Cigarettes. The use of them are amazing. It's been proven they're unhealthy, but people still smoke them. It's been proven that it takes money to buy them, but even then they're used as a currency. For what? Anything in prison that you want from the outside world, the danger zone. Networks bring you what you want, as long as you can pay the price. The router is as important as the product, and is heavily depended on. I am the router.
Connections I have go way back to my first sentence, when I was convicted of selling illegal drugs to underage teens. I got put in the slammer and grew up for a few months with some brutal girls and we promised to stay in touch after getting out. After we all escaped together that promise became a bloodpack, and we formed a sort of criminal process we called the system. The system is where us inmates exchanged with each other tools or accessories we desperately wanted but weren't allowed to have, and the nicotine-contained sticks were the currency used. Hammers, pencils, paper, all that stuff.
But this place, Nitella Fields Penitentiary, was different. What inmates wanted, the demand, had changed. They didn't want writing utensils, carving tools, pictures of loved ones, or even jewelery. They wanted the guards.
From what I had seen, these were the guards so far: An Italian, another, more pissed off Italian, a Spaniard, a good ol' American, a Canadian, a German, a white haired German, a Frenchman, a Chinese, another Chinese, a Jap, a Korean, a Greek, a Turkish man, an Austrian, a Swiss, a Norwegian, a Swedan, a Dutch, a Scot, an Icelandic, a Finnish, a Russian, a Cuban, an Egyptian, a Lithuanian, an Estonian, a Polish, a Latvian, and of course a Briton.
And all were ten points up from the usual attractiveness of an ordinary man.
Women swooned when they walked by, tripped on purpose to get caught by them, wrote love letters and handed it to them, confessed their love to them through their own cells. It was a sad thing to watch, truly. The guards were used to this and just ignored them coldly, breaking more hearts. Figured we deserved to be romantically and sexually deprived. Yet at lunch I saw inmates pull out letters that were more then confessions of love, but were stories about love and conquest not just between the inmates and the guards but between the guards themselves. Yes, stories about them making love. I've also seen a few comics of it, never mind how people got the art materials. I was revolted and disgusted at hearing and seeing this, but supply is demand. It wouldn't just be beneficial to me either; maybe the stories and comics would entertain the guards when they were confiscated.
"Hey Marcy, got the new chapter yet?"
Marlene leaned over the metal table at breakfast with a crooked smile fixed on her face. I sat beside her, crossing my arms and tapping my foot on the floor. Marcy had the pretty face of a showgirl but the intent of a psychopath, killing both her husband and his slut.
"I-I'm almost done, don't worry."
Her eyes are transfixed on Marlene but the fear is meant for me. In only a few weeks I have made myself top dog, and I now had my own underlings to do the dirty work. One step out of line though and their bones would be broken. Everyone else either worked on the Bro-Love Tales or became informants. Outsiders were shunned and never talked, didn't even form their own rival group. They knew who was alpha and had accepted it.
My smug chuckle reaches her ears and she reacts with a jolt, listening to me with the deer caught in the headlight eyes.
"You may be our best contributor but that doesn't mean you can slack off, Marcy."
My smile is burned into her eyes.
"You will be done by tomorrow, though, right?"
"Y-yes, of course!"
She shouts it loudly and some guards turn towards us, the pissed off Italian and Spaniard. They both give us the same glare. Marlene glares back, Marcy trembles, I smile and wave. The pissed off Italian grunts and starts yelling at a few inmates trying to bully another into giving up her food. Marcy blushes when she makes eye contact with the Spainiard. I take the moment to whisper something important to Marlene.
"Make sure she's good and not bad. We don't want any rottens here."
Marlene nods slowly. I quickly throw Marcy's tray away while she oggles at the brown-haired hotty. She stares in disbelief at the empty space in front of her. Serves her right. You don't work with the router and crush on a guard at the same time. It's just unethical.
Another dispute that needed go down in fisticuffs. One of the outsiders is a snitch. Marlene had to handle that. The American and Russian broke them up. I was called up to Kirkland's office.
"Nice to see you again, love."
His voice is filled with sarcasm. My voice is filled with nothing but I make sure to smile at him. He doesn't smile back.
A document is laid out in front of me, with written words and various numbers printed. My picture is in the top right corner, black and white. It wouldn't kill them to add a bit of color to my cheeks. I stare down at it, eyes scanning my record. I had been tried many times, apparently. Kirkland clears his throat to get my attention.
