American Criminal

by Shawn William Davis

An image of a Great White Shark flashed into his mind as he opened his jaws as wide as he could and clamped his teeth down into the soft flesh of the man’s nose. The inmate screamed in pain as Burnside focused all his strength into his jaw muscles. He felt soft flesh splitting and giving way as warm salty liquid flooded his mouth. He ignored the disgusting taste and held his jaws clamped tightly together onto the ragged piece of bloody flesh tearing loose from his assailant’s face. He shook his head from side to side, like a dog tearing at a piece of meat. He felt the soft skin rip and stretch as he moved, spilling more blood. His assailant’s surprised screams evolved into ear-piercing shrieks of terror. The inmate released Burnside’s wrists as he tried to pry his bleeding face away from the relentless jaws. Ray kept his teeth clamped down like a wolf fighting another for a piece of meat.

  “What’s wrong with you, Eddie? What the fuck’s happening to you?” Burnside heard the rapist shout from behind him.

  He ignored the rapist’s panicked voice as he felt streams of warm blood trickling down his chin. The inmate with the ravaged nose could no longer scream. He whimpered like a whipped dog as his hands futilely attempted to pry Ray’s jaws from the gaping wound. Ray held his teeth fast in the torn and bloody flesh. Burnside himself was so torn up that he barely felt anything as the other rapist finally disengaged himself.

  All right, pal, now I have you both right where I want you.

  Burnside used all his remaining strength to rip the torn and bloody piece of meat away from the stricken man’s face. He spit out the gooey chunk of mangled flesh like a bloody sausage and pushed himself up. The inmate with the severed nose slipped and fell back, clutching his hands against the gaping wound in his face like someone blowing his nose into a tissue. The whimpering inmate vainly attempted to stifle the flow of blood gushing from the gash where his nose used to be. Burnside watched the inmate kicking and flailing on the slimy tiled floor like a seizure victim. He felt immense satisfaction when the inmate stopped whimpering and resumed shrieking.

  The other rapist grabbed for Ray’s neck, but his fingers slipped in the thin coating of blood that had splashed on him from the other man’s wound. Burnside slipped out of his grasp and spun around, smashing the rapist in the face with a closed right fist. He struck the inmate full on the nose, cracking the bone like a shattered egg. The inmate howled in pain as his hands flew up to his face.

  Déjà vu.

  Burnside wrapped his hands around the naked inmate’s exposed neck. His adrenaline-fueled muscles gave him the power to squeeze his fingers together until the air stopped flowing to the rapist’s lungs. He kept the pressure steady as the rapist’s cheeks puffed out and his face turned the color of burning flames. He instinctively made the decision that the inmate had forfeited his life the instant he began raping him. He continued to exert pressure on the rapist’s throat as he watched the blood slowly drain from his face as it began turning a sickly blue color.

  Ray suddenly heard voices shouting and the sound of shoes slapping on wet tiles, as people entered the shower area. In moments, he felt fingers digging into his shoulders and arms as he was seized roughly from behind. He kept his grip steady on the rapist’s neck until there were too many strong hands pulling at his body. It took five guards to drag him away. Five pairs of muscular arms were needed to pry his fingers away from the blue-faced rapist’s throat. He laughed like a madman as the guards pinned him to the floor and cuffed his hands behind his back.

  Chapter 13

  Trouble

  Back in solitary again. This is getting to be a habit. A very bad habit.

  Burnside was sitting naked on the cold cement floor of the dark isolation cell with his eyes closed. His ass hurt like hell and he could feel dried blood on the back of his legs, but there was nothing he could do about it. He wanted to pour a gallon of liquid Novocain directly into his ass. That wasn’t going to happen. It didn’t look like they were going to do anything for him, medically speaking. The prison medical staff was probably prioritizing the other patients: the guys Burnside sent them.

  Or, what’s left of them.

