Lompoc Federal Penitentiary
Juliet Margaret O'Hara sighed as they passed the third checkpoint and were finally waved onwards. The guard towers of Lompoc Federal Penitentiary stood out in stark contrast against the vivid blue sky, the grey concrete austere and uninviting.
She fingered her gun, eyes narrowed, suddenly very aware of the fact that she was entering a prison full of men who were convicted of major crimes. Shivering, she remembered some of the men she had put there, rapists and murderers, thieves and psychopaths. The things she'd seen...
...dark brown blood dried in a crusty, matted parody of a halo around the woman's head, the corpse's face deceivingly peaceful, blue-tinged lips speckled with blood turned up in a smile...
In the front seat of the car, Lassiter turned to look at her, face grim. A flash of understanding flooded his eyes.
"Just think about the fact that there's no way they can escape and hurt other people, and not the fact that you just wish they would try something so you can put a bullet in their head, O'Hara. It always helps me to think about the fact that I'm not like them. I don't murder people in cold blood... However, I wouldn't be against blowing out someone's kneecaps if they tried anything. Let's see them try..."
"Carlton!" What once would have been an exclamation of shock and horror was now simply a cold reprimand.
"O Hara."
"Now that we are introduced, you can get out of the car." The pleasant voice issued forth from beside them.
The two detectives jumped at the voice from the window, O'Hara drawing her piece in an instant.
Lassiter turned around to face the man, who was still talking. His red hair, peppered with grays, glinted in the bright sunlight. He was short, but thin, lean, and worn, his face prematurely weathered by age and experience. His thin nose had the crooked look of one that's been broken before and hasn't set right.
At the sight of the weapon, he clucked his tongue in disapproval, his head motioning back to the guard towers. In the distance, a flash of metal spoke of a gun. "Bad idea, honey. That's a good way to get yourself killed."
... A gun to her head, the weapon cold and hard as she fought her instinct to struggle, her eyes wide with fear, knowing that she should have waited for backup, that this recklessness was going to get her killed...
She lowered the weapon.
"Nice car, by the way." An appreciative glance and a wry raised brow was sent in the gleaming vehicles direction.
"Welcome to my home, the place where men, once behind the walls, almost never come out. I'm sure you'll appreciate it. Budget's low though, so I could only splurge for one welcome mat. It reads 'Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here'. Fitting, right?" He motioned now towards the windowless high concrete walls.
"My mother always said the welcome mat ought to match the paint job. I'm not sure this is what she had in mind, though," he speculated.
"Your crime scene is in cell block C. Man's name was Roger Morris. Known round here as Puppet. You ll get used to the names. They're a good way to tell a man's character." A glint of something hard flashed in the merry man's eye than disappeared.
"So, Detective O'Hara-" he nodded at Juliet "-Detective Lassiter."
O'Hara smiled as Carlton flipped back the side of his jacket to display his gun and his badge. "That would be Head Detective Carlton Lassiter to you."
The man just smiled mockingly. "I work with murderers and psychopaths, too. It's hard to intimidate me, Head-" he emphasized the word in clearly mocking tones, almost eliciting a growl from the irate Head Detective. "-Detective Lassiter."
Lassiter looked as though he was about to throw down a gauntlet and call for a showdown, so O'Hara, used to her partner's temper, just sighed.
"I don't care who you are, just take us to our crime scene."
The man nodded at the beautiful blond detective, eyes running over her figure. Working at a man's prison, he didn't often get such incredible views, and he was quite obviously appreciating the opportunity. "As you wish."
It was odd, Warden Raybourne thought, but these two seemed oddly familiar, as though he'd heard their names before somewhere.
Glaring at the forward man, O'Hara deliberately opened her car door, forcing him back, and took full advantage of her heels.
"So," Carlton Lassiter began, trying to end the Princess Bride moment before he gagged or began a battle to the pain, whichever came first. "You were kind of vague in the report. Well, actually I'd call it downright deflective. What really went down here?" He glanced around at the open landscape as he spoke, noting the concrete walls and the barbed wire fences.
The man who ran the prison, (Who's name, Carlton realized with surprise, he had still not gotten) began a rundown of the murder.
"We weren't vague on purpose, but we really didn't know much. This guy, the vic, he was known as a talker. A few weeks back one of the gang leaders brought in a tip that Puppet was going to die, but I didn't believe him. I should have. He may be a gang leader, may even be the most dangerous man in here, but he's also the guy I'd trust the most. He isn't the type to get mixed up in this stuff. He only does what he does out of necessity, got a Robin Hood complex if you ask me. Still, I wouldn't cross him. That man plays the game well. Hell of a guy. In any other situation we d probably be friends..." The red-head's eyes were narrowed, gauging their reactions.
