by Adam Steel
Aarif glared down at Aya who was standing with her head down, looking at the floor. Aya wanted it to open up and swallow her alive.
The crowd cheered at Aarif and Mason Royale as they left the stage to join his entourage.
Jon Li had been watching Katcher who was looking decidedly pissed off. Katcher was heading towards them at speed. Katcher was in charge of the running of Fin-Sen, in conjunction with Mason Royale, or so he liked to think. In reality, it was Royale who ran Fin-Sen. Katcher liked to remind Jon Li that he was the boss whenever he got the chance. Secretly, Katcher wanted to fire Jon Li and get rid of any competition, but he needed Mason Royale’s permission, and he knew he would never get it. He would have to find other, more subtle ways, to get rid of Jon Li. Jon Li was not looking at Ellie when she spoke. He had his eye on Katcher who was ploughing through the crowds towards them.
‘Who is the woman with the gold mask. The one that walked in behind Aarif,’ Ellie said.
‘That is Aarif’s future wife,’ Jon Li replied.
He was preoccupied with Katcher, who was fast approaching them. He could see that he was not going to be able to avoid him. Katcher took Ellie’s hand and shook it so vigorously that it hurt. She looked at him shocked and didn’t know quite how to respond.
‘Mason Katcher,’ she managed, and added, ‘I’m so pleased to meet you. Jon Li has told me so much about you. This is truly an amazing ball.’
Jon Li had indeed told her a lot about him and none of it was nice.
‘Mason Katcher,’ Jon Li nodded.
‘Li…and who is this little beauty that you have been hiding away?,’ he said.
‘This is my partner, Dr Elinor Rushford,’ he replied.
Katcher ‘snapped’ his fingers at one of the waiters who had been eyeing him closely, waiting for his signal. The waiter smoothly weaved his way through the crowd and appeared in front of them.
‘Wine for them,’ he ordered.
The waiter glided off and returned seconds later with a silver tray, on which was balanced three, crystal glasses of dark red wine. The waiter offered the wine to Ellie. She took the cold glass in her hand. Katcher and Jon Li took a glass each.
Katcher looked over the top of his glass at Jon Li and said, ‘A toast to the success of Phoenix Palace.’
Jon Li agreed and took a sip from the glass. So you’re actually toasting yourself Katcher. Typical. ‘Exquisite,’ he commented.
‘It should be. It’s called, La vie-sang, specially made for this occasion. It cost four thousand credits a bottle. More than you earn in a week Elinor,’ he said loftily.
Ellie almost choked on the mouthful of wine that she was drinking. She didn’t know much French, but it sounded like ‘Life-blood.’
‘Jesus. How many bottles of the stuff did you order?’ Jon Li gulped. He looked shocked.
‘Enough. You know Royale. No use arguing with her. She wanted only the best and I made sure she got it,’ he snapped.
‘This whole thing – must have cost a fortune?’ Jon Li probed.
He was thinking about the question from the little blonde reporter on the steps earlier that evening.
‘Just over ten million credits,’ Katcher bragged and added, ‘for the building. The fixtures and fitting were extra.’
Ellie frowned.
‘Wow, makes my pad in Sector One look cheap,’ Jon Li quipped.
‘Your pad in Sector One is cheap,’ Katcher scoffed.
Jon Li did not look amused. He looked irritated.
‘Thirty thousand square feet of sheer luxury doesn’t come cheap. The return on investment will be double. We will have recouped in three years. Fin-Sen will do well out of it. Besides, thanks to me, we have Aarif here and he’s already planning his wedding which is going to be lavish affair, not to mention the business deals I have struck with him,’ Katcher declared.
Jon Li had stopped listening to Katcher going on about the bookings and how much Fin-Sen was going to profit from ‘his pet project’ and Aarif’s business interests. He was watching Royale flirting with Aarif.
‘Mason Royale looks happy,’ Jon Li said smugly, and pointed in the direction of Royale.
