The Final Mile: A SAM POPE NOVEL

by Enright, Robert

  Well, the ones who were still conscious.

  All he had to do to keep the gravy train running was facilitate Chapman’s life behind bars.

  Sharp allowed him to bring in as much contraband through the guards as he desired, would set his guards on whoever Chapman pointed at and gave him the keys to his own cell.

  It was a small price to pay for the doors Chapman had opened and in the back of Sharp’s mind, the idea of ending The Guvnor’s rule when he took the top job had crossed his mind once or twice. Until then, Sharp was more than happy watching his bank account grow and his desires fulfilled.

  Watkins was aware of Sharp’s deal with Chapman, but a very clear threat to his family kept him quiet. A meek man, Watkins took his job seriously and he baffled Sharp with his technical talk. He was foolishly asked how secure the doors were, but as soon as Watkins began mentioning algorithms and self-changing identifiers, he glazed over, called him a nerd, and slapped him hard across the shoulder blades.

  All Sharp knew was the prison was as secure as Fort Knox, but instead of being locked down by sadistic guards, it was controlled by Watkins and his team of bookworms.

  Sam’s lack of fear was boring him, and he glanced at his watch. It was almost time to take Sam for his dinner, which drew a smile across his face.

  Almost time to let the man know what he was in for.

  With a large sigh, he sat forward in his chair, gazed around the room – which had the feel of an airport control hanger – and nudged Watkins with his meaty elbow.

  ‘Go on. Zap him.’

  Sharp grinned, showing his coffee-stained teeth. Watkins shook his head.

  ‘Every use of the tag system has to be logged and reasoned with. While you might find it fun, deputy warden, there are only so many flagrant uses I can cover when we get audited.’

  ‘You are such a fucking wet blanket.’ Sharp stood and slapped Watkins across the back, ensuring he leant into it. The whimper of pain drew a smile. ‘Lighten the fuck up.’

  Watkins mumbled something under his breath and Sharp thought about calling him out on it. It would make him feel good, but ultimately, it would just be treading old ground. The man was scared shitless, and that’s all that mattered. Reaching forward and hitting the ‘lockdown’ button, which would zap every pathetic member of the prison population, would have been fun but Sharp relented.

  He had something better for his evening’s entertainment.

  Without offering a goodbye, Sharp stormed from the office, nodded to his subordinate who stood guard in the hallway and they made their way to the underground levels of the structure. As they ventured through the corridors, Sharp made a mental note of which cells were open, as the staggered dinner had just begun.

  No one of any real bother. Most of the prisoners were resigned to their fate and, with the opportunity of garnering drugs, cigarettes, or porn from Chapman, they towed the line.

  There were no problems.

  Except one.

  Sharp stopped at Sam’s cell and his colleague went through the usual rigmarole of slamming his baton against the door and demanding Sam face the far wall. Watkins, hidden away in his control room, activated the door, and the guard hauled it open.

  Sharp hid his fury as Sam hadn’t moved. Still sat on his bed, he arched his head up, met Sharp’s angered glare with a dismissive roll of the eyes and spoke.

  ‘Can I help you, deputy?’

  A cruel grin spread across Sharp’s face. Sam’s insolence was only going to make this evening even sweeter.

  ‘Let’s go, boy scout.’ Sharp kicked the bed with his steel capped boot. ‘It’s showtime.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sam had followed Sharp obediently as he left the room, ignoring the cocky smirk of the prison guard accompanying them. After the lame attempt of intimidation after his dinner date with Chapman, Sam was under no illusion who was truly running The Grid.

  Throughout the day, there had been this lingering sense that he was in trouble. A few snide remarks from the guards, the near silence that greeted his emergence during the exercise hour. It all told Sam that whatever Chapman had planned for day one had spread through Ashcroft like wildfire. It didn’t bother him.

  This was never supposed to be a relaxing holiday.

  As he followed Sharp to the cafeteria, a few other guards offered him a sympathetic shake of the head, as if apologising for his loss.

  The doors opened and as Sharp strode in, a hush fell across the canteen.

  It wasn’t for him.

  All eyes were on Sam.

  ‘Eat up.’ Sharp smugly grinned at Sam. ‘You’re going to need your strength.’

