Charlie never thought he would one day end up in a cell as a prisoner. But here he was. Middle of the Friday night, with his wrists bruised from handcuffs and whole body throbbing from the fight. At least he was alive and relatively unscathed, Charlie thought. Which was more than he expected during the ride from the pub. He truly feared his cover was blown and the two cops were driving him out of town to get rid of him. But once he saw the building in front of which they parked, he felt some relief.
After going through a quick booking process at the station he was unceremoniously thrown into an empty cell. Charlie called out after the retreating constable that put him there, asking for a lawyer, asking to be let out, but the man ignored him. Of course. Charlie would have probably done the same if he was booking someone from a pub brawl. Ignore until the morning, once the person had sobered up. Or called the Doc to check him out in case of visible injuries... though Charlie doubted split knuckles and few bruises would warrant any such visit in this town.
When some other drunk from the next cell shouted at him to shut up and let him sleep, Charlie fell silent. No reason to draw the ire of anyone who might be tasked with his wellbeing in the following days, especially seeing as Kenneth and Douglas had long ago left the premises.
Charlie sat down heavily on the cot, his fingers itching at the touch of the scratchy blanket. Charlie knew he shouldn't be expecting comfort in these cells. They were meant to be temporary holds, and a bit of discomfort was more than desired for their expected occupants. Still, his nose wrinkled at the crude toilet and sink. He was thirsty and he felt dirty from sweat and blood. Some of it was his own, most belonged to Steve or one of the other guys Charlie didn't even learn the names of.
With a sigh he got up and splashed some lukewarm water on his face, then let the water flow onto his split knuckles. It stung but Charlie had a feeling it was nothing to the pain still awaiting him. If there were more fights in his future... he would have to make sure he got through them as unscathed as possible. Somehow, he didn't see Kenneth or Douglas being the types who would care for someone's welfare unless it suited them.
Charlie stepped back towards the cot... it was hardly a walk because there was not enough room for more than a few steps. Charlie cringed at the memory of Blake being locked up in a cell... even though it was bigger than this one... the lock on the door still made his skin crawl. Being claustrophobic must've made the experience so much worse.
Charlie lay down, stretching out on the cot. He let out another sigh, allowing himself to relax momentarily. There was no sense in worrying about what comes next. He was pretty sure things were not going to work out exactly how he or Johnson had imagined them.
For now, he was safe and most likely on a good way to further their plans. His body was bruised and aching, but thinking about the fact he faced off three assailants, he came out relatively unharmed. Charlie made a mental note to thank Hobart for that, if he ever get the chance. The last few months of training at the gym had seemed to be paying off.
Thinking of Hobart and Ballarat, Charlie's thoughts had turned towards Lawson and Blake. He wondered whether the men knew something was up. O'Leary said he would let Lawson know at least that Charlie wasn't in Sydney and had been sent out on an assignment but the man didn't say when will he do so. Charlie wouldn't put it past him to simply forget until Lawson started calling, trying to get in touch with him. Well, at least Charlie had managed to call his mother and let her know he was leaving, although he kept the true reason and destination to himself, per orders. He did mention O'Leary by name however, so if there was prolonged absence on his part, he was sure his mother would know what to say to Lawson.
Right now, everything was going as it should. Charlie decided to ignore the headache that was looming at the back of his skull, the throbbing of his right cheek and the tightness of his chest that had nothing to do with the growing bruise. None of it mattered... as long as his cover held up. With that thought in mind, Charlie's eyes slid closed and he slipped into fitful sleep.
The morning came faster than he expected. Charlie was still lying on the uncomfortable cot, pretending sleep when around seven in the morning he heard the sound of footsteps. It was also accompanied by a complaining whiny voice and Charlie grimaced, keeping his eyes shut and pretending sleep. He hoped he won't get a companion in his cell. That would just make matters more complicated.
"Oi mate, I swear I didn't mean to!" the whiny voice sounded only few meters from him and Charlie suppressed a snort. Right. As if that worked on anyone.
"Tell you what, Petey. Next time you fall asleep after a binge in the middle of the street, try not to punch the first person that wants to check if you're still alive."
"Stupid paper boy," Petey grumbled. "Shoulda left me to sleep."
"Yeah yeah. He also should have left you lying on the road, you bloody idiot. You should be thanking the kid."
Petey gave another grumbled response, but Charlie wasn't paying him any attention. The voice that was leading the half drunk man into the cell was rather familiar.
Charlie's eyes snapped open and he sat up on the cot. He grimaced once again, this time feeling several aches and pains shooting up his spine. Last night's fight might've been a successful one, but it still took some toll.
