Imprisoned: A Jason King Thriller (Jason King Series Book 2)

by Matt Rogers

‘You won’t do that. It’s the rules.’

  ‘What if I say fuck the rules?’

  ‘Then the guards will slowly torture you to death. You don’t want that.’

  ‘Any luck on my trial?’

  Rico looked away. ‘Didn’t they tell you at the station? You’ve already had it.’

  ‘So I’m in here forever?’

  ‘You’re a murderer. Of course you’re in here forever.’

  ‘I deserve better than this.’

  ‘You deserve what we say you deserve. Now, I see you’re in a bit of a tricky situation at the moment. I’d guess that you’ve pissed off Tevin and his friends. Am I correct?’

  ‘I did a little more than piss them off.’

  ‘Ah. So you’re fucked.’

  ‘I’ll kill them if they try anything.’

  Rico paused. Surveyed the yard. ‘Come to the gate.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Those questions I mentioned before,’ he said. ‘It’s about time I asked you them.’

  CHAPTER 13

  Rico took the Zamorana away from King and shoved it into his own waistband. Then he cuffed him and led him out of the pavilion, much to the dismay of the other inmates. They barked insults in Spanish, hurling abuse at the gringo prisoner who seemed to be allowed special privileges. King didn’t look back at them. He stared straight ahead and let Rico lead him towards the fortress surrounding the prison.

  He was unnerved by what questions Rico could have in mind.

  The guard took him through dilapidated hallways until they came to a heavy steel door. He unlocked it and gestured for King to follow him in. It was set up like a conference room, with a large wooden table in the centre surrounded by rickety chairs. There were no windows. The air was stifling. An uncomfortable atmosphere permeated the place. As they entered, Rico signalled to a pair of prison guards at the other end of the corridor. They drew their weapons and approached the door, keeping watch on the other side. Rico slammed the door closed.

  ‘What is this?’ King said.

  ‘We need to talk,’ Rico said, sitting in one of the chairs. He beckoned to the opposite side of the table. King sat.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Do you want to get out of here?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Then I need answers.’

  King hesitated. ‘Are you saying you’re a factor in me being locked up in here?’

  ‘I’m not saying anything. But you need to say a lot if you ever want to see outside these walls again. If not, I’ll just leave you to rot.’

  ‘You’re a prison guard.’

  ‘Am I?’

  Silence.

  ‘The three men you beat half to death yesterday,’ Rico said. ‘I need to know exactly who put you up to that task.’

  King froze.

  The only way he could know about that was if…

  Rico leant forward, resting both elbows on the table, studying King like he was a science experiment. The two stared at each other across the room. Tension ran thick in the air. King saw the man in a new light.

  ‘Do you really work for the prison?’ he said.

  Rico smiled. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. None of your concern. Now, those men…’

  ‘I’ve never seen them before in my life.’

  ‘I’m not saying you had. Who put you up to it?’

  ‘No-one.’

  A flicker of rage flashed in Rico’s eyes, as if he thought he was being played with. ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘I was minding my own business and they provoked me,’ King said. ‘So I fought back. I do that.’

  ‘I don’t believe a word of it. Especially given the timing.’

  ‘The timing?’

  ‘You know what you did.’

  ‘I’m not sure how many times I have to tell you I have no idea who they are, no idea who you are, and no idea what party I crashed. But if you’re really the one responsible for me being in here, then I suggest you let me the fuck out.’

  Rico cocked his head. Like King had just asked to be made President of the United States. Like he was offended by such stupidity. ‘And why would I do that?’

  ‘Because this whole thing is a giant misunderstanding.’

  Rico leant even further in. ‘I have you right where I want you. I’ll keep you in here until you give me answers or the other prisoners drive you insane. Or kill you. I know someone put you up to this, but I’m trying to piece together which faction it was.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  Rico shook a finger in his face. ‘You don’t get to ask questions.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘You have two options,’ Rico said. ‘You tell me what you know, or I throw you back in there and Tevin’s boys tear you apart.’

