“It doesn’t take that long to get out,” he said. “Unless you are incarcerated.”
Charlotte and Roach smiled at the joke they imagined he had told to every person who had ever visited.
“What would you like to know about the man you know as Raucous?” The governor asked.
“Everything you can tell us,” Roach said.
The Governor opened the single file on his desk. It was thick, probably running to 300 individual pages. There were photographs attached with paper clips. The file had been read often, the pages were worn from constant turning.
“I don’t usually allow this,” the Governor said.
“But you’ve been told to,” Said Roach. “And we thank you for your time.”
The Governor smiled without humor. He stopped turning pages in the file. Charlotte hated this basic need for respect. He had risen by whatever means to be Governor of an important prison. A position she imagined paid well. It takes a certain combination of skills to be successful in this environment. It takes a specific personality. The governor wanted his success and power to be acknowledged because why else would he be here if no one congratulated him at every turn. Charlotte knew the Governor believed that they should be jealous of his success. She had met many like him before. It was a childish need to be told they had led a productive life. Charlotte had no problem with playing to his ego. Roach, it seemed, wanted to cut through.
The Governor’s smile hadn’t held. His face resembled an expression of pain. He licked his left index finger and turned a page. Without looking down he started to speak.
“From the beginning? OK. He was incarcerated in 1998. Double homicide. A young boy and his girlfriend. They were eighteen as was Raucous. The killing of women is not a crime best appreciated inside. He was a target, but for reasons only my predecessor could explain, he was sent immediately into general population. The first night, he killed his cell-mate, which, while not negating the fact he killed a young woman, endeared himself to the general population.”
“The reason being?” Charlotte asked.
“His cell mate for the first hours of that night was a man named Charles “Charlie” Brookes. A rather large man, with bullying tendencies and a voracious sexual appetite.”
“Why was he bedded with that man?” Roach asked.
The Governor opened up his arms and turned his palms to the ceiling.
“I really couldn’t say,” he said.
“A punishment? A way of breaking him, maybe?” Charlotte asked.
The Governor placed his hands together like a super slow clap, and rested his hands on the table. He stared into Charlotte’s eyes with a show of contempt he obviously used with anyone he considered stupid enough to question his words.
“As I said, I really couldn’t say. I became governor in 2001, and so administration details before that time were not my responsibility. But beds are scarce. Prisoners go where there is a bed. Charlie Brookes was a man who everyone preferred to sleep alone.”
“What happened?” Roach asked.
The Governor moved his small brown eyes from staring at Charlotte and looked down at the page again.
“After lock up, the two prisoners appear to have had a difference of opinion on sleeping arrangements which escalated into a physical conflict. Much to everyone’s surprise, not least Charles himself, Raucous won that particular debate by inflicting several stab wounds.”
“Several?” Charlotte asked.
The Governor ran his finger down the page pretending to look for a number he already knew. He flipped a page and with the acting skills of drunk dad, tapped the page where the number was written. There was a photograph attached of a bloodied body, and the Governor made every effort for Charlotte and Roach to see.
“A hundred and seventeen, all be told, with a sharpened toothbrush.”
“The guards were unable to save him?” Roach asked.
The Governor sat back and produced his superior smug face, which, Charlotte thought, was the reason his double jowl and chin were so pronounced. He pushed his forehead forward and his jaw in and his neck disappeared into his face.
“The guards became aware of the death the next morning at roll-call.”
“A hundred and seventeen stab wounds in silence?” Roach asked.
“There is a lot of screaming at night in these places. Particularly on the first night of a new guest. An initiation ceremony of sorts. And I would conjuncture that screams were not uncommon from people who shared a cell with Charlie.”
“So no one checked,” Charlotte said.
The governor gave up smug and his lower jaw reappeared.
“Apparently not,” he said.
“Raucous didn’t shout for assistance?” Roach asked.
“Raucous went to sleep. An activity he was continuing with in the morning when his cell was opened.”
“You don’t appear to be reading any of this,” Charlotte said.
The governor’s face flushed red. He sucked on his upper dentures by rolling his tongue.
“I am very familiar with this file. It is my job to know my inmates, and Raucous was a man who I needed to know well. He was, to all intents and purposes, free to do and be who he wanted for the majority of his stay.”
“The majority?” Roach asked.
“For the first seven years, he was an uncontrollable nightmare. He was left alone mostly. Occasionally a man would try and take his unofficial title of the prison’s top man, but he was able to hold on to his hard earned place through being incredibly handy in combat situations. Seven years after his first night, he killed another man. The same situation, the same result. Only he got bored quicker this time, and inflicted only fifty-seven wounds.”
The Governor opened his hands again. He was looking for congratulations on doing such an impossible job well.
“Who was the victim?” Charlotte asked.
The Governor sighed. He wanted this over.
