by Darrell King
"Run!" She screamed.
Cyrus stood up instantly and then thought about escaping, but that would mean a lot. He didn't want much trouble for his family and Victor, his Good Samaritan. He then made up his mind to stay since his offense wasn't a grave one. "I'm not, imma stay to see how this goes down. Jessie, take care of mom." He hugged and kissed her on her cheeks. He also hugged Victor "Thanks man"
Victor sighed, his hands in his hood pockets "Anytime bruh"
Without staying much longer, he walked towards the exit door much to the amazement of all the onlookers. They wondered what guts he had that made him not to escape.
"Hey y'all, I heard you came for me" he called out to the white cops who were about four in number "Freeze! Turn your back, your hands on your head!" One of the cops shouted, a megaphone in his right hand
"Okay officer", he said as he swayed his hips and turned right back and faced the hospital, his hands on his head. Two officers ran up to him, one held him while the other searched him and found the revolver.
"He's got a gun" the cop shouted.
"It's no news, officer" Cyrus said
"Shut up" the other officer snarled and handcuffed him. Together, they frog-marched him into their Ford Model T and then sped off to Corrections Department
The correctional facility wasn't that far from the hospital. In no time, the cops pulled over at the car park and frog-marched Cyrus to the Corrections Department where he was recorded as a felon. With his handcuff removed, he went through medical checkup and was made to change his clothes to the prison orange jumpsuit. He was then escorted to his cell by a short and stout warden. The hallway was long, as he led the way to his cell, he could hear cat calls, whistles,
and utterances of profanity.
"Hey muthafucka!" One inmate cried out
“Welcome to the hood”
"Hope you got some moolah on you, else imma shank your bitch ass, nigga" another inmate shouted amidst other clamor
"Hooo!That ass tho" another inmate said, smacking his lips and staring at Cyrus’ bum seductively
Finally, Cyrus got to his cell as directed by the warden. Sitting in a lotus position on the upper bunk was a huge, thick and muscular Negro. The warden locked the cell door and left.
"Hey man", Cyrus greeted the huge guy
Silence
Not obviously bothered, Cyrus didn’t let that get to him. He put his bed sheet and other items on his lower bunk and sat beside it. He then bent his torso forward and held his face with his palms such that his elbows relaxed on his thighs. In a moment he thought about how everything had played out in just a single day, he thought about his mother and how she'd be faring by now.
He thought about his friend Victor helping him to foot her bill, such a nice dude; he blessed him in his heart. He thought about Jessica and his dad. He just hoped he'd leave the prison soon enough. So many things were still streaming down his thoughts when he felt his bunk shake vigorously, a hard thud on the floor and a hard slap on his face; jolting him back to reality. The muscular guy stood, towering above him, more like waiting for him to react. The inmates opposite and adjacent to their cell kept chanting his name “Evil Cobain! Evil Cobain!”
It all happened in a second, Cyrus felt dizzy & dumbfounded. What did he do to deserve a slap? He was just a newbie and didn't see it coming at all. He was about to stand up to the bully when the bell rang and the wardens came to open the cell doors. It was time for dinner
"Welcome to my empire. I run this hood, you feel me?" Cobain said and left the cell rubbing his fist with his palm. Cyrus grinned; he probably didn't know who he was up against.
The dining hall was packed with a lot of black people, few Hispanics and a handful of whites. Cyrus noticed each person had to pick up a tray at a particular end and then queue to get served. He did, and joined the queue.
He was served mashed potatoes and coffee. He overheard the inmates grumbling about the shortage of their daily ration. Some of them also talked about the effect
of the economic recession on the prison budget.
As he was about to leave the queue, an inmate followed him up
"Hey,whaddupdawg?"
Cyrus turned back thinking it was another bully. But this inmate was short and looked snoopy."Hey, man"
"Call me Dan" he said hurriedly. There were set of triangular-shaped dining tables with length at about 10 meters each, they are flanked by long seats. "Over here" he beckoned to Cyrus the moment he saw and empty dining table.
Cyrus sat on the seat. He was grateful he has a friend now at least. There were inmates chattering all over the hall. Some queuing for food, while some others clinking their cutlery while eating on the dining table
"I saw you getting slapped" Dan said, staring into his eyes
Cyrus rolled his eyes "Yeah yeah"
Dan was silent and busy eating. He seemed to be a food lover
"Tell me about him. Who’s he?" Cyrus asked
He looked at Cyrus, and then around. There was announcement over atannoy. Dan bent over the table to talk to Cyrus who also bent forward so as to listen to him
"He's one of the craziest nigga here. Word says he once broke out of Sing Sing. This guy is evil, dawg"
Cyrus smiled. "Really?"
