by Smith, Bryan
Helga’s hands clamped tightly around Jessica’s throat. She bore down hard, exerting enough pressure to make her gag and desperately attempt to suck in air. The pressure increased until she couldn’t breathe at all. Jessica’s heart slammed heavily in her chest as Helga maintained the potentially deadly level of pressure a moment longer.
Then Helga relaxed her grip on her throat, allowing her to wheezily suck in air. The relief Jessica felt was huge. For the first time, it hit her how truly, utterly helpless she was. She didn’t like the feeling at all.
Ms. Wickman smiled. “Enjoy every second of this brief respite, Jessica. I regret to inform you that we’re just getting started.”
Her expression conveyed no regret whatsoever.
She wasn’t, however, lying when describing the respite as brief.
Helga’s hands again closed around Jessica’s throat and squeezed hard.
6.
Unlike a lot of women incarcerated at Prison 13, Alice Kincaid had done some time in a mainstream prison. Meaning, in her case, one operating within the legal system of the United States. She had served four and a half years of a ten-year sentence for armed robbery, earning an early release for good behavior. A willingness to suck the warden’s cock in exchange for a favorable parole board recommendation had helped, too.
When she got out, she did her best to walk the straight and narrow path. In her late twenties, she was then still young enough to make a good life for herself in the straight world. All she had to do was stay sober, find a good man with a good job, get pregnant, and not break the law. For a time, it looked like she would accomplish her goals. She stayed off the booze and pills, she found the right kind of man, and together they got to work on getting her pregnant. At no point did she commit any crimes. Looking back, the only thing she could think of that she’d done wrong was the cheating.
She hadn’t been able to help it. Greg made enough money that she didn’t have to work. This left her with a lot of free time on her hands, which had never been a good thing. She got bored and started banging random strangers when her man was at work. They were always people unconnected to her regular life. Young men she met while she was out shopping or whatever. None of them ever meant anything to her. She even made them use rubbers every time so that when Greg finally impregnated her, her baby would definitely be his kid. These other men were just there to scratch that itch she had, to fill her time.
Until the day she was snatched from the parking garage at a shopping center, she hadn’t believed she was doing anything wrong. Not long after waking up in Prison 13’s dank delousing center, she began to reevaluate this mindset and came to the conclusion her moral relativism was to blame for the radical change of scenery. At the outset of their relationship, Greg had made a big point about being a believer in strict monogamy. She hadn’t adhered to that standard and somehow he’d found out about it. He apparently had the contacts and pull to have those who displeased him dealt with in unpleasant ways and now here she was.
Pretty simple, really.
It made her mad a lot of the time, but, in truth, she still sometimes hoped Greg would have a change of heart and invite her back into his life. She recognized this, however, as stupid wishful thinking. This was why, after those first few shell-shocked months at Prison 13, she set about doing everything she could to make the most of a completely fucked-up situation.
She studied the long-term inmates, the ones who’d been here a decade or longer. She did this surreptitiously, taking care not to get caught watching anyone for too long. Too much of the wrong kind of attention made you a target. It was therefore a necessarily long process. She was interested not only in how these people conducted themselves, but in the little things they did that were different from what everybody else did.
Eventually, she zeroed in on a woman named Kathy Harris. Kathy was the living embodiment of the prison bull-dyke cliché, a big, fleshy woman with short, spiky hair and lots of piercings and tattoos. She was somewhere in her forties and word was she’d been at Prison 13 for fifteen years, reputedly for killing some important man. The wrong important man, it seemed, someone with shady, powerful friends. Hearing about this almost made Alice envious. Hell, at least the big bitch had perpetrated an identifiable, legit crime and knew exactly why she was here. That was more than could be said for a lot of the women at Prison 13.
