“Good morning, gentleman,” Ellie smiled, as she stepped forward and announced herself.
The six men turned to her, chains clanking.
“Dayum,” Zion grinned, flashing crooked teeth.
“Hey, baby,” Malik added, rubbing his crotch. “You here for a conjugal visit?”
“Shaddap!” One of the guards stepped over and threatened to whack Malik with the butt of his shotgun, sending the skinny black man cowering back in fear – until Ellie barked: “No!”
She stepped forward, and pushed the guard away.
“It’s fine,” she spat, “he’s just posturing.” Ellie turned to Malik with a wry smile – peering up at the tall black man as he straightened up. “You’re just making sure I know who’s boss, right?”
Malik narrowed his eyes.
“You what, girl?”
Ellie snorted, and then ignored him.
“Unchain them, please,” she ordered. And then, addressing the six prisoners, she said: “Please take a seat and we’ll begin.”
Vladimir, the menacing Russian, snorted: “Why you not take seat, pretty girl? On my face!” And then he snorted with laughter, as if he’d come up with the funniest joke ever.
Ellie snarled: “Please sit down!”
Laughing, the six men took their seats – staring at Ellie like she was a delicious piece of meat.
One by one, the guards went around each of the prisoners and unchained them at the wrist and ankle. The six men laughed, rubbing their wrists. Mike Trojan even did a fake lunge at one of the two guards, and laughed uproariously when he staggered back in surprise.
“Ha, you piece of chickenshit,” Mike sneered.
The guard raised the butt of his shotgun.
“Just give me an excuse, fucker,” he snapped at the convict. “I’ll bust your head open like a watermelon.”
Mike narrowed his eyes.
“You’re a brave guy when you’ve got that gun. I wonder how brave you’d be without it.”
The guard sneered: “Try me.”
Ellie cleared her throat. When that didn’t work, she yelled out: “Please! Gentlemen!”
The guard and the convict grumbled at each other, but backed off.
“If we could begin, please,” Ellie insisted. “We’ve only got a couple of hours before I have to leave.”
The two guards looked at the tiny slip of a girl and shrugged.
“We’ll be by the door,” one told her.
“Yeah,” the other nodded. “You have even a hint of trouble, we’ll be here to bust some heads.”
Ellie shook her head.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” she sighed, “but there’ll be no head-busting today.”
And then Mike Trojan grunted: “Yeah – but maybe some nut-busting!” And the six prisoners bust into raucous laughter.
Ellie shoot her head. It was going to be a long morning.
Chapter Five
Eventually, Ellie managed to get the six convicts settled down, and seated in silence in a semi-circle around her.
She flipped open her notebook and switched on her tape-recorder.
“So, gentlemen,” she began. “My name is Ellie Romanova. I’m a research student at the State University of New York. I’m writing a dissertation on how the prison experience for non-violent offenders encourages recidivism…”
“Recida-what, now?” Zion interrupted.
“Re-offending,” Raymond Slater sneered. “Read a book once in a while.
Ellie bravely continued: “…and I’d like to ask you all some questions, and stimulate some discussion.”
“Girl, you’re stimulating something of mine,” Malik interrupted. “But it ain’t my discussion, if you know what I mean.” He grabbed his crotch provocatively.
Ellie blushed.
“C’mon, people,” Mike Trojan hissed – and he was so mean-looking and intimidating that all the prisoners immediately fell silent. “Let the poor bitch do her job.”
Ellie’s cheeks turned pink at being called a ‘bitch’, but she appreciated the support.
“So, maybe we should just start with some basics. When did you all first get incarcerated?”
The men looked at each other, as if wondering who was going to speak first. Eventually, it was Zion who spoke up.
Leaning back in his chair, and spreading his legs wide, the skinny black kid barked: “Yo, I’ve been in and out of jail since I was fifteen, girl.”
“Him and me both,” Malik nodded. “And the first few times? Shiiiit, we didn’t do nothing wrong.”
“The cops are racist, man. They picked me up for ‘loitering’.”