"There's been some unprecidented activity going on with my inmates, and a variety of people have told me that you have started fights. Is this true?"
"Your eyes are really mesmirizing, really. I can just drown in them."
"Answer me truthfully, Amelia. Are you instigating fights with the other inmates?"
"Only when they say they love you more than I do."
Kirkland glares icily at me. He clearly isn't pleased. I lean forward and bring up the bottom of my jumpsuit. My legs are long, my chest normal size. The Warden doesn't give them a glance.
"Tell me the truth so we can get this over with."
"Sorry, but I got nothing to do with this. Maybe you should let us sleep with the guards."
"Clearly that won't happen."
"It was worth a try."
The Warden smiles. I smile. His drops. He waves me off but I catch his hand, kissing the fingertips.
"Good health to you and your family, warden."
"I don't have a family and my name is Kirkland, not warden, you git."
I laugh at the stereotypical word and he rolls his eyes. My hand releases his and I walk out with my escort, the Latvian. He trembles beside me with shiver lines above his head. I ask what's wrong and he goes back to the stiff guard act, not saying anything back. In time the guards might break. They've never had an aplha like me, after all. But for now I just had to touch and question. Eventually they'll melt. And when they do, my writers will be out there with their sketchpads to scribble down every detail.
Marlene tells me that Marcy finished the chapter. I tell her not to break her body into a weird shape. She's disappointed but obeys. That night I switch out the comics and the stories for cigarettes and the smell fills our cells. The guards notice but blame each other. We watch as one threatens to punch the other and I comment on how hot it is. The women fidget in their cells at the same time, creating a loud ruckus. Writing is heard. The guards are creeped out and leave. I smile at them and wonder if they've read any of their personal love stories yet.
I finally got the name of my rival. Amy Bernard, a blonde girl from South Carolina. She didn't act like the Southern Belle, though. Against my army we were fairly equal, except that she didn't have the one thing I had: the system. All she could use for power was grudges. That and promises of uprisings. Uprisings wouldn't work here. I could easily see that. If one inmate tried to get out, all the guard had to do was take off their shirt. Hook line and sinker.
Escaping for now wasn't an option.
But playing around was, especially with danger. The Warden didn't like me at all. He hated my guts, my popularity, my authority. He also hated that I flirted with anything that moved. Too bad for him since he was needed for my eventual escape. I had gotten through other wardens before. He wasn't anything special. The period of flirty peace between us had dissipated to nothing but hateful respect, something I had counted on. Now I needed to make my next move.
"Ame, stop daydreamin' bout the warden before one of the guards sees ya."
Marlene jabs my shoulder. Hard. Whether she means to or not I have no idea. I jab her back harder for good measure.
"I can handle myself fine, thanks."
"I'm just warnin' you, girl. They lookin' at you like a hawk."
True, but that was expected. I brought my head up to stare at the Scottish guard. He smiled at me. I smiled back. He waved. I waved back. Marlene slapped me across the face.
"Girl, what are you doing? Don't you know he's one of the guys that turned in Marcy?"
Right, Marcy. She got caught for possession of pornography or something like that. If she had been sent to another prison or given the death sentence I didn't know. Rumors would circulate soon. I ignored Marlene's warning and blew a kiss at the Scot. He caught it and smirked, kissing his hand. A few girls had noticed from beside me. I gave them a glance and they didn't see anything.
Marlene had thrown some hot towels at my face. It felt like hell but I ignored it, calmly putting them on the conveyer belt. She knew not to mess with me. I wondered lightly what had gotten into her then brushed it off. Drama didn't concern anyone but me. That was how I made it, after all. The fake identities, solid connections, and bribery had been enough drama for me to handle. Marlene better watch out though.
Next time I won't let her off so easy.
The feel of the Scot's hand on my back distracted me. Only faintly. My thoughts were off somewhere else, about how we had to get another writer. Marcy was our best contributor and now that she walked out we had more work. As in we, I meant the others. They complained. A lot. I told them I would fix the problem. Correction, my underlings would. They didn't.
There was no laughter as I was escorted to the Warden's office, fifth time of that week. What have I been caught for this time, officer? I asked the Scot, acting sleazy. It was easier to do that when you had something to gain. Love was just a waste of emotions, a human deception. Lust was more fun and so was adultery. He had simply grinned and told me I needed to see the Warden.