Kathy had a habit of leaving the dining area earlier than everyone else at meal times. Every time she left, another inmate seated at a different table got up and followed Kathy out of the dining area. It was the same inmate every time, a younger woman named Becky O’Connell. Becky and Kathy did not associate on a social level. Not in any visible way, at least. They didn’t sit together for meals and they didn’t hang out together in the common area during free time. But they always departed the dining area one right after the other.
It couldn’t be coincidence.
One day at lunch time, Alice didn’t enter the dining area with everyone else. Just outside the entrance to the dining hall was a small recessed area. At the back of this little alcove was a set of swinging double doors that led to the kitchen. The doors were not locked. While she waited, Alice occasionally ducked behind them to avoid scrutiny from inmates and guards.
She spent much of that waiting period in the grip of a steadily deepening dread, certain that at any moment a kitchen worker would come into the supply room and catch her lurking there. No one spotted her, though, and soon she heard footsteps come walking down the hallway from the direction of the dining hall.
Once the footsteps moved past her, she poked her head out and saw Kathy Harris’s back. She was moving with surprising speed for a larger woman. Alice ducked back behind the double doors and resumed listening. Almost exactly a minute later, another set of footsteps passed by her hidey hole. Alice poked her head out again and saw Becky O’Connell. This time she watched until the smaller woman turned left in the direction of the laundry room instead of back toward the common area, which was the required post-meal destination for all inmates.
Knowing she had only moments to act—a larger scale exodus from the dining area would begin soon—Alice emerged from the alcove and hurried off in search of Kathy and Becky. After nearing the laundry room, she moved with as much stealth as she could manage, having heard the low, whispering voices from the adjacent hallway.
The laundry was outfitted with several large industrial washers. These machines were running as Alice edged into the room. The noise they made masked what was being said, which perhaps was the point. Anyone interested in eavesdropping on whispered conversations here would have to get very close.
Alice was able to slip between two of the big machines and creep to within several feet of where Kathy and Becky were talking to someone of the male persuasion. A guard, most likely. This was intriguing, to say the least. The impression intensified as Alice tuned in to what was being said. As she listened, sweat formed in her armpits and her heart began beating a lot faster.
This was it. Her moment. Her opportunity. It was perfect. And she meant to seize the motherfucker. She was shaking only a little as she slipped the shank from inside her uniform top and clasped it tightly in the sweaty palm of her right hand. She was proud of herself. She felt in control and ready to do what needed doing.
The flip side of this was that she’d somehow remained unaware of the operation being run by these bitches. Given its nature, it was something many inmates would know about. She could only assume she’d been kept in the dark because she’d been at Prison 13 less than a year and hadn’t yet been deemed worthy of trust.
Well, fuck that, Alice thought. I’m taking over now.
The male voice stopped talking and a lull in the conversation ensued as heavy footsteps moved away. Kathy and Becky stayed where they were and soon resumed talking. Alice peeked around the edge of the machine she’d been hiding behind. Their backs were turned to her. She took it as another sign that she was meant to do this. This
was serendipity. It was the universe aligning in her favor for once in her goddamn life. She let out a breath, slipped out from behind the washer, and rushed at the oblivious women with the shank raised high.
Kathy was the big one. She had to go first. Alice slammed the shank into the side of the woman’s neck, yanked it out, and slammed it in again. Becky gasped as the wounded woman gurgled, blood jetting from the holes in her neck. Alice gave Kathy a hard shove, driving her into Becky. Kathy dropped to her knees and tried grabbing on to Becky’s legs in a doomed effort to remain semi-upright. The blood continuing to jet from her wounds strongly indicated she wasn’t long for this world, but in her grasping desperation she’d effectively pinned Becky against the front of another washer.
Alice pounced.
She ripped the shank across Becky’s throat, opening a deep, wide gash in the flesh. Blood jumped from the wound. More of it poured out in a scarlet sheet down her chest. Both women were dead in another minute.
