'Well, fed, I see Dogface walking away laughing, I see you standing near the door, where all the troublemakers get put, so I can't help wandering how it went. What did he say?' questioned the leader of the car thieves.

'I thought you weren't going to speak to me again,' Tony told him, slightly amused by the man's curiosity.

The thief shrugged. 'You had a hell of a job outside, amigo, but you couldn't have been all that clean, if you're in here now. Maybe you're not that bad!'

'Thanks.'

'Come on amigo, what did Dogface get you to do? That man is a bastard, he'll get you back in that hole before you know what's happening, and by the way you looked when they brought you back last time, you won't make it!'

Tony groaned aloud, aware of the ten guards less than a dozen feet from them. He lowered his voice and spoke in Spanish, hoping no one would overhear him. 'He'll bring me the picture tomorrow, but like that guy with the hawk said, not for free.'

'Guy with the hawk? You mean Sanchez?' The thief laughed aloud. 'So what did Dogface want?'

'Nothing I could give him. He said I should clean out the showers for him this week.'

'MY GOD. And you were stupid enough to agree? Oh why do I even ask? You're far, far too dumb to ever join my gang! You wouldn't last one day.' He stared at Tony in despair.

Tony frowned, remembering Dogface's laugh. 'What's going on in the shower block?' he inquired.

The thief beckoned the rest of his gang over. 'Guys, listen. Dogface got this idiota to take over clean-up of the shower block.' There was a silence. Tony noticed they stared at him pityingly.

'It's our fault, Rodriguez' Sanchez said. 'We should have warned him about these things. Now he's dead.'

'No, I'm not, so kindly tell me what the hell is going on in the shower block!' Tony demanded.

'Listen, fed, the block is run by a con who's got extra privileges. He's real friendly with the guards, so he gets trusted with the showers and he gets all kinds of stuff for the job. Thing is, he don't clean nothing, he just supervises. Every week someone else gets to go. And he's got two friends who hang around there too; they come in later, once you get started. There's no ladies round here, you know, so they grab whoever they can, all together. They got knives. Nobody gets away.'

Tony closed his eyes, shocked.

No wander Dogface'll give me back my photo if I go instead of him. I got to get out of this. I'll get the picture back another way.

The siren wailed loudly, rising over the buildings. Everyone lined up, hands behind their backs, a guard collecting the balls. The same guard returned, pointing to Tony. 'Go join the queue now, Convict Almeida. You've got the shower block to clean out this week. See you behave better there than you did here.'

'Ah, I don't think I'll do it after all,' Tony began. 'It's not my turn.'

'Convict Almeida, I've already changed the schedule. I am NOT changing it back!'

Tony cursed in Spanish, joined by the entire Latin gang. 'Remember, they got knives. They'll come for you all together.' Sanchez warned him.

'Silence' bellowed the guard. 'I've already spoken to you lot about speaking in English. And you are aware of the rules of NO TALKING in the queue at all. Now move it!' The steel doors opened and they filed inside, silently.

'Almeida, they fight like cowards. You been in the army, maybe you can take them down,' Sanchez encouraged him. Tony bit his lips hard. He was going to have to. He nodded firmly.

He ate lunch without tasting any of it, recalling all the Krav Maga movements he had used. During the afternoon he exercised, loosening his muscles, preparing himself for an unavoidable fight, thankful his ribs had healed.

Two guards came for Tony later in the afternoon, ordering him to the back of his cell with his hands behind his back. He moved slowly, wishing he had a way out of this new nightmare.

Bloody guards changing my cell around.

Handcuffs were placed on his wrists and he was ordered to move. Tony chewed his lips, telling himself he would inevitably have been selected to clean the block sooner or later, only it could have been later. It should have been later. He thought of the photo he had brought so far. It was his, he would die holding it. There was no way he would leave it to Dogface or Summers, or anybody else!

'Amigo' yelled a voice above the din, 'good luck. You're not a bad guy, for a fed!'

Tony glanced upwards, seeking the face, longing for a final reassuring glance. 'Move it, convict,' ordered one of the guards in an irritated voice, giving him a shove. He raised his head, fixing his eyes directly at the steel doors and walked out. Once past the double steel doors he was led down a corridor, noticing the utter silence of the place. He knew his way well to the showers by now, having been there several times before.

This time he was led into the shower block and his handcuffs were removed. The convict in charge of the block handed him a mop, a bucket and a cloth, chatting a few minutes to the guards while Tony was forced to get started. Knowing he was ok while the guards remained he set about mopping the water spilled in the middle of the floor. 'Convict, the tiles need bleach, there's mold on them again,' the convict in charge of the shower block told him. He handed Tony a bottle of bleach.