  Burnside grinned without humor as he thought of the big inmate lying in a pool of blood, clutching his hands over the bloody hole where his nose used to be. He was reasonably sure he did not kill either of them. Not that they didn’t deserve it. They both deserved death for what they did to him. He had never felt such humiliation and helplessness in his life.

  I wonder what story the inmates who attacked me will tell the prison authorities? I’ll bet they say I attacked them without provocation. With their prison screw connections, they should have plenty of sympathetic ears to listen to their false complaints. This place is unbelievable. I can’t believe they actually include prisons as part of the criminal justice system. There’s no justice here and there’s certainly no system. This place is a free-for-all.

  The gangs pretty much ran the place. The screws served the gangs.

  Is there anyone who works here with an ounce of integrity?

  Burnside tried to imagine what he would have done if he had been a corrections officer instead of a police officer. He never would have let prison scum rape a helpless prisoner. And he certainly wouldn’t have helped to cover it up!

  What kind of credentials does it take to get a job as a guard here? A pulse and a criminal record?

  Ray sighed deeply. He didn’t know how long he was going to be stuck here. It could be days or weeks for all he knew. He figured he did it before, so he could do it again.

  Nothing is going to break me down.

  The entire societal system was working against him, but he wasn’t going to let it destroy him. At least, not until he destroyed those people who put him here. His payback list was growing longer every day.

  Ray’s thoughts were disturbed by a loud clanging outside his cell. He didn’t bother getting to his feet.

  What’s the point?

  He continued leaning against the cement wall with his eyes closed. He didn’t move when he heard a key turning in the cell door. Light shone on his face as the door opened.

  “Get up,” an unknown voice instructed him.

  He finally opened his eyes and looked up at the screw looking down on him.

  “Fuck it. Why not?” he said, pushing himself to his feet.

  Burnside saw a virtual army of guards standing in the isolation cell corridor. The guard in the cell stepped back and threw something on the floor in front of him. Ray looked down and saw a disheveled orange prison jumpsuit lying on the floor. He reached down and picked it up.

  “Get dressed,” the guard commanded.

  “Sure thing, boss,” Burnside said, placing his right leg in the leg-hole of the jumpsuit.

  He followed with his left and pulled the jumpsuit up to his waist, adjusting his shoulders so he could pull the rest of it on. He was glad the jumpsuit was slightly baggy, giving him room to breathe. He buttoned up the front.

  “Turn around and place your hands behind your back,” the guard instructed him.

  He wasn’t surprised that they weren’t taking any chances with him. He did as the guard said and they cuffed his hands securely behind his back with metal restraints.

  At least they didn’t put all those “Silence of the Lambs” accoutrements on me. The straightjacket and the facemask would be going overboard.

  “Step out of the cell,” the guard said.

  Burnside did as he was told. He stood outside his cell door, facing five baton-wielding guards. The guards backed up as he moved forward. He wanted to tell them that he didn’t bite, but that would have been a lie.

  “Walk,” the lead guard said as he pointed his baton toward the entrance to the isolation block.

  “No problem,” Ray said, grinning.

  He did a crisp turn on his heel, like an army soldier doing a left-face maneuver, and walked toward the cellblock entrance. He heard the guards fall into step behind him. Two moved up on either side of him.

  “Keep going,” the lead gua
rd said, “and take a right at the end of this corridor.”

  Burnside did as he was told. They led him down the corridor like sheepdogs guiding a wolf. Ray turned the corner and saw a young man wearing a suit walking toward them. The man looked like a prison official; his gray suit and black tie were immaculate, his hair was perfectly gelled into place and he wore gold wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Stop here,” one of the guards instructed Burnside as the man approached them. Ray did as he was told and watched the newcomer with unfeigned interest.

  “Is this the prisoner, Raymond Burnside?” the young man in the perfect suit asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll be tagging along on this trip. Is that all right with you, sergeant?” he addressed the leader of the guards.

  “No problem, sir. I suggest you keep your distance from the prisoner. He’s dangerous.”

