Betrayal Read online

  The tier outside was empty, Nails nowhere to be seen. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen with him, but believed he would come after me at some point. Maybe I would do the same.

  5.

  “He’s your brother?” Jack asked as he handed me a book. “Serious?”

  “Half-brother. And yes, serious. He’s the one that had San shot.” I took the book, looked at the title and smiled.

  Christine’s Revenge

  It was exactly what I needed at that moment, something to take my mind off the endless bullshit that was happening, especially after the meeting with Frank the previous day. I needed an escape and Jack came through, just as he always did.

  “Thanks, man,” I said, clapping him on the back. I didn’t wait for a reply, ready to leave.

  “Hey, Dylan?” Jack asked, grabbing my shoulder. I stopped and turned back. “Maybe you should take this.” He reached down and picked something up off his bed. He handed the folded-up newspaper to me and something in his eyes told me to take it. “Don’t open it here, man. Take it back to your cell.”

  The look on his face was enough to tell me what was inside. I didn’t need to ask the question. My stomach jolted into life as I looked at the printed pages in my hand. I looked back at Jack, thanked him and did as he asked.

  There was a strange sensation in the air as I crossed the unit common area from his cell to mine. We were at opposite ends of the unit and I felt the eyes following me. I looked at the station and saw the screws watching me as I walked past. They all knew; everyone but me.

  6.

  SECOND ATTACK VICTIM SUCCUMBS TO INJURIES

  The second man of a late-night attack last Thursday night has died. Francisco De Bane and Giorgio Ling were shot by an unknown assailant at a Milton park residence. While Mr Ling died almost immediately, Mr De Bane has been in a coma since the attack. Doctors hoped that-

  It was all I could read, the tears making the words impossible to follow. He was dead. Although he was only briefly in my life, I still felt a humungous loss. I felt like it was Aiden again, another family member torn from my life. Why? Over what?

  Rather than tear the paper to shreds; rather than punch the shit out of my cell, I quietly sat and wept. I say wept because it was almost silent, the tears flowing as I sat staring at the wall of my cell. No one bothered me for the rest of the day.

  An officer called Horton McMurray came to my cell just before the 5 o’clock muster and offered to lock me down. I simply nodded. It meant I wasn’t required to stand by my door for the following muster. It would also effectively lock me in for the remainder of the day, but under the circumstances, I welcomed it with open arms.

  It was a painful night for me, a lot of soul searching going on. I had a lot of voices in my brain, all telling me how to continue. It was as if all the lost souls I’d lost in my life were returning to provide guidance. My mum, Aiden, San, Rhonda and Abby, all speaking their ideas of direction. Did it help?

  The voice that sounded loudest of all was that of Aiden, the only one who truly understood me.

  ‘Do what your heart tells you. The rest is everybody else’s bullshit,’ was what he said. It made the most sense to me. Regardless of what everyone else thought, I had to take care of me first. And right then I understood that the list of names I needed to get even with was now topped by 2 in particular. Rock McGovern and Frank Crudinski. While one had a history with me that would only ever end in death, the other had inflicted countless pain and suffering on too many innocent people. Young Katerina Traiforous was at the top of that list. She deserved revenge. But so did Sam Lester’s little boy.

  You might think me a hypocrite for only counting those 2, when I was also involved in the murder of Kon Traiforous. He also left children, just as Sam had. I don’t forget those kids as easily as you might think. They weigh heavy on my conscience and I assure you, I too will pay for my own evil deeds in time.

  7.

  Despite being another long night of soul searching, I met the morning light with something concrete in my hands, a new sense of direction now guiding me. It was a simple list of names, written in the back of one of my books that was by Stephen King himself. He too had a prison story, one that Hollywood had successfully turned into a true movie legend.

  The book was called ‘Different Seasons’, the story ‘Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption’ a short novella within it. It was a prison story, one of my favorites during that year. When I first saw the movie as a kid, it didn’t hit me out of the park. But after watching it again within the confines of a prison cell, it brought the movie into a whole new light, Andy’s struggle truly impacting me.