“An Irish man by the name of O’Conner. Jeffery O’Conner. He was billeted with Raucous, who had earned a single cell. Raucous didn’t like the arrangement it would seem, which was a shame for him, as he had very little time to do at that point. It were as if he wanted to stay on. It added six years minimum to his sentence and took away his good behaviour.”
“Served the same way?” Roach asked.
The governor blinked rapidly as if he had experienced a brief dizzy spell. He leaned forward trying to create a conspiratorial bond with his two guests.
“Well, this, for me, becomes the interesting part. Something I have always wanted to know more about. After serving out his solitary, he returned to general population and received his very first visit. A man named Jim Sharples came to see him. A man-”
“We know him,” Charlotte said.
“How well?” the governor asked.
“Better than most,” said Roach.
The governor cricked his neck to the left.
“Well, he was an enforcer for a man in the mid-level crime stakes in London. They spoke for the full Forty-Five minutes permissible. And from that moment, until Raucous was free to leave, Raucous stayed clean. As clean as any man who was seen as a prize is likely to be.”
“No more trouble?” Charlotte asked.
“Quite the opposite. A model prisoner in most respects. He started to play the game, co-operate in his way. Not fight against what would be called the system, which is essentially me. I wish I could take credit for the miraculous turnaround, but I can’t. I changed nothing, nor did anything that would have triggered the transformation.”
“How did he change?” Roach asked.
“He started to do everything we asked. He underwent tests and this time he actually put in effort. When he first arrived, and periodically thereafter, he was required to undergo psychological profiling. Initially he said everything you would expect a rather unintelligent psychopath to say.”
“But he was never moved to one of those units,” Charlotte said.
The
Governor smiled in shock, he seemed genuinely surprised anyone would contemplate such an action.
“Absolutely not. He was clearly being difficult. Kids stuff. Incompatible nonsense. If we had taken everything he told us and answered at face value, he would be diagnosed with every single serious mental disorder that has so far been named. Involved in these tests were IQ evaluations. His test scores were never consistent, but they all drifted within the category of moronic, seventy through eighty-five. The average in this country is 100, so he was sub-normal. Only he was clearly too intelligent to be scoring so low. After his epiphany, his scores become much more consistent. He averaged, with one or two point differentiation, 134, which defines him as borderline genius.”
“And these can be trusted?” Roach asked.
“As much as anything of that nature can. I believe Sharon Stone has an IQ on a par with Einstein, but I know which one I would prefer to be building an atomic bomb. But Raucous is in no way a moron. And he started to make good use of the library. An avid reader.”
“You have educational texts?” Charlotte asked.
“They are on offer. But Raucous slipped into Literature. The classics, the not so classics and the downright awful. He read them all.”
“Your opinion?”
The Governor sat back again in his chair. It creaked and he moved forward in panic. He recomposed himself and leaned far back. He made a pyramid by touching the fingertips of each hand together and he looked down, deep in thought, before looking up.
“On a strictly paper point of view, it looks like he came to his senses, figured life inside was a waste of his existence, and he started to do everything that would get him out early. He has a rubber stamped balanced personality. He has a rubber stamped IQ that puts him in the top one percent of intellect in the world. And he had a ten-year spell to end his incarceration in which any physical altercation was self-defense and defined by the most minimal of force. These cost him probably an extra year, combined with everyone’s disbelief that Raucous was able to change.”
“You don’t see that?” Roach asked.
“If I read, I see that. But the problem for me is that single visit. The catalyst was there. If I were a conspiracy theorist, I would have a wonderfully imaginative explanation for the motives of Jim Sharples visit. Because Raucous didn’t scare. I can go through point by point. If you would like. But in essence, Raucous was and is a very hard man. But he changed to get out. He followed everything he needed to do for six years to achieve his goal. And he got out. And I imagine whatever it is he wanted to get out for is something that will have the consequence of him coming back inside again.”
They paused. The governor smiled. He pressed the intercom on his desk. Within fifteen seconds his secretary opened his office door.
“Your time is up,” the Governor said, rising from his chair. He stretched out his right hand, Charlotte then Roach accepted his limp shake. “That’s all I have to give. If you want the file you need to apply officially. The majority is dull. Maybe you could find a hidden meaning somewhere, but I doubt it.”
Roach and Charlotte were thinking, they were paying no attention to the governor as they walked from the office.
“It is quicker leaving," the Governor said. “By on average, five minutes. But if it makes you feel any better, I have to go through the whole thing too. Twice a day, each day. I eat lunch in my office for obvious reasons.”
Neither Charlotte nor Roach turned. They thought of Raucous.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
"Do you like this place?" the Turk asked.
Jean was sat on a steel barstool. The Turk had taken a call, everyone had waited. The Turk finished.
“Heard it does good business,” Jean said.
“There are a lot of people looking for horrible. Pay a lot of money for it too.”
“Your three boys here help with difficult clients?”
“These tins started out that way and received promotion through demonstration of rather unique qualities. The flabby guy is a very old aacquaintance. Maybe you’ve met.”
“Once, briefly. I thought he was a plumber.”
