The Velvet Caress

by C. P. Mandara

  Mr Big was returned to my cell after an hour or two. My mood was already toxic, but at his reappearance it went from bleach to sulfuric acid. He was one in a long list of things I didn't want to deal with right now.

  As soon as he entered he gave me the 'look', so I stood up and offered him the steel bench. Whilst I could normally take a good kicking my back wouldn't be up to anything at the moment, and it wouldn't take an Einstein to discover my weak point. Once the bastard had an inch he'd take a mile, and I was pretty sure I wouldn't like what happened after that.

  'How'd it go with the lawyer?' Mr Big scratched at his balding head and ran a hand across his stubble. He looked pretty happy for someone who was about to be put away for a very long time. I wish I had his enthusiasm for what lay ahead.

  'Not as well as I'd hoped.' The answer might have been a little clipped, but it was honest.

  'Ah. He's not managed to pull off a deal then?'

  If I wasn't much mistaken, Mr Big looked almost gleeful at the prospect of my joining him in purgatory. I didn't like his facial expression one little bit, although I was careful to keep my face neutral. There was only so much he was going to get out of me, and that was pretty much limited to bed and board. He could eat my food and steal my mattress, but if he laid a hand on me there was going to be trouble.

  When the look continued I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was living on borrowed time. I figured I needed to keep him occupied somehow, at least until I could figure a way out of here, so I wracked my brains for something that would keep him talking for a while. Anything would do, but it needed to be a subject he knew plenty about.

  'So I'm guessing this isn't your first time in the joint?' I asked. My prison slang was pretty poor, but I'd heard another suspect rattle on about it earlier, so I figured I'd beef up my street cred.

  'Nah. I've already done five years for aggravated assault.'

  'The missus?' Call me curious, but I needed to know.

  'You're 'avin a laugh. The missus enjoys that kind of thing. It was me son's teacher. He'd given him a clip round the head and I don't like that kinda thing.'

  Of course you don't, I thought dryly. Much better to get out a baseball bat and whack the living daylights out of the poor teacher who had the unfortunate fate of being stuck with your son. Having no wish to know what he'd done to the poor soul, I quickly changed the subject again.

  'So, this will be my first time behind bars. Any tips for surviving on the inside?'

  Mr Big looked me up and down and grinned. 'You sure you wanna hear this?'

  I let out a long breath while I considered my question. It looked like he was going to enjoy this, and that wasn't a good sign, but what the hell. 'Go on then, give it to me straight.'

  'Well, a pretty boy like you is going to be very popular.' He leered at me, but I made no notion of having noticed. 'And I don't mean popular in a sociable way, mate.' I'd already figured that out for myself, but I nodded my understanding. 'If I were you I'd get myself a big strong cellmate who could bash all the nasties away.'

  It didn't take a genius to see where this was going. If Mr Big wasn't looking at me I'd have rolled my eyes, but as I preferred them located in the front of my head I resisted the urge.

  'Someone like you, for instance?' Throwing the question out there was a bad idea, but I was full of them these days.

  'Absolutely. You'd be safe as houses if I'd got your back.'

  So, if I was reading between the lines, it went something like this: if you wanted to stay safe in prison you needed to get used to being sexually molested. I'd rather go down the broken ribs and black eye route, but he'd find that out soon enough. Keeping him sweet for the time being I said, 'So, let's say I'm your mate. What's your advice for staying out of trouble?'

  The smile on his face was almost as big as his bloody hands. There was no way I was ever being this guy's cellmate. I'd rather spend twenty-five years in solitary confinement.

  'Well, first of all you need to be patient. Nothing ever happens very quickly in prison. Staff aren't in any hurry to help inmates and you can expect to wait a very long time for just about everything.'

  Great. Patience wasn't one of my strong points. I could barely wait for the rest of these little hints and tips.

  'And you gotta be a little careful with your words. Come across as an asshole with attitude, chances are someone's going to adjust it for you. Unless you're built like me, that is. Then you can get away with being a dick.'

