by Caro Savage
Sharon was sitting on the chair, one foot up on the desk, cutting her toenails, the sound of the clippers loud inside the small cell. The toenail clippings were pinging randomly over the desk and the floor of the cell and Sharon didn’t appear to be making any effort to clear them up.
‘Did you see that fight in the canteen today?’ said Sharon. Clip, clip.
‘It was hard to miss.’
‘It blew up really suddenly, didn’t it?’ Clip.
‘They usually do.’
As a policewoman, Bailey had witnessed a fair number of fights. They mostly followed the same pattern – a sudden explosive outburst of violence that was usually over in a matter of seconds. Today’s altercation had been no different.
‘Did you see, poor old Amber got her glasses knocked off,’ said Sharon. Clip, clip. A toenail clipping ricocheted onto the floor by the bunks.
Bailey had felt bad for Amber, as a rookie, having to deal with a situation like that all by herself. As soon as it had kicked off, her policewoman’s instincts had jumped to the fore and she’d had to stop herself from rushing in to give Amber a hand, knowing that she could easily have ended the situation. But she’d been sitting with the ABC at their corner table and it would have looked exceedingly suspicious if she, a mere accountant, had leapt in and applied expert control and restraint procedures, not to mention helping a prison officer, who they more or less regarded as the enemy.
So she’d had to just sit there and watch, wincing inwardly when Amber got hit, feeling secretly relieved when Terry had finally arrived.
‘That fight was very revealing,’ Sharon continued. She picked a toenail clipping out of her hair and flicked it onto the floor. ‘I was sitting at the table right next to them.’
‘I didn’t exactly get what it was about. I think one of them was accusing the other one of stealing her boyfriend or something.’ It seemed pretty standard, run-of-the mill stuff to Bailey.
‘I’m surprised no one’s noticed it.’
‘Noticed what?’
‘Knowledge is power.’ Sharon tapped her nose.
Bailey realised that Sharon was deliberately obfuscating, being all coy about whatever secret she seemed to know. She appeared to enjoy playing these little games and Bailey guessed it was her way of gaining validation.
Bailey sighed and played along. ‘So what are you going to do with this “knowledge”?’
Sharon smiled and rubbed her thumb and forefinger together in the universal sign for money.
Blackmail of some sort.
As Bailey recalled, that was the reason that Sharon had ended up in here in the first place. A leopard doesn’t change its spots, she thought.
She watched her cellmate cutting her toenails and reminded herself just how dangerous Sharon was. Bailey was terrified that she would reveal something in her sleep that Sharon could exploit to her advantage, like the fact that she was an undercover cop. Although everything seemed okay for the moment, she knew she would have to continue to tread very, very carefully around her.
48
There was no reason given for the summons, merely an order to come to cell 319 in C-Wing at 2 p.m.
Bailey paced briskly along the second-floor landing of C-Wing, navigating her way through the various groups of inmates who were lounging around. Sunlight filtered feebly down through the begrimed skylights high above, hinting that it might be quite a nice day outside.
She looked at her watch. It read 13:59. She arrived at the cell, pausing for a moment to catch her breath. It wouldn’t look seemly to be too flustered. Then she stepped into the doorway, tensed, prepared for anything.
Toni was sitting on the edge of the lower bunk, alone in her cell. She smiled up at Bailey with all the warmth of a crocodile, her gold tooth glinting. She patted the bunk beside her. ‘Don’t be shy. Come on in. Take a seat.’
Bailey hesitated for a fraction of a second, then went in and sat down next to her, but not too close. She shivered. The cell seemed unusually cold. Or maybe she was just scared.
She glanced around. The decor was relatively sparse. On the desk were an Xbox and a stack of violent video games, along with a copy of Mein Kampf and a large academic textbook entitled Principles of Human Anatomy.
‘I don’t think me and you have had the chance for a proper one-to-one catch-up yet, have we?’ said Toni.