Dan nodded. “He’s been in solitary confinement more than anyone else here because he keeps beating up his cell mates to coma. That's why he don't have a roommate" he looked into Cyrus' face to check for an iota of fear in his face but he was disappointed. He continued talking nevertheless.
"And since he's your partner now, all you've gotta do is to play by his rules. That's all" he said, stressing each word with his left index finger tapping on the table.
Cyrus raised his coffee up "cheers to him” and drank some, giving Dan a gloated look. Dan's face was bland all of a sudden; Cyrus noticed he was looking into the direction of the kitchen. He could hear inmates near them hushing their voices. Dan carried his tray and left quickly.
Cyrus was surprised, he didn’t understand the whole movement but he kept still as though he didn't care about what was going on because somehow, he knew it was about the new orange kid on the block; him. The heavy footfall was getting nearer and finally, it stopped right there near him.
The hand came swinging again, hitting Cyrus on his face, this time not as hard as
the first time. Cyrus didn’t move or hold his face, the slap mark stood rigid as the swelling of a red bump on his face; the same part of the face he was hit the first time.
"No food for you today, nigga. Until you learn to respect my authority, bow before me and pay me homages" Evil Cobain said, taking away his plate of mashed potatoes. He then turned back to walk away with his henchman.
Cyrus was very angry, he couldn't take it anymore, he made up his mind he was going to give Evil Cobain the showdown of his lifetime just to let the rest of the inmates know he isn’t on the same pedestal with them. He was an ex-soldier for crying out loud. First impression matters they say.
"When would you like us to plan your funeral?" Cyrus asked softly
The whole dining hall became silent such that you could hear a pin drop. Evil Cobain stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn't believe his ears
"What the fuck did you say?" He asked without turning back.
Cyrus smirked "Come here and let's discuss how you want your funeral planned" motioning over to the seat Dan just left.
Evil Cobain handed the trayhe held over to his henchmanand turned back to face Cyrus.
Cyrus gloated "You see, while some like their ashes in an urn, others love to be lain in a pine box covered with pall. So which is it you want?" Cyrus could see the anger revving up in his countenance but he wasn't in no way done taunting the huge bully.
"Would you like to be cremated on the funeral pyre with your balls sizzling at the intensity of the heat or you'd love your body decaying six feet deep where no mortal can -”
"Argghhhhh!-" Evil Cobain came running towards him with his lef
t hand raised up high. Cyrus stood up quickly and flung his cup, emptying its content on the face of the charging behemoth.
He lost focus; his left hand then came down wheezing past Cyrus' shoulder as he dodged. in a quick move, Cyrus closed in and punched him hard in his solar plexus, followed by a full uppercut swing as he was about to throw an ill-timed jab. He fell, doubling over in pain.
The crowd frenzied in excitement, Cyrus then quickly scooped a handful of mashed potatoes from the scared henchman, and turned back to see Evil Cobain trying to stand up. He double kicked him hard in his groin and on his face in a swift movement causing Evil Cobain to fall spread-eagled on the dining floor, wincing in pain. The crowd cheered, he fell over him and then proceeded to stuff
the potatoes in his mouth saying "Are you happy now? Are you happy now?"
Evil Cobain choked. After stuffing the puree in his mouth, he quickly rained blows on Evil Cobain's face after pinning his arms on the floor with his kneecaps.
He could hear the rushing movement of the prison wardens "Get out of the way! Get out of the way!" Years of military tactics and trainings taught him the kind of punishment that would be meted out to him. Since he'd be placed in a solitary confinement, he might as well rain more blows on his victim to make it an experience he'll never forget in a hurry.
He was still raining blows on Evil Cobain’s face in quick succession when he was held and jacked up by the wardens who started to hit him with clubs leaving the bloodied and toothless behemoth motionless on the dining floor. As he was being frog-marched away into solitary confinement, the inmates kept chanting "Spartacus! Spartacus!" He made a grin with his bloodstained face. Now they have known who the real monster is.