"Next time maybe try getting actually home. I bet your wife won't appreciate having to bail you out... again," the cop said and there was the unmistakable sound of the lock falling closed. Charlie moved towards the door of his cell, not wanting to miss this chance. He pushed his face against the barred window.
When Johnson passed next to it, Charlie cleared his throat.
Johnson paused, looking at him. He froze momentarily, his head quickly turning to look up and down the hall, making sure there was no one else.
The other prisoners were either asleep or out of sight, because Johnson felt safe enough to fully turn towards Charlie.
"Well, aren't you a sight," he said in a low voice, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile although there was a frown of concern on his face. "Harsh night?"
Charlie rolled his eyes.
"You can say that," he said in an equally low voice.
"Everything went alright? Or do you need bailing out?"
Charlie shrugged.
"Not sure. The bastards got me on drug charges."
Johnson frowned.
"You had something on you?"
"No! They planted it."
Johnson's face relaxed.
"Oh, that's good."
"What's good about that?" Charlie asked, wondering if Johnson wasn't hit on the head last night as well.
"Seems like you got their interest. Otherwise they would've just grabbed you on assault and kicked your ass."
Charlie frowned. Johnson might've been right... why go to these lengths? On the other hand... they haven't approached him yet with anything. Though Charlie knew it was most likely because they were digging up some info on him.
"So what now?"
"They'll most likely let you stew a day or two," Johnson admitted. "Not much longer though. There are few fights coming up and their previous fighter had vanished." Johnson said that with more amusement than Charlie thought was necessary.
"They killed him off?" he asked, horrified.
"What? No. They picked up some guy passing through town, threw him in the cell for a bit too. But I managed to have a small chat with him and get him out on technicality. He left town in quite a hurry," Johnson seemed rather satisfied with himself. Charlie once again wondered why the hell didn't the guy manage to take down these bastards in the last two years, but he didn't question him.
"Great. So I'm their only choice?"
"So far. So don't screw it up. Unless you want out. Probably the last chance you get..."
Charlie shook his head. He wasn't going to bail now.
"Good." Johnson nodded. "I'll have your back, don't worry."
Charlie worried. Mostly because he wasn't sure how much pull Johnson had or how bad the situation could turn. But there was no sense in thinking about that right now. It was enough his stomach was like on water and his head throbbed from all the tension.
"I'll try and stop by later on," Johnson said, then looked down the hall. Charlie's ears perked up. He could hear voices and footsteps, people moving around. "Gotta go. Good luck."
"Thanks," Charlie muttered and watched as Johnson walked out of the holding cells. For a moment he truly envied him. The freedom to just walk out and go about his work.
With a sigh, Charlie turned away from the door and stepped back to the cot. The cell was utterly and boringly empty. There was nothing else to do but sit down and think. Right now when thinking was the last thing Charlie wanted to be doing.
Morning had turned into lunch, then afternoon. Charlie was wondering whether they just wanted to psyche him out or did they truly forget he was there. It was possible, after all he was brought in after the cops themselves had a few beers in them. Who knew if they haven't decided to return to one of the pubs.
Charlie worried that perhaps they decided to let him stew for the whole weekend. Which admittedly wouldn't be the worst thing ever, but he had a feeling the wait itself would drive him crazy. It didn't help that the officer who brought food had totally ignored his request for a call, or his statements about being locked up for no reason at all.
It wasn't like Charlie expected the cop to turn a blind eye on him or even feel sorry for him. He himself had heard more than enough suspects swearing they were innocent and falsely imprisoned. But he had to play the game, so he put up a fuss. All it got him was the plate with his food being 'accidentally' dropped on the floor. Oh well. Not like he was all that hungry.
It was turning close to evening, when Charlie heard footsteps down the hall. He could tell straight away it wasn't the officer who was on jail duty. The man was light on his feet. These steps were heavy and loud. There was also more than one person. Charlie automatically stood up and stepped to the door, peeking through the barred opening. As he thought. There was Douglas and another guy. This time it wasn't Kenneth accompanying him but Richard.
Charlie only ever saw the man on the picture, but the strange scar adorning the top of his lip was unmistakable.
There was no one else and Charlie realised there will be no other witnesses. Even Petey from the other cell was let go about an hour ago.
The door to his cell opened and both men stepped in, effectively blocking the only way out. If the cell felt small before, now it was outright stifling. Charlie had taken a few steps back as soon as he heard the key turning in the lock.
"Well well, how did you enjoy the night in here, Mr. Morris?" Douglas asked in what could have passed as a friendly tone, if not for the smirk on his face.
