FRIENDS AND ENEMIES

Day Sixty-One.

Walt's back on our floor looking like he's won the lottery or something, even more buzzed than usual.

"Come on, Shepard, have a drink with me, maybe a little something extra to celebrate?" He's grinning, clutching a bottle of some prison home-brew shit, and God knows what else stuffed in his back pocket.

"Why? What's going on?"

"Just had a message, found out I've got me a daughter, gonna call her Anne-Marie, born early this morning. I thought that was worth us having some of the good stuff."

He passes me the bottle, and even though whatever it is tastes fucking terrible and burns into the back of my throat like acid, I drink it with him anyway as he talks and talks about his family, how he's gonna keep out of trouble and what his life is going to be like when he eventually gets out of here. There's guys in here that make this booze, although I don't really want to know what the hell goes in it to make it taste so bad. Still does the trick though and pretty soon I'm starting to feel a little wasted, it would definitely get you drunk if you could stomach that much of it—although I don't want to think about what kind of hangover you'd end up with if you did have that much.

Walt's rummaging in his pockets while I take take a last shot of it, starts rolling a joint.

"Want some of this too?"

"Thought you said you weren't into that shit no more either?"

"Yeah, well, no need to be such a fucking killjoy, Tim, ain't like I'm gonna start doing it every day again or nothing is it? Ain't exactly what I was into before anyways, only I need a little something today, need a boost, enjoy myself some." He stands up, heads towards the door. "If you're gonna be all uptight about it, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Damn it, Jeffries, I thought you were supposed to be in a good mood? You know, you whine more than my kid sister? Why don't you sit back down and quit acting like a fucking girl."

xxxxxx

Day Two Hundred and Eighty-Four.

Can't believe I been here this long already. The days are pretty much all the same after a while, all blend into one. A lot of the time it's pretty boring, mostly working, or hanging around avoiding trouble. Even though I got people who'll help me out some and watch my back in a fight now, everytime anything kicks off I find myself wishing it was just another of those dull days where I'm just hanging around and killing time with my friends—mostly with Walt, sometimes with Ray or Bobby. Strikes me as funny sometimes that there's more people in here I'd class as actual friends, as people that I would trust, than I've probably got left on the outside.

Recently things are starting to look up a little more for me. I've done the paperwork, had most the meetings and now I'm waiting to see whether I'll get a date for parole, be able to get out of here once the year is up. Providing I can keep out of trouble—or don't get caught anyway.

On the other hand Walt's been bitching about his problems all fucking morning. For the first time since he's been here his wife didn't show up this month, and he's been imagining every possible reason as to why. Had to listen to him all day yesterday, and he's still going on about it even now. Tried telling him there's probably a good reason why she ain't made it, that maybe she's sick or she couldn't get a babysitter or something, but he's not interested, seems he's determined to think the worst even though he claims everything's good with them.

xxxxxx

Day Three Hundred and Seventeen.

Turns out that Walt ain't the only one with issues. Bobby's been getting more hassle lately too. Despite the deals he's got going on, his other 'friends' don't seem to have the influence to protect him as much as he thought no more 'cause one the other gangs has taken a dislike to him. As usual in here it wasn't nothing major that caused it, some stupid misunderstanding when he walked into someone in the yard a few days ago. But it's enough to get his name on the blacklist for Wilson, that jerk I met on my first day and who we all get bother from on and off 'cause we ain't been interested in being part of his crowd.

It's just me and Bobby here right now, Walt's upstairs waiting in his cell in the hope Marie shows and his name gets called for visiting hours today and Ray's off with some of his cronies. It's raining so most everyone's inside and we're just sat in the common area between our cells half-heartedly playing cards when I spot them approaching, nod slightly in their general direction.

"They still giving you grief?"

"Yeah." Bobby slouches a little in his chair, trying to look like he isn't bothered. "Get out of here, Tim, there ain't no point you getting caught up in this as well."

"Ain't gonna happen, Bobby."

"Just fucking go, you idiot," he hisses, but I don't move. Never was much good at walking away from a fight or being told what to do, and within a few seconds it's too late anyway because the four guys are here standing around the end of the table. There's a bit of chat but I don't really listen 'cause everyone knows how this is gonna end up, so they might as well just get on with it.

And then it's on.

Everything's pretty much a blur but after a couple of minutes I manage to get one of them pinned to the floor while the other three are kicking Bobby, and I wonder why they ain't helping their buddy out as I slug the guy again. Then I'm all too aware of the footsteps and voices behind me, realise it must be the guards, just before the blow that catches me across the back of my head knocks me out.

Waking up with a start, I don't know where I am, and then it hits me how quiet it is in here as I notice the door is locked, that I'm on my own.

Looks like I'm in Solitary.