by Mike Gomes
The door opened after a few moments and he ushered Falau into a small area. The door closed behind them. This foyer area led back the way they came to the hallway, but on the other side Falau could see into the cell block. The guard again pressed the button and waited without saying a word. The large steel door started to slide to the right, unveiling all of cellblock G.
“Your home,” mocked the guard, pushing Falau through the door into the block. The door slowly slid closed behind him and the loud click of the lock coursed through his body and mind. Now, more than any time before, he realized he was to be caged like an animal. He was in the domain of another man who would decide when and how he should do things. He was a prisoner in every sense of the word.
The cell block was cold and hard. Despite housing more than forty men it was spotless from top to bottom. The ceiling was high, about forty-feet, and the room was approximately fifty-yards across. The middle was wide open and scattered with plastic chairs and sofas that were bolted to the ground. Along the back wall was a large double door that led out to a caged-in recreation area with a basketball hoop.
The cells were set on two tiers. The first level was on the ground floor and steps led up to the second level in four places, two at the front and two at the back. The cell doors were solid steel with a small window for the prisoner to look out or another to look in. In the middle of the door was a large mail slot that locked from the outside, and was used to pass books or to unlock prisoners from handcuffs from outside the cell while they were still inside. All this was monitored by a guard station, from where in-block security took place.
The guard from the station stepped down from his post and walked over to Falau. He was a tall and slender man who carried none of the arrogance he was becoming accustomed to in the jail. When he spoke a southern accent filled the air, and he bore a quiet confidence about him, yet felt no need to show it.
“New guy, huh,” he said to Falau and the guard.
“He is your problem now. Orders are cell G238.”
“Well, okay. Sounds like you’re someone who’s on the radar of some big people.”
The guard that led Falau to the cell block went back the way he came, leaving Falau in his new home.
“I’m going to undo these cuffs. Be smart, or you will have to wear them forever. Now face against the wall.”
Falau did as instructed without saying a word. He could see that the guard was skilled at his job. He removed the cuffs without putting himself into a position to be attacked. He controlled the area without being aggressive or attacking. He was smooth and confident in his skills.
Turning around on the command of the guard Falau’s wrists were released in the same fashion, and now he stood face to face with a guard in the cell block that would hold him for who knew how long.
The men in the cells started to stir. Falau could hear them yelling and chanting at him. Over and over he heard men call, “Fish! Fish!” and “Ripe! Ripe!” Attempting to ignore it, Falau looked to the ground and then up at the guard who stared at him, standing motionless.
“I know you can hear that,” he said in a calm and measured voice. “Fish means you’re a new fish in the pond and they are getting ready to go fishing. See if they can break you. The ripe thing means you’re ripe for the picking. They want to pull you off the tree of life and have you for themselves. Basically, there is going to be a race to see who can make you their bitch first.”
Falau’s eye did not blink while listening to the man. He felt himself tensing up and realized he would need to fall back on all the training he had ever had to handle this situation.
The guard smiled at Falau before continuing. “Now, you can try to be a badass and fight everyone in here, but that’s a long shot. You could make a big splash and try to scare everyone off, but that’s also a long shot. Or, you could just be someone’s bitch and they will protect you from the others. Honestly, the only thing that gets any respect in here is the system of who owns who.”
Nodding his head indicating he understood, Falau still remained silent, but now with a hardened expression on his face.
“I need to take you to your cell to meet your new roommate. You’re not going to be happy. Sorry.”
The guard pointed Falau towards the closest set of steps that led up to the second floor. The two made their way to the far end of the room to the stairs. At the top of the steps they went to the center cell on that level. Of all the cells on the block, this cell would take the longest to reach if there was a need to help someone.
Falau looked through the opening of the door to see a man sleeping in a bed on the bottom bunk. He was motionless and seemed at peace. The cell was small, approximately ten-feet by ten-feet. It contained two beds stacked in bunk bed fashion, a desk, and a combination toilet with sink attached to the top.
“Mr. Falau, could you please step aside so I can introduce you to your new roommate.”
The guard grasped his communicator on his shoulder and called to the main security for the cell to be opened, and within moments the door started to slide open.
“What the fuck, it’s not even seven yet,” squawked the big man lying in the bed with a thick Mexican accent.
“Sorry, but you have a new roommate,” responded the guard in a polite voice. Wake up was only five more minutes, so all doors would be open soon anyway.
“Another fucking roommate! When will you people learn that I don’t like roommates!”
The man in the bed rolled onto his back and put his feet to the floor. With all the skill and agility of a cat he popped up and consumed the center of the small cell. His boots were still on his feet and looked to be military. He wore long pants that were prison issue. His bare chest was stacked with muscle that rippled with each movement he made. Standing six-foot, six-inches, tall he weighed in at 265 pounds. His hands were enormous and covered with scars. He was adorned with a large tattoo of a crucifix cross on his chest and a rosary on his back. Two scars dug in deep and hard to his face. Clearly, they had been untreated and left to heal on their own. Long, jet-black hair hung below his shoulders, the color matching the small beard on his chin that reached up to a thick mustache beneath a strong nose.