  The newcomer in the suit coolly surveyed Burnside up and down without saying anything.

  “No problem, sergeant. I’ll just follow along as an observer. You won’t even notice I’m here.”

  “No problem, sir.”

  Burnside watched the suited man walk past him toward the rear of the procession.

  Who the hell is this guy? Why does he want to observe me?

  Ray didn’t think it boded well for him that they sent a prison official to accompany him to wherever they were going.

  They walked through another apparently endless maze of dimly lit concrete corridors until they finally reached a plain wooden door with the words DEPUTY WARDEN written on it in faded black letters.

  Not this guy again. The librarian from hell.

  One of the guards stepped in front of Burnside and held the door open for him. Ray followed him in, surrounded. He found himself in the familiar, Spartanly furnished office of the Deputy Warden/librarian. He stood in front of the desk with his hands cuffed behind his back, regarding the reedy, bespectacled, bald man wearing his usual antiquated bowtie. The little man regarded him ironically with narrowed eyes.

  “So we meet again, Mr. Burnside,” the Deputy Warden said, folding his hands in front of him on his desk like a school principal confronting a truant student.

  Burnside didn’t respond. He stared back without emotion.

  “I must admit that your record so far has not been exemplary,” the DW continued in his reedy voice, pausing for a reaction from Ray. When he didn’t get a response, he continued. “You haven’t been here a full week and you’ve already put three inmates in the infirmary.”

  At this point, Burnside felt obliged to speak.

  “I didn’t put anyone in there who didn’t deserve it,” Ray said, coolly.

  “Mr. Burnside, now is not the time to be flippant. You are in serious trouble. You are going to be charged with Assault and Battery and Mayhem. The Warden is talking about permanently isolating you from the general population. Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

  That figures. I get attacked and raped in the shower, so they bring charges against me.

  He knew from his stint as a police officer that Mayhem was the rarely used criminal charge that referred to the violent removal of a person’s body part without their consent. Burnside glared at the little man behind the desk.

  “I would like to request to go to the infirmary to be checked out. The doctors there will find evidence that I have been forcibly assaulted. That will prove that my actions were done in self-defense.”

  The Deputy Warden narrowed his eyes and regarded Ray icily. “We have two wounded inmates in the infirmary who tell a very different story.”

  “I don’t care what story they’re telling you,” Burnside growled, losing his patience. “Just have me checked out in the infirmary and my story will check out. Why am I wasting my time in here with you?”

  The little man’s face reddened as he stood from his desk and pointed a trembling finger at Burnside. “Mark my words, convict. You’ll never leave this prison alive.”

  “That’s great. The Deputy Warden is threatening my life. As if the threats from the incarcerated felons weren’t enough? This is a hell of a place you’re running here,” Ray said.

  “I give you a chance to explain yourself and you use it to insult me! Take him back to his isolation cell!” the little man screamed shrilly at the guards.

  “Let’s go,” one of the guards said, grabbing his forearm.

  Burnside complied with the guard and glanced over his shoulder as he was being ushered out. “I’ll be seeing you on the outside, pal.”

  “You will never leave this prison alive!” the Deputy Warden’s screamed in a shrill voice

  Chapter 14

  The Meeting

  “Hold on, sergeant. We’re not going anywhere yet,” a voice interjected from the corridor outside the Deputy Warden’s office. Everyone turned and watched the young, suited prison official step out from behind a pair of guards standing near the door.

  He walked past Burnside and approached the desk. Burnside looked back and saw the color drain from the face of the little man. The librarian from hell regarded the young man in the suit with undisguised fear.

  “What are you doing here?” the diminutive man asked in a quavering voice.

  “I’m just an observer. I’ll be making a full report to the Warden,” the unknown official said.

  “Listen, I can explain-” the little man began.

  “You don’t need to concern yourself about it. I’ll take it from here,” the suited man interrupted, authoritatively, as he turned toward the sergeant. “We’re taking the prisoner to see the Warden.”

