Part 2

"What the hell is going on, Peck?"

"Fell out of bed."

"You fell out of bed! And you Blake?"

"I tripped in the shower."

The warden threw his hands in the air with frustration. "What is it with everybody's balance these days? You both know the rules; at Folsom State Prison violence is unacceptable and I hold you both personally responsible for your actions." He shook his head. "How long before your parole, Peck?"

"Nine days."

"You know if your part in this incident is reported, your parole could be revoked?"

For the first time Peck's eyes came down from the point on the wall behind the warden that they had found so interesting and looked straight at the figure of authority. "Bit harsh for falling out of bed," he mused. Blake could not completely stifle his chuckle.

The warden sighed, threw his pen on to the desk in front of him and steepled his hands. He took on the aspect of a long-suffering and frustrated schoolmaster. "I have five men in the infirmary, one who is going to have to be air-lifted to ER because he has a ruptured spleen, caused by a mop handle of all things. All of them known members of the Black Coyotes," His voice was tired. "And you two white boys look like you've gone twelve rounds with Clubber Lang!"

"Clubber who?" Robby asked innocently.

The warden shook his head and ignored Peck's smirk as he breathed. "Never mind." He glared at the two prisoners before him; Peck stood to perfect attention but Blake was slouched with the confidence of disrespect. "I hope I don't have the start of a race war here, do I boys?"

There was a long deep silence then, punctuated only by the sounds filtering through the office's open window from the exercise yard beyond; somebody was whistling out of tune, the burble of quiet conversations and every so often the thumping bounce of a ball as an impromptu game of basketball ensued. A loud cheer obviously brought about by the end of the game seemed to bring the warden back to the present.

"Am I wasting my time here?" he asked. "Peck?"

"I fell out of bed."

"Blake?"

"I slipped in the shower."

The warden sighed again. "Very well," he said. "Blake, get out of here – all your privileges are suspended for four weeks! My men will be watching you very closely."

After the younger man had left, the warden stood up and moved around the desk. Peck remained resolutely motionless, eyes back to the spot on the wall, his body comfortable in this pose from long ago.

"I thought we had a deal, Peck, remember?" the warden sniffed from behind him.

"A deal?"

"You've got nine days to go, just nine lousy days and then you're out of my hair!" Peck rolled his eyes but decided not to mention the warden's shining, bald palate at this particular moment. "When I was told you were coming here, I knew you'd be trouble." The warden continued. "I read your file," he indicated the dog-eared taupe coloured folder that was so stuffed full of documentation it bulged corpulentlyon the desk in front of him.

"Gee," Peck whistled through his teeth. "Haven't they computerised that stuff yet? You should be careful it looks heavy – you don't want to put your back out lifting it!"

"Shut it!" The warden spat allowing his normally well controlled anger to get the upper hand for an unguarded moment. He let out a long breath, forced himself to relax and moved back to slump wearily into his chair. "What the hell are you doing, Peck?" he asked finally. "Nine days isn't long, not long to keep your nose clean. Hell, you've managed well over three months already. Nine days left out of a 120 day sentence. Why jeopardise it all and over a selfish piece of trash like Robby Blake. Man, he wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire unless you could prove a direct advantage for him. You are too old for this man!"

The piece of wall was infinitely interesting to Peck once more and he continued to stare at it as the thought ran around his head that he had been chewed out by better men than this. And only one had had enough style and charisma to get him to change his ways. The warden, though he meant well and Peck had found him to be an honest caring man, was no-where close!

"You're a fool, Peck. You are never gonna beat the system – it eats you up and spits you out. The time for lone mavericks like you is long gone; give it up. Tell me what really happened in the shower and I can fill this damn form in, not mention your involvement and we can all forget about I – in nine days you'll be out of here forever!" The warden was holding his pen poised over the paper hopefully.

Peck bit his lip as if considering the proposal. "Something happened in the shower?" he said finally. "Damn! I'd just cleaned in there as well!"

The warden snorted in annoyance. His eyes were suddenly hard. "I wouldn't be so sure I was getting out in nine days, Peck, if I were you – I'm going to have to consider whether I put in a recommendation for your parole to be revoked. And furthermore, to aid me in my decision, I am sending you for psychiatric evaluation – there must be something wrong with your head!"