  Good to know. This guy wasn't selling life in prison to me so far. I wondered what delights were coming up next.

  'So, when you first get in the slammer, good idea to listen as much as you can. Sure you'll get a list of rules from the wardens, but it's the unwritten rules that are important. For starters, never grass up a fellow inmate. You do that, your life ain't going to be worth living.'

  Christ, how old was I? Five. I think I could have figured that one out all by myself. It was no wonder this idiot was in jail.

  'You also need to choose your friends carefully. Get to know the right people and you'll feel like you're doing a spell in the Hilton. Pick the wrong 'uns and you'll either get hurt, lots of solitary, or a few extra years added to your time.

  I think he might have been slightly exaggerating with the Hilton remark, unless they'd really dropped their standards lately. Still, I was learning. I was listening intently and I'd already decided I wasn't going to interrupt.

  'Probably best not to get involved with gambling, either. People have been killed over gambling debts inside. If you can't pay, don't play.'

  That was probably the first piece of sensible advice he'd given me, if I hadn't been a millionaire several times over. Actually, it was probably still sensible, as I suspected it wouldn't take Jen long to spend all of my money if left up to her own devices. Women were good like that. I nodded again, to keep him talking.

  'Don't accept anything from no one. When you first get inside people are going to lend you things. Cigarettes, drugs, you name it someone will have it. Trouble is that they'll expect two in return. If you can't deliver you're gonna get hurt in a real bad way.'

  Thankfully I didn't do drugs or smoke anything but Cuban cigars, and they were for special occasions only. As I didn't see many special occasions coming up in prison I'd probably be good for a few years.

  'Don't stare at no one either. Stare at someone too long and you're gonna get a kicking.'

  Mr Big scratched his stubbly jaw and nodded at me with a frown. I couldn't help but wonder if he was the jealous type.

  'You could do with working out a bit too. Makes you less of a target. Spend some time in the gym and bulk up. You'd look mighty fine with an eight pack, I think.'

  Mr Big's eyes lit up at the thought and he stared at me intently, breaking one of his cardinal rules. There was a good chance, I thought, that I might actually go down for murder in the first degree rather than just attempted murder, by the time my spell with him was over.

  'Good idea not to get involved with a gang, either. Once you get in you ain't never getting out.' Mr Big yawned. 'Hey, you heard enough yet, pretty boy?' He put his hands under his head and laid out flat upon the mattress. It looked like he was getting comfy and that had to be a good thing.

  'Not nearly,' I lied. 'But is there much else left?' I thought it was a fair question. We seemed to have covered quite a bit in the last few minutes. If I could just keep him talking for a few more minutes the bastard might actually fall asleep on me, with any luck.

  'Well we're just down to nit-picking now,' he said, yawning. 'Stuff like ordering dental floss picks; you can't bring the regular stuff in because people will try to take your head off with it. If you forget to order those picks the jailhouse dentist just loves pulling your teeth out, take it from me. I lost a couple on my last spell inside.'

  Urgh. That was enough to put you off sugar for life, but I can't say I was saddened that prisons were trying to stop us from being garrotted.

&n
bsp; 'Finally, try to avoid getting your face smashed in. Do as you're told, no matter what they tell you. Don't touch anyone else's stuff. If your cellmates are cheating, lyin' or hogging the bathroom, you let 'em. Sit wherever the fuck you're told and don't raise your voice. There. I think that's about it.'

  He stopped just when I was starting to enjoy myself. Seriously, though, I wasn't sure whether I was now feeling suicidal or murderous, or both.

  'Oh wait. Good idea to choose your friends carefully, and your enemies even more carefully. Last thing - if you're going into the showers with ten or twenty other inmates, wear your boxers. That's especially important if you look like you do, and I get very jealous, darling.' The word 'darling' was slurred and his eyes were at half-mast. Mr Big had obviously had a tough day.

  'Sounds like pretty good advice to me.' My voice was gentle and slow. All I wanted him to do now was shut up and go to sleep. I needed to think and I couldn't do that with his voice droning away in my ear.

  'You have no idea.' That was the last thing he said to me for some time.