  It was in the back of this book that I wrote the names of those that I needed to purge from this world. I didn’t exactly know how I would achieve the monumental task, especially with half of the names absent from the Palace. But I knew I had time on my hands. It wasn’t a huge list by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a bunch of names that now became my reason for surviving.

  Rock McGovern

  Frank Crudinski

  The Nielsen Brothers

  Chester Jennings

  In all honesty, I had considered adding Brad Gorman’s name to the list, but he was just as involved with the Jesters as I was with the Cruds. And I’d already given the prick a decent hiding. I also considered Nails. He’d killed San as much as Razzie did, but after quite a bit of soul searching, decided that he had his own demons to fight and despite killing my father, he’d avenged his own mother and that’s something I would have done as well. The five names on my list were those that truly had reason to die.

  Rock for turning Aiden into a full-blown junkie, for ordering him killed and for what he’d done to Gabby and me. Frank for the hit on Nick’s daughter and Sam Lester’s boy and all the other officers he’d destroyed. The Nielson brothers for killing Aiden and then of course, there was Chester, the man that destroyed my friend Jasper.

  I had written the names into the back of that book and opened it each and every day to read over. There would never be another opportunity lost, of that I was sure. No matter what else happened in my life, nothing would be over until those 5 men were dead.

  Chapter 5

  1.

  Although I could have, I didn’t apply to attend San’s funeral. It was a conscious decision I’d made at the time, deciding that I didn’t want to grieve the way people did when watching the end of a life’s story. What I wanted was to keep the grief deep inside me; for it to join the bottle of rage I kept hidden deep within my soul.

  What I did do the day of San’s funeral, was to go to work. It was a Thursday, just another ordinary weekday as far as I was concerned. The medical unit was quite full that particular week, all but 2 beds filled. Most were older prisoners, those living out their twilight years who needed constant medical supervision. A few were prisoners that had genuine medical requirements, like the guy in 3A with kidney problems, or the guy in 7B who just had his appendix taken out.

  Then there were those that had suffered injuries through assaults, some more serious than others. Sometimes, if available, they would be held in isolation cells, these scattered around the unit. Most of the time, I was able to mop the floors without supervision, the crooks being main streamers like myself. Other times, with those considered ‘protection’, an officer would open the cells and wait while I did my thing. It just depended on who the crook was. Being a billet required me to accept the fact I would come into contact with protection. If I couldn’t handle it and lashed out, I would effectively end my employment.

  2.

  The morning of that Thursday went like any other. For the most part, it was smooth sailing, my duties flowing with ease. I’d taken care of most of the mopping that morning, only a couple of cells remaining. A couple of deliveries had already happened, but the main one everyone was excited for, was the laundry truck, due in the early afternoon that day.

  Clancy had slipped me a note saying there would be a co
uple of items for him aboard. Normally, his items would be aboard the food delivery vehicles, him being in the kitchen and all. But one of his suppliers also worked with the laundry company, hence why his shipment was headed my way instead.

  It wasn’t unusual for Clancy and I to exchange goods with each other. The only difference between him and me was the fact he did the ordering of his deliveries, while I just accepted the deliveries. I was more like the prison postmaster, accepting deliveries and sending them to their intended destinations.

  But everything that had been planned to arrive that day came to an end when a code was called 10 minutes before lunchtime muster. I heard it from where I was mopping out one of the vacant cells that stood near the officer’s station. A couple of blow-in officers were on duty that day, neither with any more than a few months experience. It always made the day a little easier having newbies in charge.

  “Code Foxtrot, White Block,” was called by an officer sounding a little flustered. While it might not have sounded serious at the time, things were about to go severely pear-shaped for the officers.

  “Attention all stations. Code Foxtrot, White Block. I repeat, Code Foxtrot, White Block. First responders to attend.”

