Months are like fashion trends: You never notice them passing by unless
you've got absolutely nothing better to do with your life, and I did.
I had my satisfaction.
It's funny how little trouble finds you in a state prison when you're known as a mass killer of the criminal element. My growing legend was a comforting barrier from any mook in the Pen even thinking of making a move on me. But it was the play-acting that was becoming a strain: keeping my eyes wide, keeping my smile just looney enough to pass as psychotic. But I also kept my wits about me, especially in the shower room. I hadn't been in prison before, but I'd seen plenty of movies to know to keep the soap in plain sight.
The first two weeks were a breeze, until I somehow got transferred to C- block and Anton Punchinello's domain.
Anton was Don Punchinello's nephew, and his former lead "problem solver." Rumor had it that one of Anton's best friends, a guy he'd even made his kid's Godfather, ended up screwing the Family out of 2 million bucks, skimming off a drug deal. After a talk with the Don, Anton invited his friend over for dinner, fed him a good meal, expensive wine, and served up a bullet as the desert. Right there at the table. Right in front of his own son. Something about teaching him the price of doing business.
This was the guy who was king of C-block.
I had barely laid out my bedroll when the main mozzarella ball himself clomped to my door.
"So, this is the chump who wiped out my family and my crew, huh?"
Anton's 'crew' had been the Trio, formerly the Quartet, but that was before Anton got sent up the river. It was nice to know the Mob could still add and subtract. But at that moment, it would take more than long division to put any distance between me and the shaved gorilla leaning into my cell. I put faith in Anton not knowing too many details of my adventures in the Don's mansion.
"Wow…you must watch the news. But they never mention my blood promises in any of the reports I see…"
That sparked what passed for Anton's attention span.
"What the fuck you talkin' about, 'blood promises?'"
"Oh..oh..nothing…just the writing on the wall in your uncle's blood that says ALL PUNCHINELLOS MUST DIE!!!" I punctuated that last part with a primal scream, clenched fists and taught neck muscles, bugging my eyes out like I had a defective thyroid. At least it was enough to make him take a step back.
"You piece of shit. I'm gonna…"
The thought, if mongo was capable of such a feat, was lost as the guard called lights out and the staccato of riot-geared footsteps began their nightly march along the catwalks to see the prisoners into their cells. Anton got out one more chirp before heading back to his birdcage.
"I don't buy this psycho shit, Payne. I had you moved here for a reason. Sleep tight." And he parted with a wink of dark assurance. I knew I could expect an attack, either by Anton or one of his goons sometime soon. I spent the next couple of hours with a toothbrush, a razor blade, and a match. A little jailhouse arts and crafts was the only life insurance I was likely to get.
I had my satisfaction.
It's funny how little trouble finds you in a state prison when you're known as a mass killer of the criminal element. My growing legend was a comforting barrier from any mook in the Pen even thinking of making a move on me. But it was the play-acting that was becoming a strain: keeping my eyes wide, keeping my smile just looney enough to pass as psychotic. But I also kept my wits about me, especially in the shower room. I hadn't been in prison before, but I'd seen plenty of movies to know to keep the soap in plain sight.
The first two weeks were a breeze, until I somehow got transferred to C- block and Anton Punchinello's domain.
Anton was Don Punchinello's nephew, and his former lead "problem solver." Rumor had it that one of Anton's best friends, a guy he'd even made his kid's Godfather, ended up screwing the Family out of 2 million bucks, skimming off a drug deal. After a talk with the Don, Anton invited his friend over for dinner, fed him a good meal, expensive wine, and served up a bullet as the desert. Right there at the table. Right in front of his own son. Something about teaching him the price of doing business.
This was the guy who was king of C-block.
I had barely laid out my bedroll when the main mozzarella ball himself clomped to my door.
"So, this is the chump who wiped out my family and my crew, huh?"
Anton's 'crew' had been the Trio, formerly the Quartet, but that was before Anton got sent up the river. It was nice to know the Mob could still add and subtract. But at that moment, it would take more than long division to put any distance between me and the shaved gorilla leaning into my cell. I put faith in Anton not knowing too many details of my adventures in the Don's mansion.
"Wow…you must watch the news. But they never mention my blood promises in any of the reports I see…"
That sparked what passed for Anton's attention span.
"What the fuck you talkin' about, 'blood promises?'"
"Oh..oh..nothing…just the writing on the wall in your uncle's blood that says ALL PUNCHINELLOS MUST DIE!!!" I punctuated that last part with a primal scream, clenched fists and taught neck muscles, bugging my eyes out like I had a defective thyroid. At least it was enough to make him take a step back.
"You piece of shit. I'm gonna…"
The thought, if mongo was capable of such a feat, was lost as the guard called lights out and the staccato of riot-geared footsteps began their nightly march along the catwalks to see the prisoners into their cells. Anton got out one more chirp before heading back to his birdcage.
"I don't buy this psycho shit, Payne. I had you moved here for a reason. Sleep tight." And he parted with a wink of dark assurance. I knew I could expect an attack, either by Anton or one of his goons sometime soon. I spent the next couple of hours with a toothbrush, a razor blade, and a match. A little jailhouse arts and crafts was the only life insurance I was likely to get.