Aarif was flattering her and she was revelling in the attention.
Katcher fumed and his face went red.
‘Excuse me,’ Katcher said, abruptly. ‘Nice to meet you Elinor,’ he said, as he raced back across the dance floor towards Royale.
‘That was wicked,’ Ellie said, jokingly.
‘Got rid of him didn’t it,’ Jon Li said.
‘I can see why you don’t like working with him. What an arrogant slime-ball he is!’ Ellie said.
Jon Li burst into fits of laughter.
Outside in the Plaza the fireworks were going off and the whole of Diamond Square was rocking to Richie Red belting out his latest hit. Abigail stood in the crowd, watching the masons on the video screen. The dancing lights and laughter coming from the people out on the Plaza could not dispel the look in her eyes. It was one of a deep and resentful hatred.
Chapter 14: New Orders
C.U.R.E Prison North: Vigilance: Wastelands
Monday 9th July
An explosion of black smoke belched from the exhaust as the car pulled up to the huge chain-link gates which formed the outer entrance to Vigilance – CURE Prison North. Warden Clarke glared out from behind the dashboard as the two guards moved to open the gates. They recognised her car a mile away. It was a wreck: dented in several places: with scratched, peeling paintwork and they guessed that the warden treated her car with as much care as her prisoners.
‘Good morning warden,’ one of the guards said, as he slid his secure-card against the gate panel.
Get a move on, moron, thought Clarke, though she couldn’t be bothered to speak.
It was hot and the car had no air-con. Beads of sweat were already dripping off her forehead as her ample form sat crammed into the driver’s seat. The gate panel emitted a sequence of high pitched beeps, followed by a resounding ‘clunk’. The gate un-locked, and began to slide open; mating into the surrounding sections of fencing.
The guards stepped back into position as Clarke fought with the gear stick. The gears were sticking and she was over-revving the engine. It sounded like a strangled cat. The guards sniggered at the stream of mumbled curses emanating from the car window as Clarke struggled with the gears. Her oversized feet thumped on the pedals. She had both hands on the hand-brake; throttling it, straining as she heaved. As usual it was stuck and refused to move.
‘Work! fucking useless thing! – Work!’ she cursed.
One of the guards couldn’t help himself, ‘Do you think that’s what she’s like in bed?’ he whispered. The other guard stifled his laughter.
Clarke looked up and leaned out of the window.
‘What are you two looking at?’ she spat, while still holding onto the handbrake with both hands
One of the guards looked away. He tried to stifle the huge grin that was bursting to spread across his features.
He bit his tongue and said, ‘nothing ma’am.’
The other guard added, ‘nothing at all – but perhaps you need to invest in a better set of wheels?’
‘What the fuck would you know?’ she yelled, as the handbrake gave way causing the car to lurch forward with a spluttering bang.
It bounced through the gate. She grabbed the wheel just in time to stabilise the car.
‘What a bitch,’ the guard said.
They watched the car leaving a trail of dirty smoke as it lurched up the hill towards the prison complex.
‘Yeah’ the other agreed, ‘but at least she makes the job interesting.’
‘Do you think she’s pissed off, ‘cause no one asked her to the ball?’ the guard quipped.
‘Who in their right mind with ask that hose-monster?’ the other replied.
They both fell about laughing raucously at the idea of Clarke dancing around the Hall of Mirrors in an oversized tent of a ball gown.
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br /> Inside the perimeter of the chain-link fence, the prison complex came into view as Clarke’s car struggled up the hill. The prison itself was surrounded by a huge brick wall that stretched right around the inner compound. Barbed wire gleamed in the sun at the top of the thirty foot structure. Positioned along its length were watch towers, equipped with search lights and guards. Unlike the interior prison staff they were armed. At the front of the complex the wall abutted with a large modern building that comprised the administration block of the prison. It housed the staff rooms, governor’s office and the main reception entrance for staff and visitors. From the outside it looked like an office block, sporting polished glass windows and a welcoming exterior. On the inside of the building however, it was every bit as fortified as the intimidating wall that surrounded the compound. To the right of the administration building was the arrivals entrance for new prisoners. It was built into the wall. The entire area was fenced off awaiting the arrival of the next batch of inmates. Behind the administration building the oppressive structures of Alpha and Beta Wings rose up from the compound. They were constructed opposite to each other but each contained enough facilities to almost function as separate prisons.