  A code foxtrot wasn’t an unusual code. It stood for ‘prisoner on prisoner fight’ and meant a couple of crooks were busy going at it, either over a disagreement or some argument over who took who’s apple, useless shit like that. Occasionally it was a little more serious.

  3.

  A second call came across the airways about a minute after the first call. This time it was direct from Control who had no doubt accessed the White Unit’s cameras and were watching whatever was unfolding. I hadn’t heard anything planned so had no inside information to go on.

  “Attention all stations. Code Alpha, White Block. I repeat, Code Alpha White Block. Second response needed.” A code Alpha was an officer needing assistance, or in this case, the unit’s officers. I’m not sure whether the first responders had already arrived, but it meant whoever was in the unit was overwhelmed. It didn’t sound good for anyone caught inside.

  “Something’s happening,” one of the screws in the station muttered to the other one who was busy reading the paper. He barely looked up in response. I was just walking past on my way to renew the water in my bucket, but decided to ‘reorganize’ the books on the shelves so I could listen in. Neither of the guys took notice of me, too caught up in their own world.

  “CODE ALHA!” suddenly blared from the radio speakers, one of the screws jumping a little. Control answered almost immediately.

  “Attention all stations. Code Charlie. I say again Code Charlie. All available staff to White Block.” Whatever was happening in White Block was now considered serious enough to lock down the entire prison. Every unit would now be locking their prisoners in cells as quickly as possible to free up staff.

  I hadn’t heard a code Charlie called since the Traiforous girl incident. Whatever was happening in that unit was bad enough to call for all possible help. A riot maybe? I wasn’t sure.

  The 2 screws went from cell to cell and locked crooks in. They returned a few minutes later and retook their seats, neither willing to run and help their comrades. One did look at me in a weird way, then nudged his partner.

  “Do we lock him away?” he said, but the other just shook his head.

  “Nah, he’s alright. You’re OK, yeah? Just keep doing what you’re doing.” I nodded and continued dusting each book, wishing I had a recliner and a bowl of popcorn to watch the proceedings.

  3.

  It was a hit that left 2 dead and 6 seriously injured. Within half an hour of the first code being called, 3 trolleys were brought up, ferrying the injured to holding cells while awaiting transport by ambulance. I was called on to help with getting bedding and stuff before being locked into one of the empty cells to wait for things to calm down.

  The cell had a single bed and a television and for the next 2 hours, was happy to lay back and watch most of The Great Escape as it played on the prison’s dedicated movie channel. I couldn’t really complain, still on the clock and earning money while half-sleeping my way through endless scenes of Steve McQueen.

  It must have been at least 4 by the time I was let out. Most of the injured had been taken to hospital by ambulance and a couple of other crooks who’d managed to avoid the worst of it were held in separate cells.

  The screws were happy for me to finish mopping out the last few cells, which I did in a timely fashion. I didn’t pay too much attention to the new arrivals, held somewhere behind closed doors. Once I finished, I was escorted back to Yellow Block, the prison eerily silent as we walked through the corridors.

  4.

  Because of the lockdown, I was marched immediately to my cell and locked inside. A few of the lads were holding palaver under their doors, some sounding pissed off about the lockdown, while others were discussing the events in White Block. It was hard to decipher the voices as I was locked away so didn’t pay too much attention to them.

  The day had been a pretty tiring one, so I laid back and napped for the rest of the afternoon. I was woken briefly at dinner, but declined, the screws simply counting me in the muster and moving on.

  5.

  The prison remained in lockdown for 2 days during which the cops came and went from the unit at the end of the path. Each time they walked past our windows, a chorus of excited crooks yelled shit to them, but none reacted. Sometimes we were lucky enough to get a fresh-faced jack walk past, but during this event, they all seemed seasoned officers, none paying us the slightest attention.