  Sleep inside a jail cell was even more elusive than it usually was, and for an insomniac such as myself that was saying something. Lying down on my stomach on a cold, hard, unforgiving concrete floor was not an experience I ever wanted to repeat. Although we had been given a couple of thin orange blankets, Mr Big had already got his mitts on those, so I was either going to have to cuddle up with him or suffer in silence. It wasn't a hard choice.

  As I lay there, aching in nearly every bone in my body, I began to wonder whether it might have been a good idea to have antagonized Mr Big after all. He might have done me a favour and knocked me out. All I was doing now was going over and over the events of the last few days. It had been quite an epic rollercoaster. At least I knew Jen was okay. That might have been the only reason I was holding it together. I'd prayed, and my prayers had been answered. If twenty years in prison was going to be my punishment, then I'd take it. Up until now I'd lived my life in excess, in just about everything possible, and now it looked like the tables were turning. Then again, maybe I was being overly pessimistic. I hadn't been tried and convicted yet, and Khalil and Jonathon would stop at nothing to try and clear my name. It was too soon to abandon all hope, and I just needed to keep myself in a positive frame of mind.

  This was easier said than done when you'd been awake for the better part of twenty-three hours or so. It looked like it was going to be a long night.

  Morning dawned blue, bright and sunny, according to the tiny rectangle above me. It should have been a portent for a fantastic day, but I wasn't prepared to stake any money on that kind of outcome. Just lately lady luck had not been on my side. Dragging myself up from the concrete floor my back protested in earnest. I ignored it. My thoughts were solely centred on how to keep Mr Big occupied for the rest of the day, and I was coming up blank.

  When the two breakfast trays sailed our way Mr Big was still asleep, so I managed to grab a slice of toast and cup of coffee for myself. If you ever need to lose any weight, I recommend prison. It has several ways of putting you off your food, including the appearance of the food itself. Whilst I knew they weren't exactly encouraging people to stay here, and for good reason, it still looked pretty grim. Deciding then and there that if I did somehow manage to get off this charge I would never put a foot wrong for the rest of my life, I scraped the eggs around in my tray for a bit. With a bit of salt and pepper they were almost edible. Leaving the rest of the glop for Big, I paced for a bit to try and loosen my legs up. My back did not feel good. Judging by the pain that hit me every time I moved I suspected I'd gotten an infection. At some point I would probably need medical attention, and I had a feeling the kind of attention I would receive in here was not going to be a fun experience. There was no one to blame but myself, and I'd do it all again if it meant bringing Jennifer back from the brink of death. Now I'd just have to deal with the consequences, and I could live with a bit of pain. I hoped.

  By the time Mr Big woke up his breakfast, and what was left of mine, was thoroughly cold. In fact the eggs had congealed into something hard and nasty. As he slowly got up off the thin mattress he looked at both trays and then slowly advanced towards me. By the look on his face I figured he was quite upset about something. Maintaining my stance and refusing to back off only made him angrier.

  'Oh, so we're Billy Big Balls now, are we?' He began flexing his knuckles in front of me and I couldn't help but think about all that money I'd wasted on private health insurance. None of that was going to help me in here, was it?

  'What's up?' I looked at him genially, hoping to diffuse the tension. It was the wrong move. I saw his fist coming a split second before it smashed into my face. Then he grabbed me by the shirt collar and lifted me a foot up off the floor. Breathing became rather difficult as I waited for him to explain what I'd done wrong. As far as I could see I'd been an angel so far. I'd let him lie in, I'd left him some breakfast and I'd given him sole use of the bed. What more did the bastard want? He was about to tell me.

  'Your breakfast is my breakfast. That means I eat first, punk. When the chow comes you wake me and wait for me to finish. Is that clear?' Spittle flew into my face as he spat out his sentence, and all I could do was nod in response. As he'd already cut off my air supply trying to do anything else was near impossible. Unfortunately a nod didn't seem to be enough for him. My face got redder and redder as he left me hanging there, and at a guess he was probably debating what to do with me. I had a sinking feeling I wasn't going to like what happened next.