  Sam ignored Sharp, striding past him to the metal counter where he was greeted with another uninspired selection of meat and vegetables. With his stomach rumbling, Sam took a tray and turned to face the room. Everyone who had been looking at him quickly bowed their heads, returning to their tasteless meal or equally tasteless conversation. In the far corner, as expected, Chapman sat. Either side of him sat his henchmen, Glen and Ravi, both of whom were staring daggers at Sam through their heavily bruised faces.

  Sam couldn’t help himself, and he gave them a polite nod. Instantly, Ravi slammed his fist on the table in anger and made to stand up before Chapman reached out and yanked him back down by his heavily tattooed forearm. It was a pathetic attempt at intimidation and Sam dropped his tray in front of the closest vacant seat and sat down to eat.

  All conversations stopped and Sam looked at his fellow inmates, who refused to make eye contact. Beyond them, by the door, Sharp watched, arms crossed and a cocky grin across his face. As Sam lifted a forkful of barely cooked carrots to his mouth, he imagined the satisfaction he would have in wiping it off his face.

  His train of thought was halted by the inmate to his right.

  ‘Yo, Sam, right?’

  Sam put his fork down and glanced up. The man offered a strong handshake, his black skin coated in faint tattoos similar to Ravi. He was well built, with his hair shaved close to the scalp in contrast to the scruffy beard that framed his strong jaw.

  ‘Yup,’ Sam replied carefully.

  ‘Leon.’ He pushed his hand closer. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  Sam took the handshake.

  ‘Not sure it should be.’ Sam shrugged. ‘I’m not too popular around here.’

  ‘Nah, I get that. Lotta these guys got guys you put in the ground, you get me?’ He flashed Sam a grin, revealing a solid gold tooth among his pearly whites. ‘Me, I ain’t really got no ties so as far as I’m concerned, you killin’ rapists and sex trafficking mother fuckers is more like doin’ this country a service.’

  Sam chuckled. Of all the places he expected to find a charming conversation, over a tepid meal inside a maximum-security prison wasn’t top of the list. Leon flashed a few concerned glances towards Chapman’s table, immediately looking away as Ravi met his eyes.

  ‘You ready?’ Leon asked, not looking up from his meal.

  ‘For what?’

  Before Leon could respond, a hand grabbed the back of Leon’s head and slammed him face down into his dinner. The thud was sickening and the howl from Leon told Sam his nose had been broken. Sam instantly stood, grabbed the prison guard’s wrist and twisted it, bringing the man to his knees and a sharp cry of pain to echo out.

  ‘Let him go.’ Sharp’s voice boomed and Sam turned to face the deputy warden, who had his hand resting on the handgun strapped to his waist. Sam relented, roughly releasing the guard’s arm, who scurried back a few steps to Sharp.

  ‘That piece of shit nearly broke my fucking wrist.’ He barked, shooting Sam a venomous look.

  ‘I’m sure you can wank with the other hand,’ Sharp said, seemingly expecting a laugh that never arrived.

  ‘That was uncalled for,’ Sam stated, pointing at Leon who was sat upright, his hands pressed to his broken nose, the blood filtering through the gaps in his fingers.

  ‘I didn’t want old motor mouth here to ruin
the surprise,’ Sharp responded. He moved his hand from his sidearm and slapped Leon around the back of the head. ‘So keep your fucking mouth shut.’

  After a few more moments, Sharp and the guard made their way to the door, calling time on everyone’s meal. Sam offered Leon a hand up, but the consequences of association saw him reject it. Sam understood, but found it hard to muster guilt.

  However friendly Leon was, he was in Ashcroft for the same reason as Sam and every other man in identical T-shirts.

  They were dangerous criminals.

  As everyone filtered to the door, Sam watched the crowd parting as Chapman and his goons exited. As Sam went to leave, Sharp stopped him for a split second, allowing the prison guard to drive his left fist straight into Sam’s stomach. Sam hunched over, gasping for the air that had been driven from his body and the guard theatrically shook his hand.

  ‘I can do more than just wank with this hand, you piece of shit.’

  It was a cheap shot, but Sam straightened up, took a few deep breaths and fixed the guard with a stare that stopped him in his tracks. Sharp shoved Sam to the door and as they approached the turn to Sam’s cell, Sharp instead pulled open the door to the stairwell.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Let’s take a walk,’ Sharp said, patting his firearm to insinuate the outcome if Sam refused.