Lassiter was the first to speak as he, too, pulled his tall frame from the car, wincing a little as he stretched to his full height.
"Wait a second," Carlton interrupted. "When you're done bragging about your buddy will you give me his name?"
The hesitation was so brief, he barely caught it.
Warden felt again that odd tingle of familiarity. There was something he needed to know about these two...
"What for? He's innocent."
Carlton ground his teeth as O'Hara watched on in amusement. "None of the men in here are innocent, Mr.-"
"Raybourne," The warden filled in, holding out a calloused, scarred hand. The detectives ignored it.
"-and if he knew of a murder beforehand and warned you, which I might mention, you didn't do anything about although if you had, Puppet might still be alive and I wouldn't have had to waste a four hour drive, then he is a suspect!" Carlton finished with a hiss, his shoulders knotted in frustration. He may have towered over Raybourne, but the small man had quite a presence.
"Let me make myself perfectly clear, Detective, I run a prison full of hardened criminals, psychopaths and sociopaths. You don't want to drop the damn soap here, and you don't want to f&ck with the man who practically runs the damn prison, and I'm not talking about me, so you should get that damn chip off your shoulder before you go inside, because I can't promise what will happen otherwise." Raybourne's tone was light, but his words were clear.
O'Hara placed her hand on Lassiter's arm and stepped in front of him, glad that she was wearing heels. "Look, Warden, if he's innocent, then he shouldn't have anything to worry about, so let us run our investigation our way, understood? Oh, and get in our way again, and Carlton will arrest you for obstruction of justice. He hasn't had a chance to use his handcuffs yet once today and its making him a little out of sorts. Resist arrest, and he'll use his gun, and he won't be gentle, because I know him and he would resent your death for causing him unnecessary paperwork, and then I'll have to deal with the fallout that makes him a pain in the ass all day and we'll probably loose a couple more Rookies that we can't afford to loose to Carlton's temper, all triggered by you forcing him to kill you. Understood?" She snapped, tired of the wordplay.
Mr. It Takes A Lot To Intimidate Me Cause I Hang With Murderers looked whiter than Carlton's pristine white button down shirt, and that takes effort. Runner's file, he realized. He knew their names from Runner's file.
Still, there was something calculating in his eyes that O'Hara didn't like.
Raybourne needed to see that file now.
"They call him Runner, okay? I'll pull his real name from the files, but I warned you, it's your funeral if you mess with him. The last guy who came after one of his men has yet to string a full sentence together. He was moved to a psychiatric facility in a permanent relocation."
And whatever these two had to do with Runner, Raybourne thought, it was going to end badly. After all, outside of Jackal, Raybourne was the closest thing Runner had to a friend here. That is, an enemy.
Carlton smiled. This Runner sounds like he'd be fun to break. Juliet- Maggie, Carlton corrected himself, knowing she'd always be Juliet to him- frowned, knowing that Carlton was probably looking forward to this a little to much to be considered sane, he knew. Whatever. Let her doubt his sanity. They passed him on the psych eval. Of course, he had threatened to blow out the man's kneecaps if he did otherwise (Lassiter hated psychologists and all their head-stuff), but Carlton was positive the man had been planning on clearing him for duty all along, just needed a little push in the right direction...
Carlton remained smiling at the thoughts and memories in his head. Off to the crime scene then. He pretended not to notice the look Juliet shot him before she turned towards Raybourne.
Juliet sent a glare at Raybourne and motioned with her hand for him to lead the way. He glanced- nervously, she wondered- at Lassie's hand, dangerously close to the gun, and stepped forward.
"This oughtta be fun to watch." Maggie swore she heard Raybourne mutter.
Whatever was going on was going to push the already volatile atmosphere of Lompoc into insanity. Hopefully the things that should remain hidden wouldn't be unearthed.
Neither Runner nor Raybourne needed anyone digging up the past. With a furtive glance at the open expanse of the Yard, lit even in the day by enormous floodlights, Raybourne swallowed hard, no digging literal or metaphorical.
When they reached cell block C and stepped inside, Juliet had to blink in the harsh white glare of the fluorescent lights after the midday sun. She had squinted as they made their way through the empty recreation area, the prisoners were all locked in their cells at the moment, she had realized with a sigh of relief.