‘Guess not,’ Bailey replied, still trying to ascertain if there was a special, and possibly unpleasant, reason for this meeting.
Her eyes settled on a fluffy heart-shaped cushion with the letter ‘T’ embroidered on it which was lying on the bunk. It looked incongruous in the context of the other items in the cell.
Toni noticed her looking at it. She picked it up and tilted her head wistfully, gazing at the blank wall in front of them. She was silent for a few moments, then she spoke in a soft, almost tender voice, holding the cushion to her chest.
‘I miss him you know.’
‘Who?’
‘My baby.’
Bailey was surprised. Maybe she’d misjudged Toni. But then most of the inmates in here seemed to have kids, so why should Toni be any exception?
‘Where is he now?’ she asked gently, imagining that he was probably in care or had even been put up for adoption.
‘He’s dead,’ said Toni.
‘Oh… I’m so sorry.’
‘The police shot him.’
‘What?! The police shot your baby?!’
‘I’d only let him off the lead for five minutes.’
The penny dropped. ‘Oh…’
‘My pit bull. His name was Taser. My baby.’ Toni looked down at the cushion. ‘I made this in craft class so I’d never forget him. The love of my life… gone forever.’
‘That’s… uh… sad.’
‘It was totally unnecessary. He would have let go of that kid eventually.’ Her face turned sour. ‘Bastards!’
She sighed and shook her head, then placed the cushion to one side and turned to look at Bailey.
‘Anyway, down to business.’
Toni glanced around furtively, then beckoned Bailey closer.
‘I want to tell you something,’ she whispered. Her flint-coloured eyes gave nothing away. They were dead and calm, like the sea before a storm.
Bailey leaned in slowly.
Suddenly Toni grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head backwards so her throat was exposed. She felt the sharp filed edge of a shank pressing into the side of her neck. It had appeared out of nowhere.
Bailey froze, her heart thumping hard, her mouth dry. She swallowed and even that small movement of her throat caused the blade to bite into the skin of her neck. She held her breath, barely gasping, barely able to even speak.
‘This is your carotid artery,’ whispered Toni in her ear, stroking the edge of the blade up and down the left side of Bailey’s neck just beneath her ear. ‘It’s responsible for carrying oxygenated blood from your heart to your head. If I cut it open right now, your blood would pump out in big jets at five litres a minute. That’s a lot of blood. You wouldn’t last very long.’
‘I see you’ve been reading up on your human anatomy,’ whispered Bailey hoarsely, trying to make light of the situation in an attempt to mask her fear.
She’d only just begun to feel better following her beating from her brutal initiation into the gang. She didn’t fancy a whole new set of injuries.
Toni moved the blade slowly across to the front of Bailey’s throat, the roughly filed edge of the knife scraping at her skin.
‘And this is your trachea,’ said Toni. ‘Also known as your windpipe. If I was to slice through this, you’d suffocate to death. You’d be flopping around like a fish out of water, possibly for up to three and a half minutes.’
Bailey modulated her breathing, trying to remain calm, trying not to panic, trying not to think about what it felt like to have your throat cut.
Had Toni found out that she was a cop? Was this the reason she had been summoned here? Would Toni
try and force her to admit what she really was? Would she lose her nerve and break cover? If she did, that would seal her fate as surely as anything.
Never. Break. Cover.
Without letting it lose contact with her skin, Toni moved the blade up the side of Bailey’s face until the point of it rested at the base of her right eyeball.
‘Or I could push this shank right through your eye and into your brain. First, your eyeball would puncture and all the liquid inside, which is called the vitreous, would ooze out all down your face. And, of course, your eye wouldn’t work any more. But that would be the least of your problems because then the knife would go into the frontal lobe of your brain, and I don’t even want to get started on what that would do to you, especially if I twisted it around a bit.’
All Bailey could see out of the corner of her eye was Toni’s shark-like leer, and that gold tooth gleaming evilly in her upper jaw.
