Love Most Inconvenient 3

by D. J. Manly

  The warden raised an eyebrow. “Repeat?”

  “Diego Mendez. I want to be in his cell.”

  “Do you know Diego Mendez?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then why in the hell would you want to be in his cell?”

  “I just do.”

  The warden sighed. “You think he can protect you in here.”

  I was surprised he’d figured it out. I nodded, swallowing.

  “Mendez isn’t interested in protecting anyone, believe me. If I thought he would protect you, I’d transfer you in a heartbeat. I think you’d be asking for trouble. No one ever lasts in his cell.”

  “Meaning they die?” That scared me.

  “No, but they don’t stay. He’s not exactly the social type. Stick it out with Kimbo for the time being.”

  “Warden?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m terrified.” Tears ran down my cheeks and I quickly pushed them away. Three weeks ago all I’d had to stress about was an upcoming math test.

  “You’ll be okay, son. You’ll have to get tough, that’s all.”

  I nodded miserably. “Can I work in the mail room?”

  “Mail room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because Mendez is there?”

  “No, I…”

  The warden shook his head. “I caution you, Torres, Mendez is not to be messed with. I’d keep my distance. I’ll consider putting you there. Now, you need to finish your high school. We’re going to help you do that. I’ll set you up with the teacher who will give you what you need to take your exams.”

  I nodded.

  “Here’s the schedule,” the warden explained. “Up at six in the morning, shower, shave. Breakfast is at seven. At nine, there is cell count. In the cells, from ten o’clock to eleven; lunch is at eleven thirty. You will study at least four hours a day and do another four hours of work detail. Two hours recreation time after the dinner hour; you can play games, watch television, or lift weights. You are responsible for doing your own laundry. Lights out at eight o’clock.”

  The warden stood. “Kimbo will help you if you get confused. I will decide on your work detail and let you know tomorrow. Now, the guard will escort you to the cafeteria for supper.”

  “Thank you, Warden,” I said and left with the guard.

  Fifty-some-odd men in a dining hall made it a pretty noisy place. And just as they were congregated in the main room earlier, like sat with like. I spotted Kimbo sitting at the end of one table with two older men, and I scanned the place for Diego Mendez. Mendez was standing in the front of the line being served and when he walked away, my gaze followed him to see where he finally ended up.

  As I tried to keep track of his movement, someone bumped into me from behind and I in turn nudged the guy in front of me, a big biker with a multicolored scarf wrapped around his head.

  I turned around to see one of those ugly Nazis leering at me. “Hi sugar,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to take you out for a spin.”

  “Watch it, boy,” the guy in front threatened.

  “I’m … ah … sorry,” I said to the guy in front, trying to ignore the asshole in back.

  When his hands clutched my ass cheeks, I stiffened.

  “Nice,” he groaned. “You’re going to be my fuck hole.”

  “Leave me alone.” I yanked away from him, bumping the guy in front of me again, who suddenly turned around and grabbed me. I was sandwiched between the two of them getting groped every which way.

  “He’s mine,” the Nazi told the biker.

  “Oh no, he’s mine,” the biker growled.

  “Break it up, girls,” called a guard as he approached.

  I tried to keep cool, shaking inside as I stood quietly to receive my overcooked meat loaf and mashed potatoes. When I got my food, I quickly moved across the floor in the direction of Kimbo, keeping my head down. Then I realized that I was walking past the gang of Nazis. “Hey baby,” one of them said, “come to Daddy. You’re going to be my bitch.”

  My hands shook and I dropped the tray with a crash. There was loud applause and I stood there, terrified.

  “Bend over, beauty, and pick it up,” another one of the Nazis jeered. “Come on, beauty.”

  The guard was there now. “Pick it up, Torres,” he grunted.

  I got down on my knees and began to pick up the food.

  “Lick it baby, lick it,” one of the men coaxed, running his tongue around his lips.

  I picked up what I could and hurried to the kitchen with the tray. “Can I have a mop?” I asked a big African American guy.