Inside his enclosed maximum security cell, he had no bed, no nothing to sleep on, and no bulb to illuminate his confined space; just an entire room space which was
too small by the way. The air reeked of urine, a pungent odor emanating from the water closet. He felt hopeless, when was he ever gonna be a free man? He slumped on the floor with his back on the wall. Lots of crazy thoughts were on his mind before he drifted off to sleep. Few hours later, the sound of heavy footfalls woke him up. The door to his cell was opened and two hefty men grabbed him. He covered his face as a beam of light cast on his face. One of the guys proceeded to handcuff his hands to the back. The other dropped the torch he held and kept struggling with something in his hand. He couldn't really see them as there was no bulb to illuminate the room
"Who the hell are you guys?" He asked
The other guy then forced a black sack bag on his head, big enough to cover his head
"Where are you taking me to?" He cried out
The other guy removed the sack from his head,gagged his mouth with a thick scarf and then gave him a resounding slap. Cyrus screamed out but his voice was deadened by the gag.
"You talk too much" the guy said and together, they whisked Cyrus away into waiting Black Maria van. The van sped off into the dead of the night.
During the tiresome journey, he kept wondering what they wanted to do with him. He thought about his family, he might not see them again. What if he was going to be murdered in cold blood? What if he was going to be hanged on the gallows? What if and what if and all what ifs kept troubling his mind.
The van finally skidded to a halt after what seemed to be like hours. His captors dragged him out and together, they kept moving. Cyrus heard the gates opening, metals clinking and voices which seemed to reverberate, he could decipher that they were in a big hallway. At a point, the air smelled awkward.
He assumed it was a prison, but this one felt bigger than the one he was. Finally, his captors stopped moving and untied him; the handcuffs, blindfold and mouth gag.
The first time Cyrus opened his eyes, he grunted and covered his face because of the light intensity was too much for his eyes to accommodate. Gradually, he squinted until he finally got to open his eyes fully.
He saw two huge muscular white men staring at him. They wore mufti and looked at him with a snarl.
"Where am i?" He asked looking around
"Where else do you think?" One of the men said while opening the door to a cell.
"Excuse me gentlemen, I think you've got the wrong guy. I'm -"
One of the guys gave him a punch on his face to the direction of the cell. The effect of the punch sent Cyrus flying onto the cell floor with a hard thud. He held his face, groaning in anguish. He had suffered too much for just a day.
"What did I tell you about you talking too much?" He bellowed as he locked the door and kept the key in his pocket. The other guy let out a deep wicked laugh and they walked away down the corridor.
GET RICH OR DIE TRYIN'
Curtis had lost the track of time; there was no wall clock or any time piece. Nevertheless, the incandescent bulb never stopped giving its light even as there were no windows to see the rising and setting of the sun. In fact, the only optimistic thing he'd always looked forward to, was the sound of footsteps coming from the corridor. It usually happens once day, and each time it happened; Cyrus would rise up thinking they'd come to set him free but sadly for him, it never happened.
A small piece of bread and jam served in a dog plate screeches in under the door and when he was done eating, he has to push it back outside together with the other dog plate which gets filled with water. Failure to do so deprives him of the
next day's meal.
And before long, he'd started thinking about all what he'd gone through.Every time he does, his thoughts kept diverting to one thing; his family. He hoped they were faring well, he hoped they'd be able to locate him wherever he is. He thought about the racial discrimination he went through during his time as a gallant serviceman in the US Army. He wondered if it was a crime to be black. In fact, he could trace all the suffering he was undergoing right now to the fact that he was black. He thought about his ailing mother, pregnant sister and his poor and broke sharecropper of a father, he couldn't help but cry some more. He wished he could do more for his family. To him, the life he's living wasn't just about him alone; it was more about his family. Only if he had more money, only if he was wealthy enough, he'd make his family rich so they don't get to suffer again. He wished and wished. But here he was, an ex-soldier being treated like a dog by the racist law that governed the entire state.
GET RICH OR DIE TRYIN'
He kept staring at this inscription on the wall. This solitary cell was much better than the former one he was in. This one had a bed, and an incandescent bulb fixed overhead. He had been there long enough to know every crack and every inch of peeling paint in his cell. It felt like perpetual misery; a kind of ennui. He thought
about making quick money once he gets freed but he knew the only way he'd be able to do that was through very things he once loathed: drug trafficking and bootlegging. He then made up his mind he'd do whatever it takes to lift his family out of poverty. Even if it would cost him his life, he'll either get rich through illegal means or he'd die gloriously while trying to. With this rigid perception, he kept gloating and grinding his teeth at those recurring thoughts
He could hear the door to the corridor open with the usual loud bang. Heavy footfalls kept closing in, but the pace was distinctly different from the one he was used to.
He could tell they were two strangers walking towards his cell. He kept his cool while waiting for the worse. They stopped at his cell door and then he heard the padlocks clinking together with the latch.
The door flung open, standing in the doorway was two men who had looks different from his captors. These ones looked friendly; one was short and stout while the other was tall and lean with a noticeable mustache.