The Jump

by Cole, Martina

  The sheets were already staining with blood.

  Black Micky, the bouncer doorman, and Terry pulled the man off her. Holding his arms behind his back, they forced him to a kneeling position.

  ‘What’s your problem, mate! Fucking calm yourself down, will you?’ Terry’s voice was exasperated.

  The man was obviously as high as a kite and his voice, when he answered, had a slight German accent.

  ‘She was laughing at me. I could see her laughing at me.’

  Micky shook his head and smiled.

  ‘Course she was laughing, mate, that’s her job. You wouldn’t want her crying, would ya?’

  Terry tutted. Turning to Micky, he said, ‘Clear this cunt’s pockets. Take his traveller’s cheques and cash the lot. He can pay for this damage. Looks like he could stand a few quid. Then give him a slap.’

  Micky dragged the man along the corridor towards the back of the building. He was shouting now in German and English but no one was taking any notice.

  Terry tidied his hair with a large bony hand. ‘What a fucking nonsense he was! I tell you, Stephen, we get them all in here.’

  The girl was sitting on the bed, her right eye swollen to three times its normal size, blood seeping from wounds to her eyebrow and lip.

  ‘What about me!’ Her voice was very young-sounding and trembling with shock and fear.

  Terry looked at her as if he had forgotten about her, which he had.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, what do I do?’

  He checked her face over with a practised eye, careful not to touch the blood.

  ‘You’ll survive. Get yourself to the hospital. A couple of stitches will sort you out.’

  Walking with Stephen back to the office, he said, ‘I’ll get a chippy in. We’ll be back in business in two hours. What a fucking nutter, eh?’

  Ten minutes later Stephen pulled away from outside the club in his Mercedes.

  The girl was trying frantically to get a black cab, but her attire, the location and the copious amounts of blood guaranteed no one would stop for her.

  She was crying.

  The men on the Wing were all still high with excitement. Celled up after their lunch, some took a nap while others read; most just got stoned. When Mr Borga began to count, every cell went quiet, waiting for the balloon to go up.

  Mr Borga opened the small spyhole with his finger, looked inside and called out the cell number, then ‘present’. But only after he had seen for himself that the people in there were who they should be and were also definitely present.

  As he came to Benjamin Dawes’s cell the men heard him shout: ‘Cell nineteen, present.’

  Then his footsteps as he moved to cell twenty.

  Then they listened to the blakeys on the bottom of his shoes tapping once more across the floor as he retraced his steps and lifted Benjamin Dawes’s spyhole again.

  The balloon finally went up ten seconds later when Mr Borga said in a high, shocked, and disbelieving voice: ‘This cunt’s got a fucking three-piece suite in here!’

  The whole Wing erupted into laughter.

  They heard the door being opened and Benjamin’s voice bellowing, ‘I told you I had one earlier, that’s why I dinged out me bed.’

  Georgio and Chopper were crying with laughter as they heard the exchange, as were all the men on the Wing, screws included.

  Mr Borga’s voice, still full of disbelief, was heard shouting, ‘Don’t you dare try and tell me this was handed in on a visit, Dawes, or I’ll have you on a fucking charge! Where did you get it? Come on, I want to know.’

  Benjamin, walking out of his cell so all the men would be able to hear his words, said in a contrite voice: ‘Remember when we used to have the drama classes?’

  Mr Borga answered warily, ‘Yeah?’

  ‘And remember they were stopped because they found out that a lifer was trumping the drama teacher?’

  Even Mr Borga laughed now. ‘Yeah, I remember that, Benjamin.’

  ‘Well, all the props were locked in the stage room, weren’t they? This beautiful pink Dralon three-piece was just sitting there, doing nothing, and I thought to meself: I can’t have that! Not when it would fit in my cell, like.’

  Mr Borga roared with laughter. ‘I don’t fucking believe you lot! I’ve been in this nick for twenty years and you can still amaze me! That’s why Eric invited us in for tea and fucking artworks, ain’t it?’

  Benjamin nodded his head vigorously.

  ‘You should have seen us, Mr Borga, trying to get this lot onto the Wing without you hearing or seeing us. It was a right laugh! We had to get it past Eric’s peter and all! Carrying the settee on tiptoes, we were.’