Charlie wanted to take another step back on reflex, but knew that doing that would show weakness and right now he couldn't afford that. He felt Richard's eyes on him, thoughtful and searching, as one would wager a horse before placing a bet on it. He had to stand his place, play his role.
"I would've enjoyed it more in my motel room," Charlie replied, keeping his back straight and facing Douglas. "Can I go now?"
Richard snorted.
"Really. You think this one will do?" the question was aimed at Douglas and Charlie felt his ire rise.
"He is a bit scrawny, but he had some moves," Douglas replied.
"Hey, what the hell are you talking about?" Charlie felt it was time to speak up.
Richard gave him a condescending look, one that Charlie was more used to getting from rich businessmen than cops.
"Shut up, I wasn't talking to you."
"Yeah, I am aware," Charlie said, taking a step forward. He knew he was taking a risk, but if he had to prove himself, so be it. As expected, his movement in such close quarters made both cops react. Douglas had put his hand on the baton that was on his side, while Richard took Charlie's approach as an invite for a fight. Without much warning, his fist shot out, aiming for Charlie's stomach.
Charlie was expecting that however. He moved to the side and the fist only brushed over his side. In a move he knew well since he started brawling with his brothers, Charlie grabbed the arm and pulled to the side, while sidestepping. Using the momentum, he smashed Richard against the wall.
He had only a second to enjoy his victory however. In the next moment he felt the baton connect with the back of his legs. He cried out as his legs gave out and he stumbled forward, crashing onto the cot. Richard had swung back, his face a mask of anger.
Charlie didn't even notice the fist before it connected with his left cheek.
For a moment everything turned grey. Charlie felt someone grabbing his shirt and pulling him forward. Charlie tensed, preparing for another blow.
It didn't come.
"Stop it, Rick. We need him in working order after all," Douglas spoke, his voice strangely amused.
"If he agrees. If not... you will have plenty of time getting back your due."
Richard grinned, cracking his knuckles.
Charlie had to swallow a few times, his throat went dry all of a sudden.
"Agree to what?" he asked, still leaning on the cot at an awkward position. But he was aware that any sudden or unwanted movement right now would just get him a black eye at this point.
Douglas looked at Richard, as if wanting a confirmation. Albeit unwillingly, Richard gave a shrug.
"We are in need of someone who can handle a fight." Douglas lowered his voice. "Say Mr. Morris... what brought you into our lovely town?"
The sudden change of topic confused Charlie.
"Just passing by. Looking for a job."
"What kind of a job?"
Charlie shrugged.
"Whatever comes. I'm not picky."
"Not picky, aye? Cheating at pool? Selling drugs? That kind of stuff?"
Charlie sat up on the cot, ready to stand. He ignored the momentary dizziness in lieu of glaring at Douglas.
"I wasn't cheating and those drugs weren't mine!" he said, not even having to pretend to be angry.
Richard snorted.
"Yeah. As if we haven't heard that one before, right Doug? I'm pretty sure your cousin Dave will enjoy this one. He just loves sending scum like you to prison for few years."
"You planted it on me!"
"Calm down, Chuckles," Douglas said and Charlie wanted to wipe the smirk from his face just for that nickname. But he saw the baton swishing warningly in the man's hand. So he grit his teeth and tried to count to ten. He had to remind himself this was part of the game he had to play.
"What do you want from me?" he uttered through clenched teeth.
"See? I knew he had some brains," Douglas said with a smile to Richard. The other man didn't seem very impressed.
"As I was saying, we need someone who can fight. Our last guy had an unfortunate accident," Douglas said, attempting to show something like remorse, even though he wasn't fooling anyone. "It left us in a bit of a stitch."
Charlie looked at him with a frown.
"What fight? I don't understand. You're cops."
Richard appeared bored, going as far as letting out a sigh worthy of a five year old being forced to sit still.
Douglas only raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, we are cops. Cops who have you on attempted assault, possession of drugs and wait... attacking a police officer?" Douglas looked at Richard, who smirked and nodded.
Charlie shook his head.
"That's all bullshit," he said.
"Might be. But seeing as my cousin Dave works at the court and there was always at least one more person as a witness, you are all but screwed, my friend."
Charlie knew that. He let all of his emotions cross his face. From anger, disbelief... to the sordid realization that he was at the mercy of some dirty cops.
Douglas and Richard gave him the time. As soon as his shoulders fell though, Douglas couldn't help the twitch of his lips.
"What do you want from me?" Charlie asked, this time making sure his tone was flat and resigned.
"Three fights. Then you are free to go."
Charlie frowned.
"Three fights? That's all?" he asked a bit dubious.