  The man handed me a mop. “Watch yourself,” he said.

  I nodded and came back to the spot with the mop.

  As I did, the men in front of me at the table made rude gestures and blew kisses. I was practically in tears when suddenly I backed up and slammed into a hard body. It was like banging into a concrete wall. Suddenly the men at the table fell silent.

  I turned to look up into the face of Diego Mendez. He didn’t smile. In fact, he looked pissed off. And even with that pissed-off expression on his face, he was one hell of a good-looking son of a bitch.

  “I’m a … sorry.”

  “You are?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded frantically.

  Diego proceeded to ignore me. He glanced at the Nazis. “You weren’t just blowing kisses at me, were you, Jack?” Diego’s gaze zeroed in on one man.

  “Of course not,” the man replied, his smirk not quite as brave. “You’re not my type, Mendez.”

  “Glad to hear that.” He nodded, stepping around the wet spot on the floor.

  The Nazis fell quiet and I hurried to bring the mop back to the kitchen, then caught up with Diego Mendez before he left the dining area. “I want to thank you,” I said to his back.

  Diego turned around and looked at me. “You talking to me?”

  “Yes. I want to—”

  “I didn’t ask you to talk to me, did I?”

  “No, but I—”

  “Well then, bugger off, kid,” he muttered and left the room.

  Later in the cell, I told Kimbo, “He did that for me.”

  “You’re dreaming. Mendez does nothing for anyone but Mendez. He was just flexing his muscles. He hates Jack Duncan. He’s the unofficial leader of the Nazis, and when Mendez first came in here, Duncan challenged him. He swore he’d have Mendez on his knees sucking his cock.”

  “What happened?”

  “From what I heard, Duncan became Mendez’s slut in the supply room. He got it good. He was in the infirmary for a week. He never called him a pretty boy, or challenged Mendez again.”

  “He is a pretty boy,” I said. I’d looked in his eyes today, a deep brown, dangerous and sensual, with a square jaw and a surprisingly soft mouth. I’d noticed a very fine line running across one cheek, probably a war wound from the street but it didn’t detract from his beauty; somehow it served to enhance it, to define him as a masculine animal.

  “Don’t let him hear you say that. What did he say to you earlier?”

  “He told me to bugger off.”

  Kimbo nodded. “Sounds about right.”

  “He didn’t have to say anything.”

  “You’re dreaming, kid,” Kimbo repeated. “I’m going to watch a bit of the tube. Want to come?”

  “No,” I said, “go ahead.”

  What I wanted to do was walk out of this cell and go up the stairs to Mendez’s cell. Maybe I could make some kind of a deal with him, pay him. That was a joke; pay him to be my bodyguard. I had no money. But my brother’s gang did. I could get money if I had to.

  With a big breath of courage I walked out of my cell and glanced up at the stairway. I quietly took the steps two at a time, not sure where Mendez’s cell was, or if he was even in it.

  Some biker came up to me and offered me drugs. I shook my head. “Do you know where Mendez is?” I asked.

  “Mendez?” The biker seemed surprised. “What do you want with him
? He can’t give you anything I can’t.” He grabbed his crotch and wagged his tongue at me.

  Gross. “Where’s his cell?” I ignored the gestures.

  “Right there.” He pointed behind himself. “But he’s not there. He’s in the weight room.”

  “Weight room? Where’s that?”

  He leered at me, moving closer. “I’ll show you, sweetie.”

  “No, I’ll find him myself.” I pushed away from him and hightailed it back down the stairs. I hurried through the main room, past the shower and the laundry rooms, and spotted a sign at the end of the corridor that read Exercise Room/Gym.

  I opened the door to the gym and almost got hit by a basketball. The last person I wanted to see was that Duncan guy with two of his cronies. I craned my neck as I heard weights clanging together in the background. I needed to cross the gym floor to get to the weight room. I could see the back of a guard’s head, but he was standing just outside the opposite gym door.

  “Hey there, cutie pie,” Duncan said, grinning at me. He was ugly as sin and so were his two pals. The three of them surrounded me.

