by Tia Wilson
Lewis unloaded his clip in Cash's direction, a pile of bank slips exploded close by as buck shot ripped through them. Cash went down on one knee as a bullet ripped a chunk from his thigh. He fumbled his shot gun and it spun across the marble floor. Cash's mouth was open in a wide silent O as he reached for the gun tucked into his belt. The next three bullets hit him in the chest knocking him backwards in a spray of blood. One of Lewis's bullets went wide and hit a small child curled up against his already dead fathers body. The child was killed instantly by the bullet from Lewis's gun.
Panic ensued and the two other members of the gang fled and left Lewis standing in shock looking down at the body of the child he had killed. Lewis was in a stupor when the cops arrived and was knocked to the ground by a blow to the back of his head with the butt of a shotgun. His head spilt open and would later need twenty stitches. He got sentenced to death for the murder of the child and was now awaiting his day of execution.
Henry tapped on the bars and Lewis looked up at him. Today Lewis was getting transferred to another prison out of state and Henry would be travelling with him, as well as six other guards. Lewis was nervous about the move, his whole life had been the cell he was in and any change to his surroundings made him feel uneasy. “We head out in the next hour,” Henry said, “have you put all you personnel belongs into the bag?” Lewis nodded. “Ok then drop it in the hatch and I’ll make sure its in the van.” Lewis pulled the metal hatch open in the wall and dropped in the prison issued bag which held the few items he owned, a comb, some tattered postcards, and a yellowing pulp fiction novel with a gumshoe with his wide brimmed fedora on the front cover. The hatch clanged shut and Henry retrieved the bag. Lewis looked at Henry as he walked away, an uneasy feeling in his gut.
Once Lewis was loaded into the van a young guard who he didn't recognise unchained his cuffs from the broad leather belt around his waist and fed a chain from his wrists to a bolt in the floor. Lewis sat back on the thin metal bench and rubbed his wrists. He had been stooped over as he waddled across the yard in his heavy chains and it felt good to be able to sit up straight again. The chain attached to the floor gave him enough lee way that he could reach up and scratch his nose. If he stretched any further the cuffs bit painfully into his wrists. His legs were shackled to the ground and his range of motion was limited to a slight shuffle of his feet forward or back. Two guards sat in the front of the van, two on either side of Lewis and two across from him. He recognised none of the men and had never seen them on duty on death row. “Is Henry not coming?” he asked the man in front of him.
“The guard stared at him and said, “You don't need to worry about that.”
Lewis looked around at the other guards, something didn't seem right. He noticed that they weren't wearing standard prison uniforms. “Where’s my stuff?” he asked.
The guard sitting across from him slipped a can of pepper spray from a belt loop and a billy club from another loop. “Keep talking big guy and you get a face full of this,” he said aiming the pepper spray in Lewis's direction, “followed by a busted head,” he said swishing the club through the air.
Lewis bowed his head and concentrated on the textured metal floor. He had heard prison tales about guards taking dangerous prisoners to remote places, all totally off the book and then killing them. The same story had been told several times to him in different prisons over the years. He had always dismissed it as nothing more than a cautionary tale inmates told each other, another case of us versus them taken to its logical conclusion.
The van started up and Lewis kept his head down as they drove. A cold sweat drenched his body as he tried to work out his options. Man you have no options he thought to himself. The least I can do is go down swinging he promised himself.
The van drove on for another two hours and Lewis kept perfectly still on his bench, regressing into a place in his mind where panic and fear didn't exist as he tried to convince himself that the prison stories he had heard, were nothing but fanciful tales told by bored prisoners to try to spook others. The stench of manure filled the air and the van turned off the main road. Lewis looked up and through the thin slits that ran around the rim of the van he could make out the shape of trees as they drove. The road was pitted and bumpy and the van sped along it. Am I rushing towards my death Lewis wondered as he slowly flexed his muscles to keep them awake. If he saw a chance he was going to try to snap one of the guards necks. If this was the end he would rather be killed in a hail of bullets instead of being tortured and beaten to death by some sadists.
