Chapter 3

Every day, for two hours, the inmates were herded out into the yard for some fresh air, and every day, John spent two hours jogging laps around the perimeter. On the first day he'd eyed the set of free-weights that were laid out next to the basketball court, but the guys who used them were huge and didn't appear willing to share. Guerrero was part of their crew, but that was likely to hinder not help any negotiation, so he settled for running followed by a few exercises he could do on his own like push-ups and sit-ups. It was enough to keep him in shape and it kept him suitably distanced from the rest of the yard but god he was bored!

It had been a week and since that first morning he had managed to speak to exactly no one. His cell mates had decided that the best way of dealing with the enemy in their midst was to pretend he wasn't there. It was a childish reaction, but it was one that John could live with. Everyone else seemed to be giving him a wide berth since he'd kicked Vincent in the canteen. Rumour had it that the force of the blow had been enough to break a few ribs and put a tear in his diaphragm, and that Vincent had collapsed on his way to solitary and had been rushed to hospital. John thought that perhaps at least part of that story was true, but he doubted that the MX's had missed the injury, so it was far more likely he'd been his way to the infirmary.

John had been the talk of the yard for a few days now, he'd heard his name whispered as he walked passed, had caught his cell mates trading rumours one night when they were certain he was asleep. Some were true, a few of the newer inmates remembered the raid and mention of his name, from when it had been in the press, although he'd heard one version in which he'd killed his team and then blown his own leg off to make himself look like a victim. News of how he'd ended up in prison had filtered through too, apparently his arrest had been all over the media, but again, some said he'd stolen $300,000, some said it was £3,000,000 and that he'd hidden it over the wall or that he'd killed to get it, or both. The one that amused him most was that he'd been given the money by the government for his services as a hitman and then they'd burned him and tried to cover it up. The more outrageous the story, the more he came across as someone not to be messed with, and so he let the stories run and enjoyed the intimidated looks and the way that others shuffled out of his way when he was looking for a seat at mealtime.

Today though, as he was finishing up his run, a dark haired man in his sixties sidled up to him, hands in his pockets. "Hey, John Kennex right?" He started. He flashed John a nervous smile, and glanced over his shoulder like he was scared of being seen talking with him.

John had to clear his throat, it was the first time he'd used his voice in days, and it came out a little hoarse from disuse. "You know very well that's who I am. What do you want?" Feigning disinterest he started on his push-ups routine.

"My name is Frank Corcoran. I used to work with your father."

John stopped what he was doing and stared at the man. "So you we're a cop?"

"Yeah, I…"

"A crooked cop." John pointed out. "I've got nothing to say to you."

"Hey," Frank replied indignantly, "you're in here with me. How am I any different to you? Or your daddy? He was so high and mighty when we found that money, but I heard he was under investigation too when he was killed. See, the job corrupts the best of us eventually. Sorry about that by the way, I know you and he were close."

"My dad was set up and I proved it. He never did a dishonest thing in his life!" John countered, getting angry.

"Well then he must be really proud of you then!" Frank said sarcastically.

That stopped whatever else John was going to say and his mind went blank for a moment. He'd been trying not to think about what his dad would have thought about all this. He knew the man would have been devastated to see him in this place. He just had to hope the man would have understood why he'd done it. "He always was better than I could ever be." John said coldly, not wanting to discuss his beloved father with this man any more, he certainly didn't want to discuss his reasons for being there either. "Are we done?"

"Look, this talk didn't go the way I'd planned. What I was going to suggest was that you and I stick together."

"No thanks."

"Listen, you may think you can stride round here and that people are scared of you. God knows, you've got one hell of a front kick, but this is a dangerous place, even more so if you used to be a cop. Tensions have been rising here for a while, and if it all kicks of then you may not be able to stay in your little protective bubble of surliness. Have you ever dealt with a prison riot? Because the last one here couldn't be contained for days."

John nodded. "I remember." It had been five years ago, he'd been on a tactical assault team assigned to come in and get everyone in line. It had been a mess and had taken a long time to get under control. One of the prison guards had been tied up and tortured, John's team had found him tied up in bedsheets in the shower with his teeth kicked in. It had been then that the government had decided to trial a prison workforce that was comprised mostly of MXs.

"Well, I predicted that one, could see it coming for weeks. And right now, it feels the same. Probably the only thing containing it right now is the fact you took out Vincent, but when he gets back he's gonna be pissed. You're as good as dead when he does."

John shrugged. "Thanks for the warning." He didn't sound thankful at all, or even that bothered about the prospect. "If I'm such a liability why do you want to be seen with me?"

Frank shrugged, "Because allies are few and far between in this place, and there are even fewer who can produce the level of fear in their first morning than you have."

"How did you survive last time?"

"I got myself sent to solitary for fighting. But I do it again and I have another five years added to my sentence. I was hoping that you and I…"

"Well keep hoping but it's not happening. From what you've said, you're one of those guys who held a gun to my dad's head and threatened to blow it off. Maybe you should think about that solitary plan again." John stalked away, the bell was about to ring to signal the end of yard time and he was done entertaining this man.