  “The Warden is getting involved in this!” the Deputy Warden exclaimed, surprised.

  “Like I said before, you don’t need to concern yourself about it,” the suited man stated, calmly, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a small tape recorder and held it up. “Your entire conversation with Mr. Burnside has been recorded. A meeting will be scheduled with the Warden where you will have the opportunity to explain your extraordinary departure from protocol during your conversation with this inmate,” the suited man said, grinning at the Deputy Warden. He turned away from the little man and walked past Burnside without making eye contact with him.

  Who is this guy? He seems to have put the fear of God into that little bow-tied psycho.

  The suited man led the prisoner and the procession of guards out of the office. They followed him down the corridor like lapdogs following their master. After traversing several corridors, they reached an elevator.

  “I only need two of you to accompany us to the Warden’s office,” the suited man said to the sergeant.

  “But, sir, this man is dangerous,” the sergeant protested.

  “I have the situation under control, Sergeant,” the unknown official said, opening his jacket slightly and patting the butt of a pistol in a shoulder holster.

  “Okay, sir. I’ll come with you then,” the sergeant said.

  “Thank you, sergeant,” the suited man replied.

  “Reynolds, you’re with me,” the sergeant said to one of the guards. “The rest of you can return to your posts.”

  The guards dispersed reluctantly. Burnside stepped voluntarily into the elevator and walked to the back. He turned and leaned docilely against the wall. The suited man entered behind him, followed closely by the guards. They kept a respectful distance from the shackled prisoner.

  The unknown man pressed a button in the panel and the elevator ascended. Burnside felt a slight drop in his stomach. Thirty seconds later, the elevator doors slid open. Ray followed the three men into a spacious corridor.

  The corridor was a striking contrast to the rest of the prison. Instead of gray concrete walls, this hallway had expensive wood paneling. A clean gray carpet replaced bare cement floors. Classical paintings hung on the walls. Burnside recognized one of them as a reproduction of a Van Gogh classic called “Starry Night.”

  I knew there was a reason I took core requirement c
ourses like Art History in college, he thought.

  Potted plants rested on antique tables spaced intermittently along the hallway. The guards led Ray down the finely decorated corridor until they reached a large wood paneled door at the end. They stood on either side of him while the suited man knocked twice on the door. A muffled voice shouted for them to enter. The suited man turned to the guards.

  “Gentlemen, the Warden and I would appreciate it if you could wait outside in this corridor while we interview the prisoner.”

  “But, sir! I told you he’s dangerous!” the sergeant exclaimed.

  “I appreciate your concern, sergeant, but as you can see he is handcuffed and the Warden and I are both armed. If we have any trouble with him, we’ll call you in. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied.

  “Follow me,” the suited man said to Burnside as he opened the door.

  Burnside gave the sergeant a feral grin as he walked by. They entered a spacious office decorated with the same wood paneling as the outside corridor. More Classical paintings adorned the walls. Burnside didn’t recognize the artists, but some of them looked vaguely familiar. The Warden stood next to a large desk with his arms folded across his chest. He was a tall, stocky, middle-aged man wearing a gray suit. His salt and pepper hair was cut short in a military-style crew-cut.

  “Please have a seat, Mr. Burnside,” the Warden said, gesturing to an uncomfortable-looking folding metal chair placed in front of the desk.

  Burnside didn’t want to make waves, so he sat in the chair and leaned forward slightly so he didn’t crush his handcuffed wrists. The constant burning pain he felt in his ass became more noticeable when he sat down. He gritted his teeth and ignored it. The Warden remained in a standing position next to his desk with his large, muscular arms folded over his chest.

  Burnside was impressed. The guy looked and acted nothing like the weasel-like Deputy Warden. Ray thought he looked like he may have actually started out as a corrections officer and worked his way up to the top position.

  “The guards are waiting outside your office door,” the suited man informed the Warden in a low, confidential voice.