"What, you want more?" Richard snorted and Charlie quickly shook his head.
"What kind of fights?"
Douglas shrugged.
"One on one, in a ring. No weapons. Anything goes. Knocking out the opponent gets you a win."
Charlie still didn't look convinced.
"Do I have to win?"
"What kind of stupid question is it? If we wanted some fucking loser, we would've grabbed drunk ass Petey there," Richard said with disgust.
"Yeah well... I'd like to know what happens if I lose," Charlie said, annoyed.
"You get your ass kicked first by your opponent, then by Ricky here," Douglas answered simply.
And if he hadn't known better, Charlie would have been satisfied with that. Because he was pretty sure that if left alone with 'Ricky' he could kick his ass. The guy was all the flair, but no real skill it seemed.
"Three fights... then I can go?" Charlie asked, seeking reassurance. "With clean slate?"
Douglas nodded.
"If you win, yes. If not, well..." Douglas nodded towards Richard with a cold smile.
Charlie's fingers bore into the hard mattress underneath. He looked from one man to the other, as if he was weighing his options. Obviously, his silence was too long.
Douglas looked at his watch.
"Well, seems like Mr. Morris here doesn't want to go home anytime soon. Come on, Ricky. We have better things to do."
"Don't worry, Chuckles. If you don't say yes, I'll be sure to stop by a few times before you are shipped off to the prison," Richard said, giving Charlie's shoulder a heavy pat as he passed by.
Charlie winced, curling his hands into fists and pushing them into the mattress to stop himself from trying to punch the bastard. Douglas was already outside and Richard was stepping out the door when Charlie stood up, suddenly frantic at the sight of the closing door.
"Wait! No, you can't do this!"
Douglas locked the door, leaning against the window.
"Oh, we most definitely can and will. If I were you... I would think about it real hard."
"Screw you!" Charlie spat, angry at being cornered in such a way. Douglas just chuckled.
"Sleep tight. I'll want an answer in the morning."
Without another word, the two left. Charlie let out an angry growl, smacking the door with his hand. He pulled the punch at the last moment, aware of his already bruised knuckles. The hit still reverberated through the joints, a sparkling reminder that he already got himself into enough trouble. Now he had to spend another night on the stupid cot, most likely without dinner.
Somehow, Johnson had managed to sneak in about an hour after the others left. Charlie was still fuming at being left in the cell for another night. It seemed like the officer in charge of the cells had also left prematurely, once again forgetting to bring Charlie's food.
His stomach grumbling painfully, Charlie shortly filled in Johnson on his 'progress'. Johnson at least seemed to be satisfied with the speed things were going.
"That's good. I know they were checking out your background and it must've passed muster, otherwise you'd be gone by now."
"That's... not at all reassuring," Charlie muttered. "Say... could you bring me something to eat? Starvation and threats seems to be their main scare tactic so far."
Johnson grimaced.
"Sorry, I hadn't thought about it. I don't think I can risk coming back again tonight..."
Charlie grunted, pushing his head against the bars of the window. His stomach gave a loud protest.
"But hey... here." Johnson pulled a pack of Anzac biscuits from his pocket. "They might be a bit squished, but still edible."
"Oh, thank Lord," Charlie said, reaching for the pack. He could have inhaled the biscuits right on the spot, but he didn't want to appear that desperate, so he just held onto it.
"I'm sure you'll get something more tomorrow, I think it's Marty's turn and he's alright."
Charlie nodded distractedly. He still wasn't sure how it would all pan out and the three cops made his skin crawl. Each of them worse than the other.
Johnson cut his visit short, saying he would try to stop by the next day but that it might be tricky. Charlie understood, though it didn't make him feel any better. Being without proper backup and in such a vulnerable position, at the mercy of someone in power, was making him nervous.
"Hang on, Charlie. You're doing great so far," Johnson said as he was leaving and Charlie felt a wave of wistfulness. He would've appreciated the words more if he believed them... or if they were coming from someone he knew. Especially as he had his doubts about Lawson's reaction once the man finds out what Charlie got himself into. If he would find out at all, that was.
Another night had passed and Charlie had woken up feeling more crappy than before. His joints were stiff, his whole body protesting the lack of movement. Even though he felt a bit weak from lack of food, the biscuits helping only so much, Charlie decided getting his blood pumping and joints moving would help his overall condition. So he started doing his warming up routine before his usual morning jog. As much as the closed space allowed of course. When his muscles became at least a bit less stiff, Charlie went down on the floor and started doing sit ups.
It was a few minutes later, in the middle of a series of push ups that he heard footsteps. He decided to finish the round anyway. It was better they see him working out than lying on the cot lifelessly.
