by KW Finch
“What's going on down there?” I asked.
“Don't know, some sort of ruck going on, best not to get involved. I've just come from the Scrubs and this goes on all day, every half hour or so someone hits the panic button.”
“How come you got moved from the Scrubs?” I asked.
He turned his head toward me and gave a hard stare, looked me up and down then looked down again to the floor below.
“My co-dee is from this town and we are in court together tomorrow.” He answered.
“Oh, right. I see.” I replied. I didn't really see because I didn't know what a co-dee was, co-defendant at a guess. I headed back to my cell, time to lay on my bunk again. Ricky turned up again sometime later and as I was expecting he looked pretty pleased with himself. His pupils looked like tiny pinholes and the grin was set on his face.
This was pretty much how things continued for the next few days. Prison wasn't as scary as I was expecting but it was very bloody boring though. The depths of boredom I reached were quite incredible. Everything involved waiting. When you couldn't stand it any longer, when you thought to yourself nothing else could possibly be so mind numbingly dull you would find new and hidden depths to your boredom. The daily routine was the same, every single day without fail. I was used to a fast paced, constantly changing lifestyle. The bright lights of the big city were more my style so the drastic change for me was one huge bombshell. You could only lie on your bunk and think or sleep for so long.
Then one morning my cell door was opened much earlier than usual and rather than just walk away the screw came in. This sent Ricky into a mad panic.
“Whoa, bloodclot, what’s going on man?” He drawled in his fake African accent. It was amazing how he could switch it on at will, even first thing in the morning after his usual drug fuelled evening.
“Calm it down, Starling.” It was Smiler and he had his usual big grin across his face. “It’s not a cell search, this time at least.” His smile became even broader which I didn’t think possible. He really loved his job and it would give me great pleasure in removing that smile from his face one day. He then diverted the smile towards me.
“Get yourself dressed London.” He beamed at me. “Your brief is waiting to see you, ready in two minutes.” And with that he pulled the door to. I couldn’t hear him walking away so guessed he was just waiting outside.
“About bloody time.” I muttered to myself jumping down from my bunk and dressing myself as quickly as possible.
About 30 seconds later I was heading out the door and I could hear Ricky calling behind me.
“Good luck bruv.” he called as Smiler banged the door shut with a crash.
My mind started to race now, thinking about what would happen next. I thought my brief would have been up to see me well before now, he must have spent the time putting together a good case for me. I couldn’t believe it, I was as good as out now. What would be the first thing I would do once I was a free man again? A decent meal? A shag? A drink? Maybe all of them. Mmm, but in what order? I wasn’t a greedy man, oh hold on a minute, I was wasn’t I, very greedy, that’s why I ended up leading a life of crime, to fund my, I want it and I want it now lifestyle. I was so busy deciding what to do first when I was out of here that I never really noticed the journey to the visitors section.
Before I realised it I was sitting in front of Marcus, the scratched Perspex window separating us. There were empty seats either side of us, each seat in front of an identical alcove to mine. I looked around, there was a screw standing guard by the door I’d entered through. Marcus leaned forward toward the grill and spoke softly into the tiny holes.
“Hello London.” Came his muffled voice. He fidgeted on his chair. I leaned forward to answer him.
“I thought you would have been up here before now?”
He looked away and fidgeted again, staring at a chair to his right. This wasn’t the Marcus I knew from the trial. He was a pretty relaxed guy with a confident manner then, but now he seemed agitated.
“Your body language is all wrong Marcus, what’s going on?”
He looked at me, tearing his gaze away from the chair.
“I can’t do anymore, no grounds for appeal, you’ve gotta do your three years.” He blurted out.
“You what?” I growled, sticking my face right up to the grill.
“That’s not what you said to me after my trial. What’s going on?” I demanded.
“Things have changed” he went on, not even looking at me now.
“What things?” I shouted into the grill.
Marcus looked over my shoulder at the screw by the door, then back at me.
“The missing evidence from your trial.” He whispered now at the grill. “The police are investigating it, fingers are being pointed. Being pointed at me!” he pointed his finger at his own face as he spoke the words.
“You said there would be no come back, watertight, was the word you used.”
“It was but I didn’t account for Felix,” he whispered, “the officer in charge of the investigation.”
“Buy him off.” I snapped.
Marcus was looking over my shoulder again at the screw, then looking around the room.
“He can’t be brought, you don’t know him, he’s old school, straight as a die.”
“Break his legs, put him in hospital, scare him off.” I growled.
“No.” Marcus looked alarmed, his eyes darting around the room.
“Break his wife’s legs, his mothers. I don’t care just get me out of this fucking shit hole.” I yelled, bashing the screen. Marcus jumped back at my outburst.
“Oi London, calm it down.” It was the screw by the door.
“Yeah, yeah.” I replied, not taking my eyes off Marcus.
“Three years will soon pass London.” He whispered. “It could have been much longer.” I didn’t answer, just carried on staring at him.
“It’s too risky to try anything else that’s dodgy.” He carried on. That evidence would have put you down for a lot longer and you know that. I can’t risk raising anymore suspicions.”