Alice seated herself on the wooden bench between rows of washers. As she knew he would—based on what she’d heard—the male guard returned a few minutes later. This time he had company, another guard. Both men were loaded down with black laundry bags. They dropped the bags and went for their side pieces upon glimpsing the carnage.
“Hold up, fellas. Let me state my case before you fill me full of holes. That okay with you?”
Alice was holding her hands up. The bloody shank was on the floor in front of her.
The guards stared at her with guns drawn for a long moment, saying nothing. They then exchanged a wary look. Another moment elapsed as a silent communication passed between them. The one who stood a little nearer Alice was the larger of the two, beefier and maybe a half foot taller than his colleague. He had a strong, square jaw and pale blue eyes that inspired a twinge of lust in Alice. This was the one who’d just been talking to the dead women, his now former business partners. The other guard had a slighter build and looked more rattled.
At last, the smaller one cleared his throat and lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Hear her out, I guess?”
Alice almost laughed at the way he said it like a question. He sounded like a bit of a pussy, not the most desirable attribute for a man in his position. On the other hand, maybe that was something she could exploit.
The bigger man nodded. “Speak your piece, bitch.” He smirked. “And it better be some pretty interesting shit. Otherwise you’re dead.”
Alice smiled. “I’d like to take over the inmate end of your contraband distribution network.” She directed a quick glance at the floor before again focusing on the big guard. “There seems to be a job opening. Or two.”
The big guard began to smile and Alice knew then she’d won him over with her audacity. “A change was needed, I guess. These dead cunts were obviously too sloppy. But how do I know you’re the right bitch for the job? It requires some finesse, you know. Some fucking subtlety and discretion.” He nodded at the corpses on the floor. “So far this bloody mess is all I know about you and it ain’t exactly subtle.”
Alice kept smiling. “There are layers to me you haven’t seen yet. I promise you I can do this. Just give a chance. If I ain’t up to it, get rid of me.” She shrugged. “Simple, right?”
The big guard lowered his weapon, returning it to the holster at his hip. “There’s no money in it for you, you know. Not real money, anyway.”
Alice figured as much. Real cash money had no value in an environment unconnected to the global economy. The prison operated on an internal system of accumulated credit earned for work done or favors performed. Payment was rendered in the form of printed bills that vaguely resembled US currency, only with swastikas in the center rather than images of dead presidents.
Staff at Prison 13 also utilized the internal currency system, which was why they sometimes entered into illicit arrangements with prisoners. Unlike the prisoners, they were able to convert the money into real money through Prison 13’s payroll department. The exchange rate was low, but it could add up to a nice bonus for sufficiently motivated employees.
Like these guys, apparently.
She shrugged. “Just block money, right?”
“That’s right.”
Alice nodded. “Good enough for me. But there must be other perks, right?” She indicated the dead women with a tilt of her chin. “Things that made it worthwhile to them.”
The big guard nodded, smiling again. “That’s right. In fact, those other perks are the real prize here as far as you’re concerned. If you can do the job, you’ll find that out soon enough.”
Alice unfolded her legs and got to her feet. She smiled, beginning to unbutton her top. “Oh, I can do the job. I have absolutely no fucking doubt. Now which one of you handsome assholes wants to fuck me first?”
7.
That was then and this was now. A few years had passed. By now Alice Kincaid was firmly entrenched in her position as black market boss at Prison 13. After getting through the learning curve stage, things had run smoothly. She had recruited a handful of very loyal and motivated underlings, with whom she generously shared the spoils of her position.
The guards who provided the contraband—Ted and Sam—shielded her from the perils of life as an inmate at Prison 13. All things considered, she had a pretty good life now. She’d still rather be back in the normal world, of course, but by the standards of the prison, she lived like a queen. She had a TV in her cell and lots of VHS tapes of pre-21st century movies. These things had previously belonged to Kathy Harris. The TV was the only inmate-owned electronic device on D-Block. Alice also had drugs, cigarettes, and booze. Good stuff, too, not that jailhouse hooch that twisted up your stomach and gave you the runs.
