“Why would I kill Jake and also kill the nigger?” Burnside asked, improvising.
“The nigger is dead?” Rick asked.
“I shanked him myself,” Burnside said, poker-faced. “Jake went for the target first, but two extra guards, who weren’t supposed to be there, jumped him and one of them took the shank. The guard stabbed Jake in the throat and then came after me. I went berserk and started swinging. I beat up the guards and grabbed the shank. Another guard snuck up behind me and I stabbed him through the throat. Then, I stabbed the
nigger.”
“You killed one of the guards!” Rick shouted, spit flying from his lips.
“I’m not sure that he’s dead,” Burnside said, lying. “All I know is that he came up behind me and I went on instinct. I thought he was going to pound me over the head with his baton, so I shanked him first and asked questions later.”
“That still doesn’t explain what took you so fucking long,” the older guard said.
“I had the bad luck to slip in a blood puddle and crack my head on a pipe,” Ray said. “When I came to, I didn’t even know how long I was out or if you guys were still waiting for me.”
“What about our man, Connors?” Jim asked.
“Who’s Connors?” Burnside asked, playing dumb.
“He wasn’t told about him,” Rick said to Jim and then turned to Ray. “One of the guards in the group was with us. His name was Connors Do you know what happened to him?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Burnside said. “All I know is that Jake and I showed up to kick ass and found four guards with the target instead of two. We knocked out three of them and I ended up stabbing one, but I don’t know which one. For all I know it could be your guy, Connors.”
“It better not be or Price will have your head,” the older guard said, scowling.
“Well, maybe the boss should find out who the snitch is who set us up before he does anything stupid that he will regret,” Burnside said. “With Jake gone, you’re going to need all the enforcers you can get.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Rick said. “But we’ve wasted too much time already. We have to get you back to your cell. Take off your clothes and put these on,” the guard said, handing Burnside a fresh prison jumpsuit.
Ray glanced down at his blood stained prison uniform and realized he looked like an employee at an abattoir. He quickly stripped off the wrecked jumpsuit and put on the fresh one. Ray handed the old uniform to the older guard and the guard folded it up and placed it under his arm so the stain wasn’t visible.
“Turn around and put your hands behind your back,” Jim said.
Burnside hated to turn his back on the corrupt guards, but he didn’t see any alternative other than killing them. Killing one person was bad enough. He didn’t want their deaths on his conscience as well. A sharp pain knifed through his gut as he remembered stabbing Connors through the throat.
They handcuffed him and led him away from the maintenance area toward the cellblocks. They passed one guard in the hallway, but he was intent on business and didn’t pay any attention to them. Finally, they reached the main cellblock. They brought him up to his cell, opened the door, took off the cuffs, pushed him in, and left without saying another word. Burnside thought they looked anxious as hell to get away from him as if he would contaminate them in some way.
Ray found his cellmate, Frank, sitting in the corner with his face buried in another magazine. He looked up as Burnside entered.
“How did it go, my man?” Frank asked, grinning.
“Well, the good part is the nigger is dead,” Ray said, sitting in the bottom bunk and taking a deep breath. “The bad part is the guards were ready for us and set up an ambush. They killed Jake.”
“No shit! That means somebody must have snitched!” Frank exclaimed.
“There must be a mole in the Skins’ organization,” Burnside agreed.
“Goddamn, I think you’re right. That’s some crazy shit. But the nigger is dead at least?”
“I stabbed him myself,” Jake said with his usual poker-face.
“There’s going to be a serious shake-up in the organization,” Frank said. “Price is going to be mad as hell.”
“I’m sure he will be,” Burnside said. “But there’s nothing I can do about it. I did what I was told to do. I killed the nigger. How the fuck was I supposed to know there would be four guards instead of two? Someone set us up real good.”
“Damn, I don’t envy you explaining what happened to the boss. He’s not known for taking bad news too well.”
