Those Prison Blues
By: Mahiri Chuma
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I don't own anything NCIS related – though I really wish I did, and *if* I did, oh the whumpage there would be!
Summary: "There are only guilty men in Sing Sing, Tony." The team goes undercover in Sing Sing Prison to unearth a most dangerous conspiracy. Team-Friendship-Fic; PoppaGibbs; Tiva
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Those Prison Blues
Chapter Two: Solitary Man
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Tony's head was pounding. The kind of pounding where no amount of pressure or massaging of the temple helped; the kind born of stress and exhaustion; the kind that sent your balance a kilter and forced you to squint as if the small movement would make the headache less terrible.
The night had been a long one and he was edging on his fourth day without proper rest. One thing he had learned during his short faux incarceration was that men in prison did not sleep. They tossed and turned, shouted and screamed, laughed maniacally and threatened each other, but they did not sleep.
As he listened to the early morning rumblings of the cellblock he thought about the previous day's conversation.
One big damn conspiracy. That's exactly what this was. He had taken note of many of the prison gangs' dealings in relation to the CO's own and had come up with one clear connection. One of the gangs seemed to have a membership when it came to spending time in solitary. There would always be some sort of altercation, usually mundane and warranting no more than a day in confinement, sometimes it was a cell extraction and other days it was an innocent yard shanking. Either way, in Tony's eyes, there was a pattern blossoming.
Tony stretched and made his way to the barred gate. Though he couldn't see down the corridor he stuck his long arms out and tilted his head, listening to the activity down the block.
Giuseppe Delicate. A Manhattan gangman. Too smart to be spending the amount of time he did in solitary.
As Tony picked up the low mutterings of Delicate, he thought of the possibilities. There were a few reasons men ended up in solitary.
One. They wanted protection, to get away from the general population. These men were scared and would do anything to get away; for them seclusion was better than socialization.
Two. They were stupid or crazy. They did dumb things, attacked the wrong people, attacked guards and found themselves in solitary over and over again.
And three. They wanted to be in solitary. They didn't want protection. No, they wanted something else. They wanted to "talk", they wanted to snitch, they wanted to make a deal …
Tony nodded to a CO as he walked by, this particular man unaware of his status fingered his baton and gave him a charming, 'I won't hesitate to beat the tar out of you, inmate' look. He'd been getting a lot of those lately.
The hostile CO was Salem Rios. The CO banged his baton against an inmate's bars.
A real jackass.
Salem had been there every time Giuseppe or one of 'La Cosa Nostra's went down. He would rough them up and escort them to solitary or the parole office or wherever their destination seemed to be. A regular chauffeur.
Tony grinned. That's where McGee came in. He had to get close with the slimeball, see if he could get in on whatever dealings this guy might have with the La Cosa Nostra sect.
Tony glanced to the right as he listened to the CO pull Giuseppe from his cell.
"Delicate, to the front. Parole board wants to see you."
Tony's eyes narrowed. He was nearly chomping at the bit. He needed to get close to this guy. He had come to the prison "unaffiliated" – gangless. Unaffiliated inmates were easy pickings. They had no protection from other inmates or gangs, they weren't given the benefit of a gang's cooperation with certain guards. It was like being thrown into a den of wolves.
He could feel them eyeing him; some wanted to kill him, some wanted to test his boundaries and some wanted something far more sinister.
It would be quite the challenge, but to this point, he hadn't yet turned one down. He needed to become a La Cosa Nostra.
Corrections Officer Rios passed his cell with a smug looking Giuseppe. He and Tony made eye contact and Tony felt his stomach turn in excitement, a fire burning inside him, one that churned and raged when he knew he was about to do something very dangerous. He lived for his.
"Whad're you lookin' at, punk?" Tony held his gaze, the use of 'punk' not lost on him. He watched the man until the bars restricted his view.
Punk. In prison talk it didn't have the same meaning as it did on the outside. A punk was someone unaffiliated, someone weak, and someone who was subject to the more wicked desires of the other inmates.