Raybourne smiled genuinely, sharp teeth flashing, at her when he heard the noise, his eyebrows scrunching down and pulling at his red hair. She realized the man was younger than he first appeared, probably in his early forties. He led them to a door.
"You all go down this hallway, my men are inside, guarding the crime scene. I'll be back once I talk to the Jackal, get you two an Interview with Runner, if I can."
And warn them not to participate. If he could. This would not end well for any parties.
Carlton sent him a surprised look, "Since when do we have to ask a suspect if he can be interrogated?" The white lights cast deep shadows on his hard features, making the scruff on his jaw and the deep shadows beneath his eyes more pronounced.
"Since you entered my prison. You may not have to stay here, but it's only politics that make these men respect me and if you try to force Runner in here, which I doubt will work in the first place, you'll end up with a war on your hands. These men have ways of getting things done, so if I have to ask so that I can got to bed a little more certain that I'll wake up, then I'll damn well do it." Raybourne's spine straightened and the air seemed to crackle around him as he seethed.
With that outburst, the enigma that was Raybourne walked off to 'ask his question'.
The two detectives exchanged looks, then headed towards the crime scene, footsteps echoing on the concrete floors in the eerily empty room.
Outside the cell, three guards stood in crisp uniforms, their eyes alert and unblinking. One approached the two detectives. "I'm going to need some I.D..." the question was becoming increasingly familiar, Carlton mused with a sigh.
When the door opened, the metal bars clanging against the concrete, Juliet's eyebrows raised slightly and Carlton's mouth fell open a bit. Just a bit however. They were homicide detectives, experienced in all manners of death, so it didn't look good to seem surprised.
Lompoc Federal Penitentiary, two hours later
"Mr. Raybourne, I don't give a damn about confidential or not and whether this Runner guy wants visitors, I want to know why we got dragged out to this godforsaken place to deal with an apparent suicide!"
Carlton Lassiter, Head Detective for the SBPD was furious. Beyond furious, in fact. He drove all the way out here, paid for gas, ignored the whistles and crude comments his partner, or, more appropriately, her backside, received, got mud on his pristine car, and had his five hundred dollar Italian leather shoes ruined by a maximum security prison guard who couldn't hold his breakfast at the sight of a corpse.
"I told you! I called you out here because Runner told me this was going to happen, and if he doesn't want to deal with you, that's not his fault." A wry expression crossed Raybourne's flushed features."Most of the guys in here aren't exactly on first name terms with the cops..." He unconsciously fingered his own weapon, which Juliet just now noticed rested comfortably on his hip.
"Just get me the damn interview!"
Juliet watched as her partner slammed his fist into the aluminum desk that was bolted into the concrete floor. Noticing that it was as Spartan as the dead man's cell, she frowned. What a terrible place to live. The scum deserved it.
"I can't get you a direct interview with the man if he doesn't want to cooperate, but you might 'stumble upon' him if you visit the work out room. Just don't let Jackal catch sight of you. He's Runner's right hand man and has a tendency to be overprotective... You know, for the first three months they spent here, Runner and Jackal never said a single word to another prisoner. That's how Runner got his name, when he saw trouble coming, he just kept on running. It was only after The Incident that his name got a new meaning. When you see Runner coming, you sure as hell better keep running. The Incident was a big event around here. You'll probably hear about it from some of the inmates. It wasn't Runner's fault of course, and I pity the poor man. He hasn't had a single visitor since he was admitted and rumor has it that neither Runner nor Jackal have had a single letter or any contact at all with the real world outside. I can't imagine spending six years of my..."
Juliet interrupted his monologue finally, realizing that they wouldn't get any more information on the mysterious gang lord until they 'stumbled upon' him. She made a sour face, knowing she would prefer to stop dancing around and pull out her gun and demand answers. They'd already been there for almost three hours and hadn't interviewed a single suspect. Her fingers were itching to shoot somebody, like a smoker urged for a cigarette.
"Just show us to the gym and we'll handle it from there..." She would make the bastards sweat.
"They want an interview."
"They can go screw themselves," Jackal hissed. "And it's an interrogation."
A ghost of a smile passed over Runner's face as he spoke up. "They have no idea what the hell an interrogation is." He reached forward with a grin and pulled his hand away fro Jackal's ear to reveal a shiv. Grim faced now, he began to clean out the underneath of his fingernails, brown flakes of dried blood emerging. "They have no idea what, who, they're dealing with. I'm looking forward to this."
A ghostly grin split his face into an eerie mask.
"Six years, eleven months, and twenty-two days. Our time is almost up. I need to make a phone call."