What he'd said had been interesting though. He'd felt the tense atmosphere too, but he'd been unsure if he'd been reading too much into it, considering he had nothing to compare it to. Frank was also right about needing allies, John knew that he was being foolish trying to tough this out all on his own, if it came to another fight there was no way he could guarantee it would be a fair one. But he couldn't bring himself to work with someone like Frank, besides the man had proven he was a coward. He wanted to ask Dorian what he thought he should do, he often found himself turning to speak to him, or searching his pocket for his phone to call him, before catching himself and remembering. He'd been cultivating this anti-social personality of his for a while now, but despite that he was beginning to find this isolation tough.

Once back inside he grabbed his towel and headed straight to the showers. As he got in line he found himself behind Guerrero and two of his friends from the weights area. They were laughing about something and talking in rapid Spanish but when John turned up they gave him a glare. John ignored them, as usual and trudged through into the changing area. The shower rooms were relatively small considering the population of the overcrowded prison, so they all showered in shifts, three levels at a time. There was a large changing area with hooks to hang uniforms and towels and then a door lead through to a couple of interconnecting communal shower rooms.

John stripped out of his sweaty jumpsuit, wife beater and boxers, leaving them dumped in a pile on the floor, before padding naked over to the shower room. He entered the nearest room, found a free shower head and pressed the button on the tiled wall, enjoying the feel of hot water soaking his hair and rinsing the sweat from his face. He glanced around the room, Guerrero and his friends were being loud in the corner. Adam was there too, but although they acted like brothers in their cell, they rarely spoke outside it. Everyone was just getting on with showering and John felt like he could afford to relax a little, although he'd never let his guard down.

Suddenly, the room flooded with men hurrying from the adjoining shower area. John turned the water off and listened. There were voices in the room next door, difficult to hear over the noise of the gushing water, but one of them definitely sounded like they were whimpering. John caught Adam's gaze and the young man looked at him in horror and shook his head in warning, but then there was a piercing scream.

John didn't even think before dashing through to the next room. There he found a group of three men that he'd gathered from listening to canteen gossip were friends of Vincent's. They were stood over a fourth man who had been pushed to his knees in front of them. There was blood on the man's face and one of them had grasped his hair and held a crudely made shank to his neck while he tried to force his semi-hard cock into his trembling victim's mouth.

"Get the fuck away from him." John growled, striding over and grabbing the man's own hair and pulling him back with enough force to unbalance him on the wet floor and send him slamming down to the tile. One of the others threw a punch, which John ducked before running at him with his body crouched low and rugby tackling him and slamming him into the wall. He felt the third man's arms tighten round his neck and pull him backward. As he was dragged away, staggering to keep his feet from him under him, he saw that he'd gathered an audience. The other men were all crowded in the doorway, watching, although none of them offered to help. As John was thrown to the floor he found himself looking up at the young man he'd rescued, who was still on his knees, frozen in place with fear.

"Run, you idiot!" John snarled, even as one of the men drove a punch into his face and kicked him in the side. His shout had the right effect. The shell-shocked victim leapt to his feet and dashed out of the room, blood still gushing from his face. He was absorbed into the crowd at the door, not wanting to watch the rest of the battle. "Where is that fucking MX?" John muttered to himself as he scrabbled his hand across the tile, looking for the shank that had been dropped. One of the men kicked him in his exposed crotch, causing him to see stars and curl up in pain, but as he did his fingers closed round the weapon, a toothbrush sharpened to a point and fitted with razor blades, and brandished it at the nearest bully.

It was then that the MX entered, shoving its way through and brandishing its rifle at John. John rolled his eyes at being seen as the most dangerous of the four and dropped the shank, holding his hands up in surrender. The others also held their hands up and stepped back.

"What happened here?" The MX turned and asked the group of men who had been watching. Every single one of them stayed perfectly silent. John glared at Guerrero and Adam but they gave him blank expressions back. When it received no response, the MX turned to the four men. "One week in the isolation cubes for each of you." It must have sent a signal for back-up because suddenly three more MXs turned up and each took the arm of a man to lead them away.

John was hauled up from the floor and frogmarched, naked out of the shower and into the main corridor. He felt everyone's eyes on him as he was taken along a corridor and down a set of stairs to a level he hadn't even known existed before. At the bottom of it was a series of corridors, dimly lit, lined with heavy metal doors. John was lead towards an open door and shoved somewhat unceremoniously through into a bare room with a concrete bed, thin plastic covered foam mattress and a single blanket with a toilet in the far corner. And then the door was slammed shut and he was left there naked and in the dark, save for the tiniest sliver of light coming through a thin grille at the top of the door.

"You're an idiot John." He muttered to himself as he ran a hand through his hair. Now the adrenaline had ebbed away he was shaking slightly which made him angry at himself. He climbed onto the mattress and pulled his legs up to his chest before wrapping the blanket around his still damp body, preparing himself for a long week.