Chapter 5

John had been waiting with baited breath for some sort of retaliation, but so far there had been nothing. It was getting to the point where he wanted something to happen, the anticipation was killing him. The need to be constantly looking over his shoulder was exhausting. He kept up the running during their yard time, wouldn't eat unless he could sit with his back to the wall and a view of the whole room, showers were a regular cause of stress. When a guy paused at the door of their cell on his way back from dinner, John nearly leapt straight off his camp bed, but it was just someone making a quiet delivery, he palmed something into Adam's hand, just out of sight of the camera and then left.

Despite the fact that John had now tried to engage his cellmates in conversation, he was still being ignored, but he didn't have to ask to know what the package was. Adam had been increasingly jittery over the last couple of days, but despite that he waited until lights out, even though his eagerness was obvious. John almost laughed at the stupidity of them both and their badly kept secrets. John would wait until it was dark to uncouple his leg and put it on charge, trying hard to do everything as quietly as possible. Then, once John had settled down and enough time had gone passed to reasonably assume he was asleep, there was a gentle scraping sound as Adam pulled his own hidden box out from under the bed. John allowed him that privacy by shutting his eyes, as the warm glow of a lighter filled the room, and Adam cooked up and injected his heroin. There was always an audible sigh as the drugs started to take effect, as though having the poison in his veins was the one thing that would take some weight off the young man's shoulders. But despite the attempt at secrecy, John then lay in the dark, listening to him breathe, and after it was clear he was out of it, Guerrero would peer down from the top bunk to make sure the younger man was on his side and therefore unlikely to choke if he vomited.

During the day John had to keep looking over his shoulder, but it was the nights that were the hardest. Stretched out on his uncomfortable camp bed, with nothing to distract him but Adam's too-shallow breathing, the faint hum of his prosthetic charger and the loud snores of the man two cells down, his thoughts took dark turns. The stress of being on constant guard was exhausting but even when he was in the relative safety of his locked cell, he was unable to switch off long enough to get some sleep. It was as though he could feel the weight of the building bearing down on him and he was trapped in a labyrinth full of monsters.

In the end, it was nine days after he'd been released from solitary, and almost a month since the start of his incarceration before anything happened. He was walking back up the stairs after dinner towards his cell, when he realised that no one else was coming up the stairs behind him. He froze, unsure whether it would be best to carry on up or go back down. He turned and made his way back down to the canteen. There were patrolling MXs there and as much as John hated them, they would come to his aid if needed. But as he started back down the stairs, two huge men came up to meet him, blocking his path.

There were footsteps on the concrete behind him and he turned to see Vincent, fresh out of hospital and coming towards him, flanked by the three thugs John had taken on in the showers. John could feel his pulse racing as he planted his feet in a fighting stance.

"I hear you've been making waves while I've been gone." Vincent sneered, rolling up his sleeves theatrically. "You're not the law anymore, I am."

"Six of you against one? Yeah, you're really tough." John said with more bravado than he felt. There was no way he was going to be able to fight his way out of this one. He dashed to the bannister and vaulted it, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the flight above as he dropped down to the flight below. He landed a bit awkwardly, catching his left ankle on a step and twisting it. He ignored the flare of pain and started to race down the stairs. There were shouts as the thugs raced after him. He took the stairs two at a time, but he got down to the bottom and found a further two thugs had been posted at the bottom to keep the other inmates out of the stairwell. They had their backs to him, so he ducked his head down and tried to barrel through.

It almost worked, he took them by surprise and he managed to push his way through into the corridor that lead towards the canteen, but then a meaty hand closed around the collar of his jumpsuit and yanked hard. The force of it, took him off his feet and he landed hard on his back. The thug stamped down on his solar plexus and then gave him a kick in the side which had him curl in on himself protectively, as he tried to suck in air and deal with the pain. He could hear the man laughing over him, he tried to get to his hands and knees and crawl away but his legs were kicked out from under him and then someone grabbed his ankles and dragged him backwards and flipped him over.

He found himself staring up at Vincent and his cronies. There were two pinning his legs, and then two more knelt and grabbed an arm each. Vincent delved into his pocket and drew out a syringe full of cloudy liquid. He took the cap off the needle and flicked the vial to get the bubbles out. John realised what was about to happen and tried to throw his attackers off, but there were too many of them. The man holding his left arm dug a thumb into his bicep, finding a vein and cutting the flow off like a tourniquet.

"You bastard!" John growled as he struggled, watching morbidly as Vincent slid the needle into the crook of his elbow. As Vincent pressed the plunger, John could feel the drug enter his vein, it burned slightly going in, but then it sent his arm slightly numb. He fought against the numbness as it spread throughout his body, lessening the pain from the brutal stamp he'd received. It made his head swim and his vision blur, and then he realised he was laughing. The lights were too bright and hurt his eyes, and as someone started dragging him by his feet his stomach lurched and he had to fight the urge to throw up. The feeling was horrible, but at the same time, he was vaguely aware of being relaxed, actually the most relaxed he'd been in years. He couldn't keep his eyes open long enough to see where he was being dragged to, and he found he didn't have it in him to care.

