Chicago Reverse

Disclaimer: In my own little world inside my head, I occasionally own Chicago. Unfortunately, in the real world, I don't. Bummer.

Author's note: Guys, PLEASE review this! I'm not going to continue until I get some reviews. Please??

Reasons for Homicide

Velma sat glumly on the cold bench, her shapeless grey dress scratching her. Despite her mood, she held her head up in a self-satisfied way, again pasting on her trademark smug smile. She'd never let anyone intimidate her before, and she sure as hell wasn't going to start now. She looked around curiously at the rest of the women there, wondering who they killed and why. At least I'll have a good story, thought Velma. I killed my husband and sister in a fit of rage ... She raised her chin higher and more defiantly, daring the others to ask who she was.

She looked at the woman on her right. The woman looked back at her, wearing the same self-assured expression. She casually flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder, raised her eyebrows at Velma then drew a pack of matches out of her pocket and began striking them one by one. She looked back at Velma, who was still watching her.

"So," the woman asked lazily. "Who'dja kill?"

"Husband and sister," Velma replied, adopting the woman's casual expression. "Found 'em in bed together."

"Really? Me, I killed my boyfriend," the woman replied.

"Why?"

"He was poppin' gum. Pissed me off no end."

Velma blanched inwardly. She made a mental note never to get on this woman's wrong side.

"What's ya name?" the woman asked.

"Velma."

"Liz."

Liz gave Velma a half-smile before resuming lighting matches. Then she began to speak again, not looking at Velma.

"You know, you're not the only new one today," she said. "Another one came in just after you. I saw the van. Skinny blonde girl. She's probably still getting checked out. Two murderesses in one night ... the press'll have a field day."

Velma nodded, only half-listening. She wondered vaguely what the other girl was like – who she was, who she killed and why ... Still lost in her thoughts and oblivious to Liz's continued talk she watched the door. A few minutes later it opened, and in walked a woman escorted by a police officer. She was dressed in the same grey dress, but she looked scared instead of defiant. Velma looked at her briefly, and then did a double take.

It was Roxie Hart.

Roxie nervously walked into the room. About fifteen others women were sitting on the benches, watching her. A few of them began whispering to their neighbours. Roxie felt slightly mollified, at least people recognised her. They'll all want to know why 'the' Roxie Hart committed murder, thought Roxie. But as she looked closer at the expressions on their faces all she could see were defiant looks and smug smiles ... there seemed to be only one woman with a nervous expression in the whole room; a young girl with long blonde hair, sitting alone, clutching a crucifix. Taking this in, Roxie tried to adjust her expression to match the rebellious looks worn by the rest of the murderesses.

As the police officer released her arm, Roxie looked for a seat, but the only spare spot was next to the nervous-looking woman. As she drew closer, Roxie noticed she was mumbling something indistinguishable under her breath, but she simply dismissed it and tried to get comfortable on the hard bench.

She was still squirming around when the door opened and a woman walked in. She was tall with short black hair and had the sort of gaze that reaches beyond one's eyes. Roxie cowered inwardly, slightly intimidated by the newcomer.

"On your feet," ordered the warden.

"Welcome ladies," said the woman. "I'm Mama, the matron. You might think I'm here to make your life a living hell, but that's just not true. I'd like to be your friend if you let me. So if there's anything that upsets you or makes you unhappy in any way," she paused for a second. "Don't shoot your fat ass mouth off at me 'cause I don't give a shit. Now move out."

Roxie, a little stunned made to move out, but just as she was about to follow the others out the door, Mama blocked her way and ushered her over to join another woman, one with an especially defiant expression.

"You must be Hart and Kelly," she said.

"Yes ma'am," murmured Roxie.

"Oh, call me Mama," Mama said. "I'm here to take care of you both."

The other woman rolled her eyes before Mama ushered them through the door.

Velma walked moodily out the door, followed by Roxie and Mama. Up close, Roxie didn't seem as confident as she did on stage. Look at her, thought Velma, disgusted. Matron fawning over her, can't do anything for herself.

"Murderesses' Row, we call it," Velma heard Mama say.

"Oh," Roxie replied in the same low murmur. "Is that nicer?"

"Jesus," muttered Velma.

They walked past a row of cells together, Mama occasionally accepting money from a woman and giving her cigarettes or booze in exchange. Roxie was still cowering. Some star, Velma thought, irritably. They passed Liz's cell (she paid Mama for a pack of matches), and four other women before reaching two empty cells. The warden shoved Velma into the first and Mama ushered Roxie into the second. Velma sat down on the cheap bed, listening to Roxie complain to Mama, and eventually and clang of a rod against the bars.

"Lights out, ladies."

The lights of the prison dimmed and the doors of the cells were clamped down. Velma stayed still, not sleepy at all. She heard everything in almost unbearable distinction ... Roxie whimpering, taps dripping, footfalls up ahead, tapping fingernails, Liz striking more matches ... eventually she fell, tossing and turning, into a troubled sleep.

Walking to breakfast the next day, Roxie attempted to regain some of her composure, determined to turn the circumstances into a positive. She sat down in between two of the women from her row of cells – a thin redhead and the nervous one she had seen the day before. The other four sat opposite them. They had begun eating when the redhead next to Roxie began talking.

"Roxie Hart, right?" she said to Roxie, who nodded, pleased. "And you are?"

The other new woman looked at her with a smug expression. "Velma."

"Annie," the redhead said. "What's your story?"

By the end of breakfast they had all swapped stories. There was Liz, who shot her boyfriend for popping gum, Annie, who had poisoned her guy for being married, June, who stabbed her husband after he accused her of having an affair, Mona, who strangled her boyfriend for cheating on her and the other new girl, Velma, who shot her husband and sister for sleeping together. The nervous girl had said nothing.

"She's a Hunyak," June had said. "Can't speak no English."

"Except for 'not guilty'," corrected Mona.

Later when they were all going back to their cells, Roxie stopped the Hunyak.

"Did you do it?" she asked.

The Hunyak looked confused for a moment before shaking her head desperately.

"Uh-uh! Not guilty!"

Roxie shrugged and went back to her cell. She thought of the others on the row and whether they were justified. All of them reckoned their victims had it coming ... Fred did, thought Roxie, drifting off to sleep. He definitely had it coming ...