American Criminal (15 page)

Evil Incarnate

   
The Bloods wiped out? How’s that possible?

   
Burnside was surprised at the turn in the conversation and didn’t have an adequate response ready. If he expected his cellmate to explain in more detail, he was quickly disappointed. After a brief pause, he thought of something to say.

    “That’s good. We should kill all the niggers in this joint,” Burnside said, trying out the most despicable response he could think of at a moment’s notice.

    “Goddamn right we should,” Frank agreed. “We’ll start with their leaders and go from there. I’m sure you’ll hear more about it when you join up.”

    Frank re-buried his face in his magazine as if the conversation had concluded. Burnside wasn’t sure how to reply, so he lied down on the bottom bunk and enjoyed the feeling of having a thin mattress beneath him. After sleeping on a cement floor, it was paradise. He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to dream about climbing a mountain, but the images refused to coalesce in his brain. Instead, the horrific image of his scumbag cellmate stabbing a black prisoner filled his mind. He pictured the impaled inmate closing his eyes, gritting his teeth, and clutching at a vicious wound. Blood flowed like a burst dam. Ray let his mind go blank and drift, hoping the images would disappear. He drifted to sleep for several hours until a loud buzzing noise woke him.

    Ray opened his eyes and stared at the mattress above him. He was not sure where he was at first. Reality flooded back in a split second.

   
I was hoping it was all a bad dream.

    “What was that noise?” Ray asked.

    “It’s time to go to the yard,” Frank said.

   
That’s fucking beautiful. I can enjoy some fresh air and get this meeting over with at the same time.   

    Burnside waited patiently by the cell bars while his cellmate remained in the corner, turning the pages of another magazine. When Ray’s turn came, the bars slid aside and he stepped into line. He didn’t pay attention to what his cellmate did, but only followed the line when it began moving.

    This is it. They will either go for it or they won’t. If they don’t, at least I won’t have to deal with this place any more.

   
They traversed the usual maze of dimly lit corridors that led to the yard and exited into the fresh air. Burnside felt good being outside, despite what he had to do. He breathed in deeply and looked up at the bright blue sky. White clouds drifted through it like boats on a stream. It was a gorgeous day, a day for picnics and long walks on the beach. He never would have known it from being inside the windowless prison.

    Ray decided not to waste any time. He walked straight toward the workout yard where the
Skins
hung out, steeling himself for a confrontation. He felt adrenaline kick in as he approached one of the guards standing on the outskirts with his arms folded. He was a tall, muscular bastard with the typical shaved head and plethora of tattoos. Burnside’s muscles tensed for action, but he held himself in check.

    “I have a meeting with the boss,” Burnside said to the goon.

    “I know who you are. Go ahead,” the
Skin
said, waving him through.

    Burnside sidestepped around the guard and continued through the weightlifting area, passing by an enormous inmate bench pressing. He continued toward the center where a lean, bald inmate sat on a bench in front of a beat-up looking universal weight machine. Three guards surrounded him. The wiry inmate stood as Ray approached and folded his arms across his chest. Burnside was surprised that the actual leader of the gang appeared to be smaller and less imposing than the others. He estimated that he stood about 5’8” and couldn’t have weighed any more than one hundred seventy pounds. 

    “That’s far enough,” the
Skins
leader said to Burnside as he approached. “Put your hands in the air.”

    Ray complied and was searched thoroughly from top to bottom by two of the guards. When they didn’t find anything, they stepped back and walked away, leaving him alone with the boss and one guard. The remaining guard was thicker and taller than the boss, but he did not possess the same air of authority. The shorter inmate’s blue eyes gleamed with intensity as he glared at Burnside.

    “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble,” he said.

    “I think maybe we had a slight misunderstanding before,” Ray said, trying to act casual as he squared off his stance.

    “You’re a funny bastard,” the leader said without breaking a smile. “When you first got here, we thought you were just another pretty boy ready to get punked. It turns out you can handle yourself and you’re a true believer,” the
Skin’s
boss said, lowering his arms and placing his hands on his hips. He continued to scan Burnside up and down.   “You don’t look like much, but looks can be deceiving. I rose up from the ranks the hard way and I didn’t do it with my size, as you can plainly see,” the
Skins
leader said, pausing for a reaction.