"My head?" Peck repeated looking worried. "Must have been when I fell out of bed. Jeez, do you think I should sue the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation?"

"Get out!" the warden spat jadedly.

Peck turned to leave but then hesitated and turned back to the man who was now sitting with his elbows on the desk, head in hands. "You know," he drawled. The warden lifted red rimmed eyes with just a hint of hope back up to look at Peck. "Between you and me, I don't think you should make any deals with people in here – didn't they teach you that at prison management school? You'll only be disappointed in the end – there are some real conmen in here, you know!"

The warden snorted and shook his head slowly. "Get out!" he repeated even more wearily than before. As the door slammed disrespectfully loud behind the retreating prisoner, he looked at the incident form on his desk, sighed and began to fill it in.


"What do you mean your parole might be revoked?" Murdock pouted. "I got the party organised, I baked the cake, I…"

"It's given for good behaviour," Peck cut across his rant impatiently.

Murdock blinked. "And?"

"I guess I've been a bad boy," Peck informed him, finding himself unable to meet the other man's hurt stare. He sighed, looked down at his hands, fiddled nervously but he sensed Murdock still had him skewered by soulful eyes, so he continued. "There was a fight in the showers…."

"Face!"

"I didn't start it!"

"But you sure finished it!"

Peck looked up then, his eyes wide and beseeching, his tongue ran across his lips nervously and Murdock felt the familiar melting sensation deep inside that was always a direct result of being skewered by those searching blue eyes. "There was some kid," Peck perceived it too and, never one to miss an opportunity, pressed home his advantage. "They were gonna…. with him and in the showers too. You know that's a sore point with me. Anyway he's OK – didn't deserve that for sure. Maybe if somebody had just taken the time to give him a little support, a little friendship, he would have never gotten in here in the first place. You know what I mean."

Murdock regarded his friend, eyes sparking with empathy. – how could he stay angry with this man for long? "Face," he said softly. "You can't save all the little, lost orphans in the world."

"It wasn't right, Murdock," Peck said softly. "I couldn't let it happen; not when I could stop it." He shivered and Murdock knew he was remembering other times from his long gone youth when he had suffered similarly and there had been no-one to step in and save him.

Murdock gulped and reached out to take hold of Peck's hands where they rested on the table. "I know, babe," he whispered softly. "So you put yourself on the line. I wouldn't expect anything less from you but where does it leave me? I'm hanging by a thread here. I need you now, Face. I don't know if I can wait another month. Sometimes I think I should rob a bank just to get in here, so I could be with you!"

Peck smiled sadly. "Or a train."

"Shush! I'm through that phase now," Murdock replied. "I haven't watched Butch and Sundance for over two weeks now." He snorted. "Got to admit, still got a tiny, weenie craving though!"

Peck squeezed the other man's hands tightly. "I got a massive, all-engulfing craving," he disclosed with a lusty sigh.

They were silent for a while, neither being able to find anything to say since Peck had voiced the real issue between them. A guard ambled past, hesitated but said nothing as he moved away.

With a sad smile Peck withdrew his hands and began to fiddle with the collar of his denim shirt. "Anyway I need a few tips," he said finally.

Murdock cocked his head in interest. "On what?"

"Warden has recommended me for a psyche assessment. No doubt it'll be by some bald, sweaty old man in a grey suit!"

"You; a psyche assessment!" Murdock howled so loudly he drew the attention of the other occupants of the room, who paused in their murmured conversations to regard the leather jacketed man curiously. "About time too!" He continued more quietly after having noted Peck's warning look. "Man, I have said you've been madder than me for years!"

"So what do I do?"

"What do you mean, what do I do?"

"How do I play it, what line do I take? The warden's gonna use the conclusions to decide about my parole revocation."

Murdock smirked and sat back in his rickety chair. "Well, I just don't believe it! Ultra cool, ultra confident Faceman wouldn't be asking the advice of little old me about running a con, would he?"

"Come on, Murdock!" Peck said. "You've had more experience than me in this sort of thing. I don't want to say anything that might be misconstrued, that they might take the wrong way." He was fidgeting nervously.