“Then fuck him,” Ray said, lying back on his bunk. “I’ll tell him what happened and if he doesn’t like it, he can feel free to try his damnedest to kill me. The only thing is I’ll take out a few of them with me before I go. Maybe I’ll even get him. But right now, I’m exhausted so I’m going to catch a few Z’s.”
“You better get as much rest as you can, Cellie. We’re due to go out in the yard later and I wouldn’t want to be you when you meet the boss.”
Chapter 25
An Unexpected Gift
Ray was burned out from all the recent action, so he had no trouble drifting to sleep for several hours on his prison bunk. The metallic pinging sound of a metal object striking the floor woke him up. He opened his eyes and sat up to see his cellmate, Frank, reaching down to pick something up. Frank picked up two objects and stared at them, quizzically, as if they were alien devices.
“What are those?” Burnside asked.
“You tell me, Cellie. Some guard ran by and threw them in here. I didn’t have time to see who it was,” Frank said, handing Ray the objects.
Ray was surprised to be looking at a vicious, sharp metal shank in his left hand and a small roll of duct tape in his right.
“What the fuck is this?” Burnside asked.
“I figured maybe you would know and could tell me,” Frank said, returning to his seat at the back of the cell and opening his trademark magazine.
What’s with the magazines all the time? Ray thought.
A half smile crossed over Ray’s face as he pondered the idea that magazines were to Frank what a blanket was to the comic book character, Linus.
“You better put those away somewhere before someone sees,” Frank advised as he glanced over the top of the magazine with narrowed eyes.
“Right,” Burnside said, stuffing the objects under his pillow.
Ray stood up, approached the bars, and grasped them like a stereotypical prisoner, looking out at the cellblock. He didn’t see anyone.
“You said a guard threw these in?” Burnside asked Frank.
His mind was still foggy from sleep, so he was having trouble putting it all together. So many strange things had happened to him lately, they were all becoming confused in his mind.
“He just ran by and tossed them in,” Frank said. “Maybe the Skins’ boss has another job for you and those are the tools.”
“Well, I understand what the shank’s for. Killing niggers,” Burnside said, improvising. “But the tape? I can’t figure that one out.”
“Maybe it will come to you,” Frank said, re-burying his face in the magazine, Hunting and Fishing.
“Maybe,” Ray said, lying back on the bunk.
He closed his eyes and went over the previous violent events in his head.
The Skins’ boss assigned Jake and myself to kill the Bloods leader, Jones. Instead of killing Jones, I killed Jake. No loss there. I can only hope Price falls for my cover story of extra guards being assigned to the detail long enough so I can get close enough to kill him. I spoke to Jones about working together to take out the Skins when I meet with the boss in the yard. As far as I know, the guard, Reynolds, knows nothing about my intention to kill the Skins’ leader. So who threw me the shank and the tape?
Regardless of who did it, the shank would be an invaluable weapon when dealing with the Skins’ leader. The duct tape offered a convenient method of concealment under his
prison jumpsuit. Maybe he should just forget about trying to figure out who gave it to him and figure out how he was going to use it. He pulled out the shank and the roll of tape.
I will need to pull it out fast, so it has to be within easy reach.
Burnside raised his left sleeve and placed the shank against his wrist with the handle toward his palm. Then, he pulled the sleeve over the shank, concealing it. There was a slight bulge underneath, but nothing noticeable. He practiced reaching under his sleeve and pulling out the shank. He could do it fast. He unwound the roll of duct tape and taped the shank under his forearm with the handle near his wrist. All he had to do was push the sleeve back, seize the handle, and rip it off his arm. When the shank was securely concealed, he lay back on his bunk, being careful not to bend his left arm in a way that would press the point into his skin.
“I finally figured out what the shank and the tape were for, Cellie,” Ray said to Frank.
“Oh yeah?” Frank asked with little apparent interest.
“The boss must have more Bloods in the yard he wants taken out,” Ray said.
“That would make sense,” Frank agreed. “The screw who dropped it off must have been one of ours.”
