After Hours
The Undertaker as Will
Dean Ambrose as Jonny
Roman Reigns as Rome
Charlotte Flair as Ashley
"Prisoner 112290!"
Will Calaway, who'd been perched up on the top bunk, looked up from the dime novel to glower at the beefy C.O. standing at the door.
"Gather up your belongings and let's go," said the C.O. in a curt tone.
Will didn't gather up anything, he just followed the C.O. to the corridor. He didn't want anything that would serve as a memento for him. He'd already had enough memories of the place.
For the past 15 years, Will did his bid at East Jersey State Prison, a large maximum security prison that lay in the middle of Avenel, New Jersey, just on the borderline of Rahway. Prison was nothing new to Will, he had been in and out since the mid 80s and had a rap sheet that stretched as long as the Missouri river, with offenses ranging from arson to theft. But the sentence he was given was the most time he'd ever served. He'd played the incident in his head nearly everyday.
He was doing 90 on the Garden State Parkway in an orange '68 Plymouth Barracuda that he'd recently won in a street race. Fueled up on Jack Daniels and beer chasers, Will was weaving in and out of traffic when he heard the familiar sound of police sirens in the distance.
"Hello officers," said Will as they red and blue lights flashed in his rear view. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
He was tanked, speeding, and not to mention that he had an ounce of pot and a Desert Eagle in the car with him. He figured if he was going to get arrested, he might as well go out with a bang. He put the pedal to the floor and exited on 130 swerving sharply.
The police chased Will all around Trenton. Will roared with mirth, adrenaline peaking at his highest, as he made sharp rights and lefts, the police barely keeping up with him. He pulled to a stop, stuck his head out of the window and flipped the bird at the oncoming horde of police cars before pulling off again, cackling.
When it seemed that the 'Cuda would pull away, he lost control trying to avoid a dog running across the street. The Cuda skidded and spun before crashing into a fruit stand. The owner of the stand got out of the way just in time as the police swarmed the wrecked Cuda like angry locusts.
Will was charged with reckless endangerment, criminal possession of a weapon, possession of a controlled substance, driving while intoxicated, and an additional charge of contempt of court after he kept mouthing off to the judge and bailiffs. The judge ordered him to do the full 15 years to which Will shrugged indifferently as they escorted him out.
"Good luck, Calaway," said the C.O. as they made it to the gate. "Hopefully, we'll never have to see each other again."
Will observed him with his piercing green gaze. He disliked the whole lot of them; Police officers, correctional officers, probation officers, judges, they all sucked and he made sure he gave them a difficult time every chance he got. But nonetheless, he appreciated the gesture the C.O. made. He nodded his head curtly to show he understood as the gate parted.
Will needed a ride. Hitch hiking was out of the question; Who in their right mind would take in a heavily tattooed ex-convict, who happened to be six foot eight and 305 pounds of solid muscle? Will needed a plan.
After making sure he was as far away as possible from the prison, Will pretended he was waiting for the light to turn green. A wine red Ford Fairmont pulled up right in front of him. Will made like he was crossing the street, before yanking the door of the Fairmont open.
"Out the car, lard ass!" shouted Will, grabbing the overweight, bespectacled man from out the seat and throwing him to the ground. Before the man knew what was going on, Will had pulled off, leaving a trail of dirt and smoke behind him.
"Next stop," said Will as he drove up Edgar Road, "Maplewood."
15 years earlier, months before his arrest, Will heard that Tony "The Fist" Pelozzo, (the #1 mob boss who had most of North Jersey under his reign) had participated in a heist where they'd accumulated 50.3 million dollars worth of gold and jewelry, and would be moving the stolen goods to Pennsylvania. Seizing the opportunity, Will planned to commandeer the van they would be using to move the stuff. He purchased a police uniform and gear, forged a badge, and then stole a black Ford Crown Victoria police car.
Looking like a legit police officer, Will spotted the van driving up Pennsylvania Route 154 . On cue, he turned on the siren and hoped like hell they would take the bait. Miraculously, the van pulled to a stop. Will mimicked the slow deliberate walk of a police officer as he approached the van. The driver pulled down the window and tried to appear casual, though beads of sweat were rolling down his greasy pockmarked skin.
"What's the problem, officer?" asked the driver in a deep North Jersey accent.
"Problem?" said Will in his equally deep voice that had a hint of a drawl due to a childhood spent in Texas, "Apart from being a walking sweat gland, the problem is that you're still alive."
Before the driver could register what he'd said, Will pulled out a Beretta M92 and shot the driver twice in the head. Acting quickly, he pulled the body out of the van and dumped it in the wooded area where hopefully bears would eat it. He then cleaned the windows and discarded every incriminating artifacts before changing back into civilian clothing and took over the wheel of the van, driving back to New Jersey.
Once in Jersey, he drove to an abandoned factory in Maplewood, where he hid the gold and diamonds in a wall, which he plastered back up, before getting the van spray painted and abandoning it in Woodbridge. He sat on the gold for a while, planning to flee to South America when the time was right. Unfortunately, that didn't work out.
There was a high probability that the factory had been demolished and the gold seized. Will needed to know for sure. But first, he had to get drunk. And after being bunched up with a bunch of men for 15 years, Will was keen on having a nice pair of titties jiggling in his face.