I was released. His hand stroked down my back before fully letting go and I made sure they touched my fingertips. Lust, wanting, desire. That was what I was good at. I couldn't show my body in public, though. That's what stopped me from being a prostitute and stripper. Manipulation was my main attribute
Kirkland scowled as I came in. I smiled at him and sat down. The chair was pushed a bit back and I moved it forward. Kirkland raised his bushy eyebrows but didn't say anything. He didn't need to, with cheeks flushed. I took note of this.
"It looks like you started another fight today, Morrison."
He didn't say it like that. There were slurs, hiccups, all of that. Drunk, a perfect way to decribe him. I didn't see any bottles on the desk or floor. He must've taken a bet of drinking in the morning and lasting through the day. I remember when I did that. When I was twenty-one.
This was good, very good. My relationship with the Scot would have to be stalled. There was no better way to get Kirkland to fall for me then to get him while he was drunk. Beat the truth of his feelings from him and then lick his tongue to death.
I denied, denied. Stood my ground and didn't do anything. Waited for the perfect moment. He finished the futile interrogation and asked how I was doing. Yes, he was slurring his words still.
"I'm fine, although it would be better if I saw you more."
"You really are such a bloody flirt, you know that? I bet you have all the men wrapped around your fingers and you can play with them like puppets."
I smile. Here comes my alluring response.
"But you're the only puppet I want to play with, Arthur."
I had learned his name from the whisperings of the guards. I felt satisfaction when I saw him blush deeper.
"H-how do you know my name, git?"
"Oh I know everything about you professionally, Arthur. But personally I have no idea. Won't you teach me?"
My voice was like a constant melody as words slipped from my mouth. It would only be a little more and my seduction would be complete. He had started looking at me as a man would at a woman.
I took advantage and stood up. Walked over to where he was. Crouched down so our faces were inches apart. The smell of liquor was harsh but I could smell his scent too. Manly, coated with a gentleman-like look. He looked at me with slow eyes. I took my chance and pressed my lips to his.
The moment was taken away with a knock at the door. I stepped quickly back. Kirkland's face was priceless, blushing yet confused yet satisfied yet regretful at the same time. I kept my smile hidden until I was walked to my cell. Once inside, I let out laughter. The inmates next to me shrunk to their oppposite walls. Amy told me to shut up. Marlene told her to go to hell and she laughed too. We both knew what had happened. My henchwomen joined our laughter and soon the guards had to come in. Amy was escorted away.
Once the raucous giggling settled down I lit a cigarette and smoked. My first smoke was when I was fourteen, now I was twenty-seven. Thirteen years of experience there. People followed me and smoked their bit. Non-smokers coughed and hid under their beds to escape the scattering smoke. The lights went out and all I could see was the knife marks on my cell walls. I pictured them as bills and jewelery and felt better.
With Marcy gone, I have more demands for good writing. People claim that other writers suck and new writers have to be found. Those people are also Amy's henchwomen. I flick them off a few times and tell them to write their own stories. My writers thank me in quiet voices.
Flirting with danger is easy here. The Scot has spread around about my open sexuality and some other guards have joined in. Other inmates are horrified by this and Marlene tells me to be careful. How did she put it again?
"Stay the hell away from them, you dumbass whore."
I tell her to shut the—cue f-bomb—up and she grunts angrily. Our relationship will remain, but with disputes about romance. She can't say much though. I've seen the way she looks at the pissed off Italian. And really, it's him of all people. She's fallen head over heels for him even though she'll never admit it.
"Me, to him? Girl, they must be puttin' some other stuff in those sticks you smoke."
Her denial was funny at first, but now it was pissing me off. I felt like the Italian. He and his brother—as I supposed they were—hadn't flirted back with me yet, so they were all hers. The more 'lovers' we had the better. That's how you made it, escaped. You either sucked up to the guards or sucked through them, or stayed quiet and composed as you hammered away at your cell wall. Any path you chose was a long road.
I clutched the bible in my hand, smiling to myself. My rejoicing of faith was crushed years ago, back when I was first put in. One simple screw up and I became the scum of the society ladder. I understood why some radicals wanted us to be communist. Those blacks like Marlene finally got their rights but it would take a while before us women got ours.
The sound of a bible's pages being ripped out is sounded in the cell next to mine. I believe in Christ and all, but practicing that was a bit difficult. For all I knew some guards would get offended. That wouldn't work at all. For all I knew, this bible might have been fabricated to make us feel worse about ourselves. A conspiracy theory? Maybe I could spread it around, start a riot, a revolt. The system would get even stronger. Organizing that would take time, though, and a lot of my skill.
Good thing I had time and endurance.