The mess hall was much as Michael expected. Whitewashed walls, long rows of tables with plastic benches, spotlessly clean and simply organised. The lineup to the serving area was closely monitored - no surprise there. Following everyone else's lead, he slowly made his way up to get food. For the most part it seemed that everyone did as they were told calmly and orderly. That stuck an odd cord in him. No prison was ever this obedient. He had the sneaking suspicion that when all Hell broke loose, it was going to be quite the event.
The cliques were glaringly obvious. Men always remained within certain groups, those groups rarely intermingled. Again, not overly surprising, these groups usually developed to protect one another, keep the violence down; he'd seen enough of them, been involved in them, to know their purposes.
As per his usual routine for the past two weeks, he took a seat in the farthest corner with the entire room in his vision. He looked distastefully down at his tray. Devon would pass out at the sight, never mind having to consume this junk. His stomach, however, approved of the entree.
Slowly the room filled up with inmates, more guards adding to the organised chaos as well. He knew the jails were over populated, but to see this many men, day after day, in an enclosed space like this was unnerving. The rows of benches around him filled quickly. His position allowed him to see most of the room, but now it also showed him how claustrophobic the facilities became.
"Well, lookie at the Pretty-boy." Michael mentally rolled his eyes. He had been waiting for the first move.
"Deaf, or mute?" the brutish inmate's buddy voiced.
"More like deaf and dumb." Couldn't they come up with anything original? "Isn't it said all white pussys with blue eyes are deaf?" Michael bit back the smile, that one was actually semi-clever.
Looking at his now mostly empty tray, Michael figured it would be worth not finishing to avoid the ensuing conflict. Without looking at the two trying to crowd him, Michael picked up his tray, and turned to leave.
"Definitely dumb," the first brute stepped into his personal space.
Quirking an eyebrow, Michael tried once more to ignore them.
"Not worth your time are we?" His shoulder was roughly grabbed as they swung him back around. Brute Number One surreptitiously reached an arm behind himself catching Michael's attention, causing his body to stiffen, ready for the attack he knew was about to come. Straightening to his full height, he hoped his size might dissuade them.
Placing his tray slowly on the table, he faced the two for the first time, acknowledging their presence. "Is there something I can do for you two?" He kept his voice calm, obliging, but his eyes never left either of them, his mind paying close attention to the still hidden hand. They were of average height, about six feet tall, dark hair and eyes, Hispanic if he had to guess. Yet he didn't remember seeing them beforehand in the crowds. His concern upped a few notches as his instincts screamed at him to get away quickly.
"What ya in for?" the second leaned over the first's shoulder.
'A lot of trouble in a second,' Michael's mind commented. "Nothing I'm willing to admit to."
They both smirked in amusement
"Now if you two don't mind..."
"What if we do?" the hand whipped out, a crude knife nicking Michael's arm causing a slow trickle of blood to run over his wrist. He'd managed to catch the skin just right.
"I see you two want to make a point, so please do it, then we can all go our own ways." They were whelps, trying to intimidate, of that he was sure. Unfortunately, the knife they were wielding demanded his attention.
"Another smart ass. Let's see just how smart you are."
With that it began. Hastily picking up the tray, Michael deflected a number of attacks brute Number One tried with the knife. That's when Number Two stepped in, wrenching the tray away, distracting him with futile jabs to his lower back, all the while Number One was getting shots in with the knife, and a few punches for good measure. As the knife skinned his cheek, Michael decided he'd had enough. Flipping Number Two over him, he made sure the guys legs took out Number One in the process. The knife skittered across the tile floor disappearing out of sight as a number of guards came up, deciding it was time to break things up.
Pacing the small room, he tried to organize his thoughts. The knife fight in the mess hall had to be a test; nothing else made sense. A few questions kept running through his head: one - why fight in such a visible location, two - where the Hell did they manage to get a knife? and three - where had those two disappeared to?
Granted, prisoners were constantly smuggling things in and out, but to have a dagger...? Michael ran a hand through his hair continuing to pace. Reasonably, they could have been placed in solitary confinement, in which case Michael knew he wouldn't be seeing them any time soon.
It all seemed contrived to him, too well planned. He'd managed to overhear the men talking, learning that everyone knew which guards were where at all times - not that that was so incredible - they also knew which guards would turn a blind eye. Yes there was always one around, but this place seemed to be pulsing with apathetic guards. Frightening concept for a place filled to the brim with violent, highly trained men, but maybe the military granted it's people a bit of leeway.
He stopped. Could the guards be in on this as well? Having no idea who the good guys and the bad guys were changed the rules. But it made sense. A shudder ran through him; so what other weapons were lurking about? The guards could smuggle pretty much anything in for the right price.