“The first time with me, I wasn’t doing nothing wrong. I was just cruising in the back of my homeboy’s car, and when they arrested him they pulled me in to for ‘resisting arrest.’” Malik shook his head. “I mean, how can you be ‘resisting arrest’ when you ain’t done nothing they can arrest you for?”
“Yo, my story’s the same, man,” Mike Trojan nodded. “I was in county jail before I was seventeen. You know how hard it is to get a job after that? I started running with the gangs just so I could make enough to eat, yo.” Then the big man crossed his muscular arms and added: “But then I got a taste for it.”
“Okay,” Ellie was scribbling notes. “What about you, Andre?”
Andre looked up, his eyes big and dopey.
“I-I dunno,” he shrugged. “I was just out with my brother when the cops questioned us. He told me to hold a bag for him and he ran off. Then the cops arrested me.” He shrugged again. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”
“You’re here because the pigs are racist, man!” Zion screamed.
“Shit in this country is fucked up,” Mike nodded. “The only thing you did wrong was to be born black.” He turned to Ellie. “You’re trying to find out why we became criminals? ‘Cos if you’re black, that’s what you get forced into.”
He shook his head. “Shit, you don’t need to have done anything wrong to get your ass thrown in jail. You know there are more black kids in jail than there are in college? Society makes this happen to us.”
“When there aren't enough criminals, one makes them,” Raymond Slater quoted slowly. “One declares so many things to be a crime that it becomes impossible for men to live without breaking laws.”
“You what?” Mike cocked his head on one side.
“Ayn Rand,” Vladimir nodded. “Great Russian writer.”
There was a moment’s awkward silence – which Ellie decided to end by asking Vladimir: “So when did you first end up in jail?”
“First time was five years ago,” Vladimir hissed, turning to Ellie and looking at her hungrily. “But it was not jail that made me a bad person.” He licked his lips. “I just did what I did to support myself.”
Ellie bit her lip. She’d read the case files. Vladimir was only arrested for drug smuggling charges, but his Russian mafia gang tattoos and the many scars on his body suggested a much more violent and bloody history than that.
She shivered. He was a bad man.
Vladimir smiled when he saw her shudder. He licked his lips again: “Your last name is Romanova? Good Russian name, that.” He rubbed his hands together. “I know how to treat little Russian girls like you.”
Ellie gulped.
Her face turning pale, she turned to the last of the group.
“So, Raymond,” she asked. “When were you first in jail?”
Rayond turned to her. His moustache bristled. The scariest thing about him, Ellie realized, was how normal he looked. The moustache. The receeding hairline. He could be somebody’s dad, or school teacher, or soccer coach.”
“I did what I did for years before the police ever found me,” he shrugged. “It wasn’t until I got sloppy that they caught me.”
He studied his fingernails – as if talking about filing his taxes, rather than the thousands of pounds of meth he’d produced.
“Prison didn’t make me the way I am.”
; Ellie nodded.
She scribbled some notes. She was behind schedule, but the conversations were incredibly fruitful. It looked like she’d be making good progress on her dissertation.
Or, at least, it did until the explosion went off.
Chapter Six
The prison riot started at exactly 11am, with a devastating explosion that killed three people.
Weeks later, as the authorities tried to piece together what had happened, they’d trace the explosion to a makeshift explosive device created by one of the inmates out of batteries, electrical wires and ground-up match heads.
Whoever had built it had jammed the device amongst the gas lines in the prison kitchens, and the subsequent build-up of gas had meant the final ignition had gone off literally “like a bomb.” A common theory was that it had taken the bomb-maker with it – a convicted arsonist had been assigned to kitchen duty that morning.
In any event, the explosion was enough to knock out power and alarms. In the following few minutes of confusion, inmates had overpowered the guards watching them and stolen guns and keys. By 11:15am, all of the cell-blocks were open and the enraged prisoners were taking over the compound like an army.
If Kingston Correctional Facility really was “the closest thing to Hell in New York State,” the gates to Hades had just been opened.
* * *
Over in the chapel, of course, nobody realized what was going on at first.