Murdock smiled imperiously. "Just what are you afraid of Face? That you might turn out to be as nutty as a Snickers bar?"

"Of course not!" Peck snapped back too quickly. "It's just… it's just…." He stopped, eyes wide, panicked even.

Murdock hesitated, regarded him, noting the consternation in the other, worrying about its source – why should Face be so freaked out by a simple psyche assessment? Hell, Murdock could do them standing on his head, with his fingers in his ears watching Woody Woodpecker! But then again he had had years of practise whereas Face had not. Face, in fact, had been very careful down the years to ensure he was never in a position where he would have to reveal any intimate thing that he did not want to. Murdock rated himself as most fortunate to be taken into that very tightly controlled confidence; he was Face's best friend as well as his lover. They had known each other for thirty years and if Face had come to understand the nuances of Murdock's particular psyche it was true to say that the talent was reciprocated. Nobody knew Face as well as Murdock did and nobody had been allowed to get so close to the conman as the pilot had. Nobody had seen the vulnerable interior hidden so deep below the brash shallow, beautiful packing, not like Murdock had. He knew how Peck reacted, how he coped, how he avoided and ignored his emotion, fighting to appear shallow and bland so that no one would bother to look deeper. Always Murdock could sense his friend's disquiet and his fears. Sitting in the visiting area of this prison he sensed them loud and clear.

"The dreams," he said softly. "You're dreaming again."

Peck shuddered as if he'd been physically struck. Not knowing how to respond to the exposure of a perceived weakness except as he always had, he lied. "No, I'm not." Murdock snorted dismissively, so Peck continued. "I just don't want somebody delving into my past," he chuckled, the sound so brittle it did nothing to hide his discomfort. "I'm a private sort of guy."

"Tell me, Face," Murdock said firmly. "What is it? What are you hiding this time? What are you afraid of?"

Peck shook his head. He opened his mouth to talk, closed it again. "What if …." He began but the discordant ring of the bell that signalled the end of visiting interrupted his words and he stopped, unable to subdue a sigh of relief. "God is it two thirty already?" the metallic chuckle was back, along with the superficial smile. "Doesn't time fly when you're having fun?"

Murdock regarded him with a pained expression. "You were always one blessed son of a bitch, Templeton Peck," he muttered. "If we're talking clichés how about; saved by the bell!"

Peck stood up. "I gotta go Murdock," he said softly, brushing his hands down his pants to extenuate the non- existence creases there.

Murdock nodded. "You look after yourself, pal No more fighting – I want you back with me real soon. And we got to talk properly." He stood and reached across to run his hand down Peck's bruised cheek. "You are too pretty for prison," he said.

Peck smiled bravely. "Lucky that I'm too clever then too!"

"I mean it, Face." Murdock was serious. "Don't upset anybody else. And tell the shrink the truth – maybe he'll be able to help you. Dr Richter is one of the best friends I ever had."

Peck snorted and rolled his eyes sceptically. "See you," he said softly and then he moved away to join the line waiting to go back into the main building. Murdock watched him minutely, his eyes drinking in every second as he always did at this point. He was filling his memory with a vision; a vision he prayed would sustain him through the long, lonely days to come. "See you too, buddy," he whispered softly. "Look after yourself."

As the prisoners made their way through the mess area, Peck felt a presence too close behind him.

"Peck!" a voice hissed in his ear. "You screwed up in the showers big time. You may think you're a big shot cos you've had your goddamn white face on a few papers but you nothing in here. From the 'A team' to the 'gay team', nothing 'cept a sad old ass bandit and the brothers are gonna make you pay!"

The fist was hard and perfectly placed into Peck's kidneys. He let out a long groan that started in surprise but ended in pain as his legs crumpled and he fell to his knees.

"Special Forces trained you is, but man, that was a long time ago. You old and slow now and you can't watch your back forever. You know how it works, you know there an order in this place – you know the rules, man! Step outside of 'em; defy the Brotherhood and you will be punished!"

A fist smashed into the side of Peck's face. His closing eyes noted the flash of violent red on black as he fell forward onto the cold stone floor as unconsciousness took him.


TBC