  ‘You’re not going to give me another one of your speeches, are you?’ Sam asked dryly, following Sharp as he marched down the stairs, followed by the other guard.

  ‘I’m getting sick and tired of your smart mouth.’ Sharp said as he ascended to the underground floor, where Sam had spent his first week in solitary. ‘But Chapman, he has made it clear that putting a bullet in your head is off the table.’

  ‘Does he always tell you what to do?’

  Sharp stopped on the last step, snapping his neck back, his eyes filled with rage.

  ‘No one tells me what to do. Let me make it fucking clear to you, I only let him think he runs this place because I get paid. If I wanted to, I could end him and his little crew like that.’ Sharp snapped his fingers. ‘But having him around means my bank account grows and we get to have evenings like tonight.’

  Sam didn’t question any further, following Sharp out of the stairwell and into the grimly lit corridors of the lowest floor of The Grid. In the distance, Sam could hear the echo of a crowd, the wild cheers of a blood-crazed audience. Sharp strode towards the noise, stopping at the slightly ajar metal door. With a sick grin, he shoved it open and stood to the side, ushering Sam towards it.

  ‘Welcome to ‘Fight Night’, you little prick.’ Sharp spat. ‘Guess who’s top billing for tonight?’

  Sam stepped over the threshold and into an attack of his senses. The boisterous noise echoed loudly around the large, empty storeroom, with almost all the prison’s capacity circling the room. The smell of sweat and blood filled his nose and he looked over the hyper crowd to the clearing in the middle where two inmates, stripped to the waist, were beating the hell out of each other. The chants of the baiting crowd told Sam that there were stakes attached and sure enough, in the far corner, Chapman was sat alongside the weasely Glen, taking bets. With a disbelieving shake of his head, he turned back to Sharp, who beamed with an unearned sense of achievement.

  ‘You allow this?’ Sam asked in disgust.

  ‘Gotta give the people what they want.’

  ‘This is barbaric.’

  ‘Coming from a man who’s killed countless people, you’re a fine one to talk. Now get the fuck inside.’

  Sharp placed his hand on the grip of his firearm to accentuate his point and Sam shook his head but obliged. As he stepped through the rocking crowd, a few eyes landed on him and he felt the excitement levels rise. As he stepped towards the front, he could see one of the men mounting the other, driving his broken fist into the man’s bloodied face. Judging by the limpness of his defence, the man was out cold, and each blow was taking him closer to death.

  Sam looked around the room.

  The inmates were cheering him on.

  The guards, lining the room, watched on with sickening glee.

  Chapman was counting the money.

  ‘Fuck this,’ Sam muttered to himself and stepped into the middle of the room. To the dismay of the audience, he shoved both hands under the victor’s arms and hauled him off. Crazed from the fight, the inmate tried to lash out, but Sam twisted the hair under the man’s armpit, and he howled in pain. With one swift movement, he hurled him into the crowd, ending the fight to a slew of expletives.

  Chapman’s voice boomed out.

  ‘Quiet!’ An instant hush filled the room and Chapman extended his hand to Sam. ‘Let’s give a warm welcome to our main event.’

  Sam shot a few glances to the other inmates, who were practically salivating. He turned back to Chapman, shaking his head.

  ‘This isn’t my fight.’

  ‘I’m sorry, son. But you don’t have much of a choice. Everyone fights.’

  ‘And you? Are you going to step in here?’

  Chapman sat back down, pressed his fingers together, and smiled.

  ‘I have a representative.’

  A worried whisper spread like a disease through the room, immediately out-heard by the scraping of metal on the cold, concrete floor. A few inmates near Chapman parted and Ravi stepped through, his shirtless torso rippling with ink-covered muscles. His broken nose, purple and swollen, sat between two eyes that bore through Sam like a pneumatic drill. Around his wrist was a thick, metal cuff, linked to a long, rusty chain. Without breaking his stare, he reeled the twenty-foot chain up, until he held an identical cuff in his hand. With the intention clear, and to the delight of the onlookers, he tossed it across the fight pit to Sam.