  I tried not to show any fear. “I’m here to see to Diego.”

  “Is that so?” Duncan chuckled, moving even closer. “You hear that, boys? He’s here to see Diego.” The other two started to laugh.

  “I belong to him. He’s my—I’m his—in here, you get it? He’s waiting for me now.” I looked over Duncan’s shoulder to see if the guard had entered the gym. He hadn’t.

  “I don’t think he’s marked you yet.” Duncan shook his head. “You’re a prize honey, my prize, and it will give me great pleasure to take you away from Mendez. We’ll see whose slut you are.” Duncan grabbed me by the back of the neck and propelled me forward. “Let’s take a little walk.”

  “Come on,” I pleaded, “Diego will kill you.”

  The three of them had me in their grip. I couldn’t do anything. The door to the gym swung open and I was moving without touching the ground.

  “Diego isn’t around now, is he?” one of the others grunted as they dragged me into the shower room.

  I intended to put up a fight. I wouldn’t make it easy for them. I took a punch to the face and another to the gut. It knocked the wind out of me and I went to my knees on the cold wet tiles.

  My pants were being stripped off and someone stuck my T-shirt into my mouth. I was fighting but it was a total waste of energy. This was going to happen. I tried not to feel the pain, tried to block out the humiliation and the brutality of it, and prepared myself for what it might feel like to be forced. But at the same time, I continued to resist, turning my body at various angles, making it hard for them to get me into position.

  Suddenly one of them hoisted me up and tipped me over the sink, bottom up. I looked for something, anything to strike out with. There was nothing for me to grab and then suddenly everything stopped. I was still being pressed down, my face in the sink, spitting blood from my split lip, but there was no movement from my attackers.

  The door to the shower room had opened and closed. Could it be a guard? I silently prayed for that but with my luck, it was probably another member of the Nazi party, hoping to join the fun.

  Then suddenly, Duncan said, “You have to put in your claim. You haven’t had his ass yet. It’s too soon.”

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I’ve come to take a shower.”

  The voice was deep and male. It was obviously Diego Mendez. “Help me,” I managed through the pain but a hand pressed my face farther into the sink and the words came out muffled.

  “This little boy is ours,” Duncan stated boldly.

  “Knock yourself out,” Diego told him. “I hope you’re all very happy together but I’m here to shower. I didn’t order any porn, so get the fuck out of here, Nazi, and take your receptacle with you.”

  Oh great. It didn’t look like Mendez was going to help me. Kimbo had been right about that bastard.

  “Go on!” Mendez raised his voice. “Get the fuck out of here before I throw you out.”

  The door opened. “What’s going on in here?” That was a guard.

  “Nothing,” Duncan said. Suddenly I was released.

  The three Nazis walked out of the shower room, and so did the guard.

  I raised my head, so racked with pain I saw stars. The shower was running and I wiped my mouth on my hand and turned my head to see Diego Mendez casually soaping himself under the spray.

  If I’d been in my right mind, and under any other circumstances, my tongue would have been hanging out. Diego Mendez had a gorgeous body. His skin was golden brown, and the curves and valleys of his body were the stuff wet dreams were made of. Not to mention his cock, which alone would have been every gay boy’s dream. But I was not in my right mind. I was in shock, coming damn near close to being gang-raped, and this bastard didn’t even have the class to ask me if I was all right.

  When Mendez turned off the water and reached for a towel, I was glaring at him. He paused in his endeavors and raised an eyebrow. “You want something?”

  “You had no intention of helping me, did you? You knew what they were going to do.”

  He wiped his face and threw the towel aside. He didn’t answer.

  “They’ll try again; if not those Nazi fucks, then some other bastard.”

  Mendez reached for a pair of blue nylon shorts and put them on.

  “Help me,” I pleaded.

  He looked up as he pulled the shorts on. “Help you do what exactly?”

  “Survive.”

  “In here,” he replied, walking to the door, “the big fish gobble up the guppies. You,” he glanced at me, “are a guppy.”

