Damn, it feels good to be outside.
He could only imagine how pasty his complexion was after spending four days in solitary. There were about two hundred inmates scattered throughout the large courtyard. James separated from him immediately and took long strides toward the far right corner of the yard.
Burnside took his time and looked for the bleacher seats his cellmate told him about. Directly to his right was a crude weightlifting area stocked with scattered, battered-looking free weights. It was occupied by about twenty men with shaved heads. Several of them stood on the perimeter of the area with their arms crossed, like guards. Many of them had elaborate tattoos on their bodies, including swastikas and burning crosses. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who they were. He didn’t see the big brute that had accosted him in the cafeteria.
Hopefully, he’s still in solitary.
Burnside continued past the weightlifting area, passing a large group of about fifty Hispanic men congregated to his left. Some of them were kicking around a soccer ball. Most of them were standing with their arms crossed, glaring at the newcomers.
The Low-Riders?
He walked until he reached the middle section of the yard where various unorganized groups were mingling, smoking cigarettes, talking, and occasionally even laughing. He figured there were maybe a hundred or so of these stragglers. He waded his way past this scattered group until he reached an open area on the far side of the yard. He glanced right and saw a group of about thirty black men gathered together in the far right-hand corner of the yard.
James’s group? The Bloods? Must be.
Some of the guys were firing basketballs into a pair of rusty, net-less hoops imbedded precariously into the cement wall. Others stood on the perimeter, feigning a casual demeanor while they kept their eyes on other areas of the yard. Others appeared to be gathered into various conferences.
He kept going. Glancing left, he saw a large set of bleacher-type seats set against the left-hand corner of the yard wall. A group of about twenty men occupied the middle section of the bleachers. Burnside returned to the center of the yard where the stragglers were concentrated. He blended into the crowd and gazed up at the sky. The wide-open expanse was exhilarating. He wished he could soar into the vastness and disappear. He glanced back toward the bleacher section and saw a black man walking away from the bleachers toward the Bloods.
That must be James or one of his guys. I’ll wait a few more minutes and then head over there.
Burnside walked among the stragglers aimlessly, trying not to call any attention to himself. He waited several minutes before turning back toward the bleachers. He strode purposefully across the yard. It seemed like a long walk with the eyes of the rest of the yard on him, especially the guys in the bleachers. Two goons stood up from the front seats and approached him, blocking his path.
“What do you want?” a six-foot-five monster with a skull tattoo on his right bicep asked.
“I want to talk to the Boss. My name’s Burnside.”
“Stay here,” the goon instructed, reaching out a meaty paw - palm outward.
The other goon, a short, squat guy built like a refrigerator, moved quickly on his short legs toward the first bleacher step and ascended. When he reached the middle, he spoke to a huge bald man seated in the center of the group. The large man nodded his head and the goon descended the bleachers as fast as his short legs would carry him until he reached Burnside and the other goon.
“He’s all set,” the short goon said.
“You can go,” the big goon said, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb.
Burnside didn’t reply and veered to the right, so he still had the goons in his left-hand peripheral vision as he ascended the steps. When he reached the center area, he stood outside the rough circle of men surrounding the Capo. Four of them stood and faced him.
“It’s all right, Guido. Let him through.” the Capo growled in a deep, scratchy voice.
The men stepped aside and Burnside walked through the gap.
“Have a seat.” the obese man said, gesturing to a free spot on the bleacher seat beside him. The other men in the group dispersed to different areas of the bleachers until they were alone. Burnside sat in the free space indicated by the prison mafia boss.
“How can I help you?” the Capo asked, lighting a cigarette.
“I’m looking for a job.”
“What if I were to tell you we’re not hiring?”
“I would say you would be missing out on some valuable muscle. I’m sure you heard what I did to that goon in the cafeteria. I found out later he was a Skinhead lieutenant.”
“It wasn’t a smart move to get on the bad side of the Nazis so soon,” the Capo said, gruffly, blowing a stream of smoke into the air. He glanced sidelong at Burnside with his elbows resting on his knees, waiting for a response. Burnside wasn’t sure what to say, so he told the truth.
“I thought it would be best if I made an impression as quickly as possible. Let them know I’m not fooling around.”
“Bad idea,” the Capo growled. “When the guy asked you to move, you should have moved. Those guys are not to be messed with. They’re a relatively small group, but they control most of the prison. They got half the screws in their pocket. They can get away with just about anything.”
“That’s what I heard.”
“You heard right. You have to be careful from now on.”
Burnside was taken slightly off guard by the turn of the conversation. He never expected to be lectured on proper prison behavior from the notorious mafia boss.
“You better watch your back,” the overweight Capo continued in his deep voice. “The Nazis are going to be looking for some payback.”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m coming to you,” Burnside said, slightly flustered. “If I get a job with you, I figure they’ll leave me alone.”