“Yes” I answered. “I realise that, but three years is too much.”
“Think about the missing evidence London, the tape from the security camera.” Marcus was whispering again, close to the grill. “If that had not gone missing, if the jury had seen that, you would probably be looking at life inside, not 3 years. Think about that London.”
I sat back in the chair, my mind was racing. It was true the evidence would put me away for a long time but at the moment all I could think about was not being in here, in prison.
“You gotta get me out Marcus.” It wasn’t a plea I was making, more of an order.
“There is no new evidence to use in an appeal, I’ve been over the trial and there is nothing I can contest. I really can’t fabricate anything. We have to be very careful. You could end up facing a perjury charge, a retrial, who knows. You have to ride this one out and put it down to experience London. Do your bird, keep a low profile. You’ll be out in no time.” He finished, shrugging his shoulders.
It really wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I didn’t know what to do. I had paid for the best brief and he’d let me down. I felt sick.
“I’m done here” I shouted over to the screw at the door. I just glared at Marcus. He couldn’t look me in the eye. I couldn’t talk to him, I just wanted to smash his face in. I got up and the screw escorted back to my cell.
NINE
Ricky was already up and dressed when the screw let me back into my cell, banging the door behind me. He was looking quite pleased with himself, lying on his bunk with a spliff tucked behind his right ear.
“When you off then bruv?” He asked.
I didn’t answer, just jumped up on my bunk and laid down.
“Not good news then?” He continued.
“Not good news.” I repeated flatly.
“How come?”
“My brief is scared.”
“Of
you?”
“No, well yeah, he probably is at the moment, but he’s scared of the filth.” I went on. “Some security tape of the blag I was involved in with went missing. My brief seems to think he is going to be fingered for it.”
“Did he have anything to do with it?” Ricky asked.
“Couldn’t say.” I lied.
“Oh.” Ricky continued. “What was on the tape then?”
“Apparently it showed me sticking the end of a sawn off shotgun into the mouth of the bank manager and asking him for the keys to the safe, or I’d blow his brains out.”
“Oh,” said Ricky again. “but the bank manager ID’d you anyway?”
“Not for sure he was too shaken to make a positive ID and I had an alibi anyway.” I said
“Oh.” Said Ricky for the third time. “I’m confused now. Why are you here if the tape is missing and you had an alibi?”
“The money.” I sighed. “The bills were marked. I got caught with 60 grand. They couldn’t put me down for the robbery but I got done for receiving.”
Ricky went quiet for a while.
“Would you have pulled the trigger London?” He finally asked.
“Why you asking?” I replied.
“Just wondering, you know bruv” he replied and he sounded a bit nervous now. “I’ve done a lot of bad things London, real bad things but never thought about taking a person’s life.”
“I can’t say I thought about it Ricky,” and I hadn’t even considered it before. “He had something I wanted.” I continued.
“What if he hadn’t given you the key?” Ricky asked.
“Then I would have pulled the trigger. I always do what I say I’m going to do Ricky. I’ve a reputation to maintain.”
“Yeah bruv.” Ricky said slowly. He took the spliff from behind his ear and sparked it up, not saying another word. We sat in silence until the door was finally unlocked by one of the screws.
I couldn’t say what day it was or even how long I’d been in this place at the moment. A few days had passed since my setback with Marcus. I had been in a blind rage since then, stewing on it all. To say I was gutted about not getting out and having to do my bird was the understatement of the century. I couldn’t think straight and the stupid petty rules of the prison system, the endless waiting and the shitty food, were driving me mental.
Finally I was moved, as Ricky had predicted, to another cell and it was definitely for the best. Things hadn’t really been right with us since the morning I’d met Marcus. Ricky had been off his head on drugs for pretty much all of the time since then and not really talking to me. He was starting to irritate me anyway so my moving on was a good thing. Drugs definitely were not my style and it was no fun sharing a cell with a guy who wasn't sure of his own name a lot of the time. Perhaps it was just his way of dealing with the situation.
My new cell looked exactly the same as the old one, except it was the next level up. Again everything seemed so pointless, going from one little box to another. I had taken what few belongings I had acquired and settled in to my new home, all of which took about five minutes. My cell mate seemed okay and he liked a smoke as did nearly everyone else I'd come across inside. After talking to him for about seven seconds it was easy to see why he was in prison, boy was he thick. He was attempting a crossword which was obviously far too complicated for him.
“I'm having some grief with this one.” He stated. “I don’t get it.”
“Give us a clue then.” I asked.
“Contraception from Holland that can be worn on the head.” He read loudly and slowly. “Five and three.” Then smiled at me.
“Easy.” I replied “Dutch cap.”
Darren frowned, the rusty cogs grinding away in the otherwise empty head. After about twenty seconds or so of seriously hard concentration he reached his conclusion.
“I don't get it.” He frowned while shaking his head at me. “What’s some fancy piece of foreign headgear got to do with it? You trying to be funny with me London?”
“No mate.” I replied “Give me another clue.”
“Okay,” he replied slowly, “but no stupid answers.”
“Fine by me Darren. How many clues have you got left?”
