by Dylan Rust
Jack was at the door. He turned around and said, “I’m going to put an end to this. To all of this.”
61
It had been a week. Claire was cold and was shaking. She hadn’t eaten in twenty hours. She needed water. She was in the cellar, underneath The Dacha House. She could hear the electronic music reverberate through the walls. She could feel the bass in her chest. She hated it.
She cried.
“Don’t let them hear you cry.”
Claire turned to the cell beside her. “You’re awake,” she said.
Mary Sokolov was in the cell beside her. She had been in and out of consciousness all week. She’d ate very little and didn’t seem aware of where she was.
Not many of the other girls in the cages spoke. They just whimpered. Claire couldn’t see how many there were. It was too dark. But based on the echoes of the room, it sounded like there were a lot of them.
Mary was the only girl Claire had talked to.
“I am awake,” Mary said. “I am feeling better. Why were you crying?”
“I was thinking about how all of this is my fault?”
“You’re fault? You’re in a cage.”
“I know,” Claire said. “But if I had listened to Jack. If I had trusted him….” She trailed off.
Claire had told Mary all about Jack. She told her that Jack was an ex-cop and ex-con and that he saved her life. She hadn’t told her who Jack was related to. She hadn’t told her that Jack was Elaine’s brother.
“Oh for Christs sake,” Mary said. “It’s like you told me. He was the only man that could get close to Igor. He didn’t fail you. He did get close. Igor’s just a bad man.”
“If not for his reward.”
“His rewards are awful.”
“Igor’s reward for Jack… was his sister.”
“His sister? How sick? What an animal? How did Igor know?”
“He didn’t.”
“It was pure luck? Pure chance?”
“Yes.”
Mary shook her head.
“I’m sorry you had to live through such pain.”
“You’ve gone through worse,” Claire said. “You haven’t told me much about yourself.”
“I came to America months ago.”
“And Igor caught you right away?”
“No,” Mary said. “I worked at a bar. Jimmy’s...” She was going to continue, but Claire cut her off.
“Jimmy’s!?”
“Yes, you know it.”
“That’s where Jack’s sister worked.”
“Then you know her. Her name is Elly.”
“Elaine?”
“I guess,” Mary said. “We didn’t know each other that long. I just called her Elly.”
“Jesus,” Claire said. “You were the girl that had Jack’s sister spooked. If not for you…”
“If not for me what?”
“Jack wouldn’t have visited his sister. Oh, so this is my fault?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Claire said.
“We won’t last long here,” Mary said. “ He’s going to grind us down to a pulp. He’s going to ship me to Ukraine or Russia or something.”
Claire wanted to sound hopefull, she wanted to reassure Mary that it would all be alright, but she knew that their chances of survival were close to zero. Igor was in control. His grip over the mayor’s office and the NYPD and now the assistant director meant that it would take a miracle to get them out of there.
62
Outside of 2B, it was chaos.
Trucks, cars, and vans were parked outside. Correctional staff were loading each vehicle up. They were preparing for war. A truck tore up the loose gravel resting atop the concrete main road. Its sirens blared. Six heavily armed prison guards were in the back. They were holding shotguns and rifles.
“Hey you,” a guard said. “Where are you going? Come on.”
Jack had just left 2B. He ran up the truck, grabbed hold of the man who called him and got inside. He kept his head hung low and avoided eye contact. But he didn’t need to worry too much, as none of the prison personnel were much interested in him.
One of the guards patted Jack on the shoulder. “You’ll need this.” He handed Jack a helmet.
Jack put it on. It had a transparent plastic plate in front and was light.
“Close your eyes when the flash bangs drop,” another said. “Those things are powerful.”
Jack nodded.
The truck ride was short. It was no longer than sixty seconds. Jack jumped out with the other guards.
Smoke rose out of building three’s ceiling. A helicopter flew overhead. Sirens wailed in the distance. About three hundred correctional staff and guards were behind the chain link fence that went around the circumference of the building.
To Jack’s left was the Rikers Island Bridge. He was close, but he couldn’t leave yet. He’d put an end to this riot, then quickly hop in the back of the one of the trucks leaving.
The men from the truck gathered their riot shields, batons, stun guns, shot guns and pistols and huddled around the lead officer. Jack joined them.
“Alright,” he said. “They’ve taken over D-Yard, and have hallways one through ten on the second floor. Two cell blocks are empty last we checked.”
“Checked?” Jack asked.
“Yeah,” the lead said. “Just got word that all the cameras are now down. We figure there’s about one hundred and twenty inmates on the prowl. We’ve got six NYPD squads on their way and have called in on-call prison security personnel. We’re the first wave. Let’s put an end to this before the NYPD take credit.”
“Yes, sir,” the men said in unison.
The lead continued. “We need someone to go in there through the front entrance. It’s in the check-in. Once we get the all clear, we’ll follow.”
Jack shook his head. They sounded like boys playing war out on the schoolyard. They weren’t ready. They’d get shot up and killed the second they entered the building. This was Worley’s fault. For too long, he valued loyalty over competence. Now that the dam had burst open, the true nature of his hiring practices were on full display. Too bad the asshole was dead and couldn’t take the blame for it.