  Mr Borga’s laugh was nearly hysterical now.

  ‘Can I keep it then?’

  Pulling out a great white handkerchief, Borga wiped his eyes and said loudly, ‘Course you can, Dawes. Anyone who can pull a stunt like that, right under my nose, deserves to keep whatever he got. Jesus H. Christ, this one will go down in the folklore. A fucking three-piece suite! This even beats the seven sacks of potatoes, this does!’

  All over the unit, joints were being rolled, beers were being cracked open, and laughter was the order of the day.

  The wardens knew that Benjamin and his three-piece were here to stay, and all were glad of the laughter it had provoked. On a Wing like this, you could be laughing one day, and stabbed the next. But it also reminded them of how devious the men could be. No one asked who had actually opened the door to the stage room.

  Harry was in a spin, and Bunty watched him with no small measure of satisfaction.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’

  She nodded. ‘As sure as I’ll ever be. She knows about the hotels all right. But Davey isn’t too trashed about it, so why should we be? In a way, her working in Georgio’s businesses can only be a good thing. Everyone can keep an eye on her then.’

  ‘What about Carol Jackson?’

  Bunty laughed now, a thin malicious sound. ‘She knows less than she thinks, and that’s a good thing. Got a touch of the puritan inside that foul-mouthed head of hers. Jesus, you should have seen the antics there today. She’d just crowned him with a bloody plant pot!’

  Harry didn’t bother to answer. Bunty in a bad mood was worse than any screaming harridan, but he wisely kept that opinion to himself.

  She studied her husband’s weak face and sighed. ‘You’re really worried, aren’t you?’

  It was a soft voice, unlike her usual tones, and Harry looked into his wife’s face and nodded.

  ‘I’m terrified. If any of this came out, any of it, I’d be finished. The land scandal alone would be enough to do it, without the rest.’

  Bunty, bent on self-preservation, went to her husband and kissed him gently on the lips.

  Looking into her hard face, Harry saw briefly the girl he had met all those years ago, with her phony accent that had taken him in, and her rogue of a father who had not.

  He had lifted himself from a council house, had worked to achieve a good life, a decent standard of living. And he had never done any of it legitimately, always sailing too close to the wind. For a few seconds he wondered why he’d bothered. They didn’t even have a child to leave it all to.

  Then Bunty smiled, and he knew why.

  Because this thin, vicious bitch of a woman had got under his skin when she was seventeen, and had been there ever since.

  Lewis admired Benjamin’s cell, and nodded with approval.

  ‘What you need now are some curtains. A nice biscuit colour would look good.’

  Donald Lewis was in his element; he was the acknowledged master of the colour scheme, followed a close second by Sadie. No one asked Eric, who though classed as artistic was considered a bit too macho for that kind of thing.

  Benjamin said sagely: ‘I’m going to sort something out, Mr Lewis. I want a nice rug now for the floor.’

  Georgio listened to the discussion with a growing sense of unrealit
y. Pushing himself away from the wall, he walked down to the kitchen and watched Sadie preparing goulash.

  ‘How’s it going, Sade?’

  Face pale and devoid of the usual make-up, she shrugged. ‘How do you think? Would you like Donald Lewis stuck up your arse?’

  Georgio closed his eyes in disgust. ‘What are you going to do?’

  Sadie shrugged again, and the sad inevitability of this young man’s fate angered Georgio.

  ‘What can I do? It’s Timmy I feel sorry for. He’s like a little lost kid. I know people took the piss out of us, but I care about Timmy. In my world, people like him are few and far between. He would listen to my dreams and my wants. Oh! I know he’s a big fat ignorant git, but he cared for me, Georgio, and to someone like me, that means a hell of a lot. He made me think that I could do the things I want to do. He was genuinely interested in me, Albert, known as Sadie. The man who ain’t a woman. The person underneath all that.’

  Georgio nodded.

  They were silent for a few seconds, while Sadie chopped onions and crushed garlic.

