This is my first Producers-fic.

As you might have deduced from the text, English is not my native language. A spell-checker can only do so much, so please excuse the mistakes it didn't catch (or even better, point them out and I will try to correct them).

I chose the adult rating because I don't know yet what level of profanity or violence I will use later on; I don't think I will veer into graphic descriptions of violence or sex, but just to be on the safe side, I will keep this rating.

Last but not least, as most fanfic writers, I would greatly appreciate feedback. Even if you just glanced at the story, I'd be happy to hear from you. Detailed feedback would be great, but even a line "Read it, was good/okay/awful" would do.

Thanks in advance.

And now back to Max.

Grayscale (part 2)

After dinner (dry beef patties between dry buns and lots of ketchup), Max returned to his cell to find it already occupied. "That's for making fun of your betters", Dobson muttered when Max, miming surprise and annoyance, looked around, before shoving the prisoner through the door and throwing it close with a bang.

The other man had stood up tensely, if somewhat shaky. His left eye was swollen shut, two cuts on his front-head and chin had had stitches, the rest of the face was pale and covered in bruises.

Max sighed and offered his hand.

"Max Bialystock, pleased to meet you!"

His new cellmate still looked tense, but took the hand and shook it. "Neil Bannen", he offered, "likewise."

Max saw that the newcomer had already made the upper bunk bed and put his meager belongings on it.

"If you want, you can have half of the cupboard for that", he pointed at the small bundle. "And you can call me Max."

"Thank you," the young man responded, a tentative smile on his lips, "please call me Neil!".

At least he doesn't clutch a blanket, Max thought ruefully – Neil did remind him a little of Leo, although he seemed even a bit more of a kid than Leo had. Well, returning to join Max before court had seemed a rather adult, if sentimental move of Leo. Not his fault the plane was late and he missed the date. Had Max known of Leo's decision beforehand, he would have urged him to stay away – no reason for both of them to be in jail, was there? But Leo being Leo, Bloom had given himself up nevertheless and had been sent to (a different) jail for 10 month (the other judge had been quite generous in counting Leo turning himself in) When he got the letter in which Leo explained everything, Max had actually started to tear up a little. Leo was his friend, after all. It had helped Max through some of the rougher days in here to know that he wasn't alone in the world. In his heart of hearts, he would have liked to have Leo in here with him to keep him company. But maybe Neil would do, as well. Well, not as well, but good enough, Max mused.

"So, what are you in for?", he asked Neil jovially.

Neil's small smile died away.

"I'd rather not say", he muttered and turned away.

Max sighed. "Look, I'm here because I tried to pull a fast one on the IRS, basically. Frank – that's the guy that gave you that shiner – he's here because he made mince-meat from the guy who shtupped his sister. We get all sorts here, but I would like to know in advance if I have to share my cell with an axe-murderer or an arsonist. And anyway, the wardens know and soon enough, the others will know as well."

Neil didn't answer for a while, instead his lips had started to quiver and his eyes become suspiciously shiny.

Max tried again. "The others called you a communist. If that's it, I couldn't care less. You know, I used to work in show-business – every other play is an author's political tract. I would say some of my best friends are communists, but then again I only have one friend, and he isn't courageous enough for that", he joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Neil turned around again, still silent. He had actually started to cry, Max realised with a start. He moved over to the younger man and made him sit on the stool. Then he rummaged in his cupboard and produced a small bottle labeled "mouthwash", which was filled with an amber liquid.

"Here, on the house. Finest Scotch you can get in here." He presented the bottle to Neil, who took it hesitantly. After a long pause, the younger man took a long swig, closing his eyes as he swallowed the mouthful.

"Easy on the goods", Max growled under his breath, prying the bottle from the man's hand, before taking a hefty gulp himself. With a shudder, he downed the stuff and corked the bottle.

Neil coughed once or twice and shuddered, then took a deep breath.

"Last month, I came home one Friday evening. When I opened the door, I found … a friend of mine … lying … in his blood … on the floor. The police arrived only a couple of minutes later. I was found guilty of … of murder – but I didn't do it!"

He had spoken in a whisper full of grief, apart from the last, rather desperate outburst. Max considered what Neil had said – and how he had said it. Oh dear. Hopefully Frank and the others wouldn't catch onto anytime soon.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he finally uttered soberly.

The younger man swallowed forcibly a couple of time, then uttered a small "Thank you", looking down again.

They stayed silent for the rest of the evening, apart from some awkward tries at smalltalk from Max and some polite mutterings while giving the other one some privacy when using the facilities.

When he finally lay on his bunk, the cot above him sagging with Neil's weight, Max sighed deeply – Neil radiated a heart-wrenching sadness that had permeated even the cheeriest thoughts Max had been able to think of. "And to think I could be in Rio now!", he finally groaned softly into the darkness, closing his eyes and hoping for a dream of more pleasant times.

The next morning, Neil was already up, when Max came to. Fully dressed, the younger man sat at the table, studying something in front of him Max couldn't see.