The vans tires made a hum as the road changed from bare earth to flat concrete. The van slowed to a stop and the guards sitting in front of Lewis got up and opened the back door. They waved in the direction of someone outside Lewis's field of view. The guard who had threatened him earlier got out of the van and was joined by the one opposite him and they stood in the open doorway. He pulled out a box and tapped out a cigarette and passed one to the other guard. A third man joined them, mid twenties with blonde hair that looked nearly white and slicked back tight across his skull. He wore dark fatigues and had a heavy rubber apron on and thick soled rubber boots. The blonde man took the offered lighter and lit his cigarette, he looked in at Lewis.
“He’s a big one,” said the blonde man inhaling deeply on the cigarette.
“Strong too,” said the first guard.
“He’ll do the job,” said the blonde man as he ground the butt of his smoke under his heal.
Lewis’s mind raced. What the hell was going on he thought to himself. What sick games were these twisted freaks going to get up to. “What the fuck is going on?” he said to the blonde man.
He got up into the truck and looked Lewis up and down and said, “We are going to put you to work.”
Lewis’s veins in his neck bulged as he strained against his chains, his eyes were rimmed red. He kicked his legs against his shackles in vain. The blonde man chuckled, a sound soft and feminine. “Don't struggle too hard,” he said approaching him, “we want you to save you strength.” Lewis didn't see the blonde man uncapping the syringe behind his back and as he saw something silver arcing through the air towards his neck his first thought was that he was going to be stabbed with a shiv to make it look like a prison fight. The needle dug into his neck and he felt a hot surge spread through his limbs. He flexed his arms against his chains and they barely moved, he looked up at the blonde man and it was like he was watching him through a waterfall. It was too much effort for him to raise his head and it slumped to his chest. The last thing that bubbled to the surface of his mind before the sedative took place was that they have given him the lethal injection, I’m finally free Lewis thought as everything turned black.
A bucket of cold water was thrown over Lewis and it pulled him out of a fragmented dream where black dogs chased him tearing chunks of flesh from his legs as he continued to run leaving bloody streaks behind him. He was in a cell even smaller than the one he had lived in for three years on death row. The floor was covered in straw, there was a hole in the corner of the room for waste and nothing else. He slowly sat up and rubbed his face and eyes. He felt like he had been on a bender for a week, his throat was parched and his head throbbed painfully. Standing at the bars of the cell was the blonde man holding a bucket and smiling.
“I’m Slattery. I’ll be taking care of you for the next few days. Good to see you are awake,” he said.
Lewis looked around the cell. Parts of the wall were covered in thick brown streaks, in one corner finger nails had gouged at the walls in several spots, above him a dim bulb flickered in a metal cage.
“Where am I?” Lewis said standing up and stretching. His muscles groaned and strained, but it felt good to be out of the shackles.
“Where you are is not important,” Slattery said.
Lewis leapt forward and jammed his hand through the bars to grab Slattery's neck. His hand swiped at air as Slattery smoothly pivoted away from Lewis’s grasping hand and then he brought a thi
ck wooden club down on Lewis’s wrist with a crack. Lewis stumbled backwards holding his arm against his body. Slattery had been a blur of movement and Lewis looked at him wide eyed as he nursed his broken wrist.
“If you promise not to try that again I’ll have a nurse come in to set it and pump you full of pain killers. If not I’ll have both your ankles snapped and your other wrist, all for the sake of symmetry. Which do you choose?” Slattery said.
Lewis narrowed his eyes and looked at Slattery. “I wont do it again,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Good. As I was saying, it’s not important where you are. The why you are here is what is of interest. We have been keeping an eye on you for some time. We believe you will make a good opponent for my master.”
“What is this? Some sort of underground fighting ring, are you boys playing at fight club? I’m not fighting anyone. I know my rights as a prisoner,” Lewis said.
“Those rights evaporated the second you stepped into the van. No one knows you are here. Who is really going to miss a convict months away from death row. The prison was happy to off load you to use as fodder,” Slattery said.
