, which wasn’t really prison etiquette if the communal one next to the showers was free, someone slid a newspaper under his door. It was two days old but it was another little luxurious piece of normality sorely appreciated by those with time to burn.

  He decided to do his business in the cell, payback for Jake pissing in the van he thought. He would need to make room for tonight’s culinary banquet. The prison menu generally consisted of deep fried carbs with a carb topping, served on a bed of carbs and generally made you shit for England. This evening’s extravaganza would be no different. Jamie Oliver would not have been pleased with the overcooked lasagne, lukewarm greasy chips and nuclear hot, bullet baked beans but Will was looking forward to some real food even though it was no doubt served to instil a mood of general lethargy on the prison populace.

  An officer came to his open door and knocked on it. He smiled at him and gave him a key, ‘Penthouse suite fifty-five, the wing workers are just mopping it now.’

  * * *

  He waited until not long before bang up to leave his cell and move to his new one. Jake had grimaced at the smell when he came back but didn’t mention it, instead happy to noisily carry his meagre possessions up to the next landing for him whilst waving to people like he was some kind of local celebrity. As they entered the cell Will let out a long breath of relief. Maybe he could do this now. He had a decent TV, a pleasant fresh aroma and some functional curtains. That was the holy trilogy for any prison. Jake clapped him on the shoulder with a big grin and smiled.

  ‘Too easy eh, laters,’ he said as he left.

  Will flopped on the bed, temporarily pleased with the smell of clean linen. He reached into his pocket and pulled the letter out that he had been given earlier. It was Elaine’s handwriting. Great girl he thought. She must have hand-delivered it to the prison so he would get it today, although he did wonder how she would have known to do all this. His telephone numbers should be on his pin by midweek so he needed to face things now as she would be expecting a call.

  It appeared he had another protector. It was funny how things turned out. Almost as though if you expect salvation it never comes, but once your hope has gone it arrives from an unlikely source. The wing noise reached a crescendo as he heard the officers shout out.

  ‘Two minutes, get your water.’

  He heard ‘Behind y
our doors’ and people running, then again the steady rhythmic click of those same fifty-six doors being locked and bolted for roll count. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander. Let’s start from the beginning he thought. That fateful first day, thirty years ago…

  PART TWO –

  THE BEGINNING

  4

  2nd September 1985

  His mother wiped the inside of the windscreen with some used tissues from her pocket to clear the condensation. Visibility was poor, with the heavy thunderstorm rocking the red Ford Sierra estate and Will really wished she had worn her glasses.

  He knew she was also struggling because it was her number two son’s, as she liked to refer to him, first day at big school. She gave him a quick glance and smiled, causing the car to swerve slightly. ‘You look so grown up in your new uniform and smart haircut. I’m glad I spent so long getting that fringe straight, you look very handsome.’

  Will pulled the vanity mirror down and checked out his thick brown hair. It was the same colour as the spray of freckles across his face. She was always telling him what a good-looking boy he was.

  She always told them she loved both her children equally, but Will knew she had had a soft spot for him. There was also no doubting the other boy was odd. The one and only pastime that Nathan seemed to get any pleasure from was trying to undermine Will’s confidence and enthusiasm. He found great pleasure in Will’s mistakes and endlessly probed his worries.

  ‘Mum,’ Will shouted, pointing at the windscreen. She seemed to have been in a trance but suddenly remembered what she was doing. She looked forward and noticed the rapidly approaching van, red lights burning through the mist like two angry eyes. Braking hard, the Sierra skewed slightly but caught its grip and stopped about a centimetre behind the van.

  ‘Bloody Hell,’ Will said. He knew he should have cycled, even in the rain. His mother’s driving was on a par with ‘The Mouse’ ride at the pleasure beach. A noisy, jolting, juddering experience, culminating in you lurching from the car, shocked, pleased and more than a little surprised that you were still in one piece. He looked in the rear window for the arrival of the inevitable shunt, but the wiper cleared to see a relieved and shocked face gawping out about half a metre away from their car. Will forced himself to exhale and tried to unclench his toes which felt like they had curled up like how a crow would perch on a branch. His new shoes had already felt like he had somehow wedged his feet into a couple of bowling balls.

  On top of this he was nervous as hell. His hands felt all numb and clumsy and it didn’t seem to matter how much he had drunk, his tongue was still clacking around his arid mouth like a dusty castanet. His brother Nathan had informed him repeatedly throughout the summer holidays, in a polite manner, that the prefects molested and sodomized the new kids when they used the toilets. He needed to go now.

  He wasn’t exactly sure what this really meant but he had looked up molested in his Griffin dictionary, unable to find sodomized and immediately regretted it. Although he suspected they would not be so keen if his mum’s driving deteriorated any further and he pooed himself.

  His brother was in the back, his mum having let Will go in the front as it was his first day. Nathan was a dick, he thought as he looked at him over his shoulder. As he caught Will looking at him he formed a ring with his index finger and thumb and was poking his other index finger through it.

  ‘Oi Nathan, do you hear, stop that,’ his mother commanded. She slammed the car into first gear, the van having long gone and through slit eyes she pushed the wipers up to maximum and to a cacophony of irate horns, gingerly pulled away. The radio began to play Queen’s new song ‘I want to break free’. Will suspected it would be many years before he was able to do so.