Their attention turned to the swearing that entered the room through the double doors. Timothy brought in a young man, whose hands were bound. Jean watched with interest. The Turk spoke to Jean.
"This man has been a regular for a while. Likes to drink. Unfortunately he likes to touch the girls who work here and then not pay for the pleasure. He believes he is above repercussions because of who he is.”
“Well that’s just plain rude,” Jean said.
The small man, barely out of his teens, pulled hi arms free from Jim’s grasp.
“My father will be looking for me now," the bound man said. "He’ll come for you, you know that. You can’t touch me.”
Turk turned to Raucous. “If you could please have little Marty quiet down.”
Raucous stepped forward and raised his fist back until it was level with his right shoulder. He aimed down onto the back of the Marty’s head.
“Not silent, just quieter,” The Turk said.
Raucous dropped his fist, snaked his arm around the Marty’s neck and squeezed. Marty’s face went crimson, his eyes bulged and he started to kick his feet. His tied hands clawed at the shirt that covered Raucous’ large forearm. Marty reached the point before unconscious and the Turk raised his right palm.
“Enough,” the Turk said.
Raucous released his grip, stepped back and the guy choked and gasped for air as he fell to his knees.
“My father is going to burn this place down,” Marty choked.
Simon stepped forward and clipped Marty on the side of the head with an open-handed slap. Timothy put his index finger to his lips. Marty went quiet.
“Now, this boy believes his father to be some type of special man,” The Turk said, “A super-hero even. He comes in here and he causes problems and it annoys my girls and many of my favorite customers. What he lacks is intelligence, but also in this case knowledge. I and his father go back in business a long way. And I’ll admit I’m not a completely honest man. I have done my fair share of shall we say legally dubious activities. His father has joined me on a few of these and made a considerable sum. We’re not friends, nor are we enemies. But in all of my business dealings I like to be able to feel safe. What the young son here doesn’t grasp is that I am very safe from his father, who is a criminal of a different type, one without physical muscle only financial and influential. Those old Cambridge boys, eh, Marty.”
“So what to do?” Raucous asked.
“I can’t really have this young man go through his growing up years causing havoc amongst my girls, now can I? And his father is a man who I respect. But if I let him go without any retribution that would make me weak. Killing would just be too extreme, we’re not Miami coke dealers of the 80s here, are we. And would almost certainly end my lucrative connection with the great Mr. Deacon O.B.E.
“A scar?” Timothy said. “Something on the cheek to remind him every day?
“I don’t know,” Turk said. He turned to Jean. “What would you do?”
Jean paused, pretending to think. She already knew, but no need jumping straight in. She smiled and reached across to Marty. She stood and grabbed his throat. He opened his mouth to gasp then clenched his teeth tight, struggling to pull Jean’s hand away. Jean threw a short straight jab, and connected with his big shit-eater grin. His four incisors shattered leaving open roots and a mouth full of a hundred shards of enamel. His hands rushed up to his mouth but there was little blood. Jean had connected cleanly with his teeth and avoided all contact with his lips. Every breath he screamed in pain. And he spat on the floor.
“Something like that,” Jean said, releasing Marty. “A temporary, very painful scar. Money to be spent on a refit, that when done will make him seem OK. A painful memory, no real harm done, and Marty will be right as rain soon enough. But I’m open to other ideas.”
The Turk stood,
“In three days, Raucous will visit and explain your new work. Hang out, get to know the city."
CHAPTER THIRTY
The car pulled up like Mitch was a walking prostitute. The driver’s window on the black BMW X5 wound down as the car slowed to match Mitch’s pace. Mitch stopped and the woman braked and stared as if she knew him.
The car said this is the wife of a man who gave gifts but not time, but her face, or more her look, said she would never be that woman.
Mitch was lost in her look.
The right side of her face seemed stiffer than her left. Mitch stared and she stared back as if it were he who had to explain. The car was too big for her, she seemed tiny inside. Her right eye had a small different shape to the left one, but her eyes blazed hazel.
“Need a ride?” she asked.
Mitch smiled at the question. He was a popular man in the city.
“No thanks, I live just down here,” he said.
He pointed, but she never let her eyes leave his face.
“No you don’t,” she said. You don’t live anywhere. You’re staying up there with Sophie though.”
Mitch smiled and rubbed the back of his head. Too many people knew too much about him.
“A friend of Parker?” he asked.
It was her turn to smile. “Hardly. I’m not that way inclined. But I’d still like to give you that lift.”
“My mother always said never accept lifts from strangers.”
“You never met your mother.”
Mitch put his hands in his chino pockets. He frowned and snorted air. “And who are you?” he asked.
“Get in and I’ll tell you. You can’t be scared of someone as little as me.”
“I think I should be.”
“Maybe, but not for what I can do, more for what I can say.”
Mitch walked around the front of the car never taking his eyes from the woman. She watched him all the way until he was sat next to her in the leather interior.
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