“That’s right,” Ray said, idly fingering the handle of the shank beneath his sleeve.
Bullshit, partner, Ray thought. That shank must have come from one of the Warden’s guys and it’s not for killing Bloods, it’s for killing Skins. The Warden must have figured I would need it for self-defense if my meeting with Price went bad.
Burnside closed his eyes and rested until a bell rang and guards began assembling prisoners outside the cells to go to the yard. They opened his cell and he stepped into the line of prisoners. His cellmate cut into line ahead of him.
What’s his rush?
Burnside tried to blank out his mind as he and the other prisoners marched through the dingy concrete corridors. The last thing he wanted to do was think. All that would bring was anxiety. Anxiety could be paralyzing. Meeting with the Skins boss after failing one of their missions, and after getting their top lieutenant killed to boot, was akin to committing suicide. There was no way they would let him live or try to talk his way out of it.
As Ray entered the yard, he felt a surprising rush of elation when he spotted a clear blue sky beyond the high gray walls. A feeling of vastness and unlimited possibilities overcame him. Glancing right toward the Skins’ weightlifting area, his elation dampened. He began walking toward the Skins’ turf and then stopped. He felt a rush of cold fear like an icy wind striking him, freezing his limbs. So far in prison, he had been able to use his anger to overcome his fear and fight through it. Now, all he felt was fear. He didn’t want to throw his life away. Despite all that had happened to him, he wanted to live. Maybe even more so, after what happened to him. It didn’t make sense that he survived the brutal rape only to be killed by the Skins now.
All he had to do was walk away. He could get lost in the crowd of stragglers, bum a smoke off someone, and start shooting the shit. Now, more than ever, he wanted a cigarette. Ray had smoked when he first joined the force, but quit several years later after chasing a perp halfway across town and then feeling like he was going to have a heart attack. He remembered fighting for breath after the cross-town sprint. That was it for smoking. The next day he bought a big package of nicotine gum and chewed that rather than lighting up. At that time he increased his exercise regimen, took up boxing in the precinct gym, and began pounding the bag every day. After a few months, he was able to give up the gum too.
But now, he wanted a smoke. Badly. He thought this might be his last chance to smoke a cigarette. Or do anything for that matter. He glanced to the left at the stragglers in the middle of the yard, talking and smoking as if they didn’t have a care in the world. He glanced right at the Skins’ turf. He observed the closest enforcer standing at the edge of the weightlifting area with his arms crossed. A thick black swastika tattoo stood out in bold relief on his right bicep. Scanning the yard, he counted at least twenty Skins. Maybe more. A chill went up his spine. He was a good fighter, but he couldn’t take on more than twenty men and expect to survive. Why not just walk away?
The problem was there was no walking away. If he walked away, they would find him, corner him, and make good on Price’s promise to torture and kill him. They would probably rape him again before they snuffed him out. Thinking about the rape in the shower caused a rage to build slowly in his mind like a small fire being fed embers. The more he thought about it, the more the fire grew into a conflagration. The Skins’ boss had probably ordered the rape to get even with him for decking his man in the cafeteria. It wasn’t just a random act of violence. The next time they would rape him, torture him, and kill him. There was no way he was going to be raped again. The rage began taking over, canceling out the fear. Now, the fear seemed like a faraway thing that someone else had experienced.
There’s no other choice.
Burnside felt a rush of adrenaline as he steeled himself and walked toward the nearest guard on the perimeter of the Skins’ weightlifting area. He felt for the shank taped under his left forearm. Still there. It was time to risk it all.
Chapter 26
Endgame
Burnside smiled grimly as he approached the wiry enforcer on the perimeter of the Skins’ turf. It was better to die fighting than on his hands and knees. No question.
“I have a meeting with the boss,” Ray said to the guard.
“You Burnside?” the Skin asked.
“Yep,” Ray replied.
“The boss wants to see you,” the guard said, smirking as he stepped out of his way and made a sarcastic flourish with his right arm as if he were a valet welcoming him to a party.