Gripping her hair even tighter, so tight that it hurt, Toni trailed the knife up the side of Bailey’s face, pointedly tracing the tip of the blade along the line of the scar on her cheek, moving up onto her forehead until the cold sharp edge of the shank was sitting laterally across her hairline, poised to slice into her scalp.
Bailey flicked her eyes down and around to try to get an impression of their physical juxtaposition. She thought back frantically to her jiu-jitsu classes, attempting to mentally choreograph the most appropriate move to get her out of this bind. It would have to be kote gaeshi – outside wrist twist – accompanied by an elbow strike to the chin, followed by some kind of armlock, like ude gatame.
Adrenaline fired through her. She was just about to spring into action when Toni abruptly took the shank away and let go of her hair. She winked at Bailey and patted her amiably on the shoulder.
Although her heart was thumping furiously, Bailey fought hard to appear as unruffled as possible.
Toni nodded and smiled in approval. ‘You’re good. I like you. You’re a pretty cool customer. Pretty cool… for an accountant.’ She squinted at her, the smile suddenly dropping off her face again. ‘That’s what you were, right?’
It had been a test. Toni had just been testing her nerves. She guessed she’d passed.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Just a simple accountant who got in way over her head.’
Toni scrutinised her. ‘I like you, Bailey. You’re not a pussy. I feel like we’re on the same wavelength. We need people like you on our team.’ She flipped the shank in her hand so the handle was pointing towards Bailey. ‘Here. Take it. It’s yours. If you’re going to be a member of the Ace Blade Crew, you’re going to need a blade, right?’
‘Yeah… I guess.’
Bailey took the shank from Toni. She examined it, turning it over in her hands. It was simple and utilitarian – a single piece of metal about seven inches long, one end bound with tape to form a crude handle. The blade was filed razor sharp on both edges and it tapered off to a narrow vicious point. It weighed very little but was clearly capable of doing some serious damage as Toni had been only too keen to demonstrate just a few moments earlier.
‘That’s the only kind of stiletto you’ll be wearing in here,’ said Toni.
Bailey loathed the idea of carrying a knife, let alone actually using one, but she knew that this was as much a badge of membership as the tattoo.
‘Thanks,’ she said, forcing a grateful smile onto her face.
Was that the reason she had been asked to come here? So that Toni could give her a shank?
Toni seemed to read her thoughts. ‘Probably wondering why I asked you to come here, huh?’
‘It did cross my mind.’
‘I think it’s time for you to do your first job for us.’ She glanced around again even though the cell was quite clearly empty apart from the two of them. ‘It’s top secret.’
She stood up and walked to the cell door. She turned around and looked at Bailey, who was still sitting on the bunk.
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’
Bailey stood up and followed her out of the cell. Toni walked fast, with a purpose, and Bailey hurried to keep up with her. They traversed the length of the landing, the other inmates dissolving rapidly out of their way as soon as they recognised Toni. They descended the metal stairwell at the far end of the landing, going all the way to the ground floor.
From the huge echoing galleries, they proceeded down into the dank basement corridors beneath B-Wing, Bailey getting more and more curious as to the nature of their destination. Judging by her confident stride, Toni seemed to know her way around every last murky recess and cloistered passage of this decrepit Victorian pile.
The sound of machinery and power tools echoed through the corridors as they got closer to the prison workshop. As they passed by it, Bailey glanced through the small window in the door, catching a glimpse of inmates in welding masks manipulating white-hot oxyacetylene torches.
And then they had rounded a corner, Toni trotting fast, constantly looking from side to side to check who else might be around, who else might be monitoring their movements.
Suddenly she stopped, so suddenly that Bailey almost bumped into the back of her. She was standing next to a small, innocuous-looking door.
Toni looked around one last time. The corridor was empty.
She pulled the door open and gestured for Bailey to quickly go inside. It was too dark to see what was in there, but there was no time for debate. She stepped inside and Toni went in behind her and shut the door.