  ‘I don’t know anything,’ King said. ‘So I guess that leaves you with only one option.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  The man let out a rapid burst of Spanish, loud enough to be heard out in the hallway. On cue the door swung open and the pair of prison guards entered. Both were well-built, each around two-hundred pounds of solid muscle. They lifted King off his seat and marched him back the way he had come, giving him time to think about what had transpired.

  Rico had thrown him in here. Which meant the three goons he’d beat down in the alley had worked for him. So he wasn’t a guard. He’d paid his way into El Infierno to monitor King in an attempt to get answers that he didn’t have. He thought King was some kind of hitman, put up to the task of disabling the three men. But why?

  What had he accidentally disrupted that warranted such an extreme reaction?

  He didn’t get to spend any more time with his thoughts. The guards hurried him towards the pavilion under the warmth of the morning sun. Once again, the nearby prisoners stared at him with rabid curiosity. The activity of the newcomer intrigued them. Word had likely spread regarding what had happened to Tevin and his men. He would either be a target, or a hero.

  He quickly found out which.

  The hostility was tangible as they thrust him back into the cage. Many of the same weapons King had seen when he’d first arrived were back in the hands of the inmates. He was an outsider again. An intruder. Tevin had turned most of the pavilion’s population against him while he was gone.

  He turned to speak to the guards, but they were in the process of leaving. The gate had been bolted shut behind him. He was trapped.

  He sighed and faced the rapidly forming crowd, outfitted with knives and guns and all kinds of weaponry supplied by either the guards or Tevin’s goons.

  He prepared for the last conflict he would likely ever have.

  CHAPTER 14

  It was a sickening feeling. The realisation that nothing he could do would have an effect on the resulting conflict. If they wanted to, they could light him up with bullets or stab him over and over again until he was dead. He would never be able to fight them all at once. His heart rate quickened and his pores opened up once again. Sweat trickled down his forehead. He gulped back the thick humid air.

  He saw no sign of Tevin. The old bastard would be cowering in his room, relying on younger and stronger men to do his dirty work.

  There might have been a hefty reward promised for the man who brought King’s head to Tevin. He sensed it in the expressions of the thugs. An air of opportunity hung over them all. They stared at King like he were a prized possession, some grinning from ear to ear.

  Then everything changed.

  It began with a blaring klaxon, sounding far in the distance behind King. Instantly the attention shifted away from him. The prisoners who had lived in El Infierno long enough to know what that meant looked away, staring wide-eyed through the steel mesh. Suddenly fearful.

  King had no idea what was about to occur.

  But it couldn’t be good.

  ‘Raqueta!’ one of the men screamed, breaking the tense quiet.

  Pandemonium erupted in the pavilion. Men scrambled for their measly possessions, gathering up small packs
of food and water, shoving their weapons away in an attempt to hide them. King waited by the entrance. He made sure to control his breathing. Panic raged all around him, but he would not let it consume him.

  Not until he had reason to worry.

  That came next. He heard hurried footsteps outside the pavilion. He turned and saw dozens of men in military-style uniforms hurrying towards the building. They spread out, a cluster entering through each separate gate amidst a cacophony of shouting and screaming.

  ‘Get the fuck away from there!’ a voice hissed, speaking English well enough.

  King spun back and saw a pair of inmates standing nearby. Both unarmed. No threat. They had to be brothers. Both were reasonably tall, above six foot but still shorter than King. They took care of themselves, evident in their round shoulders and barrel chests. Their facial features bore the most resemblance, sporting striking blue eyes and curly hair. In fact, it was difficult to tell them apart.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he said, struggling to make sense of the commotion.

  ‘Raqueta,’ the man on the left said. ‘It’s the Guardia Nacional! Run!’

  Guardia Nacional.

  The Venezuelan National Guard. Whatever a raqueta was, King didn’t expect it to be pleasant.