Max took the chance to get a good look at his cellmate:

Rather small, not very thin but a bit skinnier than Leo. Envy-inducing full, curly hair of a nondescript brown color.

Drawing shuddering breaths, not quite sobbing but close.

Hunched over, some tension still visible, but less then yesterday. "The perfect man for the role of the simple but loyal side-kick", Max thought. Too bad this isn't a movie: He could happily tag along, getting some jokes and the sympathy of the audience, and I would be the hero, save the day and get the girl."

With a yawn, he stretched. Neil started and rubbed his eyes for a couple of seconds. Then he turned around and greeted him with the same anxious smile and a small wave of his hand.

"Morning", Max croaked while sitting up. "Had a good night?"

Neil shrugged timidly: "Given the circumstances, yes."

Max had to stop himself from actually patting Neil on the shoulder: "Don't worry. The first week was really bad for me, too. I cried myself to sleep most nights. You're keeping up formidably, compared with that and considering what has happened." He gestured towards Neil's injuries, but both heard the other references as well.

"Thanks -." Neil left it at that. For some minutes, both said nothing.

"I should probably warn you about the stew on Saturday," Max began. "And obviously, about the showers. The water's either icy or scalding, and … well, sometimes a guy gets a bit … excited, and if you're out of luck, he might want you to help him with that. If it's someone not much bigger than yourself, you can usually just get angry and shout abuse at him. If they're much bigger... well, a hand, you can wash, right?" Max hurried on, seeing that Neil had grown pale. "Dobson, now he is not a very nice man. Try to avoid him. Pulasky is better, reasonable guy, most of the times. As is the doctor, but you have met him already, right?"

Neil nodded.

Max went through the rest of the prison personal quickly – most of them he had only encountered two or three times.

"If you have a chance, try to stay on the good side of Mickey Allen, he's the lunch guy. Every Tuesday and Friday, you are allowed one hour in the library, and if the wardens like you, they might even let you have a book in here once in a while. Do you have anyone outside who could bring you stuff?"

Neil considered this. "Maybe my aunt Gertie. I haven't seen her since the trial, though."

Max felt his sympathy well up again. His sentence was bad, but at least he had visitors all the time. "I could borrow you some little old ladies. Mind you, they need to be charmed all the time, but they are nice enough in their way, and they are more than happy to bake a book into a cake.", he offered half-seriously.

Neil looked a bit confused.

Max opened his mouth to explain, but was interrupted by the wake-up-knock on the door.

"We have about five minutes, then it's move-it", he explained, as he busied himself with his morning toilet.

As soon as he was finished, the door was thrown open. "Move it, breakfast!", came the order (neither Dobson nor Pulasky this time, but an elderly warden named Hillborrow).

Max and Neil joined the line shuffling towards the cafeteria.

"Hey, 'Boris', Frank sends his regards!", Tony cackled, as he saw them. To Max, he added, "Odds have changed a bit, what with he wardens present at yard time, but you can still join!"

Max smiled and thanked him, but declined: "Might be a bit suspicious now, if I win, wouldn't it?" Tony scratched his head, as he thought about it. After some deliberation, he agreed. "But Frank might have a go, now that he's lost his close company.", he added happily.

In the cafeteria, some heads turned, when Neil entered, but apart from some jeers, nothing much happened. Max managed to get a good apple with his bread and bologna.

Even the coffee didn't seem so bad, he mused, as he sipped from the chipped mug.

Neil had asked for tea, so now he was nursing a glass of warm water. "It's not exactly the Waldorf-Astoria, buddy", a scrawny guy next to them had commented, when the man behind the counter had handed him the clear liquid with a smirk. Neil – wisely, though Max – had only lowered his gaze and followed Max to a table near the door.

"So, tell me a bit more about you!", Max ventured, taking a unenthusiastic bite of his sandwich.

Neil shrugged slightly. "There is hardly anything interesting about me."

"Come on! Where have you been born? What do you for a living, that kind of thing!" Seizing the chance for some small talk during breakfast, Max wasn't to give in easily. Especially if it helped him to ignore the rubbery taste of the unnatural pink slice of meat he tried to eat.

Neil scrutinized his tablet. "I was born in Chicago. My parents moved to New Jersey when I left school. I am... was a bank clerk for Weatherstone & May, in the branch on 10th Avenue." Weatherstone & May on 10th? Max was sure that he had cashed some checks there sometime, but he couldn't remember Neil from then. On the other hand, Neil was exactly the sort of clerk you wouldn't remember.

Neil kept talking: "Mr. Garner – my boss – even said I could become the branch manager one day... but I guess that's not gonna happen now."

With a sigh, Neil sipped his water, only to make a disgusted face immediately. "I think there might be something wrong with the tap", he stated with a puzzled frown.

"I think this might not necessarily be tap-water, my friend", Max answered, having witnessed some of the kitchen crew's antics, and gently pried the glass from Neil's hands. "For the future, I would suggest to take coffee in here", he muttered while he discretely emptied the glass into one of the drains on the floor.