They both stood in the sheer blackness for a few moments. Then there was the click of a light switch and a single bare bulb illuminated what appeared to be a simple maintenance cupboard.
Around them were shelves stacked with bottles of bleach and cream cleaner and packs of sponges and rubber gloves. Mops and brushes were stacked against the walls and on the floor were plastic buckets and big industrial rolls of cleaning tissue.
Space was limited and she and Toni were standing virtually nose-to-nose.
Toni knelt down. She pushed the rolls of cleaning tissue aside to reveal a small metal ventilation grille set into the base of the back wall. It looked innocent enough. She ran her fingers over its chrome surface. Then, sliding her fingernails behind the edges of the grille, Toni pulled at it. It came off the wall quite easily, flakes of paint and dust falling away as it did so. Bailey noted that the screws which would have once secured it to the wall had been removed at some point.
She peered over Toni’s shoulder at the rough black rectangular hole that the grille covered. She realised now what this was. It was a stash. Toni wasn’t stupid enough to keep anything really valuable or really illicit in her cell where it might be stolen or confiscated so she hid it here.
‘Very clever,’ murmured Bailey.
‘Got a number of these hidden all around the prison,’ said Toni. ‘Can’t be too careful, y’know.’
She reached inside until almost the whole length of her arm was in the hole. She groped around awkwardly and then slowly withdrew her arm. Her hand emerged clutching what Bailey recognised as a rat trap. It was basically a super-sized version of an old-fashioned mousetrap – the inhumane type – with a spring-loaded bar designed to break the neck or back of the rat. These rat traps were littered all over the prison in an attempt to address the rat problem. In this case, it served as a nasty surprise that would easily break the fingers of anyone who might try to get to Toni’s stash.
She carefully placed the trap to one side and then reached back inside the hole and pulled out a clear plastic ziplock bag.
Bailey could see that it contained a mobile phone and several large rolls of banknotes. Mobile phones were illegal inside the prison. As she knew well, almost all inmate communication with the outside world was vetted by the prison authorities. Bailey assumed that Toni used this to talk to criminal associates on the outside.
Toni switched on the phone. It took a few moments to bleep into life. She waited until the signal appeared. It was very weak – just o
ne bar.
‘That’s the problem with keeping it down here,’ she said. ‘The reception’s shit.’
After it was apparent that there were no messages or voicemails for her, she switched it off again and put it back in the bag. She took one of the thick rolls of banknotes out next. The wad was wound tight with an elastic band.
As they had been repeatedly made aware during their induction, cash was forbidden inside prison. Any money the inmates earned from jobs they did was credited to their canteen accounts – money they could use to buy cigarettes or to enhance the meals they had with extra goodies – but that wasn’t real money. Not like this. This was money that the inmates paid for drugs with, money that they themselves, or their visitors, had smuggled in.
Toni whipped off the elastic band and expertly flicked through the notes. Observing closely, Bailey estimated that the roll of cash constituted around a thousand pounds in fifties and twenties. Toni reapplied the elastic band, then handed the wad to Bailey without even looking at her. She then reached into the bag and handed Bailey two further rolls.
Bailey took the money from her. It wasn’t often that she got to handle this much cash. She quickly ran her eyes over it, calculating that she was holding around three grand in total.
Standing there in the cupboard, she held the bundles of cash while Toni re-sealed the bag and pushed it back into the hole. Toni carefully replaced the rat trap and then affixed the grille back into its former position. Finally, she pushed the rolls of cleaning tissue in front of the grille and then stood up.
She turned to Bailey, their faces only centimetres apart.
‘In case you’re wondering, that isn’t a present,’ she said.
‘I guessed as much.’
‘That’s for you to pay our contact. It’s who we get the drugs off. It’s very simple. You’ll just deposit the money and collect the drugs.’
Bailey felt a tingle of excitement. Finally she was gaining some traction. This was the next step up the chain. This had to be the source that Alice had mentioned. Just before she’d been killed.