“Mr. Falau, this is Mr. Santos. He has lived in this cell for around ten years. He has not done well with cell mates, but I think you two might just hit it off.”
“Fuck him!” snapped Santos, pointing at Falau. “I don’t want any fucking gringo in here with me.”
“Mr. Santos, we have talked about this before. You got put in a prison in Massachusetts. All we have is gringos.”
Santos grunted and pulled his shoulders back, making an audible crack in an attempt to intimidate the newcomer.
“Now Mr. Santos, I need to let you know that Mr. Falau is not much of a conversationalist. In fact, I have not even heard him say one word yet. I think that he will be smart and not get in your way. Then he can just sleep in the cell at night and be out for the day. Is that okay with you?”
“No! But it sounds like I have no choice,” replied Santos, almost sounding reasonable “I will have my single room back soon. You can count on that!”
“No threats, Mr. Santos. We don’t need to be doing ten minute checks on you again, do we?”
“No. I couldn’t even take a shit without you all looking in on me last time you did that.”
“Then don’t kill people, and we won’t do it. You see, Mr. Falau, Mr. Santos came to us after killing three people in El Paso, Texas in the drug wars along the border. He is with us for life. Since being here for almost ten years, he has made it his sport to kill people, eleven in total since coming to us. If he were still in Texas they would have given him the chair by now.”
“But I am not in Texas. No death penalty here. I am in for life, so why not kill? What can you do to me? Nothing!”
“Well, I’m sure you two will get along just fine.”
“Another snitch. They always send me the snitches.”
“I didn’t say t
hat, Mr. Santos! And that’s not true.”
A loud buzzer rang out and the sound of all the cell doors sliding open filled the quiet.
Falau stood motionless, looking in at Santos who stared back without moving an inch.
Chapter 18
Santos stood in the middle of the cell, not giving Falau an inch of leeway. He hardened his body and dug himself in as the other inmates started to walk out of their cells to inspect what was going on. They knew not to get too close to Santos’ cell. He had a reputation for getting angry at the slightest thing and resorting to violence immediately.
Falau stared in at the big man, fixing his eyes on Santos and showing no weakness. It was a delicate situation. The wrong move here would lead to an impossible situation, and Falau was looking to keep things as smooth as possible and fly under the radar. Causing a disruption would be the worst thing that could happen and would land him in prison longer than he could imagine.
“So your name is Santos?” Falau said, trying to convey confidence in his voice.
Santos just grunted and gritted his teeth. His chest and arms tightened as he flexed his muscles. Intimidation came easy to the big man, and he had a look that would back most men off. But he wasn’t dealing with just any man.
“Santos, it’s not like you or I have a choice. I have to live in this cell with you.”
“Fuck you!”
Falau surveyed the man and looked for a weakness. He had scars all over but they all seemed to be from fights rather than a surgery. No weak bones that could be targeted once a fight started. One thing was clear... Santos wasn’t going to take the change in his living situation in his stride.
“Okay, big man, I’m coming in.”
Falau drew in a deep breath and readied himself for the fight of his life. Close-quarters combat with a physical wonder. After the recent heavy beating Falau had taken, this would be an all-out war for him.
Falau walked calmly and directly into the cell, going chest to chest with Santos, who still did not move an inch.
“Excuse me, Mr. Santos. May I get by you?”
Santos started to breathe hard through his nose and his chest heaved up and down. It was becoming more and more apparent he would rather use intimidation to get Falau to leave than physical violence. The big man slowly turned to the side and let Falau by.
Making his way to the back of the cell Falau kept himself face to face with his cellmate when he was edging past him. There was barely enough room for the two of them to pass each other with the beds so close. Moving to the back of the cell he turned on the faucets to the sink and washed his hands and face, waiting to see if Santos made a move.
The sound of rollers caught Falau’s ear. Turning back to the center of the room, he saw that Santos had closed the cell door about three-quarters of the way and had resumed his spot in the middle of the room, standing hard and strong.
Falau wiped his hands on his shirt and leaned back against the sink. “So, is this where you kill me?”
“No.”
“Then why close the door?”
“You now belong to me. You are my property. You will do whatever I tell you to do, or you will die.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a deal to me. Sounds like you get all the benefits, and I end up running around for you as an errand boy,” Falau said with confidence. He straightened up and took a step closer to Santos. “Maybe we can strike a better deal than that. How about we live nicely together and nobody dies?”
“Who do you think you are? You have been here twenty minutes and you think you can start to dictate what happens?” Santos reached his hand down under the bottom bunk, and came up holding a makeshift knife. The shank had been made from a sharpened spoon with a large wad of duct tape for a handle. He turned his wrist in a twisting motion, pointing it at Falau. He then jammed it hard into the desk, leaving it sticking straight up.
“Nice shank,” Falau said, knowing Santos was ready for the confrontation. This would be the moment were Falau would live or die, become independent or another man’s bitch.
“Time for you to prove you belong to me.” Santos raised his hand and brushed it across Falau’s cheek, running it over the corner of his mouth. “You will now get on your knees and show me how badly you want to live.”