“I volunteer,” Jack said.
The lead thanked him, handed him a radio and sent him off.
The chain link fence that surrounded building three had a sign that read: ‘Rikers; Home of New York’s Boldest.’
Jack had seen that sign many times. It was posted up all over the prison.
It was time to be bold, he thought.
He walked through the chain link door and made his way into building’s front entrance.
The building had seven floors and was shaped like an X. It had four cell blocks. Each one was long and narrow. They stretched up the seven floors of the building. Each cell block was cut off from the rest of the building save for one entrance on the ground floor. Beyond the ground floor entrance was a long hallway which led to the yard. Two of the four cell blocks were compromised. The other two were in lockdown. They were secure.
From the security footage Jack saw in 2B, the riot started in the yard and made its way into the building. He figured that the inmates ran back inside building three to gather supplies and weapons from the bodies of the guards they’d killed.
He made his way toward the front lobby.
The windows were broken. Jack spotted a few bodies lying on the ground inside. A young correctional officer’s body was splayed on top of a desk. His head hung over the edge. His stomach on its surface. A shiv was stuck in his back.
Jack jumped into the building through a broken window.
He hid behind a desk. He waited.
The lights had been turned off.
Jack pulled out Worley’s Smith and Wesson 5946 DAO. The fucker would be loud. It’d attract a lot of attention and taking on an army of hostile inmates would be like fighting off a wave of zombies. These assholes wouldn’t care if they got shot. They’d take a few bullets and just ke
ep running. The way they saw it, they were already dead.
He’d have to use the gun sparingly.
He checked the magazine. Fifteen bullets.
The main lobby was a mess, but it was empty of rioting inmates. They’d already gathered everything they needed from there.
Jack got up. He walked toward the building’s main hallway. But he had to duck back behind a desk. He saw shadows. He heard footsteps.
He peeked above the desk. Down the hallway, he saw two men approach.
He radioed the correctional officer who led the truck.
“I’m inside.”
“And?”
“They’ve already broken through,” said Jack. “I’ll need backup. Two hostiles are approaching.”
“That’s a negative.”
“What?” Jack said.
“We’re to stand down,” the lead said. “We’re waiting for word from NYPD.”
“I thought you said you wanted to take credit for this.”
“I’m just following orders,” the lead said. “I don’t make the rules. You should come back.”
Jack clenched the radio so hard in his hand it broke into two pieces. He’d do this alone. It’s him the inmates wanted anyway.
The inmates walked into the lobby. They were in their orange jumpsuits, although each had pulled down the top part and tied it around their waists. Their heads were shaved. Their bodies littered with ink.
“You see the way that bitch’s head snapped back, man?”
“Yeah, man. Hilarious.”
They both laughed.
“Fuck, man. I’ve been wanting this for so long. This is like therapeutic, homey.”
“What did he want?”
“There’s a key code on the asshole. Gives us access to the underground tunnel. Fucking Sammy forgot it. Now Sammy’s dead.”
“Fuck, man.”
“The guards outside think we’re going to come through the lobby. That ain’t happening, man. We’re going underground. There is money on his head.”
The two skinny, tattooed men walked up to the man sprawled on top of the desk and rummaged through his clothes. Jack maneuvered to a better position. He needed to get close.
“Fuck, you see the way the knife is in the back of this dude’s skull.”
“Shit, man. That’s a lot of brain.”
The two inmates giggled.
Jack wasn’t going to waste a bullet on these two. He put the gun back and pulled out the combat knife. He wanted to make sure that they felt the pain.
“Where is this key, homey?”
The other inmate looked around the room. “I don’t know.”
Jack snuck from desk to desk. He stayed low, quiet. He was ten feet from them. The inmate that was searching the room was closer.
“Fuck man, he’s not going to be happy if we don’t find it.”
“I agree.”
The shorter of the two grabbed hold of the cadaver and flipped it over. “Where did you put the key.” He pulled the shiv out of the cadavers skull. It was stuck, so he had to tug on it. The dead man’s head lifted up from the desk. The inmate yanked the shiv free and threw it on the ground. The dead man’s head landed on the desk.
He looked no older than thirty-five.
The shiv landed on the ground close to Jack.
Jack crawled a few more feet toward the two men. The one who wasn’t searching the corpse for the key was looking through the desks.
Jack was close enough now. He snuck up to the guy searching through the desks and slit his throat. It was quick enough and quiet enough that he didn’t make a sound. He put the knife back in his jacket pocket. He grabbed the weight of the inmate’s body as it collapsed in his arms. Blood spurted out like a waterfall from the man’s neck. The inmate couldn’t scream, he could only watch, watch until his heart stopped pumping and the lack of oxygen to his brain caused it to cease functioning.
