Bird

by KW Finch

  Monk was standing still now while reading the sheet of A4 in his hand, walking and reading being too much for him to cope with. After a few more moments he gave a sort of small chuckle to himself and pulled a drawing pin from the wing notice board he was now standing opposite. He pinned the sheet to the wall and shuffled his large frame back into the wing office. Again he chuckled as he took a cursory glance up and down the wing before disappearing back into his office.

  I waved to Muzzleflash and he immediately emerged from behind the doors and walked towards me. He looked as he normally did, quite laid back without a care. The mark of a true pro is to not look suspicious and Muzzleflash definitely had that look. You might be in panic mode internally, nervous, scared or whatever but outwardly you have to be as cool as a cucumber. You can easily give yourself away by being conscious of your movements, the way you talk even. It’s not what you say in certain circumstances but how you say it.

  In fact you can talk absolute bollocks in some situations but if the tone and pace of your speech is right, it can open doors for you. It’s all about believing in yourself, an inner confidence to bluff anyone who questions or doubts you and make it look natural. Muzzleflash might not have been a career criminal but he had what it took to make a good one.

  Just then Monk put another appearance in, his mammoth frame squeezed into the wing office doorway. He looked the length of the corridor, craning his head left then right. He screwed his eyes up at Muzzleflash, not noticing me tucked away in my hiding place.

  “Muzzleflash!” He bawled, “A minute of your time please.” It wasn’t a request, it was a demand.

  My first reaction was that he knew what was going on. Muzzleflash just carried on walking past me and on to the wing office, his look not changing and his body language staying relaxed. He was on his own now, what was Monk up to?

  I couldn’t make out the conversation between them but it was a quick exchange and then Muzzleflash was on his way back to me, swinging the container of prepared hooch in his right hand, all quite carefree. He was good. Over Muzzleflash’s shoulder I could just see Monk watching Muzzleflash as he strolled back towards the servery.

  Muzzleflash pushed the door open to the dining hall and I went through the doorway with him at the same time.

  “Ok?” I asked

  “Yes, of course.” He replied in a sort of, why wouldn’t I be tone.

  “We’ve got work to do.” He continued. After a quick look around the dining hall Muzzleflash called his troop to action.

  “Ok, chaps. Places please.” He called out as he approached the servery.

  Immediately everyone stopped what they were doing and sprang into action.

  Johnny Briggs, Peso and Crusher went to the entrance points to the dining hall while Gibby headed to the servery counter and produced the longest bootlace in the world from his pocket. As Muzzleflash put the contents down on the counter Gibby was there tying the bootlace to the handle of the container. A few moments later and Muzzleflash was standing on the counter and Gibby was passing the container up.

  Above Muzzleflash’s head was a large industrial size extractor hood, like a huge metal pyramid in shape with an equally large cylindrical pipe at the apex running off into the wall. I’d never really noticed it before. Presumably it went off to an external wall and extractor fan. Quick as a flash Gibby had also jumped up on the counter but was kneeling down on all fours, allowing Muzzleflash to stand on his back. From the doorway where I was keeping lookout with Peso all I could see of Muzzleflash was his legs as he stretched up from Gibby’s back into the extractor hood to hide the Muzzleflash brew. Then an instant later Muzzleflash and Gibby were standing behind the servery once more with Muzzleflash brushing Gibbys back down.

  “Ok chaps.” Muzzleflash called out.

  I walked back to the counter along with the others.

  “How about that?” Muzzleflash smiled.

  “Slick, very slick.” I replied. “Are you sure you’re just a surveyor?”

  “Absolutely.” He laughed.

  “What a waste of talent.” I snorted. “Great hiding place though, illicit hooch being brewed right over everyone’s heads. How long does that need to brew?”

  “Should be ready in about six weeks,” Muzzleflash answered,

  “Blimey, that’s a long time.” I complained.

  “There are other people on the wing brewing their own stuff but they can be a bit impatient, some cons have trouble waiting for a week, which is ridiculous. Anyway, I’ve got brews stashed all around, so don’t worry.”

  “You can’t beat a Muzzleflash brew,” Gibby put in, “it’s a simple fact.”

  Well if that was a good brew then the others must be truly awful. Sure it had the desired effect but it wasn’t really refined enough for my palette. Perhaps I just needed to lower my standards.

  EIGHTEEN

  The day finally arrived for my interview at the computer centre. It was much sooner than the six month wait I was expecting. What a berk I felt, an interview how ridiculous was that! I was a bank robber, a blagger. If I wanted something then I took it, it didn’t matter what it was. I’d found that if you stick a shotgun in someone’s face then you usually get what you want from them. You might have to shoot them in the legs to come around to your way of thinking but I always got whatever I wanted.

  I had become increasingly lazy over the last few weeks. My world as I knew it had been turned upside down and my head was proper messed up. I needed something productive to fill my time. My table tennis had improved by leaps and bounds and I could hold my own now against anyone on the wing. I didn’t want my skills as an expert ping pong player to be the only benefit from spending so much time at Her Majesty’s Pleasure though. I’d been given a note from the wing office a day or two ago to be at the computer wing by 8am, and here I was, waiting at the entrance.