“Fuck you blondey. I ain’t fighting for no one,” Lewis said taking a step towards the bars.
Slattery looked at him, hands behind his back and with a crooked smile curling the corner of his mouth. “You are in no position to bargain. We own you now and if I say you will fight, you will. One other thing Lewis, if you continue to talk back to me I will have the doctor sever your vocal cords. You can still fight as a mute.” He stood perfectly still waiting for a reaction from Lewis.
Lewis felt a chill run down his spine at this latest threat. Slattery’s voice hadn't wavered in the slightest and Lewis knew he meant it completely. “I’ll keep my trap shut,” he said. His wrist was beginning to swell and beads of sweat ran down his face from the excruciating pain.
“I’ll send in the doctor. If you do anything to him that’s the end of any type of medical care. You are warned,” Slattery said leaving the corridor facing the cell. Lewis heard him walking away and then saying a few whispered words to someone. Two guards escorted the doctor to the cell and ordered Lewis to the back wall with his legs spread and arms above his head. Lewis complied his broken wrist throbbed when he lifted it over his head. The cell door opened behind him and the doctor entered closing the door behind him.
“You can turn around,” said the Doctor. He was a man in his late fifties with deeply tanned skin that made him look like a living and breathing piece of mahogany.
“I’m Doctor Clancy,” he said as Lewis held his wrist out to him. The doctor touched the skin around Lewis’s wrist and asked him where it hurt.
“Is it broken Doc,” Lewis asked.
“I think you have been lucky my good man. It’s severely bruised and you will have some swelling for a few days, but it’s not broken,” the doctor said.
“Where am I doc?” Lewis asked.
The doctor stopped rummaging in his leather bag and said, “I am not allowed to discuss that kind of thing with you. Here take these now.” and he handed two pink pills to Lewis. “For the pain and the swelling. A word of advice don’t waste your time trying to figure out where you are. Focus on staying strong for the fights. Thats all that matters for you now.”
The doctor dressed his arm and told Lewis to step back against the wall. Once he was outside of the cell he said, “I will provide more pain medication with every meal. Take them with while eating and rest as much as possible to aid recovery.”
The guards left with the doctor and Lewis paced his cell. He dry swallowed the two pink pills as he walked back and forth holding his bandaged arm against his broad chest. The metal door at the end of the corridor swung open and Lewis could hear footsteps approaching. A scent filled his cell that he hadn't smelled in years. Slattery stood in front of the cell holding a plastic tray. Steam rose from a thick steak, accompanied by fries and fresh vegetables. It had been years since Lewis had seen anything more than drab brown institutional food. He couldn't remember how long it was since he last saw a piece of food that was so green. His stomach grumbled and he licked his lips. He didn't dare to approach the bars. Is this some sort of mind game he thought, is this blonde weirdo going to dump the food onto the ground to teach me a lesson.
Slattery bent and slid the tray through the gap under the bars. He never took his eyes off of Lewis. “You've got to keep your strength up,” he said taking a step backwards and leaning against the wall.
Lewis approached the tray slowly not wanting to give Slattery any kind of satisfaction if he showed any kind of desperation. He sat on the floor cross legged and propped the tray across his thighs. Beside the plate was a bottle of soda with beads of frosty perspiration running down the side. They only served a weak fruit juice in the prison and most of the time it came to the cell lukewarm. Whatever this guy is up to Lewis thought he’s not going to win me over with food, the first chance I get I will rip his head from his shoulders.
Lewis opened the soda and gulped down half the bottle in one go. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced up at Slattery.
“Enjoy the meal. Your first fight is in three days. Do you have any food requests? We have an excellent chef on staff and he can prepare you whatever you would like,” Slattery said.
Lewis pictured all the meals he had been obsessing about for years in the joint. His favourite spicy chicken from the shack close to his house, the greasy glazed ribs he would wash down with a cold beer from a food truck that always parked across from the basketball courts, burgers from the dirty diner two blocks away from his mothers place. These were all meals that he had relived and dreamt about on a near daily basis while he chomped on thin cuts of grey meat covered in mushy breading and served with a watery brown “gravy” and vegetables that had been steamed until every ounce of nutrients were leeched out of them. He listed off the meals he wanted and Slattery took out a notepad and pen and jotted down his requests.