    “There’s a lot more to a man than his physical build,” Burnside said.

    “Well said,” the boss said. “I’m Derek Price and I’ll shake your hand after you’ve proved yourself, but for now, you’re not worthy. I have a job that requires your particular talents, but first you have to show me you’re loyal. Maybe that cafeteria thing was just a fluke. If you pass the test, you’re in and I’ll give you a real assignment. How’s that sound?”

    “I’d rather be working with you guys than against you, seeing as we share the same philosophy,” Burnside said.

    Price’s fierce blue eyes narrowed as he studied Burnside’s face as if he could bore into his mind with the intensity of his glare.

    “I hope for your sake that you’re legit, because if you’re not, that little scene in the shower was nothing compared to what will happen to you. If you cross us, you’ll die by slow torture,” Price spoke matter-of-factly, as if he was discussing baseball statistics or the stock market.

    The fact that he was speaking as if having a normal conversation made Burnside’s skin crawl.

    “The fellow standing to my right is Jake, my lieutenant,” Price said, flicking his forehead toward the taller man standing beside him. “He’ll tell you what the test is. Don’t fuck it up. Right now, I have some other business,” Price said, turning abruptly and walking away as if Burnside didn’t exist any more.

    The lieutenant, Jake, stepped closer to Ray and whispered in his ear, “I’ll make this simple for you. Put a nigger in the infirmary right here, right now. Find a nigger in the yard, any nigger, and fuck that piece of shit up. You do that, you’re in. Got it?”

    “Yeah, I got it,” Burnside said, staring straight ahead and keeping his expression impassive. 

    “Just make sure you don’t kill the bastard. That will get you permanent solitary and you’ll be no good to us,” the lieutenant added.

    “So it doesn’t matter who? Just anybody in the yard? “Burnside asked.

    “You ask too many questions. A nigger. Any nigger. Most of them are with the
Bloods,
but it don’t matter. You do it, you’re in. You don’t, you’re on our hit list. One of our screws will be in contact with you if you pass the test. Now get the fuck out of my sight,” Jake said, sneering at him.

    “Okay,” Burnside said, turning carefully so he still had Jake in his peripheral vision and walking away.

    Ray moved toward the side of the weightlifting area that had the least amount of
Skins
occupying it. He passed by a
Skin
doing bicep curls and reached the edge.

   Fucking psychos.

   The last thing Ray wanted to do was to get into another fight and be thrown into solitary again. But that was what he had to do if he wanted to gain the trust of these psychopaths. He let all the rage he felt toward the
Skins
accumulate in his brain and swirl around in his head like a gathering wind. He imagined he was taking the fight to the
Skins
as he focused on the group of stragglers in the center of the yard. He scanned the crowd of inmates like a predator, searching for one with dark skin. When he found one, he moved toward him like a shark. The target was an older, balding guy with a slightly overhanging gut. Not much of a challenge, but it had to be done. The inmate was talking and smoking with another older white inmate. Burnside imagined the black inmate was the
Skins
leader, Price, as he closed on him.

    Burnside approached his victim without saying a word had to use all his energy to psych himself up for the dirty job. The black man looked at him, quizzically, as he approached.

    “Can I help you, buddy?” he asked, lowering a cigarette from his lips.

     The cigarette flew from his hands as Burnside punched him in the gut. The black inmate doubled over.

    “Hey, what the fuck!” the victim’s companion shouted as he placed his body between Burnside and the injured party.

    “Get out of the way, old man. This is none of your concern,” Burnside said, clenching his fists.

    “Bullshit, mother-fucker,” the white inmate said as he took an awkward swing.

    Burnside easily blocked the attempt and shoved the inmate backwards. He tripped over the body of his fallen buddy. Ray hauled the black inmate to his feet and punched him in the jaw. He made it look good, but pulled back slightly to soften the blow. He pushed the inmate down on the ground and kicked him. The kick was also pulled back, but he thought it looked convincing enough. The inmate grunted with pain, but never screamed.