There was a muffled ‘crump’ and the walls shook. Dust and plaster came floating down from the ceiling overhead. Then the lights went out.
“W-what was that?” Ellie cried.
“I dunno,” there was a ‘ca-click’ as one of the guards pumped a round into the barrel of his shotgun. “All of you stay put while I check it out.”
He turned to the other guard, who was similarly cocking his Remington. “You got this, Charlie?”
‘Ca-click.’
“You bet your ass, Frank.”
And with that, the first guard ducked out of the chapel and let the door swing shut behind him.
That left the other guard, Charlie, alone with the six prisoners and the tiny little researcher.
“Ma’am,” he ordered, swinging his shotgun in the direction of the six prisoners, “please get up and come over behind me.”
Ellie clutched her notepad to her chest.
“W-why?”
“Ma’am, until the area is secure, I need you to stand behind me
“B-but…”
“No questions. C’mon.”
Ellie nervously stood up and crossed the room to where the guard was standing.
“Aww, shit, lady,” Malik cried. “Don’t leave us.”
“Yeah, we ain’t gonna hurt you, girl!” Added Zion.
“Shaddup!” Charlie snapped, covering them with his shotgun. “Keep quiet, and don’t make any sudden movements.”
The six prisoners grumbled, but stayed where they were sitting.
Ellie fell into step behind Charlie.
“W-what’s going on, Officer?”
“I dunno, ma’am,” Charlie was sweating. “Just stick close to me, please.”
Still aiming the gun at the six prisoners, he side-stepped over to an intercom by the doorway and pressed the buzzer.
“Yo! What’s going on?”
There was a crackling of static, then a muffled cry of “Prison riot!” That was followed by the sound of a shotgun blast echoing down the speakers.
Charlie went white.
Moments later, a crackling voice reverberated over the PA system, echoing through the room.
“This is Governor Voorhees,” a voice announced over the speakers. “Kingston Correctional Facility is currently in a state of emergency lockdown. All prisoners are to be secured. Repeat, all prisoners are to be secured. Civilians are to report to my office immediately.”
“Shit,” Charlie muttered.
He looked around the chapel frantically – between the six menacing prisoners and the tiny girl cowering behind him. Then he gulped.
“O-okay,” Charlie snapped. “Here’s what’s going to happen.” He indicated the chains in the corner of the room – the ones the six prisoners had been brought in wearing. “You guys are going to chain yourselves back up again. Then we’re all going to the Governor’s office to drop Ms. Romanova off. Understood?”
“Chain ourselves up again?” Mike Trojan sneered. “Like hell we are.”
Charlie rolled his eyes.
“Just fucking do it,” he ordered. “I don’t have time for this shit. You heard what it said on the PA. Secure the prisoners. Now go and fucking secure yourselves.”
“This is some fucked up bullshit,” Mike grumbled, and the other prisoners nodded. Yet, reluctantly, Mike got up from his chair and started walking towards the chains.
“Woah!” Charlie covered him with the gun. “Easy now! No sudden moves.”
“Shit, dude, what do you want?” Mike sneered. “You want me to stop moving, or you want me to get the chains?”
“G-get the chains,” Charlie ordered. “Just do it slowly.”
Mike sneered at him, but slowly crossed the room and started picking up the long lengths of chains. Then, rattling behind him, he dragged them to the semi-circle of prisoners.
“P-put them on,” Charlie ordered. “Wrists and ankles.”
The prisoners started doing as ordered, clamping their wrists and ankles into the chains one by one until…
“Wait!” It was Vladimir.”This big buffoon has made a mistake.”
He was standing in front of the towering Andre, and pointing at his wrist cuff. “That is an ankle cuff, you simpleton. And it’s my ankle cuff.”
“Huh?” Andrew looked confused.
Charlie rolled his eyes. The barrel of the shotgun trembling, he ordered: “Well, take it off the dumbass and put it on yourself.”
Vladimir turned to him. In his thick Russian accent he complained: “I cannot take it off him without the key.”
Charlie went pale.
“Fuck,” he spat.