Tony knew better than to demand gloves as the instructions on the bottle indicated he should wear, spreading bleach on the cloth and scrubbing the floor. He hoped the guards would stay the whole time and he could avoid any trouble, so he worked rapidly. Presently an overwhelming smell of bleach spread through the block.

'Call us when he's done,' a guard said, and they left the room with the convict, chatting about some baseball game. Tony kept the bottle of bleach beside him, the cap off. He poured a little water into the middle of the floor, noting the place was as slippery as an ice rink. He was as prepared as he could get.

The door opened again and the convict stepped inside, followed by two friends. Tony swallowed the lump in his throat, grasping the bottle of bleach firmly. The three stood in front of the door, preventing his escape, cutting the shower area in half. 'Come here, convict. You're new, we haven't got acquainted yet.'

Tony remained crouched on the floor, preparing to spring. 'Are you deaf, convict? Come here.' He gazed at the ground one final moment, hearing them move towards him. He rose suddenly.

'Leave me alone. Back away.' He stared them individually in the eye.

'He's got spirit, this one.' One convict pulled a knife, advancing towards him. Tony swung the bleach and poured the contents into his face, hearing the man's screams. The other two fell onto him, whipping out their own knives. He managed to catch one and throw it behind him, snapping the man's wrist as he did so. The third man slashed his arm with his knife, cutting deep into the skin. Tony choked back his scream, punching him in the face, spinning him round and slamming his head into the toilet, keeping his eye warily on the second man now rising, holding his injured wrist. He advanced towards Tony, grabbing the mop, swinging it towards his head. Tony dodged the blow, tripping him, punching him savagely in the stomach, watching him curling up on the ground. The man whose head he had banged lay silently on the ground, whilst the man into whose face he had poured the bleach remained under a shower, attempting to wash it out of his eyes.

He sank down, exhausted, unable to believe he had won so easily. His arm throbbed violently. Tony examined it, noting the depth of the cut, and moved to a tap to clean the pouring blood away enough to enable him to tie his shirt around it. Blood seeped through his makeshift bandage. He breathed heavily, removing the shirt and washing his arm again, not noticing the second man had risen, grabbed the half empty bottle, and threw bleach at his arm. The throbbing turned into burning as he turned, lunging for his attacker, slamming him into the wall and kicking him until he went down. He stumbled back to the tap, noting the stream of fresh blood all over the tiles, holding his arm underneath it.

The door opened, admitting the two guards. They stared at the scene speechlessly for a second before one grabbed his radio and called for back-up. Tony remained where he was, washing the bleach from his wound, as the guards went to help the man in the shower and the man groaning man on the floor. Seconds later ten guards in full riot gear arrived, followed by Davis, who glared at the scene and turned to the second man. 'What the hell happened here?'

'Sir, convict Almeida wouldn't clean out, so we tried to teach him a lesson. He poured bleach into Smiths' face and tripped Hardy, beating his head in the ground, and he broke my wrist.'

'That right, convict Almeida?' Davis inquired, unpleasantly.

'Except for the first part, where all three came at me with knives,' Tony muttered.

'Take them all over to the infirmary,' Davis ordered, noting the stream of blood from Tony's arm. 'And heaven help you, Almeida, if anything happens to any of these men.' Despite his deep cut he was handcuffed and marched out of the shower, together with the two able to walk. The third convict was carried on a stretcher. They marched through the block, watched by every prisoner.

'Well done, Almeida,' Sanchez yelled into the silence. With the two guards holding him by his arms he was unable to acknowledge the call. They were hurried across the courtyard and into the next building, taken straight to the infirmary. The doctor rose from the sofa where he had been watching TV in a great hurry, checking the injuries, treating the eye injury first with a little spray and bandaging it, then turning his attention rapidly to the unconscious man, telling Tony to keep pressure on his arm.

Tony watched while a light was flashed into the convict's eyes, hoping he hadn't killed the man. He breathed a sigh of relief when the doctor pronounced a concussion and asked his assistant to undress both men and lay them in bed. 'Now Almeida, let me see that arm,' he said, pursing his lips at the sight of the blood. 'I'll have to clean that for you, it'll hurt a bit.' He gave Tony a shot and began to clean the cut, shaking his head. 'That's going to require stitching right away. Can you flex your fingers for me?'

Tony clenched his hand into a fist, feeling waves of pain through the cut. 'Good, at least we escaped nerve damage,' the doctor said, beginning to stitch several layers of skin together. He lay back on the table, closing his eyes, grabbing the chance to relax. Seeing Davis remain in the room left him little hope for a few days rest in bed.

Mom, it's good that you can't see me now. I beat up three men, I nearly killed one. The doctor is stitching a huge cut on my arm, and I'm about to hauled in front of the warden again. He's going to send me down to the hole for another five days, and I don't know how I can take that.