Giuseppe had no idea who he was dealing with. As he had promised McGee and Gibbs, much to his Boss' approval, he would be a La Cosa Nostra within a week.
"DeMarco! Clear the row."
Tony tucked his arms in and stood in front of the bars as he waited for McGee to make his approach.
"What can I do for you today, McBall-and-Chain?"
"Your visitation rights have gone through and it looks like someone cares." Tony turned his back to his fellow agent, presenting his wrists for the handcuffs, "Who would want to spend time in your vicinity is beyond me."
For show Tony pulled against the cuffs in response to the remark.
"You're just jealous I can get some behind bars when you're free as a bird and –"
McGee pushed Tony forward with a nudge of his baton.
"Do I need to give you a warning, DeMarco?"
Tony eyed the baton for a moment.
"Compensating for something, McGregor?"
"Move it, inmate!"
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DiNozzo straightened his jumpsuit as a more burly CO led him towards the small cove that was complete with bullet proof glass and a dirty looking phone that resembled a pay phone.
He waited a moment and was rewarded when a familiar face entered the room. Tony resisted the urge to allow his jaw to promptly drop. A stunning, familiar face …
Ziva sat down, a sly smirk on her exotic face. She crimped her hair, bolstering the luscious curls and straightened the pencil skirt as she took a seat. The rather revealing shirt only added to the woman's stunning appearance.
"Ziva." Tony said, forgetting momentarily to pick up the phone.
She grinned as she watched him mouth her name and picked up her end of the line. He cocked his head to the side with his own, wily expression and picked up the greasy phone.
"Hello, my little hairy butt."
"Ziva. You look … How's stripping treating you?" Her eyes alighted as her fiery attitude surged underneath her cover.
"My love, how many times do I have to remind you," she pouted, her bottom lip sticking out irresistibly, "I am an escort."
Tony snorted.
"Oh yes, right. How could I have forgotten." Tony had been more than pleased when he had heard what Gibbs had in store for Ziva. She was a strong woman, intimidating even, and she needed to appear non-threatening, almost simple, maybe a little money hungry. The CO's couldn't see her as anything but a conquest; they needed to lust her, let her get close without suspicion. They didn't need to think she could kill them with any item in the vicinity.
"When are they letting you out? I have been so lonely without you." Who am I looking for, DiNozzo?
"Even with all those men you escort, darling? I'm sure you could have your pick here, even." He said with feigned disgust as he gestured around, signaling one CO in particular. There's your mark, Ziva. Work your magic.
She crossed her arms to fake an extremely convincing pout.
"You got yourself in here, Tony." She crossed and uncrossed her legs. Tony watched as she began to attract Salem's attention.
"Do not take it out on me." She placed a hand on her breast.
"I know, sweet cheeks. I just can't stop thinking about what we use to do together," he leaned in intimately, watching Salem from his peripheral, "the things we were going to do."
As Tony waggled his eyebrows suggestively, Salem looked over for a minute before turning his head forward once again. Bingo.
"I'm dying in here." Go get 'em.
Ziva smiled, sighing in pleasure as she pretended to share a moment of nostalgia.
"I have a surprise waiting for you when you are out."
"Oh yeah?" Tony said, leaning back giving Salem plenty of room to observe their exchange.
"Yes, but you better get out on good behavior. I do not know if I can wait." She pushed her hair behind her ear and batted her eyes, looking over Tony's shoulder for a moment at the guard behind him.
She caught Salem's eye and blushed, acting as though she was merely embarrassed by their conversation. The chaperoning CO had complete access to their conversation and could hear every word via an earpiece, and though most visitors were unaware of this, Ziva certainly was aware of the intrusion.
"Don't worry, doll," Tony said leaning forward, "he can't hear you."
She blushed again. Tony smiled. He loved how Ziva could bring forth a faux blush, though he liked to think their impromptu flirting might have actually made her flush; fat chance, really.
"One minute, DiMarco." Salem said from behind, his voice unnecessarily loud.
"I'll be out soon, honey, I promise." He smiled.
"You better be, I do not think I can wait." She made a point to glance behind him at the towering CO.