  When they arrived Nathan grudgingly took him to the area where the first termers were to meet. Will was shocked by the unexpected gesture, not knowing of his dad’s drastic threats to Nathan’s pocket money if he didn’t. Will trudged along behind him, hands clammy and face wet from his mum’s parting kiss.

  The school seemed huge, full of strange buildings and teeming with life. Will had not wanted to come to The Prince’s School. His father and grandfather had, but all his friends were going to the school near his house. If he wanted to live through the experience he was going to have to cycle two miles to school every day past many of his friends. To make matters worse football apparently was a swear word here.

  His brother left him with a parting dead leg, telling him to meet at the gate later and Will, feeling very alone, surveyed the scene. The new students were all waiting in a big playground near some large double doors. The majority cowering in close proximity, huddled together for safety like a crèche of baby penguins, as hordes of giant children prowled past. Will felt like a gate crasher at a party, waiting for someone to tell him he didn’t belong and had to leave. It was to be a feeling he would often have here and may have accounted for his general lethargy throughout his school life.

  There seemed to be about a hundred kids waiting, all in varying states of attire that were a shade too big for them. His own thick purple blazer came down to his knuckles and was making him sweat despite the fresh morning air and his nervy disposition.

  Will picked out the half adults as they cruised past, prefect’s gowns fluttering in the breeze, looking effortlessly cool as they chewed gum, arms slung casually over girls’ shoulders. He also kept an eye out for Carl, the only other boy he knew from his junior school who was coming here too.

  Carl was a tragic figure, a genius of giant intelligence but a geek of epic proportions. He had stereotypical thick glasses and greasy hair but the one feature which really made him stand out was his amazing ability to cultivate a staggering array of sickening whiteheads on his neck in next to no time. No doubt Will mused, he would be hoping his nickname of Carlbuncle would not follow him here.

  Sure enough he was standing on his own on the far side with a ring of space around him. His parents must have been intent on ensuring he had a poor first day at school as his blazer would probably still not fit him when he left for university, yet his trousers were already half-mast. Will turned to melt back into the throng before he was spotted, but bumped into what felt like an immovable object.

  He turned round to look at a big barrel chest and almost hated to look up, expecting to see some kind of an ogre. Instead he stared into a big, red, round, sleepy face with a sloppy grin on it. His hair had been cut as though the barber had used a perfect bowl to create a blonde helmet to crown his huge head. Will had to stand back to take him all in. Will could have slept under his huge jacket, already tight at the shoulder and it was evident his trousers would wave the white flag shortly under the ferocious assault of a pair of thighs that would have not looked out of place on Arnold Schwarzenegger.

  ‘Hullo,’ he said in a mellow soft Scottish accent. ‘I’m Aiden, is it your first day too?’

  Will nodded, put at instant ease by his gentle voice and nature. At that point, the doors opened and a tall, slightly stooped robed man in his sixties looked out at them over his glasses as though he had discovered a new species which was unpleasant to the eye.

  ‘I am Mr. Thatcher,’ he announced in a strong voice that commanded attention. ‘Head of the lower school. You may call me sir! Welcome to The Prince’s School, whose good name will always go with you. As you enter the building behind me there are four classrooms.’

  ‘First group,’ he roared, ‘Will proceed now!’ and a hundred ears strained, praying they didn’t miss their name as he began a procession of surnames, pronounced in a gravelly voice as though just saying them made him feel ill.

  As though it was a sign from above, Will and Aiden were directed to the same classroom and therefore naturally sat next to each other. Apart from the fact the table moved every time Aiden moved his trunk like legs, he was pleased not to be on his own. He was about to smile when he felt some hot breath on his cheek and a high pitched voice squeaked in his ear, ‘Greetings Burt.’

&
nbsp; Typical he thought, but as Carl sat opposite him he seemed so pleased to have found a familiar face that Will couldn’t help but grin at him. He would have a word about Carl’s nickname for him later. Aiden smiled at Carl with the same dreamy expression he had given Will. He suspected Elvis would have received the same response if he had hip-shook his way over.

  Just as it looked like theirs would be the only table of the seven foursomes with one person missing and the teacher was hushing the class to settle down, Will noticed the door open and a late arrival turned up. Will watched the lad who stood at the door with his shoulders back as though he meant to be late and wanted everyone to see him.

  The teacher directed him to the remaining empty seat. As he got closer it was evident he already had what looked like the beginning of a black eye, which Will thought was some serious good going as it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet.

  He sat next to Carl and gave him a smile that barely troubled his cheeks, never mind his eyes. He gave Aiden a look-over like you would seeing a remarkably big donkey at a sanctuary and then Will felt like he was being assessed for a grisly experiment as his gaze was turned on him. The eyes were keen and sharp yet at the same time seemingly devoid of emotion, like a crow eyeing up some recent squashed hedgehog, but constantly assessing for dangers.

  The young, bright eyed and enthusiastic teacher interrupted the examination and all turned towards her as she started the register. Will began to feel on edge again as she began to talk of a first week of tests to ascertain which groups they would be in, so their minds could be ‘stretched appropriately’. She rattled on.

  ‘This will be your home room for the next year and these your seats unless told otherwise.’ She too exclaimed how lucky they all were to be attending the best school in the area and then announced that they could spend the next five minutes introducing themselves to the others on their table.