  ‘Timmy and me were an item. I knew that once he walked out of this nick I’d be gone from his mind, and I accepted that. But while we was together I had a bit of protection. You’d be surprised at the blokes who come on to me, you really would, Georgio. Some of the biggest queer-baiters in here have tried to get it on with me. Last year a known face raped me with two of his mates when I was on a work detail. A bastard screw set it up and watched the whole time. I never told Timmy but he guessed, bless him. The three ponces who done it wore condoms, can you believe that?’

  Sadie shook his head in bewilderment.

  ‘They hate queers, blame us for the spread of AIDs, but after a few years banged up they’re not averse to holding you down and raiding your arse. But they’re not arsehole bandits, oh, no!’ His voice was bitter.

  ‘No, they’re just having a laugh. Now it’s a strange thing, Georgio, but the Greeks revered pooftas. Did you know that? I think that most men, no matter how homo-phobic, will eventually turn to another geezer if women aren’t available to them. Any port in a storm, if you’ll excuse the pun. Those blokes who raped me did it because they thought it would be the macho way to get my arse. They couldn’t approach me nicely, like, and negotiate because that would have made them shirtlifters, see? And they’re not, are they? What they are, are macho men who raped a queerboy. It was just a laugh, see.’

  He paused, and wiped a finger across his eyes to stem his tears.

  ‘And they say I’m mixed up. One of the best arguments for conjugal visits is the amount of male rape that goes on in nicks.’

  Georgio was moved by the boy’s words. Before he could answer, Timmy slipped into the kitchen.

  ‘All right, Sade?’

  Sadie smiled at him. ‘Hello, Timmy love. I’ve done a bit extra for you. After I’ve served me and Lewis, you come in and get yours out of the oven, all right?’

  Timmy beamed with pleasure at the thought of his dinner.

  Watching them, Georgio sighed.

  ‘All right, Georgio? How you getting on with Chopper?’

  He held out his arms. ‘How do you think?’

  Timmy nodded. ‘That Lewis wants to watch himself. They all want to watch themselves.’

  Sadie stopped cutting carrots and said to Timmy in exasperation, ‘Please, Timmy. He’ll get fed up with me soon enough and then we can all get back to normal. Be patient.’

  Timmy shook his head, his heavy-jowled face shaking with the force of his emotions.

  ‘I mean it, Sade. I ain’t swallowing this, girl. He’s made me look a right fucking Herbert.’

  Sadie leant on the table and said gently, ‘You are a right fucking Herbert. But all that aside, just forget about it. No one thinks any the less of you. There’s not many men would fight over the likes of me in the first place, and none of the people in here would fight Lewis over me, you, or anything. Just let it go, Timmy.’

  Georgio picked up a piece of carrot and popped it into his mouth.

  ‘Sadie’s right, Timmy. No one thinks any the less of you. Look at me, Lewis has got me by the bollocks. Just go with the flow, mate, and wait till he gets fed up.’

  Timmy shook his head. ‘I know you mean well, but I have to sort this lot out for meself . . .’ Changing the subject abruptly, he said to Sadie, ‘What did you think of the three-piece suite scam! Cor, it didn’t half make me laugh!’

  Timmy’s face was open and smiling, and Sadie felt a rush of affection for the large-bellied man before him.

  ‘It was so funny. Especially when old Borga was doing the count. I nearly pissed meself.’

  Georgio grinned. ‘He’s a headbanger, that Dawsie. Me and Chopper were in hysterics.’

  The three men laughed but the atmosphere in the kitchen dropped to zero as they saw Donald Lewis standing in the doorway.

  ‘How’s my dinner coming on, Sadie?’

  She smiled pleasantly. ‘I’m well ahead of me schedule, Mr Lewis, and I’m cooking it in the pressure cooker, so it’ll be done in the next forty minutes.’

  Lewis looked at Timmy and Georgio and after a few seconds he said loudly, ‘Lovely little cook, my Sadie. Good with her hands - but then you already know that, Timmy, don’t you?’

  Timmy stood stock still, his face devoid of colour. When he didn’t answer, Lewis walked a few steps closer to him and said huskily, ‘Good with her mouth and all. Lovely tongue, eh, Timmy? I bet you miss that, don’t you?’

  Then, laughing gaily at Timmy’s dark countenance, he said to Georgio, ‘You should have a try out of Sadie, Brunos. I hear the Greeks like a bit of shirtlifting.’