“Not likely, pal. You don’t understand the Nazis. They’re not going to lay off just because you’re hanging out with us. In fact, they’re going make us pay for protecting you. We have a lucrative business that could easily be disrupted if the screws decide to crack down on us.”
Burnside didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t want to say what he was thinking because he knew it would sound disrespectful. What he wanted to say was, Hey, I thought you guys were a pretty tough organization. Why are you letting the Skinheads push you around? He thought better of it and remained silent for a moment, considering his response.
“What do you recommend I do?” Burnside asked, opting for humility in front of the prison mafia boss.
“Nothing,” the Capo said, brusquely, blowing out a long, thin cloud of smoke. “Wait and see what happens. Be ready. Be ready for the Nazis to set you up. It’s going to happen sooner or later. Probably sooner,” the Capo turned toward him, smirking caustically. “If you’re still alive and still interested in joining our organization after you deal with the Nazis, come back and see me. I may have a job for you. That’s it. You can go now,” he finished with an ominous finality.
“Okay, thank you for your time,” Burnside replied, standing.
“No problem,” the Capo growled, looking away from him.
That could have gone better.
He descended the bleacher steps.
The mafia Capo wants nothing to do with me until after the Skinheads get their payback. Assuming I survive the payback.
He reached the ground and moved across the yard. Ten minutes later, they began rounding up inmates by calling out cellblock numbers. Burnside was reunited with his motley group and followed them back to the block. James was conspicuously absent from the cell. Burnside lay down in the bottom bunk and stared at the bottom of his Cellie’s mattress.
Things are not looking good.
He closed his eyes and attempted to get some rest. Trying to relax, the words of the mafia boss intruded on his solitude.
Be ready for the Nazis to set you up. It’s going to happen sooner or later. Pro
bably sooner.
Chapter 12
Initiation
Despite his anxiety, Burnside fell asleep for several hours. He awoke to the sound of his cell door sliding open. He opened his eyes, looked up, and saw a brawny prison guard looming over him.
“Get up. Time to get yourself cleaned up,” the guard said, rudely.
Burnside sat up, ducked his head, and stood. He saw a line of inmates already standing outside. The guard pushed him into line and they began moving. He glanced at the guards flanking them on both sides and followed along like a tame sheep being led with the general flock. They traversed various concrete corridors until they reached a dirty locker room. The locker room housed some of the most beat-up lockers Ray had ever seen. Some of the lockers looked like they had been smashed in with baseball bats. The damage was so extensive, he couldn’t imagine someone doing it with their bare hands. There were numerous indentations where the metal had been kicked or pounded. The worn benches were cracked and broken in places.
The other inmates from his cellblock began stripping off their clothes and putting them in the beat-up lockers. Most of them didn’t sit on the benches because of the obvious splinters in the wood. Burnside found a smashed locker he could just barely open and followed their example. When they had all stripped, they filed out the back door into a large shower area. The grimy area reminded Burnside of a much-dirtier version of the communal showers in his high school gymnasium. The shower area was a very large rectangular room surrounded by innumerable showerheads. Six guards holding batons stood against the back wall monitoring the inmates. Burnside couldn’t believe he actually felt grateful for their protection, such as it was
He found an unoccupied showerhead in a long line of showerheads. He noticed the wall was missing about half its dirty brown tiles, exposing the rotted wood beneath. The wood appeared to be thoroughly saturated with water. He grimaced with disgust and stared expectantly at the showerhead. Several seconds elapsed before the water turned on automatically, dousing his face with tepid water. The temperature steadily increased until he felt hot water cascading onto his face and body. The water felt good on his skin.
At least the showers work. I would not have guessed it from the look of this place.
The inmates occupied most of the showers. Each showerhead was evenly spaced so there was just enough room for a person to stand beneath without touching the elbows of the person next to him.
The proximity of the other inmates was unsettling, but the warm water felt soothing. He didn’t have any soap, so he did the best he could trying to rub the dirt off his body with his hands. He realized most of the other inmates had brought their own soap with them. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to ask one of them to borrow their soap bar. He made several slow 360-degree turns as he stood under the shower, pretending to wash both sides of his body. That way, he figured he could look around and make sure no one was sneaking up behind him. All that talk about payback had made him downright paranoid.
Burnside used his peripheral vision to make sure the inmates on his right and left were not making any sudden moves. After a few minutes, the showers stopped automatically and the naked inmates began filing across the wet floor toward the locker room. Burnside waited until the other inmates went ahead of him. That way, no one would be behind him. He looked around for the guards and saw the last one leaving through a separate exit. He entered the back of the line and trudged across the slimy wet tiled floor toward the locker room door.
Burnside caught a sudden movement in his peripheral vision and turned quickly to the right. A large fist flew toward his face. He dodged to the side, so the fist only caught him a glancing blow on the side of the head. He was momentarily stunned, but he quickly recovered and got into an improvised boxing stance. He blocked several more punches thrown from a large naked inmate with a shaved head. He sidestepped and launched some punches of his own. He caught the bald inmate in the jaw with a left jab and followed up to his stomach with a hard right. The bald inmate doubled over, clutching his stomach and gasping. Burnside was ready to follow up with a kick to the man’s groin when he felt strong arms seize him from behind.