Tony felt sick at the thought of more time in the hole. He turned his face towards the wall, fighting tears, struggling to keep his face blank. 'Almeida, I'm going to give you something to sedate you while I fix up that arm, it's a long job,' began the doctor. 'You'll feel a little drowsy till tomorrow.'

'No, Doctor!' They both turned to face Davis. 'You are NOT admitting Convict Almeida to the infirmary. Fix his arm, give him a painkiller, then he is going to the warden. He is not in any danger.'

'Mr. Davis, the convict has lost a lot of blood. There is a strong possibility of infection setting in over the next couple of days due to the bleach poured into the cut. I cannot clear him for release till the danger has passed.'

'Take it up with the warden,' Davis replied, ice cold eyes fixed on Tony. 'I am removing him on my own authority.' He left the room, pulling out his phone. Tony, who had dared to hope for a few days rest groaned aloud.

'Almeida, there is nothing I can do for you,' the doctor told him sadly. 'I've prescribed a course of antibiotics for you, they will last five days. Take them three times a day. I've also prescribed some painkillers; you're to take them together with the antibiotics, so you won't forget. Good luck,' he said softly, as a guard pulled Tony from the table. His arms were forced behind him and the cuffs fastened round his wrists to the intense disapproval of the doctor, whom all the guards ignored. Six of them escorted him upstairs to the warden's office.

That evening the warden answered his knock immediately, obviously briefed by Davis on what had occurred. Tony was marched in and left in the centre of the room while two guards stood behind him and another two at the sides of the room.

'Convict Almeida, you seem to have an intense problem following rules,' the warden began. 'It's what sent you here in the first place, and I expected you would have learned something from the last time we spoke, but I can see you haven't. You cause trouble whenever you possibly have the opportunity to do so. Now a less patient man would give up on you and transfer you to a different prison, but fortunately I have reams of patience. I will teach you to obey all rules instantly and trust me, convict, by the time I've finished with you, you will totally lack the desire to disobey.

'Now last time I said you would have yard privileges removed for a month, that's a fair amount of time, wouldn't you say? And I warned you that you would have no visitors at all for a further six months if I had to speak to you again. So now you have no visitors for the next ten months. Don't give me that crap about your parents,' he said sharply, seeing Tony was about to speak. 'You did this to yourself.'

Oh, Papa, mom, I'm so sorry. I really thought I could pull another four months out here, but I can't take ten!

'Now last time I sentenced you to, let me see,' he opened Tony's folder, 'five days in the hole. Normally I send people there for two days, but the disturbance you caused merited more. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine you would risk another spell there so soon. So this time, um…' he tapped his pen against the open folder while Tony shook with fear inside, 'let's try seven. Seven days is sufficiently long for you to control your temper, Almeida.'

Oh God, I could barely survive five! Seven days will kill me! I CAN'T go back to that place again.

'I see the doctor has prescribed some medication for you. You will be permitted to take your antibiotics, but I am withholding your painkillers. It might teach you to behave a little sooner. We must try everything available to us, convict! Now take him to the hole.'

Two guards grabbed his arms and spun him around, pushing him from the office. Tony's heart sank as he was shoved down the staircase and along the floor till they reached the locked steel door. He swallowed hard, calling up all his resolve to remain impassive to prevent his fear from showing. Once the steel doors swung open he followed the leading guard without the slightest hesitation down the stairs, round and round until he grew dizzy and grabbed the rail awkwardly with his cuffed hands. How many were there? He had a feeling he would be able to give an accurate answer to that someday.

Once again he was led to the cell behind the locked steel doors, being forced to strip. He took a long while over his socks, removing them last, dreading the pain his feet would soon feel. He was motioned into the same cell and the door was slammed loudly behind him, plunging him in darkness. His eyes focused on the sliver of light under the door, his feet automatically stamping to keep warm. A few tears slipped out as the sliver disappeared. Tony allowed them to run unchecked down his face, overwhelmed by the events of the last few months. He had been kept at Federal for two months awaiting his trial, and had been here just over one. That was three months without contact with his family.

Focus, Almeida. By this time they will be over their initial shock at my arrest. They'll even be over my sentencing. They sure as hell WON'T be over being denied visits.

Mom, Papa, I guess you're doing your best to get to visit me. You'll be writing to everyone you can think of, you'll call everyone. You'll be on your way to finding out just how little sympathy a traitor's family can expect. You're not giving up, I know that for sure. You guys won't EVER give up on me.

What are you doing now, Michelle, honey? God, how quiet the house must seem to you these days. I remember waiting for you to come home a few times; it was sooo awfully quiet until I heard your car.

More tears spilled down his face. He shook his head. Hadn't he made a deal not to think of anything down here? He better remember his survival techniques again in a hurry if he was to live long enough to reclaim his photo.