“You want me to beg?” questioned Falau, knowing that that was not at all what the big Mexican man wanted.
“No, you are going to give me a blowjob. You are now my woman. On your knees!” Santos grabbed Falau by the shoulders and pushed him to the ground.
Falau did not put up much of a fight and dropped, with his face at waist height of the powerful man.
“If you do not make me happy, this shank will be stuck in your ear and I will twist it until your brains run out like liquid.”
Falau kneeled, motionless on the floor. He noticed that nobody was coming near the door. No inmates and no guards. This kind of thing must have been standard behavior for a new inmate to go through.
Santos left the shank stuck into the desk. He reached for the drawstring on his orange state issued pants, his thick, hardened hands fumbling to undo the knot.
Falau looked up at him with a blank expression on his face, and Santos returned the eye contact as his pants dropped to the ground, revealing all of himself to Falau.
“Tonight I will bend you over the desk. This is now your life,” said Santos, flashing a yellow nicotine stained smile, the scars on his face becoming more jagged. “Time to do your job and show me why I want to keep you around. If everything goes well I will have you branded as mine within a week. Now open your mouth.”
The Mexican pushed his hips forward into Falau’s face, getting close but not touching. Falau knew that Santos wanted him to come to him to commit the act. Falau would have to willingly give himself over to the big man. It was a simple yet ultimately controlling move that would gain him more power within the prison system. Other inmates would crack just by his reputation and intimidation. It had always worked before, so why should this time be any different?
Falau glanced back up to Santos who continued to look down at him. Opening his mouth Falau started to move closer, and Santos leaned his head back waiting to be pleasured.
Suddenly, and pulling with as much force as he could, Falau yanked hard on the pants that were still wrapped around Santos’ ankles. His feet flew out from beneath him and he fell, hitting down hard on his back and head onto the concrete floor. Falau was sure that with all of his injuries there was no way he could beat Santos in a standard fight, so he attacked in the dirtiest way he could.
If Santos wanted Falau touching his genitals, that was exactly what he would get. Falau pushed himself forward, lying on the pants that now pinned Santos’ legs down. With two hands he reached out and grabbed the Mexican by his testicles and squeezed as hard as he could.
Santos let out a roar of pain as Falau attempted to crush the man in his hands. He punched down on Falau but only hit the back of his head and breaking his index finger in the process. The big man felt as if he was starting to choke.
Grasping tighter still, Falau pulled with all he had to drag Santos closer to him. Each time the big man raised a hand to strike him Falau ducked his head and rolled his balls in his hands.
Feeling his testicles laying one on top of the other the newcomer squeezed his fist, creating a feeling like the crushing of a plum, breaking away the soft outer tissue and leaving just the hard stone behind.
Santos’ arms flayed in pain and he could muster no voice to scream. His eyes rolled back into his head. He reached out to Falau, looking down and seeing the new cellmate changing position so he looked like a rower in a boat, his full body facing Santos. His feet pressed into the killer’s thighs as he sat down, leaning forward with two hands still wrapped around the manhood of the mad Mexican.
“Now you’re going to open your mouth for me,” snapped Falau as he leaned back with force, digging his feet into Santos and pulling as hard as he could. As he leaned back he str
etched the man as far as he could, but then he felt his body drop a little further back, and then a little more. Santos was tearing.
Falau knew he could stop now and the point would be made. But he felt something overcoming him. It was not anger or hate. He didn’t know quite what it was, but he somehow knew he was not going to stop. This feeling had overcome him before, in rare situations where his primal instincts took control and he found himself engaged in things that he would never normally do. At times like this he was sure he was losing himself to something bigger, more powerful than him. And yet regret never followed his possessed actions, and that’s what scared him the most.
Falau gave another mighty rip, and he flopped back hard against the floor, holding the scrotum and testicles of the man he’d just met minutes before.
Santos laid back on the floor, passed out from the extreme pain and shock, his mouth gaping open.
Falau tossed the contents of his hands into the sink and grabbed the shank from the table. Not hesitating a moment, he started to use the shank to cut away at the man’s penis. Falau knew this was extreme, but he needed to send a message to everyone in the cell block that he was off limits. Besides, this was kill or be killed. If Santos were to live through this he should count himself lucky. It was clear he would have killed Falau if he had made up his mind to do so.
Tossing the penis into the sink next to its long-time partners, Falau pulled the big Mexican up into a sitting position, blood flowing from his crotch at a steady pace.
“This is crazy,” Falau said, then taking the penis, testicles and scrotum from the sink and stuffing them into Santos’ own mouth.
Falau looked himself over and saw no blood on his clothing. He had positioned himself carefully to avoid that. He took his time to wash his hands and wipe down anything with his prints on it.
Calmly, he stepped over Santos’ body and opened the cell door and walked out. Calmly walking along the platform of the second floor he could feel all eyes on him. He went down the stairs and sat down at the TV with several other inmates, who were all staring at him without saying a word. He made no eye contact with anyone.