She gingerly put the phone back on its receiver and blew a kiss before stalking away, her curves moving generously underneath her tight skirt.
"How many years you payin', DeMarco?"
Tony allowed himself a small grin before turning to the CO, his face and emotionless mask.
"Five to Eight."
With that Rios let out a loud laugh before signaling Tony to stand, securing his hands behind his back.
"I've met a lot of stupid men, DiMarco, but damn, you might be the dumbest sack of shit in this hole."
"We'll see, Rios." That earned him a good cuff to the back of the head as he was led back to his cell. He couldn't wait to see this man at the interrogation table.
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Tony stretched his lean body as he made his way outside. He was getting soft. He could feel it, after just a week he was getting soft. He wasn't permitted his morning run and though he tried, he found working out in his cell to be terribly monotonous.
He watched as the gangs, like high school cliques, sequestered themselves to their corners, some pumping iron, others huddled over a deck of cards.
Unaffiliated, he made his way to a lone bench to perform sit-ups. Without anyone to call an ally, the workout benches were untouchable. Despite this fact, he couldn't look as though he were lost and alone, he couldn't mope around aimlessly; he was already a target, he didn't need to cement the idea in any inmates mind, especially Giuseppe's.
He blew hot air into his hands and began his impromptu work out, nearly reveling in feeling the sweat begin to bead and trail down his neck and back. As he completed one rep and moved onto the next he kept an eye on Giuseppe.
The Italian was hunched forward talking to a shorter, squat man who waved his arms in an animated fashion. Tony recognized him to be Paolo Cardellio, the nephew of one of Manhattan's greatest crime bosses.
He glanced at the center of the yard, picking McGee out of the throng of jumpsuit-clad inmates.
He had to admit, McGee had come a long way. He watched the younger agent patrol the yard, looking for all intents and purposes like a bonafide CO. He walked like a CO and had already adopted the attitude; Tony had the chafed wrists to prove it. He talked like a CO and stood like a CO, his hand eternally resting on the baton. If Tony hadn't been a Special Agent he could have been fooled, the nuances were slight but they set him apart from the others. He was too observant, his eyes constantly searching in places CO's didn't tend to look and he handled his gun like a trained NCIS agent.
Tony would never admit it, but he was damn proud.
Tony had reached 200, muttering the number breathlessly as he sat up to move onto bench push-ups.
He continued his survey of the yard. A Latin King eyed him threateningly as he walked by, his ink in clear view; a display of who he was, his rank and who you were messing with should you cause trouble.
It was fascinating and the agent in Tony was giddy, soaking up the experience and intelligence this operation was bringing him. They were like animals, men in prison. They moved in packs, protected their territory, preyed on the weak and inked their bodies in a display not so different to a dangerous insect's own coloration. They sent a single message to anyone who looked: I'm dangerous.
Tony stood, acting as though he was finished for now, as Giuseppe moved from the bench and made his way to the center of the yard.
Giuseppe had a hand on Paolo's shoulder. Tony watched the man's lips move quickly and in a manner foreign to English speakers. He was speaking quietly in Italian.
He shadowed them from across the yard, feigning interest in the basketball game that was currently taking place between a few members of one of the Aryan gangs. He fingered the cigarettes in his pocket as he watched the men, appearing as though he was merely interested in some possible yard bartering. He didn't smoke but they sure came in handy as part of prison currency.
He narrowed his eyes as some sort of exchange occurred between the two men and now, a third party across the basketball court.
Tony's mind raced as he put the pieces together.
They were targeting someone, but whom?
Giuseppe nodded at Paolo, Paolo nodded at a man Tony thought could be Tommy, one of the lowest ranked men in La Cosa Nostra.
If a message was being conveyed to a low ranked member than that member was about to take a fall.
Tony's eyes scanned the area as he worked to figure out who was about to be assaulted, adrenaline beginning to rush through his system. It took all his power not to reach towards his Sig Sauer-less waist.
They were targeting someone and someone was going to take the fall for Giuseppe's plan. If it were a rival gang it would be a key player, someone who could send an effective message.