  The twins did not elaborate. Just as confused as when he’d first heard the shrieking wail of the siren, King noticed two guards heading straight for him. These men didn’t seem like ordinary prison staff. They wore khaki uniforms and brandished batons and shotguns. King’s heart leapt in his chest as one of them raised a heavy-duty shotgun and fired a round into his legs.

  If the gun had been loaded with actual slugs, both of his lower limbs would have been severed in a grotesque spray of gore. He’d seen it happen before. Not a pretty sight. He would have spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

  But that didn’t happen, because the gun was packed with anti-riot pellets. They tore into the skin of his calves, causing massive neurological pain, making him wince and buckle at the knees. Yet no significant damage was done.

  In fact, it just made King furious.

  Unable to help himself, reacting the only way he knew how, he burst up off the muddy floor and ripped the shotgun out of the man’s hands. It came loose effortlessly. The guy hadn’t been expecting any form of retaliation. King imagined that rarely occurred against the Guardia Nacional. He didn’t care. He spun the weapon around and swung it like a baseball bat at the man who had shot him. The butt cracked against his temple, halting his momentum, sending him sprawling off his feet.

  A cry of outrage sounded from all officials in the vicinity.

  ‘Shit,’ King whispered under his breath.

  They swarmed on him like a pack of rabid dogs. He briefly considered taking down as many as he could, but decided against it. It would do nothing but cause more trouble, which was the last thing he wanted. He’d been foolish to fight back against the first guard.

  He took a deep breath and braced for what was coming.

  Baton blows rained down from all sides, accompanied by vicious swathes of agony. A crazed mob surrounded him, all National Guard, all furious. A well-placed shot slammed home against his ribcage. The pain buckled his knees and he dropped. He hit the mud and curled into the foetal position in a desperate attempt to protect his face and groin from any direct strikes.

  The barrage took a full minute to cease, and when it did King spat out a mouthful of blood and gasped in shock. The rate at which the situation escalated had taken him by surprise. He felt the throbbing and searing and aching all over. It was impossible to pinpoint to a single area. He’d been badly beaten. It would take a moment to assess the damage.

  His limbs responded normally. As they dragged him into a sitting position and cuffed his hands behind his back, he found himself somewhat certain that nothing was broken. The injuries appeared to be superficial. They hurt like all hell, but he’d suffered similar harm too many times to count. An ordinary civilian would feel like they were dying, but he knew how to isolate the screaming nerve endings and control the agony, shutting down the emotional response. As long as no significant internal damage had been done, he could manage. Bruises and cuts and jarred limbs would heal.

  He stayed on the ground as one of the guards rested a knee on his shoulder in an attempt to keep him in place. If King wanted to, he could explode up and break the guy’s nose with a single kick. But he stopped himself from doing so. Now was not the time for anarchy.

  He rode out the pain of the beating, watching the chaos unfold within the pavilion. Inmates ran from the guards like their life depended on it. Batons sliced through the air and the racket of anti-riot rounds tore through the enclosed space. Tough-looking thugs dropped without resistance, cowering from the random beatings. There seemed to be no purpose to the altercations. Just high-ranking soldiers happy to let out all their anger and frustrations on the scum of the Vargas state prison population.

  ‘American fuck!’ the guard closest to King said.

  He spat a thick gob of saliva onto King’s tattered jeans, staring down at him with disgust. King peered back up at the man with the same venom in his eyes. He felt his left cheek starting to swell. It had been caught by a baton at some point during the beatdown. A vicious headache flared to life behind his eyeballs, pounding into his skull.

  The twins he’d seen before the violence broke out slammed their butts into the mud near King. They also had their hands cuffed. Another guard pushed a grimy hand into the closest twin’s face, making sure he stayed down.

  ‘What the hell was all that?’ King said.

  ‘The Guardia Nacional search the pavilion every now and then,’ the same one that had spoke earlier said. ‘We call them raquetas. Some of the guards like to be violent beforehand. Let out a little steam.’