“I’ll have the chef draw up a meal plan for the next three days and you can look it over and see if its to your liking,” Slattery said.
“What about meals after the three days,” Lewis said chewing a chunk of the greatest steak he had ever tasted as juice ran down his chin.
“Lets not worry about that for now,” Slattery said with his usual crooked smile and he turned and left the corridor swinging the heavy metal door shut behind him.
I’d love to rip that fucking smile off your face Lewis thought as he shovelled fries into his mouth. When he was finished Lewis slid the tray back out under the bars. He stood in the far corner of the cell to get a better view of the outside world. The corridor in front of the cell went off to the right for twenty or so meters and ended at a brown metal door. Three other cells lined the corridor.
“Anyone else here,” Lewis asked. Nothing. “Hey any other unlucky fuckers here?”
He heard a rustle of cloth and then a dry laugh. “Hey chief, I saw them dragging you in unconscious a couple of hours ago. How’s the head?” asked the voice from a few cells away.
“It’s all good. They are feeding me some grade A food, whats up with that?” Lewis asked.
The other man coughed a deep rattling wheeze and said, “They like you to be strong for your fights. They give you only the best of the best. Nothing is too good for their sport.”
“How long you been here man?” asked Lewis.
“Three weeks or four maybe. I’m not sure really. You’re the first new inmate since I got here,” he said.
“What is this place?” Lewis asked, “I was on my way to be transferred to another prison and bam I’m brought to this freak show.”
“Same here. I was being moved from gen pop to a low security prison to finish off my last year of time. The last thing I remember is throwing my stuff into a bag. Then I wake up with a bump the size of an orange on the back of my head and I’m in this hell hole.”
“What is it,” Lewis said getting impatient,
“is it a government run work farm or something?”
“You heard the man Slattery. You’re here to fight. You win your fight then you get to live another day. I’ve had three fights so far. I don’t know how many more I can take,” he said trailing off.
“Is it the drug cartels, the mafia what the fuck is going on, are they betting on us for money?” Lewis said.
“Look man you ask too many questions. None of that stuff matters. You fight when they call on you,” he said.
“Whats your name?” Lewis asked.
“Phil,” he said.
“I’m Lewis, good to meet you Phil. Look who are we fighting? You won three already, are they setting us up with chumps?”
“I don't know, I don't know,” Phil said repeating it over and over again.
“Hey man snap out of it, pull it together, who do we fight?” Lewis shouted.
Phil never replied, he kept chanting and repeating the same line over and over again. Lewis had known guys like him in the joint. One day they seemed perfectly fine and then something snapped inside and they never came back from the void they fell into. A prisoner in the next cell on death row had one day started listing the months of the year again and again. Lewis knew the man was lost as he spilled into whatever personal hell his mind had created for him. I’ll never be like that Lewis had thought to himself. I’ve a strong mind and strong body and no guard or prison cell was going to strip him of that.
He paced back and forth across his cell, it took him three steps to cross it from side to side and five steps from back to front. Lewis counted his steps as he walked. At a thousand steps he would change his path from left to right and then alternate from back to front. The movement kept him focused and his mind turning. He rolled around a few ideas in his head about what the place could possibly be. He kept returning to the idea that he was caught up in some underground fighting and betting ring. It all seemed to make a twisted kind of logical sense. The ring needed a constant influx of fighters and where was a better place than a prison. The prison was a place with a selection of the most hardened men, both physically and mentally who society had discarded and no one would care if they went missing. That had to be it Lewis thought to himself, some drug lord had set up an underground fight tournament pitting inmates against each other. He spit onto the straw covered floor and cursed to himself. If he was right he was nothing but a disposable slab of meat who was going to get wheeled out to fight for a baying crowds amusement. This is not how it is going to end for me Lewis promised himself as he began to pace faster back and forth.