The one small door opening jerked him out of his thoughts. Expecting to see Devon, Michael was mildly surprised to see Bonnie walk in.
"What do I owe this honour to?" It was good to see her, more than good, if he cared to admit it.
"Devon is speaking to the Warden, you and I have some business."
Michael raised a suggestive eyebrow.
"Not today, Dear, I have a headache."
Just to hear that, coming from her was more than enough to relax him, and make him laugh.
"But, I do have something for you. I made these up, I hope you don't mind." Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a set of dogtags. Stepping up to him, standing on tip toe, she hung them around his neck. Staying close, as if she were hugging him, "Inside the tags is a communication device direct to Kitt. If you need anything, press on it and it'll activate. It's voice only, but the best I could do with such limited space."
Surprised to feel her so close, he took advantage of the sudden intimacy of the moment, using it to return the hug, to let himself relax further as he listened to her voice in his ear.
"Thanks, Bon." He was in no rush to let go.
"That bad is it?" she felt him take a deep breath. She'd had to force herself not to show the ever building concern she was feeling for him. The fresh bruises and cuts did nothing to dispell it either.
"Yes and no. I just can't let my guard down. It's nice to have a minute," he answered honestly.
Tightening her arms around his neck, she encouraged him to rest his head on her shoulder. "Have you discovered anything?" He relaxed further into her.
He shook his head, closing his eyes. "Nothing substantial. The knife fight was a test. I'm the newest inmate, they're taking their time with me. From what I've heard and seen they size up the newcomers, then attack. If they survive the various trials, then they are welcomed into the community."
"And a knife fight was the first?" Her concern for him was growing in leaps and bounds. He was tired, that was obvious. The bruises and cuts were nothing far from the norm with him, but his attitude was worrisome.
He pulled back smiling, "they aren't exactly known for playing around." Michael decided to shut his mouth as he took in her expression. It mirrored his own feelings - not that he'd let her, or Devon know that little tidbit.
He tucked the dogtags under his blue denim shirt. "Thanks for these. It's good to know I have a safety blanket."
Placing a hand against his swollen cheek, "be careful, please."
"Michael," the both jumped as Devon entered the room, oblivious to the exchange between the two, Devon launched into his report. Michael smiled softly at Devon's abrupt and somewhat oblivious manner. The more curt the older man became, the more it proved just how concerned and upset he was trying to hide.
"I've managed to track down only one of the two you identified as your attackers the other day. The Corporal in question attacked a Senior Officer, practically beating him to death for no apparent reason. His lawyer tried to have him arraigned on mental charges, but that case couldn't hold water, hence his detainment here. The knife they used was never recovered, the Warden figures one of the other inmates acquired it during the confusion. A cell to cell search will be conducted. We've agreed that you will remain in a cell of your own for your stay. Obviously the danger has increased and I'd like to make sure you have some time alone and in relative safety.
Michael heaved a sigh of relief, one that was echoed by Bonnie. "So where are my would be attackers now?"
Devon's brow furrowed. "Oddly, the Warden refused to divulge that information."
Running a hand through his hair, Michael stepped away from Bonnie unconsciously beginning to pace again. "I guess that it really doesn't matter where they are."
"Have you discovered anything else?"
"Nada. Then again, there are only a few hours during the day I can mingle, the rest of the time I'm locked away." Michael shrugged, "I think this is gonna take some time."
"Probably not," Devon interjected. "If they follow pattern, you won't have much peace from here on in. The other men they targeted were harassed rather quickly and dispatched within the first month."
"I love your comforting speeches." Michael commented with great sarcasm. "But on the other hand, I can't stand this waiting around to be targeted. I know it's coming, and I'd much rather deal with it then sit on my hands waiting for the inevitable."
Devon nodded somewhat lost in thought for a moment. "Bonnie gave you your dogtags?" It was clear Devon knew their actual purpose. Michael nodded. "Good, I'm glad to hear that. I've arranged a meeting such as this once a week."
"And the excuse being?"
"The other inmates need not know of your dealings." Devon's answer was curt.
"You don't think the men will become suspicious when I keep getting special treatment?"
"What would you have me do then? How do you report in?"
"Everyone writes letters," Michael shrugged.
"And what if everyone isn't on the up and up?" Bonnie ad just read his mind, and from the expressions he was receiving, he'd just reveled that suspicion on his face.
"I thought as much," Devon further confirmed. "I'd much rather conduct these meetings in person, if for no other reason other than to check up on your well-being."
Michael opened his mouth, then shut it, touched by their obvious concern.