Jack laid the body down on the floor. The man searching the corpse noticed that his friend had disappeared. “What!? What the fu…”
Jack picked up the shiv from the ground. It was a juvenile weapon made by desperate men to perform despicable acts. This one looked like it was comprised of an iron bedpost and a Catholic cross. Jack shoved the shiv into the inmate’s head, straight through his eyeball. He pushed the shiv all the way in. He felt the bone crack, he felt the warmth of the blood coat his fingers. He pulled out the shiv and tossed it on the ground. That weapon had served its purpose.
The two men were talking about brining a keycard back to the man who was leading the riot. Jack figured if he cut off the head, then the snake would die. But to get close to the leader of the riot meant that he’d have to dress up like an inmate.
Prison staff were caught in bureaucratic limbo. They were waiting for orders, directions. Jack figured it was due to the fact that they were waiting for word from the warden and that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. They’d be stuck outside of building until someone found the warden’s body.
Jack didn’t have that long.
He took off the prison guard’s uniform and put on one of the inmate jumpsuits.
He placed the prison guard outfit he was wearing carefully on the ground. He’d need it again.
He looked around the room for the keycard.
It took him twenty seconds. It was on the floor, under a desk.
He grabbed the keycard and made his way toward to the cellblocks.
He needed to find the head of the snake.
63
The smoke was thick and black. There were bodies on the ground. Maybe ten, maybe twenty. Maybe more. Some were correctional officers defending themselves, defending the prison, others were inmates, doing whatever it took to take their freedom back.
The floor was slippy from the blood.
Jack stayed low. He crouched as he made his way down the long hallway. Not much had changed since he was last in Rikers. He understood why, too. More than half the city wanted to see Rikers disappear. It was a scourge, a giant wart, a blemish, a stain. They mayor cut funding years ago. The effects of those cuts were starting to show.
Jack came to a fork in the road. The hallway split. One way led to the cellblocks, the other to D-Yard. He turned toward D-Yard. That was where the fire was coming from. That’s where the rioting inmates would be.
He opened the door to D-Yard, which was a small courtyard in the center of the building. The walls on either side belonged to the cellblocks. It didn’t have a roof. D-Yard was where the inmates were brought for their daily exercise. It was a small, no more than a couple thousand square feet.
The inmates were holding a bonfire, of sorts.
Two correctional officers bodies were in the middle of the fire. The smell of burning flesh, hair and uniform filled Jack’s nostrils.
Behind the fire pit, a group of men were huddled around a sewer. They were trying to wedge it open.
“Hey, where are Diego and Sanchez?” one of the men trying to pry open the sewer said.
Jack approached but them, but had to stop.
A big, round inmate with s tattoo of the numbers 666 stopped Jack from walking up to the men.
“Who are you?”
“I have the keycard,” Jack said. He showed the big man the card.
The big man grabbed it and looked at it. He brought it close to his face so he could examine it. He was nearsighted.
“Where is Diego and Sanchez?”
“They’re having fun with each other,” Jack said. “You know those two.” Jack winked at the big guy. “They gave me the keycard, said I was supposed to bring it here.”
The big guy smiled. “Those assholes.” He handed Jack back the keycard. “He’s waiting for you.”
He let Jack through.
There were about twenty inmates around the sewer. Each one was holding a weapon of some sort. Some of the weapons had been procured from the bodies of dead officers. Some were homemade, scrapped together from bits of contraband and broken materials.
<
br /> The sewer popped open as Jack approached.
But before he could go down, another inmate stopped him. “Never seen your ugly face around here before,” he said. He had his name tag on. His name was Jeremiah. He was muscular. His biceps were each the size of Jack’s waste.
“You know everything about this place, huh?” said Jack.
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you.”
Jack walked up to Jeremiah. He wasn’t going to back down. He pulled out the keycard.
Jeremiah smiled. “Get down there, Gunner is waiting.”
Gunner?
Of course it was Gunner, the guy who had beat up in the 77th just over a week ago.
Jack grabbed hold of the ladder and made his way down the sewer. The rungs were moist and coated in a green moss. It was a tiny, noxious environment. It smelled like shit. When he reached the bottom, his feet sunk into what he hoped was a stream of mud.
Voices echoed from the far end of the sewer. The inmates were making their way westward, toward solitary, toward 2B.
Jack walked through the muck.
Two men jumped down behind him, Jeremiah and the big guy.
It was dark.
“Gunner said we’re going to drag him back to the fire. Spit roast the fucker,” Jeremiah said.
“That would be hilarious,” the big guy said.
Jack walked toward 2B. He had no reason to engage with these two meat heads, no reason to tempt fate.
“You in a hurry or something?” Jeremiah said to Jack.
Jack ignored him.
“Hey,” Jeremiah said. “I’m fucking talking to you.”
Jack continued to walk. The other inmates were about one hundred yards ahead of him. He was almost there.
“Hey!” the big guy yelled.
Jack stopped. He turned around.
The sewer was almost pitch black. Jack could only see vague shadows of where Jeremiah and the big guy were.
“What do you want?” Jack said.
The big men stopped walking.
“I said, are you in a hurry or something?” Jeremiah said.
“No,” Jack said. “I’m in no hurry. Mind telling me why you give a shit?”