“All of them.” Came his unfunny reply. This bloke was just asking to have the piss taken out of him.
“Here.” He said holding out the paper, “I'm fed up with this, see what you can make of it. I'm going to score some gear for bang up.”
With that he jumped down from his bunk and disappeared out of the door. I looked at the paper handed to me, it was the Daily Sport. I read the whole paper and did the crossword, finishing it just as the pen ran out of ink and then laid down on my bunk again. An hour or so later drippy Darren returned and it was just like being back in my cell with Ricky. Drugs it seemed to me were a necessity for a lot of cons to get through the day.
Things settled down again quite quickly after my move. Routine and endless waiting were of course the order of the day. However, one of the main differences between my two homes was the increase in bag swinging. This was something the more seasoned prisoners on the upper levels practiced.
Imagine the situation, it's ten minutes after bang up, you're locked up for the rest of the evening and all night but its only ten past six and you haven't got a lighter or any matches. You might have your cigarette papers, tobacco and slab of skunk weed but they ain't much good without a means of lighting the joint once you've made it. How frustrating is that, a nice spliff all ready to be smoked but no means of sparking it up. Some cons would go absolutely mental at the mere thought of bang up without a nightcap.
At times like this you found out who your friends were and how well you could swing a bag. The basic idea was very simple. Imagine that after shouting out of the window to the other cons around you that you find the bloke in the cell next door has a lighter. You can't just pop next door and borrow it and they can't pass it through the wall. What they can do though is put the lighter in a bag and swing it pendulum style from their window to your cell window. It all sounds perfectly simple but nothing is ever that straight forward inside.
First of course they need all the stuff to make it happen. They can't just pop to the kitchen cupboard for a sandwich bag a ball of string and a pair of scissors. It just didn't work like that in prison you had to use the resources to hand because that is all you had. And that wasn’t much. So what do they do? Instead of a bag they could use a sock or tie the lighter up in a towel or a shirt. A pillowcase would also work if they were lucky to have such a thing. As for the ball of string they could tie shoe laces together or use a bed sheet.
The next part of course was for them to lean out of the small opening for a window and start swinging their lighter. They couldn’t do that either because the small opening was just that, a small opening. They could get their arm through but that was it, they couldn't see where they were swinging. They knew the general direction and just kept swinging that way hoping the person they were swinging to would see something swing by their window and that they could grab it.
Some nights after bang up I would look out of the cell window and across the exercise yard to the wing opposite and see bags, blankets, shirts all swinging between cells on different levels. Some cons trying to swing to the cell above, some along one and some down. It wasn't just lighters going from cell to cell of course, there were drugs, tobacco, cigarette papers batteries for radios, cassette tapes to be shared around as well, the list was endless. It could be quite an entertaining sight, for a bored con.
One night there wasn't a lot of drugs about in the prison, which apparently did happen on occasion. It had been a tense day with the panic bell going off even more than normal. There were arguments and fights breaking out all day and we ended up having an early bang up, much to my relief. So that evening there were a lot of unhappy cons sitting in their cell with no way of chilling out and unwinding.
It was a noisy evening with lots of shouting and banging going on. F
rom my window that night across the exercise yard there were no swingers. There was a real anger and from the tiny cell windows pieces of broken furniture were emerging, table legs, drawer fronts. Sheets, blankets and anything that seemed worthy was also slung out. From one window a con was emptying a plastic potty, the lump of turd bouncing off of an emerging table leg from the cell below and then splatting on the floor amongst the mounting debris.
After a couple of hours or so the anger had fizzled out and was replaced by menace. Lighted newspapers were being dropped from windows now. Someone managed to get a bed sheet to light and it landed on a pile of broken furniture. After several minutes the timber did manage to catch light and it started to burn away nicely, making a nice little bonfire. None of this was going unnoticed of course. Infra-red CCTV was catching the unfolding events. Cameras in the exercise yard were recording all the evidence. CCTV was becoming the bane of my life and these cons would find that out for themselves soon enough. The fire was getting quite a hold on the broken timber which was all very close to the prison walls. After a while the fire brigade turned up. Cheers rang out from the cons inside the prison and they saw it as a victory of some kind.
Darren, who had been sharing the view with me from our cell window started to talk and for once he sounded half intelligent, only half mind.
“Drugs, this is all down to a lack of drugs.” He stated quite matter-of-factly.
“Oh yeah?” I encouraged.
“It doesn't happen very often.” He continued. “It normally happens over a long weekend like this.”
I hadn't taken much notice but he was right, it was a bank holiday weekend.
“I thought the drugs were the cause of all the problems.” I went on.
“No not all, the hard drugs yeah they do. You get too much brown or charlie then you get all sorts of aggravation. With your grass it's a much different story. Sure, you get the odd bad debtor but on the whole everything is sweet. Most blokes just want to do their bird in peace. But as you can appreciate London most people have a life outside this place. Stuck inside these four walls against your will can mess with your head. A little bit of grass numbs the pain and the screws know that. They turn a blind eye to it most of the time. They know what goes on and at the end of the day they want an easy life to. Drugs make a happy prison.”