  'Maybe I don't want you as my cellmate after all. Maybe you need to learn some fucking manners.' He eyeballed me for a very long time, especially considering I still couldn't breathe. 'Now, what should I do to teach you a lesson?' As the man was well aware I couldn't talk, I just hung around waiting for him to decide. It didn't take him long.

  First he put me back on the floor, and then he spun me around so my back was towards him. Sucking in a huge lungful of air I wheezed for a few seconds as I tried to even up the oxygen and carbon dioxide balance currently circulating through my blood. Meanwhile I felt the zipper of my jumpsuit being slid down and Mr Big's hands slowly sliding inside the elasticated waistband of my trousers. I immediately saw red. It took two more breaths before I felt capable of moving, and in that time he was trying his best to get my trousers down around my ankles, while his hand began searching around for my cock. Not fucking likely. Adrenaline flowed everywhere at once, and if I'm honest given half a chance I probably would have killed the bastard. Fortunately for me, or should I say unfortunately, he was a solid wall of muscle and even when my fist connected with his chin he barely flinched, my retaliation just angering him more. His face was a great big mottled red thing, pulsing with fury. For a minute I thought he might explode, but then he managed to direct his anger - at me. Pulling some kind of implement from within his jumpsuit he thrust it towards me and I lunged out of its way. At first glance it appeared to be some kind of makeshift knife, but I didn't get a good enough look at it to decide how dangerous it was. The second lunge proved a little more insightful. It came within a whisker of taking my left eye out. At close range I could see it was a spoon that had been sharpened into a vicious point, with some kind of wooden base taped to it. Mr Big liked his DIY by the looks of it. The bastard stood a reasonably good chance at killing me if no one decided to intervene. Circling around the room, with nowhere to go, I began yelling at the top of my lungs, hoping against hope to attract someone's attention. Not for one minute did I think the prison guards were going to come running immediately, but I hoped that if I made enough noise to annoy them they might investigate.

  'Help! He's trying to kill me. Someone help!'

  Mr Big thought this was highly amusing. Bringing up one of his thick legs he slammed his sneaker-covered foot into me and flung me against the back wall. I screamed myself silly as I flew through the air, knowing exactly what was coming and what the likely outcome would be. Praying tha
t when I woke up I wouldn't be carved into one hundred pieces, I felt my back slam into the concrete wall. Indescribable pain burned through me as my back smashed itself open, and then I felt black spots immediately dance around in my head. In a matter of seconds I was going to pass out. If Mr Big was into necrophilia, now was his chance.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine - Jennifer

  My blood pressure was going through the roof. The doctors had threatened to sedate me if I didn't calm myself down, but that wasn't easy after I'd found out my father was trying to destroy my husband. Now the poisoning tactic had failed I guess he was going to settle for the next best thing, and let's face it, it was still getting rid of him. Yes he might surface after a few years or so, but it would be long enough for my father to get what he wanted, whatever that was.

  I kept going over the conversation I'd had with the officers and tried to see if there was anything I could salvage from it. Are you sure you don't want to change your story? Those words kept going over and over in my head. I swear they were going to haunt me, because every time I repeated them I saw the disbelieving looks on the officers' faces. They probably thought I'd gone mad, and I have to confess it was a close run thing for a while.

  His apartment was searched and some incriminating evidence was found. Those were the words the elderly officer had said to me just before they asked me if I was sure I didn't want to tell them the truth. His apartment. We hadn't been to his apartment in months. We'd been staying at his estate in Hertfordshire. There was no way in the world someone could refer to a large mansion as an apartment, surely? Had the poison been planted in his London apartment? There was a good possibility that it had. Daddy dearest probably thought Mark would take me straight back to London, and hadn't thought we'd be taking a 'honeymoon', if anything we'd done there could be called that. He'd have assumed Mark would go straight back to work. Perhaps this was the missing link I'd been looking for. Rifling through my bedside drawer for Mark's cell I quickly called Khalil. It was picked up after a single ring.