A powerful arm wrapped around his neck and pulled him backward. He could feel a huge bicep muscle digging into his face. He lost his balance and slipped out of the headlock, falling hard to the slippery tiled floor. The next thing he knew, the wind was knocked out of him as he received a hard punch to the stomach. He grunted with pain as he watched the bald inmate he doubled over with a punch looming above him, delivering a rain of blows onto his body. He tried to block with his arms, but the unknown inmate who dragged him down from behind had pinned his wrists to the floor. He lost track of how many blows he received as his vision blurred. He struggled to break free, but he couldn’t move his arms. The sharp pain of each individual blow blended into one long wave of pain. His stomach muscles hurt like they were on fire as he fought to breathe. The punches to his face were easier to take because they didn’t knock the breath out of him. There was no letup in the assault. He figured they were going to beat him to death.
Abruptly, the punches stopped. It took several seconds for Ray’s brain to register that his body was no longer being struck. His stomach stung as if it had been skewered with a thousand needles, but he was finally starting to get his breath back. He breathed in deep, desperate gasps.
“Turn him over,” a deep voice snarled.
Burnside was still too weak to move, so there was nothing he could do as they flipped him onto his stomach. The muscular inmate who grabbed him from behind continued to hold his wrists down in a strong grip. His captor gave him just enough slack so he could lean on his elbows. The inmate standing behind him grabbed his ankles and shoved him into a kneeling position. He summoned up his reserves of strength in his battered body and tried to break free. He realized he was in a bad position because he couldn’t get any leverage. The guy in front of him had his wrists pinned firmly to the slimy floor, while the guy in back had his ankles pinned.
Why don’t they just kill me and get it over with?
His stunned brain finally deciphered their evil plan. They were going to rape him. He tried one last time with all his strength to break free of their iron grips and finally ceased his violent struggling. The guy behind him let go of his ankles and grabbed his buttocks. He felt a sharp, searing pain in his anus. He felt like he was having a reverse bowel movement as white-hot pain ripped through his insides. Blood trickled down the back of his legs. He felt like his intestines were being ripped apart as the rapist shoved into him and began thrusting.
His instincts were telling him to tense up all his muscles in preparation for a final struggle, but he realized his only chance was to do the opposite. Instead, he relaxed his entire body and stopped fighting altogether. He allowed the muscles in his arms to go completely slack as his head lolled down dejectedly on his neck. The assailant holding his wrists on the floor didn’t loosen his grip in response to his cessation of movement.
Not yet, at least.
A literary quote flashed into his mind like a lightning bolt from the gods; Beware the fury of a patient man. An apt quote from the poet, John Dryden. He gritted his teeth against the searing pain. It literally felt like a hot poker was being shoved up his ass. He gritted his teeth, grinning maniacally as he realized what was happening to him. He never thought he would ever get raped in prison. That was something that only happened to other people.
“Hey, I think he’s starting to like it. I just saw him smile,” the goon who was holding him down said to the rapist behind him.
The deep voice sounded muffled as if it was miles away. He tried to imagine the pure energy of his spirit abandoning his pain-wracked body, leaving it behind on the floor like an empty shell, while he drifted away into the air. The searing pain began to feel distant, as if it was happening to someone else.
The rapist behind him screamed like a cowboy riding a bucking horse as his brutish comrade in front snarled obscen
e encouragement to him.
That’s right, guys. Just keep enjoying yourself…..no problem….I can take it…..I can take it….just relax and have your fun….because it’s not going to last. You’re both going to die.
During the entire ordeal, Burnside kept his eyes clamped tightly shut so he wouldn’t see the despicable face of the man holding him down. He realized he needed to get his bearings if he was going to take any offensive action. He forced himself to open his eyes and stare directly into the ugly brutish face of the gargantuan bald-headed inmate grinning at him like a leering devil. Ray hung his head dejectedly as if he had finally succumbed to the situation.
“See! I told you he likes it! Keep going!” the leering inmate snarled to his rapist partner.
To Burnside, his face looked like it belonged to an oversized demon from hell.
“Come on, give me a kiss, pretty boy,” the massive inmate said, snickering, as he moved his ugly face closer to Ray’s.
Keep going. Just a little closer.
The inmate pursed his lips to simulate a kiss. Burnside used all his willpower to force himself to do the same.
“This faggot’s gonna kiss me!” the inmate shouted as he moved his flabby pursed lips toward Ray’s face.
There you go, fella. That’s the last mistake you’ll ever make.
Burnside allowed the dam holding back a tidal wave of rage to burst in his mind. He tensed up every muscle in his body, lunging his face forward on his neck like a jack-in-the-box toward the ugly face of the leering inmate.
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