Clarke pulled into the car park and screeched to a halt, stopping just before she ploughed into the designated parking sign, which read: “Reserved for Warden M. Clarke”. Too fucking right, too, she thought. Clarke heaved her enormous frame out of the car door. She left her car parked at a crazy, forty five degree angle, and marched up towards the reception.
Hendrickson watched as Clarke marched up the path towards him. He hated this part. Being a door guard was fine and he enjoyed it except that was, for the part where Clarke came to work every day. Rufus, (his Doberman guard dog) let out a small whine as he saw (or perhaps smelt) who was coming.
‘It’s okay boy. She’ll be gone in a minute.’
Hendrickson reassured his dog by ruffling him behind the ears.
‘Super-bitch is coming,’ he mumbled into his chest radio.
A quick burst of static came through.
‘Roger that Hendrickson, can’t wait,’ came from the young, female voice, on the radio.
Hendrickson straightened up as Clarke came up to him. He struggled not to react to the blast of body odour that hit his senses. Hot days (such as this day) made his daily encounter with Clarke worse than ever.
‘Mornin’ Ms Clarke,’ he managed.
‘That’s WARDEN Clarke to you – numb-nuts,’ she snapped back.
Hendrickson’s face sharpened with concern and Rufus let out a low threatening growl. The large grey shoe (that connected with Rufus’s lower jaw) transformed the growl into a surprised “yelp” of pain, as she kicked the dog in the chops.
‘Fuck off, dumb mutt,’ she growled.
Her snarl was enough to frighten any dog and Hendrickson was forced to pull back hard on the lead to stop the dog from reacting, and it was only his patient training that had prevented Rufus from jumping on her.
‘Keep that thing under control. That’s what you’re paid for,’ she snorted.
She stomped past through the double, reinforced glass doors of reception, which slid open before her.
‘Yes ma’am,’ Hendrickson responded, as he bent down to check the dogs jaw.
His heart went out to the dog, but a confrontation with Clarke wasn’t going to make his or Rufus’s life any easier.
‘Don’t worry boy, she’ll get hers, people like that always do,’ he said softly, as he comforted the dog.
Rufus’s tail wagged as though he liked the idea.
The two young women behind the reception desk wore their best fake smiles as Clarke strode in. They had been chattering about the fabulous Masquerade Ball. They were showing each other the latest pictures in the Daily Utopic when Clarke arrived at their desk.
‘Good morning warden,’ they spoke in unison, as they shoved the paper out of sight under the desk and logged her in on their computer system.
‘Nice day isn’t it?’ one of them added.
‘What’s nice about it?’ snarled Clarke.
So far, she already had at least ten reasons to be pissed off. Not that she needed any.
‘We’ve all had a communication from up top,’ piped up one of the receptionists.
‘It’s great news too!’ she said, looking pleased, as did the other girl next to her who was now painting her nails.
‘What’s that then? They’re going to fire all the dumbasses in here. – Starting with you!’ Clarke spat.
She got a brief sense of satisfaction as she wiped the smiles off the girl’s faces.
‘The communication is in your pigeon hole,’ one of the girls said, in a flat tone.