  If the rest of Fulwood Hill was anything to go by I was expecting a long wait. I’d traded some of my tobacco a couple of weeks earlier for a watch. It said Rolex in white lettering on the black dial. It looked pretty good although it wasn’t up to the ‘in your face, look at me’ Breitling I was used to wearing, but it would do for now. It kept quite good time so I knew it wasn’t a genuine Rolex. It was telling me it was a minute to nine. I looked through the dirty glass door into the computer room and could see Mike approaching, the guy who had been at the toffee-gate scandal. I stood back to let him unlock the door.

  He was quite civil to me and actually showed some respect, treating me like a human being. Again this was something unusual for prison. The screws had treated me like scum from the outset. It had been something I was expecting anyway but this Mike was a different kettle of fish altogether. First of all he had been punctual and now civility, what would be next? He asked me to sit at a small table to one side of the computer room and he sat opposite me.

  He looked straight at me.

  “Thank you for coming in today London.” He began, his steely blue eyes burning into me.

  “I had a window in my diary.” I smiled back. Why did this man look so familiar to me, I had such a great recall for faces but couldn’t place him.

  “This is nothing to worry about London, just routine.” He smiled. “This place is a bit of a haven, lots of inmates want to get in here and I just like to meet them first. The wages aren’t very good I’m afraid which I find quite irritating but there you have it.”

  Mike looked down at some paperwork he had on the table. It was then it dawned on me where I had seen this man before and I couldn’t help smiling to myself. I hadn’t met him before it was just that he was a dead ringer for two images in my head from childhood. The first was from Thunderbirds, the kids program. I remembered a middle aged grey haired puppet with black framed national health glasses. He looked just like one of the puppets. The second image was from a game I used to play with my dad called Guess Who? The resemblance was scary. I wonder if he modelled in his spare time? It could happen, but I somehow doubted it. It was
going to wind me up now because I wouldn’t rest until I could remember the name of the man in Guess Who. I had no chance of remembering the character in Thunderbirds.

  “What will I be doing here?” I asked, coming back to reality.

  “Ok…” he commenced. “You’ll be given a number of assignments to complete and left to your own devices to complete them. You will be using spread sheets, databases and word processing applications. They are self-paced and start from the basics and go on to quite a high standard. They are marked externally so nobody need know you acquired them in prison and they go a long way to helping you get a job when you eventually leave this place.”

  Job meant something totally different to me, bank job, post office job. I did feel a pang of regret, this guy seemed quite genuine. He was doing something he believed in and was trying to do his bit to help out cons who wanted to reform. It wasn’t an option for me I just wanted to use the knowledge to my own ends. How I was going to use my new found knowledge once acquired remained to be seen but life is one big learning curve.

  I did start to think to myself that perhaps maybe, just maybe I was making a big mistake. I mean, Jack London the blagger, ‘The Mastermind behind the Hatton Garden Diamond Raid,’ that was how I headlined in one of the tabloids anyway. ‘Rocked the world rock prices,’ was another I thought was pretty funny. I liked to stick to stealing cash normally, it was easy for me to get rid of. I wouldn’t steal diamonds again, they were too much trouble. You couldn’t buy a boat with diamonds, not in England anyway.

  “That’s great.” Was all I could think of saying.

  “I think you will fit in here London.” He carried on. “I’m not interested in what you have done on the out, just what goes on here. I will treat you with the respect you deserve and I expect the same in return. Don’t mess me about, be straight with me and I will do likewise”

  “Can’t say fairer than that.” I replied and I meant it.

  Have to admit though that I did feel a bit guilty. This wasn’t like me at all, prison was really starting to mess with my head. I didn’t like it one bit. In the past I wouldn’t have thought twice about playing Mike and seeing how far I could push him. It was just a means to an end but Mike actually seemed a decent bloke who just wanted to help people.

  I usually loved dealing with blokes like him, you could pretty much guess which way they were going to go in any situation. The bit that gave me the most pleasure was finding their weakness. Everybody has one, money, sex or power was the normal ones. Even the most upstanding, most moral people had a weakness of some kind even if they didn’t know it themselves. It was all just a game for me, people’s lives. You didn’t need to point a loaded gun at people like Mike, all you had to do was introduce them to their own Pandora’s box.

  “I’ve got a space from Monday.” Mike continued, “How does that sound?”

  “I think that fits in with me, I’m free that day.” I replied.

  A faint flicker of a smile passed his lips.

  “Good.” He said slowly, his eyes watching me intently, “That’s settled then, see you here Monday, 9am start. Don’t be late.”

  We shook hands and parted. Again it was all very civilized, almost like a business meeting.

  So at 9am on Monday morning I was there and ready to go. Unusually I was quite keen which again was another new experience for me. I never did very well at school so really I should have been nervous. I was always bunking off trying to pull some scam, make that all important deal or failing that just having a kick about with some of my mates. I started my life of crime fairly early. I couldn’t really say that there was a defining moment where it all started to go crime wards. It just sort of drifted that way. You know, nicking a few sweets from the corner shop, a bottle of milk off someone’s doorstep.