For a moment he just stood there, frozen. Then, hands shaking, he reached to his belt for the keys.
Holding the shotgun with one hand, he held out the keys with the other and shuffled nervously to the crowd of prisoners.
“H-here,” he shook the keys at Vladimir. “Take them.”
“You need to get closer.”
Charlie shuffled one step closer.
“Take them!”
“Still too far.”
And when Charlie shuffled a final step closer, it happened.
Chapter Seven
Andre, standing just to the left of the prison guard, snatched the shotgun right out of his hands, and then wrapped his massive hand around Charlie’s through.
“Hyyeuuuck!” Charlie was lifted two inches off the floor, and grabbed for his throat as Andrew cut off the air from his lungs. “Hhhhyugk!”
Ellie screamed as she watched.
The six prisoners moved fast – like hyenas talking down a wounded gazelle. Within seconds, the shotgun was in Mike’s hands, and Malik and Zion were choke-holding Charlie and throwing him to the floor.
Fists and feet pummeled the guard until he was barely conscious. Vladimir picked up the chains and started cuffing them onto Charlie’s prone body – until he was wrapped up like a Thanksgiving turkey.
Ellie kept screaming, and that inspired Raymond Slater to cross the room and grab her. With one hand he gripped her arm. The other he clamped over her mouth.
Suddenly she was helpless in his arms, kicking and screaming, but her voice muffled by his sweaty palm.
The six prisoners surveyed their handiwork.
Charlie was unconscious, or near to it. Face bloody, and chained from head to foot, he was thrown in an unceremonious heap in the corner.
Mike rushed to the chapel door and peered outside for a second.
“Fuuuuck,” he hissed, before slamming it shut and bolting it.
�
�Yo, what’s going on, man?” Malik demanded. “What’s happening?”
“It’s a riot,” Mike sneered. “They’re going fucking mental out there.”
Ray’s hand slipped from Ellie’s mouth, and she screamed: “Why did you do that?”
“Huh?” The six prisoners turned to her.
“Why did you do that?” She pointed at Charlie. “He wasn’t going to hurt you!”
Mike stomped across the room and grabbed Ellie’s jaw in his hard, calloused hand – pulling her face towards his.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You see how that kid was trembling?” He held up the shotgun he’d acquired from the prison guard. “One of us moved to fast, or made too much noise, that kid was so wired he’d have blown our faces off.”
Ray hissed hotly in Ellie’s ear, even as she struggled against his grip: “It’s okay. He’s okay. Just roughed up a bit.”
“Yeah, well I can’t promise he’s gonna be okay for long,” Mike sneered. “If those rioters come in he and find him like that… Well, you know what they’ll do to him.”
There was silence in the chapel – as if the rest of the prisoners clearly did know.
“W-what?” Ellie asked. “What will they do to him?”
Ray spoke in her ear: “This prison’s full of bad people, little girl. When they have a riot like this? They turn into fucking animals.”
“The last time there was a riot,” Mike nodded, “they grabbed two of the guards and held them hostage. They cut one of their ears off,” he added, “and threatened to castrate the other guy.”
“Yeah, and they would have,” Ray nodded, “if the SWAT teams hadn’t come in.”
“They shot two of the prisoners dead,” Mike hissed. “It was the only way to get those animals off them.”
Ellie went white as a sheet.
“So listen to me, Princess,” Mike leered into Ellie’s face. “You want to stay safe? You stay with us. We’re gonna hold up here until the riot’s dealt with. We’ll give ourselves up nice and easy for the SWAT teams when they arrive.”
“W-what about the guard?”
“He’s safer with us than he is out there.”
“Yeah,” Ray nodded. “Knocking him out like that was the safest thing for all of us, the twitchy little bastard. And Governor Voorhees is a piece of shit, but he’ll realize that. He’d rather have a guard with a few bruises to deal with than a dead prisoner – or worse.”
Bare Behind Bars / Isabella Gets Nailed / Stuck in the Window: 3 Stories of Interracial Infidelity in Dangerous Situations Page 2