"Ah, nothing better than a morning workout, isn't it right Douglas?" it was Kenneth's voice from the window, followed by a snicker.
Charlie grunted, pointedly finishing the series, then getting back up on his feet. He didn't even have to pretend, the glare appearing on his face was genuine. His empty stomach and the previous day of boredom had made him cranky enough, without Kenneth's smart mouth.
This time it seemed that Richard was missing, not that Charlie minded that. Two idiots at a time were enough to deal with. The whole trio would be unbearable.
There was no key rattling in the lock now. Kenneth had leaned back against the wall opposite of Charlie's cell, while Douglas was leaning against the door. If someone had walked in the hall it would seem as if they were all just having a friendly chat.
Charlie didn't feel friendly at all.
"So... have you decided yet?"
Douglas obviously wasn't the most patient man. Or they needed someone for a fight as soon as possible and had to know whether they should start looking for someone else.
Charlie was half tempted to draw this out, just to see how desperate they could be for a fighter. But that would probably mean more pain for him, not to mention he wanted to get out of the damn cell. He wanted some real food, a shower. Hell, he just wanted a chance to make more than few steps before encountering a wall.
He gritted his teeth, face set in a grimace.
"What guarantee do I get?"
Douglas's eyebrows went up and he exchanged an amused look with Kenneth.
"Do you hear it, Kenneth? This guy wants some... 'guarantees'."
Kenneth shook his head.
"What about the guarantee you only get your ass kicked in the ring, instead of getting the shit beaten out of you right now?" Kenneth said with a lopsided grin.
"Screw you!" Charlie spat, fed up with the idiot.
Douglas made a tutting sound and shook his head.
"Now Kenneth, try to be a bit nicer to our guest here. After all... depending on his answer, we might see him around for quite some time."
Douglas's words were an unveiled threat.
Charlie's fingers twitched nervously.
"Why would I agree if you just... throw me back in jail?"
Douglas shrugged.
"Jail isn't as bad after all. Free accommodation, food... oh wait. Did you find yesterday's lunch and dinner to your satisfaction?"
This time Charlie didn't even think, he stepped forward and spat through the bars, barely missing Douglas.
"You know fucking well I didn't get to eat anything, you bastard," he growled, his chin jutted out in anger. Douglas clenched his teeth and a set of keys rattled in his hands, almost threateningly. But it was obvious he was trying to control his own anger.
"Oh well, what a pity. Maybe you can get some soup tonight, who knows."
"You can't starve me!" Charlie argued, a bit mind boggled that they would even try to insinuate something like that towards a prisoner in their care. After all, this was still a police station. They couldn't have that much power.
"Starving? Please, of course we wouldn't do that," Kenneth said with a smirk. "On the other hand, who knows what happens to slip into your food once in a while."
Charlie felt his stomach turn. He really had no control over the situation while being held prisoner. If not for Johnson serving as some kind of backup, he would be totally screwed.
He was losing patience with this whole farce and he knew that it was time to give in, even though he would love nothing more than to tell those bastards to go screw themselves.
It must've been apparent in his glare. Douglas raised a curious eyebrow, as if expecting another blow out.
Charlie focused his glare on Kenneth, making sure the man was aware of his disgust and dislike over the situation. Then he turned back to Douglas. With gritted teeth, he gave a nod.
"What's that?" Douglas asked, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Alright. I'll do it. Just let me out of this stink hole."
"Careful now, Charlie. You wouldn't want to insult this fine establishment now, do you?"
Charlie's fist curled in tighter, his nails digging into the skin of his palm so hard he was sure he drew blood.
He didn't say a thing, only kept glaring at Douglas.
The man finally nodded, then suddenly clapped his hands.
Charlie winced at the loud and unexpected sound, while Kenneth chuckled.
"Alright then! Looks like we will have some fun after all. See you soon, Chuckles."
Without another word, Douglas turned on his heels and marched out of the prison. Charlie frowned, his hands grabbing the bars.
"What? Wait! I said yes. Why don't you let me out?" he shouted after the retreating figure.
"Did you think we will just let you out and trust your word to appear at the place when said so?" Kenneth said with sarcasm dripping from his words. "Relax. We will let you out... when it will suit us. Now stop making a ruckus and maybe I will send someone in with a hearty breakfast."
With that, Charlie was left alone. Once again, to ponder his thoughts and wonder what did he manage to get himself into.
When twenty minutes later a young constable brought him a plate of something that tried to appear as food, Charlie was overcome by incredible longing for Jean's cooking. What wouldn't he give for one of her famous pies or even the Lamingtons she made for dessert the day before he left.