  There were only certain crooks allowed out of their cells during extended lockdowns and, thankfully, I was one of them due to my position in the medical wing. It was considered an important position, responsible for a lot of duties that needed attending, regardless of what was happening anywhere else in the jail.

  One of the screws from the previous day came and escorted me up to medical a little after 8. The trap had barely closed from that morning’s muster before the cell door was cracked and I was summoned out. Although not the most talkative of screws, the blow-in’s name was Aiden Fisher.

  He’d only been in the prison for four months and when I asked what he’d done previous to this job, he began to laugh awkwardly.

  “You’d never guess,” he said as he unlocked one of the gates. I really wasn’t in the mood for a guessing game, but briefly played along.

  “Hmmm, if I was to guess, I’d say a train driver.” He laughed a little more.

  “Nope. But you don’t know how close you are. I sold model railways. Ran my own shop.” I didn’t see the funny side, but he seemed like one of those geeks that found most things funny, if only to distract himself from the seriousness of life.

  “That sounds pretty cool,” I lied, not one for building model anythings. We finally reached the medical unit’s door and I sighed in relief as the airlock opened. I headed straight for the back room, keen to get started on that morning’s mopping duties.

  Judging by the whiteboard that hung on the wall behind the station, there was a name allocated to every cell but one. That meant a full house of 54 sick crooks, all dirtying up the place and it would fall on me to keep the joint clean.

  6.

  The morning went quite quickly as I worked my way through almost half the cells. There was but a single distraction, the laundry delivery from the previous day held over. I helped unload the bags of linen and made sure to grab those marked with our unique signature, the straps folded around the bag in a large X before being tied off.

  Before I could go through the incoming contraband, I needed to finish my mopping duties, the screws monitoring my progress. They needed to, as each cell needed to be unlocked in turn, due to the lockdown. Sometimes the screws got a bit lazy and unlocked 2 or 3 at once, returning to their station each time. It gave me enough time to do what I needed to, including emptying bins, wiping down benches and cleaning each cell’s toilet.r />
  It wasn’t a quick job, each multi-bed cell taking upwards of 20 minutes. I wouldn’t see the screws for sometimes an hour, leaving me to do what I had to. It was cool. It gave me time to chin wag with the lads, some of who I knew quite well. But no-one warned me of the occupant of Cell 24A, a single cell housing a new arrival, one that I never saw coming.

  7.

  After finishing Cell 22, Aiden unlocked Cells 23, 24 and the empty 25. Cell 23 held 4 crooks, all over the age of 70 with half of them asleep 23 hours a day. They were so fucked on their medication; I doubt they knew the year they were living in. It meant I could go about my business with relative ease, only the one wanting to engage in a chat.

  Cell 23 took about 20 minutes, during which time old Harry discussed robbing a bank back in the 60’s. I don’t know how true his tale was, but it made for good listening while I worked, kind of like a portable audiobook. Part of me wanted to ask the screws if Harry could follow me around the unit permanently; my own private walking library of stories. Hell, I could have listened to him talk for hours.

  “Thanks for the war story, Harry,” I said as I finished, watching as he climbed carefully back into bed. He was fragile, a skinny runt of a man that probably saw the world change through 8 decades at least. It made me sad to think of a life living for all those years, only to end up in here at the end of it.

  I waited for Harry to tuck himself back in, then gave him a final wave before wheeling my bucket with the mop back out into the hallway. I peered down towards the station and saw both officers sitting at respective computers, neither paying me the slightest attention. Cell 24 wasn’t directly across the hall, instead sitting a little further along as the cells were designed not to face each other.

  The door was slightly ajar and I pushed the bucket into it, opening the door inwards enough for me to enter. To tell you the truth, I began to mop almost immediately, not looking for more conversation, thus paying no attention to the figure lying in bed. Whoever it was, had their back turned to me, a white sheet pulled almost completely over their head. It seemed they had just as much interest in talk as me, never moving a muscle.