Alice was also allowed to wear regular clothes instead of the stupid regulation uniform. Same went for the women who worked for her. The guards—who couldn’t service her animal desires on a regular basis for lots of reasons, not the least of which was her sheer insatiability—supplied a rotation of D-Block’s prettiest girls for her nighttime companionship. To top it off, she was allowed to hang a sheet across the front of her cell for privacy, a privilege granted to no other inmate.
Yeah, it was a pretty sweet setup. So it’d probably been inevitable that one day someone would attempt to take it all away from her, just as she’d taken it away so ruthlessly from Kathy Harris and Becky O’Connell. Unfortunately for her would-be usurpers, she’d prepared for the possibility. The attempted coup had failed.
And now it was time for Alice to mete out some punishment. The woman kneeling at her feet was Candice Finch, one of three bitches who’d conspired against her. Candice was a curvaceous black woman with very large breasts. Her tits were, in fact, the largest breasts Alice had seen on a woman who wasn’t the size of a house. It was odd seeing such massive boobs on a relatively small chick. In a way, it was a shame Alice had to kill her. Such a waste of a hall of fame set of tits.
“This makes me sad, Candice,” Alice said, sighing as she hefted the machete in her right hand. “But a message has to be sent, I’m afraid.”
Candice sneered, staring defiantly up at her. “Go on and do what you’re gonna do, you pasty-faced cunt.”
Alice shook her head, making a tsk-tsk noise. “That’s no way to talk to your betters.”
“Fuck you.”
Alice glanced at the women standing behind Candice. “Drag the cunt over to that bench and bend her over it.”
Lucy Thorne and Shonda Danning were her most trusted underlings. They did a lot of the dirty work necessary to keep their contraband distribution network running smoothly. Alice mostly stayed out of that end of it, focusing instead on the executive side of things, which primarily entailed dealing with the guards.
What she was about to do now was a necessary one-time exception, a thing she had to handle personally. In a way, it was admirable how Candice didn’t struggle as she was dragged over to the bench. The woman knew there was no point. Sh
e was doomed and opting to go out with a bit of dignity. In her place, Alice doubted she would do the same. No, scratch that. She knew she’d be struggling and pleading until the end.
Fortunately, she wasn’t the one on the losing side of this equation and she fully intended to keep it that way. She hadn’t been talking shit for the sake of it to Candice. A message did need to be sent. She needed the denizens of D-Block to hear about exactly how fucked up things could get for anyone who dared cross Alice Kincaid.
They were in a maintenance supply room, which was located in a limited-access part of Prison 13. Inmates needed special passes for entry or, as in this case, a guard escort. It was a more secure and private place than the laundry had been. Alice had conducted business here without incident for more than three years until today.
Twisting the woman’s arms behind her back, Shonda and Lucy forced Candice to kneel over the bench in the center of the room. One of the other conspirators was already dead, another black woman whose name Alice didn’t know. The back of her head had been caved in with a cinderblock. The third conspirator, a middle-aged Hispanic woman, was still alive. And Alice meant to let her stay that way. For a while, at least. Long enough to spread the tale of what was about to happen here.
Alice chuckled as she took up a position above Candice, placing the edged side of the machete blade against the back of her neck.
“Any last words?”
“Yeah, bitch. Eat my asshole.”
Alice smiled. “Defiant until the end. I like it. Not that it’ll do you any good.”
She raised the machete high above her head and brought it down with all her strength. The first blow cut deep into Candice’s neck, but it wasn’t sufficient to remove the woman’s head from her shoulders. The blade had bitten into the spine, but not hard enough to cut all the way through it. Seeing this, Alice smiled. It was okay. This just prolonged the suffering, a good thing. She yanked the blade out, blood pumping from the wound as the dying woman squealed and squirmed. Now she didn’t sound so fucking mouthy.