Eventually they dumped him and left. It was darker, which was better on his strained eyes. His lids flickered open and he saw the concrete stairs just inches above his face. His head lolled to the side and his eyes slid shut again.

He had no idea how much time passed before someone shook his shoulder. Something deep in his thought processes told him to fight and he waved an arm to bat the person away. His arm felt like it was made of lead and he knew he'd been ineffective when he was pulled out from where he'd been dumped under the stairs. He opened his eyes and stared at the concerned face of Guerrero.

"Come on cabrón." The younger man muttered as he sat John up and slung an arm round him, hauling him up. John tried to get his feet under him, but he felt boneless and uncoordinated, the best he could do was cling to Guerrero hopelessly, and allow himself to be dragged along, his head draped on the other man's shoulder.

John faded in and out of awareness on the long trek up to their cell. He remembered stumbling up the steps, at one point tripping and sending both him and Guerrero to their knees. He felt it as Guerrero fisted his fingers into John's hair to turn his head so that the retinal scanner at the door would recognise him as being back where he should be. He was helped to his bed and to lay down, but then he felt Guerrero undoing his jumpsuit and he started to panic and push the hands away. Guerrero was muttering something but his brain wouldn't register what it was. He fought feebly against the intrusion, but the younger man was persistent and managed to tug his jumpsuit off, leaving him in his vest and boxer shorts. Suddenly the hands were on his right thigh and were twisting his prosthetic so that it unclipped from the socket. He felt an instant relief at its removal, and looked down to see the scarred remains to his thigh covered in red scratches from his own fingers, something he hadn't even realised he'd done to himself.

It felt like only seconds had gone by, but when John opened his eyes again, it was because the alarm was sounding to alert them all to breakfast. He groaned and rolled over to face the wall, determined to go back to sleep but someone kicked at his bed. When he turned to glare at the offender, he found Guerrero in the doorway, waiting for him.

"Hey cabrón, you need to get up."

"Why do you care?" John asked grumpily.

"Because if the MXs find you in this state and test your blood, then they'll spin this cell for opiates and we'll all be in the shit."

John cursed under his breath and hauled himself up. His head was spinning and his mouth tasted like metal and rotten garbage. He fumbled with his leg and pulled his jumpsuit on, not bothering to do it up all the way, instead tying the sleeves around his waist. He hurried through his ablutions, sensing Guerrero's impatience, and then followed the younger man out and down to the canteen.

John was served up some unappetising looking eggs and toast and then went to sit in his usual place facing the room with his back to the wall. He was fairly astounded when Guerrero followed him and sat down opposite.

"Look," John started, "I need to thank you for last night. Being seen with me is a bad idea right now, so I appreciate you sticking your neck out for me."

Guerrero just shrugged. "You're not making this easy on yourself man. Picking fights with Vincent?"

"Hey," John said indignantly, "he picked a fight with me, remember?"

"Yeah? Who was that guy in the showers to you?"

"Nobody, I've never spoken to him. Don't even know his name."

"And yet you go barrelling in like you some sort of hero, upsetting the balance of power and pissing off just about everybody who could make your life hell."

"I couldn't just let them rape him." John hissed.

"Yes, you could've. Because now Vincent's gonna want to teach you a lesson. That stuff they dosed you with last night? It ain't no normal heroin, they mix it with some other shit, make it even more addictive. Vincent runs all the drugs trade in here, he is gonna make sure you come crawling on your knees to him, begging to be fucked in exchange for your next hit."

John frowned at the nasty warning, he was about to protest, but as he picked up his fork he realised his hands were shaking so much he'd barely have the motor control to get anything to his mouth. He knew he'd never give in to whatever depraved acts Vincent wanted from him, but he remembered how hard it had been to give up the pain pills during his laborious efforts to learn to walk again, and he knew this wasn't going to be easy.

Guerrero shovelled food into his mouth, watching as John struggled to even get any of his eggs onto his trembling fork. In the end, the older man gave up and settled for drinking his coffee with both hands wrapped tightly round his mug.

"How'd you end up in here anyway?" Guerrero asked eventually. "You don't seem like no dirty cop to me."

John looked up from his coffee and met the man's gaze. "My sister's kid is sick. Congenital heart defect. I stole the money from the lock up to pay for her operation."

Guerrero shook his head sadly, "Man, that's rough. You close to your sister?"

"I didn't even know she existed until about a year ago. She's from my mom's second family. I know it sounds like I'm being scammed but I checked her out, she's the real deal and her little girl really is sick. They're the only family I've got left."

"I can respect that." Guerrero said. "My brother died of an OD four years ago. Man, I woulda done anything for him."

"Is that why you look after Adam?" John asked.

"Yeah, he kinda reminds me of him. And Adam's own brothers have gotten him in unending amounts of trouble. The only reason he's here is that he took the fall for something they did."

"Yeah?" John asked, trying to remain nonchalant, "Like what?"

"I dunno man, some human trafficking shit."

John kept his face blank, but inwardly he smiled.