That left the COs. They were going to make a statement, a show of power, by attacking a CO.
Tony felt himself moving forward as he realized what was going on. McGee was just as vulnerable as himself. He was fresh meat. He was unaffiliated within the gangs. He was the target. A target that would send the message but not refuse them the benefits won with the relationship forged with other guards.
He briefly saw a fight break out to his right. Someone from La Cosa Nostra had just started something with an Aryan Brother; they were on the ground fighting. Men were shouting as the fight escalated. McGee was approaching with another guard and Tony could just make out Tommy coming up from behind.
Tony watched as Tommy pulled a small weapon from his waistband, the rusted metal catching his eye. He watched his arm pull back, ready to deliver a brutal, quiet attack.
With a tackle that would have done his Ohio State coach proud, he brought down both McGee and Tommy into a frantic heap, Tommy's free fist flying as he was taken by surprise.
Tommy pushed himself away from the two men, making his way through the crowd that had formed but had, in a twist of luck, provided cover for Tony's intervention.
McGee had his arm wrapped across his chest, his right hand grasping his left arm trying to hold in place the dirty looking weapon that had been stabbed painfully to the bone.
To those around them, it looked as though another fight had broken out and as Tony watched the thick rivulets of blood roll down McGee's arm with a small amount of relief. The Italian had been aiming for McGee's back. If he hadn't intervened it could have been far worse.
The men gathered around them parted as another Corrections Officer approached. Tony made eye contact with McGee and was rewarded with a stiff, pained nod, signaling he wasn't in imminent danger.
Tony nearly sighed in relief but stopped himself. He stood to move away from the scene as the other inmates scattered when he suddenly found himself on his back, stars exploding in front of his eyes and blood pouring from his nose.
He could vaguely hear the words 'Lockdown' blare through the yard loudspeakers as he collected himself.
What the hell just happened? He craned his neck upwards and spotted three COs, one helping McGee to his feet and the other two forcing the inmates on their stomachs in accordance to lockdown procedure.
He felt someone pull at his shirt, lifting him of the ground before promptly forcing him on his stomach, his already bloodied face being dug into the cement.
He coughed and sputtered, choking on the blood that was flowing down his throat.
"Stay down, DeMarco, this is lockdown."
He spied blood on the man's baton and realized what must have happened. The CO must have caught him with the baton, smashing it brutally into his face as he made what they must have thought to be his getaway.
He listened as guards shouted at the inmates to stay down, sirens blaring, announcing the imminent 24 hours of confinement.
He turned his head to his left, his cheek burning painfully having been scraped painfully across the ground, to search for McGee. He could see him being helped to his feet, his arms still clamped tightly around the wound.
As he watched he felt himself being lifted upwards once more, the familiar cold metal being slapped around his wrists as he was pushed forward.
"Move, inmate, move!" He could hardly see, one eye swollen and puffy and his head pounding from the sudden assault. As they moved he spotted Tommy and Giuseppe, both face down with their hands on their heads.
The guards thought he did it, Tony realized.
Tony's mind raced as he thought of the implications. This could work for them; he just had to keep a story straight; he would think of something. He had to think of something
As he was led into the building, his nose and face bleeding heavily and his body aching, he could only hope he hadn't completely blown his cover.
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Well, this was a very fun chapter to write. Poor McGee! Poor Tony! What do you expect? A couple hundred criminals vs. Tony and Tim? Something was bound to happen.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that chapter. I find prison to be a fascinating thing, it is it's own, strange world. I can't say I've been or EVER want to go, but from a sociological standpoint, it's very interesting!
La Cosa Nostra was once a real Italian gang in NYC, meaning, "our thing" or "our cause." I believe it still exists within Mafia families but beyond the name, I haven't done too much research. Also, thank you MythsandLegends for correcting me, it is hairy butt, though I do like hairy bear!
Well, again, I appreciate your feedback and hope this chapter was to your liking, as I write to please! So, if you would be so kind, review, review, review!
Tak Tak!