  ‘I can see that. They confiscate all weapons in the pavilion?’

  ‘The ones they can find. Then the prison guards just sell them right back to us. Along with drugs, knives … whatever we can afford.’

  ‘Seems unnecessary.’

  ‘I think it’s all just an excuse to beat the shit out of us.’

  ‘I can believe that.’

  ‘I’m Raul,’ the man said. ‘This is my brother, Luis. He does not speak English.’

  Luis nodded a greeting, a gesture that transcended all language barriers. King nodded back. His head flared even from the slight movement.

  ‘I’m Jason,’ he said. ‘I’m new here.’

  ‘We know. You’re all anyone’s talking about right now.’

  King scanned the room as the Guardia Nacional arranged the prisoners into a long line in the mud. The men sat side-by-side, heads bowed, all reluctant to make eye contact with the officials. Some glanced across at King with rage in their eyes. It seemed they’d missed their chance for a payday. There was still no sign of Tevin.

  ‘I can’t imagine that’s a good thing,’ King said, sighing as he felt fresh waves of pain course through his system.

  CHAPTER 15

  The Guardia Nacional turned the pavilion inside out. They seized all visible belongings and upended their contents into the mud. Every gun, knife and satchel of powder was quickly seized. The owners of such possessions were given quick beatings, struck with either the end of a baton or the butt of a shotgun. King had no possessions, and as a result had no reason to be beaten.

  They gave him one anyway.

  The guard who he’d knocked down with his own weapon strode up and down the row of filthy prisoners. When he found King, he kicked him sharply in the ribs. King rolled with the impact but it still winded him. He doubled over involuntarily. The guard smiled.

  King wondered if they would kill him. He didn’t imagine it would take much more provocation. Striking a guard was surely more than enough reason to warrant a quick execution, especially since the entire process of his arrest had been off-the-record. He figured men in this pavilion were murdered for a lot less.

  But they did nothing. Which surprised hi
m. It either meant he’d chanced upon a lucky day where they felt generous. Or they were under explicit orders to keep him alive.

  Rico.

  ‘Hey,’ a voice said, snapping him out of his thoughts. He glanced across and saw Raul watching him.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘What are you in here for?’

  King stared at the ground. His lower legs were caked in dried blood, drawn from dozens of tiny pellet impacts. ‘Murder.’

  ‘Damn, gringo. Who’d you kill?’

  ‘No-one.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Just because I’m in here for murder, doesn’t mean I did it.’

  ‘They found you guilty.’

  ‘I wasn’t given a trial.’

  Raul spoke softly to Luis in Spanish, and they exchanged a look. Like they had seen such cases before. ‘Then you pissed someone off, homie.’

  ‘I’m aware of that.’

  ‘Who’d you piss off?’

  ‘That I don’t know.’

  ‘You must have done something.’

  ‘I’ve done a lot of things.’

  ‘That’s a real big help, my friend. Really narrows it down.’

  King smiled. ‘I’m in here. Let’s just leave it at that. Nothing I can do about that now.’

  ‘There sure ain’t,’ Raul said. ‘If they threw you in here then you’re never getting out.’

  ‘Here specifically?’

  Raul nodded. ‘This is maxima, my friend. Highest security in all of Venezuela. And the most corrupt. By far. I’m surprised you didn’t catch a planilla.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Their bayonets. They usually stab anyone who pisses them off.’

  King gulped back anxiety. He knew he would be defenceless to stop them from doing just that. ‘And why are you in here?’

  Raul looked at him. So did Luis. ‘I don’t know if I trust you enough to answer that just yet.’

  He let the cryptic nature of the statement hang in the air as the raqueta came to an end. The Guardia Nacional finished ridding the pavilion of its most dangerous weapons. They brought each inmate to their feet and began the process of patting them down. King was searched by the same guard he’d struck with the shotgun. A purple welt had sprouted to life over the man’s right eye.