  ‘Put it on.’ Chapman demanded coldly. Before Sam could answer, he followed Chapman’s gaze as he looked towards Sharp, who nodded. The implication was clear, and Sam doubted that it was an empty threat. To host an evening such as this, there would be someone with their finger on the button, ready to electrify the entire prison at the first hint of unrest.

  For Sam, there was only one way out of the situation. As much as it pained him, all other paths had been closed off.

  He had to fight.

  With a resounding sigh, he pulled his T-shirt up over his head, the silence that greeted his body wasn’t unexpected. Despite carrying half the bulk of Ravi, Sam was in peak physical condition. His lean muscles were well rounded, and his chest was as broad as it was thick.

  It was the scars that stopped them dead.

  Remnants of the explosion all those years ago that had rendered him MIA in a small town in Afghanistan, peppered the right side of his body. There were scars in his shoulder and his stomach, fresh bullet wounds he’d experienced in the heat of his war on organised crime. A long, painful scar ran down his spine, the stitches only recently removed from the near fatal attack suffered at the hands of the Hangman of Baghdad.

  And the two, white, round scars on his chest, from where Wallace had tried to kill him all those years ago.

  He didn’t bear the same tattoos as Ravi, but his scars held more meaning.

  A permanent index of the war he’d raged.

  Slowly, he bent down and lifted the cuff, looking once more to Sharp, then to Ravi, and then to Chapman.

  ‘Last chance.’ Sam spoke calmly, the other inmates watching in pent up euphoria. Ravi stepped forward a few paces and cracked his neck, his answer clear. Slam snapped the cuff around his left wrist. ‘Fine.’

  Instantly, Ravi hauled his left arm back, tugging Sam towards him as he himself stepped forward. A roar exploded from the room, the thirst for blood reaching fever pitch as Sam adjusted his feet and took hold of the chain with his right hand. Ravi swung a ferocious right hook, but Sam ducked it, looping the chain over the man’s bulging forearm and hooked it in tight. In one fluid motion, he snapped the chain tight, slid his shoulder under the man’s elbow, and then pushed himself up while pulling the
chain down.

  The snap of Ravi’s bone cracked like a fortune cookie, and the sickening sound echoed off the walls and stunned the room into silence. Ravi roared in agony, his broken arm gushing blood from the bone protruding through the skin. A red mist ascended in his eyes and he foolishly swung his chained arm towards Sam.

  Sam knew he’d already won.

  He sidestepped the intended blow easily, the pain and quickly escalating blood loss affecting Ravi’s balance and before Ravi could stumble forwards, Sam wrapped his arm around the man’s thick neck. In one swift movement, he drove Ravi’s body backwards, while drilling a knee expertly into the base of his spine.

  Ravi dropped to his knees, his back jarred out of position, and as he tried helplessly to tend to his destroyed arm, Sam looped the chain twice around his throat and pulled it tight. Sharp had seen enough, and he stomped through the crowd, his hand to his hip, ready to take Sam out.

  But Chapman stood, held out his hand to stop him and then he planted his eyes firmly on Sam. Returning the gaze, Sam yanked the chain, arching Ravi back and gently resting the back of his head on his knee. With the man fighting for breath, and just one quick snap away from a broken neck, Ravi looked at Chapman with the desperation of a rat caught in a trap.

  ‘Do it,’ Chapman barked, almost with glee.

  The crowd cheered loudly, their thirst for death sickening Sam to his stomach. With a final glance to Sharp, who was trying his best to hide the fear in his eyes at Sam’s brutal dismantling of Ravi, Sam then loosened his grip of the chain, placed his boot on Ravi’s back, and pushed him forward. The hulking fighter fell onto his front, blood pumping from his arm as he whimpered in agony. Sam held Chapman’s furious stare, unblinking as the crowd began cheering.

  Seething at Sam’s victory and subsequent defiance, Chapman angrily nodded at Sharp and two seconds later, Sam felt another surge of electricity race through his body, paralysing him and sending him jerking to the hard ground.

  As the pain jolted his body, he could feel the cuff being removed from his wrist and his body being dragged through a joyous crowd, with the odd boot slamming into his ribs as he went. As he was hauled down the darkened corridor towards the solitary confinement cells, he afforded himself a wry smile, before he was hurled into one of the narrow, sparse rooms and as the metal door slammed with a mighty thud, he was enveloped by darkness.