Clarke gave a nod and left the girls behind as she entered the staff quarters. Clarke’s early morning, ‘march-of-misery’ went straight through the staff changing rooms, up to the offices, where the pigeon holes resided. Clarke never got changed at work anymore. She was sick of the other girls sniggering behind her back at her figure. She had got a hint of her nicknames, ‘Hairy-Mary’ and ‘Scary-Mary’ and now she arrived already in uniform every day. Her trip to the changing rooms now involved picking up her stun baton, and making mental notes on the CURE Prison girl’s underwear. She had made up her mind that she was going to get the whore that had banged Marseilles if it was the last thing she did. Watching her get the sack would put a smile across Clarke’s face for a least a week.
Everyone seemed in a good mood that day and that pissed her off even more. They were all buzzing with the news of Phoenix Palace and the Masquerade Ball. A lot of them had been in Diamond Square celebrating on Saturday night. They had gone as a group. Clarke had not been invited to the party. Some of the girls had put posters of Richie Red, in the changing rooms. Clarke tore them down. She hated seeing people happy and she stamped it out as fast as she found it, as though it were a virus to be eliminated. Clarke noticed the copy of the Daily Utopic that was lying on the table next to the pigeon holes. On the front cover were pictures of the masons up on the stage at Phoenix Palace and other pictures of the crowds out in Diamond Square dancing and enjoying themselves.
‘Complete waste of money,’ she muttered angrily under her breath.
She chucked the paper in the bin. Load of crap. Taskin and his wife got an invite. Taskin even got a reward ‘for outstanding service.’ What about MY ‘outstanding service’ to this shithole? I do all the fucking work around here, she thought.
In her pigeon-hole was a large stack of papers sealed in silver packaging. On the front an imprint of the seal of the masons dominated the wrapping. She noted that there were identical packages in some of the other holes, although it looked like most had already been collected. She tore open the silver wrapping to reveal a large stack of papers that at first glance to be a job contract revision. A covering letter printed on thick, expensive paper was on the top. It was headed with the masons’ key insignia. She scanned the contents:
C.U.R.E PRISON NORTH reg. 384726
Dear Esteemed Colleagues
It is my great pleasure to share our pride and congratulations with you all across the C.U.R.E Prison system. We speak of the un-paralleled success of our justice system in which you have all worked so hard to make possible.
In only a few short years, we have achieved a rehabilitation rate of over 90% in Alpha detainees, with repeat offenders comprising only 6% of all subjects.
We are delighted to be able to share with you the fruits of your hard earned labour. We are offering you a global salary increase for all C.U.R.E Prison colleagues and staff stationed within our detention centres: effective immediately. Full details are enclosed in the new contract papers in this document (which you are required to sign and return).
We are excited, and proud, to introduce the future outline of C.U.R.E Prison in Utopia. Together we strive to build a better future and I am sure that you share our optimism and vision as we work to improve our rehabilitation programmes even further
.
Unfortunately, we accept rehabilitation is not possible in every case. Therefore we have outlined a series of new measures to insure that C.U.R.E Prison staff will be able to focus on the containment, rehabilitation and re-integration into Utopian society of our Alpha detainees, with maximum efficiency.
With immediate effect, all Beta class detainees will now be confined to their assigned blocks. They will be administered solely, by additional colleagues from the TALOS division, who will be joining your team shortly.
We know that you will be as excited about these new structural changes as we are, and we are confident that we can all work together to make the future brighter for everyone in Utopia.
Mason Marlene Henson
Clarke scrabbled to read the outline of the new directives. She found the summary on the next sheet of paper.
C.U.R.E PRISON DETENTION DIRECTIVES
All C.U.R.E prison employees stationed in detention centres to receive a remuneration of 4% of base salary.
All C.U.R.E prison employees stationed in Beta Wings of detention centres to be re-assigned to administration of rehabilitation programmes in Alpha Wings.
Alpha and Beta class detainees to maintain a separation protocol.
Beta class detainees will no longer be permitted to leave the Beta Wings without special authorisation from TALOS Beta overseers.
Management and containment of Beta class detainees will now be overseen by additional colleagues from TALOS division.
Beta Wings to be administered directly from TALOS departments.