“I’m sure,” Burnside said, scowling at the Skin.
He continued past several unmanned weightlifting machines toward a small crowd in the center of the place. It looked like some kind of warped town meeting was taking place. He stopped in his tracks and the blood froze in his veins. He spotted his cellmate, Frank, talking excitedly at the center of the group. That’s it then. Frank beat him to the punch. His cellmate probably ratted him out to make sure they took him down immediately and didn’t waste any time.
Fuck it. There’s nothing I can do about it now, except try to take out as many of them with me as I can.
Ray fingered the handle of the shank beneath his sleeve as he moved inexorably toward the center of the Skins’ turf. Ray saw Frank point at him as he approached. He saw him mouth words to the Skins leader and then walk quickly away.
I guess he thought it was time to get out of Dodge.
The group broke apart as Ray neared them. Ray counted five, not including the boss. The leader, Derek Price, stood his ground with two enforcers standing on either side of him. He had his arms crossed and a bemused smirk on his clean-shaven mug. The rest of them spread out around Burnside in a rough circle. Burnside hated to let them get behind him, but what choice did he have? It was one against six, so he had to wait until they were off-guard to make his move, or he didn’t have a chance. Assuming they were ever off-guard.
“Look what we have here, guys: psycho-boy Ray Burnside. AKA Jaws,” Price said, uncrossing his arms, but not losing his smirk. “Of course, I expected two of you, but your cellmate was kind enough to inform me of my lieutenant’s tragic mishap. What do you have to say about it?”
Burnside tried to remain calm as he heard the Skins standing behind him shifting on their feet impatiently.
“There were four guards instead of two. They were ready for us. I was lucky to kill the nigger,” Burnside said, meeting Price’s eyes directly.
“How unexpected,” Price said, stepping closer to Burnside with his two cohorts. “Lift your arms so my men can search you,” Price said, gesturing to the enforcers standing on either side of him.
They approached and patted him down thoroughly from his shoulders to his ankles, but never touched his upper arms. Burnside felt sweat forming o
n his forehead as they performed the risky operation.
“He’s clean,” one of the guards said, stepping back.
“I have to admit, Ray, you have a helluva lot of guts coming back here after getting one of my best lieutenants killed,” Price said, frowning deeply as he glared at Burnside with gleaming blue eyes. “Normally, that would be a breach in the rules resulting in termination, if you take my meaning. But first, I need to find out what happened. If there really were more than two guards with the target, like you say, then we have a security breach, which obviously can’t be tolerated. The only thing keeping you alive right now is the fact that your story about the four guards has been corroborated.”
Corroborated? How’s that possible? It was an invention!
“Here’s what’s going to happen now, Ray,” Price said, stepping closer so he was face-to-face with Burnside. “We’re going to work you over a bit for fucking up. After that, you can tell me what happened. Don’t make the mistake of fighting back. If you do, you will be killed. Got it?”
Damn, I didn’t foresee this chain of events.
“No problem. As you already know, I can take a lot of pain,” Burnside said, keeping his expression impassive.
“I sure hope so,” Price said, drawing back his right arm and jabbing it into Burnside’s abdomen.
Ray doubled over as the wind was knocked out of him. The enforcer to the right of the boss wound up and smashed him in the cheek. Ray staggered back into the body of another enforcer behind him. An unknown fist connected hard with his lower back. Another one struck his left arm. Another hit him in the side. They began striking him with a succession of blows that caused him to collapse. When his knees hit the ground, the blows stopped.
“Get up,” Price said. “You’ll take your beating like a man if you want to survive it.”
Burnside couldn’t answer because he was having trouble breathing. He pushed himself up with his arms and staggered to his feet. Price wound up and punched him in the jaw. It was painful, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Price was one of the smaller guys. He grinned when he saw Price grimacing and shaking his fist as if he had broken it. He prepared himself for a barrage of blows like before.
American Criminal Page 16