  Mendez turned to leave but I reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. He faced me again, his eyes intense. I removed my hand. He didn’t have to tell me. “I’ll pay you.”

  “Pay me?”

  “Yes, to protect me. You can have me. You can fuck me whenever you want. I’ll get myself transferred into your cell. I’d rather have you than Duncan.”

  He actually laughed. “Well, I consider that a huge compliment, but I’m not interested.”

  “I’m not a virgin.”

  He pursed his lips. “I don’t give a fuck. I said I’m not interested.”

  “I’ll pay you a lot of money,” I insisted.

  “No,” he said and opened the door.

  “I’m going to die in here.” Tears ran down my cheeks.

  He turned to look at me once more before he left the shower room. “If you don’t get some balls, you’re right on that one.”

  He was gone. I punched the wall with my fist and cursed his name. I knew he could protect me and I wasn’t going to give up.

  Kimbo tried to help me clean up my wounds and then we were called for bed count. I was relieved to be locked in my cell. Tomorrow I was going to call home and ask Alvaro to bring me some money on visiting day, and lots of it.

  The following morning I didn’t go to the showers. I was too damn scared. We had breakfast and I sat quietly with Kimbo. The guard came to get me and I saw the warden. I knew better than to say anything about where the cuts and bruises had come from. I said something about falling and the warden eyed me suspiciously. “Who did this to you?”

  “No one. I’m fine. I want to be transferred to Mendez’s cell.”

  “No. But I will put you in the mail room. You are to meet with your teacher today at nine, then report to the mail room this afternoon at one o’clock.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I stood up.

  “Torres, if you tell me who did this to you, they will be punished.”

  “Yeah,” I said, before I left the office, “and so will I.”

  The teacher was an older woman named Mrs. Crosby and she was very tough. It looked as if I was going to have a shitload of work.

  At lunch I steered clear of the Nazis, and ignored some sleazy biker’s remarks about using me to masturbate on. Mendez sat at the other end of the dining
hall by himself, looking at no one. I studied him occasionally while Kimbo talked about how he hated the way the prisoners who worked in the kitchen made mashed potatoes. “They are like slop,” he muttered. “Torres, you listening?”

  “Yeah, slop. What time is it?”

  “Twelve thirty.”

  “I got to make a phone call.” I got up and put my tray away, and hurried off to the pay phone. My brother answered, which was a good thing. I didn’t want to talk to my mother. “Alvaro,” I said. “It’s me.”

  “Yan, brother, are you okay? I’ve been worried.”

  “Yeah right, sure you have. Anyway, I need cash.”

  “Cash for what?”

  “You come up here Saturday to visit me and bring me five thousand dollars.”

  “I don’t have that kind of money. What you want it for?”

  “Listen.” I gripped the receiver. “You want to see me in a coffin? I need protection and it’s going to cost me.”

  “From who?”

  “Guys who want to make me their bitch, that’s who,” I snapped.

  “I’ll make a few calls,” he bragged, “make sure that—”

  “You can’t do jack shit. There’s only one guy in this block who these freaks are scared of and he doesn’t come cheap.”

  “Who? What guy?”

  “A guy named Diego Mendez.”

  “Diego Mendez? No shit!” Alvaro sounded excited.

  “You know him?”

  “Know him? He’s a hero, bro. He’s one of us, headed up the Matadors a few years back, the big leagues. Someone turned on him. That stoolie ended up at the bottom of the river, man.”

  “Listen to me. Get me that money. You owe me.”

  “How? That’s a lot of dough.”

  “Listen, I’m in this hole because of you so I don’t care how, just do it,” I said, and slammed down the phone.

  Chapter Two

  Diego Mendez was standing at the counter sorting mail when I walked in. He didn’t even look up. There were three others working there, two African Americans and an old guy I saw Kimbo talking to occasionally.

  “So,” I said, moving closer to Diego, “what do I do?”

  “About what?” he asked, not looking at me.

  “Here.”

  “Pick up a bag. You sort them. They all go to various cell blocks.”