  Georgio shook his head. ‘Not this Greek. And anyway, I’m English.’

  Lewis smiled, his flat grey eyes like pieces of concrete. ‘You’re not English. You’re second-generation Bubble and Irish. Two nations of scum. You’re not English, not by a long chalk.’

  Turning to Timmy he said, ‘Out! Now! And if I see you near Sadie again, I’ll make you wish you were dying of cancer.’

  Timmy hesitated for a fraction of a second and Lewis bellowed into his face: ‘You heard me. Get out!’

  Timmy rushed from the room.

  ‘Now then, Sadie, make me a nice cup of coffee and Georgio can bring it to my cell. They’re airing Carmen on the radio today. I do enjoy a tragic romance, don’t you?’

  Georgio watched Lewis’s calculated gestures of intimidation and marvelled once more at the power of the little man. Because even though Georgio had three stone on Lewis, he knew he would have to think twice about fronting him up.

  Lewis had mental strength on his side.

  He was mental enough to do anything.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chopper watched Lewis and Sadie with a snort of distaste. Homosexuals didn’t bother him as such, it was the queens like Sadie he couldn’t stand. The thought of men walking round acting like tarts went against his rather macho grain.

  ‘What’s the matter, Chopper? Don’t you like my little friend?’

  Chopper amazed everyone in the shower room with his answer. ‘Not really. He’s a prick.’

  Steam from the water was thinning in the cold air. Men of all shapes and sizes soaped themselves, washing off the stink of the prison.

  Lewis laughed, tweaking at Sadie’s long hair. ‘I don’t think he likes you, my little love. Maybe you ought to try and be a bit nicer to him.’

  Chopper moved under the jet, his face immersed in the water.

  Georgio stood with a towel over his shoulder, waiting to get under an empty shower, when he noticed Timmy walk in with a towel over his arm. He smiled a greeting, then saw what Timmy was holding, and leant back against the wall watching in anticipation. Lewis was under the shower, two of his minders beside him, Sadie standing dripping wet by his side.

  Chopper watched along with Georgio, aware that Lewis had not given Timmy or his feelings enough consideration. Timmy was of the old school of villain. Whateve
r he thought of Sadie, the fact that Lewis had taken her from under his nose, and in full view of the whole Wing, was eating at him like a cancer. Sadie was also displaying bruising around her buttocks and on the back of her legs. Lewis’s nastiness was well-known. Sadie for her part stood quietly, as she knew she was expected to.

  Lewis had just put shampoo on to his hair and was lathering it up, his hard, contained body, without an ounce of fat, glistening with the running lather, when Timmy slammed the hand covered by a towel into his back.

  Lewis’s eyes opened wide, his expression one of amazement. He put a hand on to his kidneys and brought it back covered in thick red blood. Before Timmy could repeat the action, Chopper was on him.

  Lewis stared at Timmy, dumbstruck.

  ‘You stupid, stupid cunt! I’ll kill you for this, you fat ponce.’

  His words were lost as he sank on to his knees, lather from his hair rushing into his eyes, the blood seeping from his torn back running into the drains along with the water, turning it pink.

  Maddened with anger, Timmy pushed Chopper off easily.

  ‘You won’t do nothing to me, Lewis, hear me? Nothing, mate. I’ve taken all I fucking well can from the lot of you.’ He held the home-made knife out menacingly. ‘Anyone else fancy their chances, eh? Come on then! Come on take me.’

  Two screws stood silently at the door of the shower room. Neither attempted to get help or raise the alarm. This was between Lewis, Timmy and Lewis’s henchmen. If Timmy was going to get his lights put out, then they had best let it happen at the same time as Lewis’s accident. Both men’s faces were straight, no trace of fear or favour. Let the best man win.

  Chopper stood back, watching the two men Lewis had assigned to look after him. Neither seemed as if they wanted any truck with Timmy, who looked demented.

  ‘Here, Sade. Get back to me cell and wait there for me.’

  Sadie shook her head in distress.

  ‘Oh Timmy, you bloody fool.’

  ‘Move it!’ His voice was loud and easily drowned out the hissing of the water from the shower heads.

  Sadie practically ran from the room.