  Then before you knew it I was stealing cars and holding up the local post office! I did drift towards violent crime fairly quickly, it was a good life and I loved it. The fast cars, the shooters, the girls, the money, lots and lots of money and the respect. You tend to get respect from someone when you’re pointing a shooter at them. My parents certainly didn’t have anything to do with my chosen career. They would turn in their graves if they knew how I’d turned out, they were quite innocent of the fact. They must have had some idea I suppose because they certainly weren’t stupid. They were decent hard working people.

  They could never afford anything though, that’s what used to give me the hump more than anything and that’s probably why I started with the petty crime. I never got caught though. I made sure I moved onto something new before the law caught up with me. Always moving on, never stopping. I was just happy to get into the next thing before plod got wise to me.

  Mikes frame appeared on the other side of the door, through the dirty glass. I hadn’t taken much notice of the other cons around me also waiting to go into the computer class. A tall skinny bloke next to me was stooping towards the door. He glanced around quickly, his dark brown eyes peering from under his shaggy blonde hair. He darted in as soon as soon as he could and gave a grunting sound to Mike.

  “Morning Woolfe.” Mike replied to him but he had disappeared into the computer room.

  I filtered into the room along with a dozen other unassuming lags.

  “There’s a spare seat for you over there London.” Said Mike looking at me while pointing to a seat along the back row of the room. I nodded back to him and made my way over and sat myself down. A beige box sat on the desk in front of me with an equally beige TV on the top.

  “Does this thing get BBC1?” I asked the con next to me without really looking at him.

  “Certainly not!” Came the rather indignant reply from the plummy voiced con.

  “That’s a computer monitor….” He continued “Not a television.”

  I glanced over at the con for the first time. He looked a bit like a business man in his blue twill shirt. It was his posture though that really gave it away. He looked comfortable sitting at a desk. He was probably an office worker on the out.

  “Oh.” I replied, “Where do you turn it on then?” I asked.

  “Try that button on the front,” he said pointing, “the one that says, on!”

  “I’ll give it a go.” I casually answered. “Are you sure I can’t get BBC1 though?”

  “You’ve not used a computer before have you?” He asked with a look of horror on his face.

  “Nope.” I replied in a casual tone again. “What’s it all about then? What are they good for?”

  “Well,” he started, “they are great for databases, word processing, creating spread sheets…….”

  “Databases?” I interrupted.

  “Yes, you know” he carried on unabashed by my interruption. “Think of a database as a big filing cabinet full of information.”

  Mmm. I’d heard enough for the moment. Information, that was good enough for me. From what little I already knew about computers this sounded like I was onto a good thing. What I always needed for a good blag was the right information. If I was going to move with the times then I had to get to grips with these things.

  I pushed the big button on the front of the beige box that said on and it started to whirr and hum into life. Green and red lights flashed and blinked on the front panel and the TV screen sprang into life. I watched it as lots of green numbers and letters on the black screen flashed in front of me, eventually settling down. I guessed the thing was waiting for me to start working some of the buttons.

  Mike had been busy bustling about since we had all entered the room, working his way around the cons. Eventually it was my turn and he came and stood next to me with a pile of papers in his hand.

  “Ok.” he began, handing me a blue folder and some sheets of paper.

  “Instructions to get you up and running.” He said, handing me some of the papers.

  “I see you’ve already switched the machine on, that’s a great start.” He smirked.

  “I had some help.” I put in, looking a
t the con next to me.

  “Well done Davidson.” Said Mike looking at him, he nodded back.

  “Right, I’ll leave you to get on.” Mike continued. “Any questions then Davidson can probably help you or failing that, Woolfe, my number one over there.” Said Mike nodding toward the skinny Woolfe, who was now stooping over a computer.

  “Or you can always ask me of course.” He smiled.

  Then Mike continued on his rounds.

  “Who’s this Woolfe bloke?” I quizzed Davidson.

  “Yobbo.” he replied. “As thick as a thick thing! He’s Mike’s number one which means he gets to make him coffee and do all his running around.”

  “Oh right!” I replied. “What you in here for Davidson?” I quizzed.

  “Fraud.” Was his dull reply.

  “Oh….” I was suddenly very interested.

  Fraud usually involved large amounts of money which always got my attention.

  “Tell me more.” I grilled.

  “I got caught fiddling the books, I’m an accountant. I was moving some large sums of money around and some auditor found quite a bit of it got moved into the wrong account.”

  “Your account by any chance?” I interrupted.

  “Yes…” he replied with a wry smile. “But it was only resting in my account for a few days, I was going to pay it back.”

  “Course you were.” I laughed.

  “I was, I was only going to leave it a few more days and then move it back to the correct account.”

  “So what were you after, the interest?”

  “That’s right,” he continued, “the rates were really high. I’d been doing it for a number of years. Another few days and I would have had enough to retire.

  It was then that I was aware of a shadow at my shoulder, it was Woolfe. I looked up at him, his looming skinny frame was stooping towards me. His gangly arms ended far too long down his body and ended at his clenched fists.

  “What you in for?” He muttered. It was then that I noticed he had an overbite as well.