    The white inmate got back on his feet and moved toward Burnside. The inmate took another swing, Burnside blocked it, and shoved him back. Ray hauled his victim to his feet again and smashed him in the right eye with a closed fist. Again, he pulled back and hit him just hard enough to leave a nasty bruise. Ray punched the inmate again in the cheek, hard enough to leave a mark, and shoved him back on the ground.

     Suddenly, a gunshot rang out and Ray felt a painful impact between his shoulder blades, as if smashed from behind by a heavyweight boxer. The breath was knocked out of him and he hurtled forward. He tripped over his victim and went down on his chest, fighting for breath. The fierce impact felt like it had hammered into his lungs harder than his back. Burnside guessed it was a rubber riot bullet. One of the tower guards must have seen his handiwork and intervened. He remained on the ground and didn’t move a muscle.

   
At least I won’t have to beat on that guy anymore.

    Burnside remained in a prone position, trying to breathe normally. There was a lot of shouting and pandemonium in the yard, but Ray didn’t move a muscle in case the guard in the tower was still trigger-happy. He had an imperfect view of what was going on because he was lying on his cheek. Not that there was a lot to see. Just a lot of inmates gawking and some running away. Ray figured the guy he beat up wouldn’t go for any payback, considering the guard in the tower.

    Ray felt like he had been lying on the ground for hours when he was finally lifted by paramedics and placed on his stomach on a stretcher. The pain in the center of his back radiated out to the rest of his body and he wasn’t sure if he could even move if he wanted to. He felt like he had been paralyzed.

   
This just keeps getting better. What’s next?

    Burnside tried not to worry about having a permanent injury as they carried him across the yard on the stretcher.

   
That’s the last thing I need.

The Messenger

   
The paramedics brought Ray to the infirmary without incident. He was still on his stomach, so he didn’t have a good view as a man in a white coat attached a blood pressure cuff to his right arm. He tried to move, but realized his left arm and both legs were strapped down. The pressure cuff tightened on his bicep and he heard hissing as the pressure released. His back was wracked with pain as if he had been struck between the shoulder blades by a battering ram. 

    “What’s the verdict, doc? Am I still alive?” Ray asked.

    “Your pressure is a little high, but that’s normal after getting shot,” the prison doctor, a short, middle-aged man with thinning blond hair, said.

    “We’ll put an icepack on your back, but you’re going to feel some pain for several days and have a nasty black-and-blue mark. The bruise will eventually heal,” the doctor said.

    “Then why do I feel like I’m partially paralyzed?”

    “That effect will wear off, but you’ll be feeling pain for a while.”

    “Damn, doc, tell me something I don’t already know.”

    “He checks out fine, medically speaking,” the doctor said, ignoring Burnside’s comment and turning toward a pair of guards standing to the right of the bed. “He’s all yours after I strap an icepack on him.”

    “We sure as hell don’t want him,” one of the guards quipped. “But we have to take the son-of-a-bitch anyway.”

    “Like I said, gentlemen, in a moment he will be all yours,” the doctor said, grinning at the guards as he walked away.

    The doctor returned with a thick rectangular icepack wrapped in a wide bandage. Burnside gritted his teeth as the doctor placed the icepack between his shoulder blades. There was a moment of intense pain and then a seeping numbness crept into the bruise. The doctor taped down the bandage and left.

    Ray saw two guards approaching. One of them resembled a Mr. Universe Contender. His oversized muscles looked like they were about to burst out of his blue-and-white corrections uniform. The huge guard held down Burnside’s left arm in an iron grip while a normal-sized guard opened the leather wrist restraint. Ray didn’t bother trying to move because it felt like his forearm was caught in a hand-shaped vise.

    Mr. Universe remained in place, holding his arm down, while another other guard approached the hospital bed and unlocked the restraint on his other wrist. Another guard grabbed his right arm, but Ray figured he could easily break the grip. The only problem was he wouldn’t make it very far with his other arm being held in a steel vise.

    The guards pulled him up, none-too-gently, and Ray felt his back muscles burning as he stood. The bodybuilder’s massive hand was still clamped around his left forearm, but Ray didn’t have the energy to struggle anyway. They brought his hands behind his back, snapped metal cuffs on his wrists, and dragged him across the infirmary. Ray glanced to his left to see a prisoner sleeping on a hospital bed with an IV attached to his arm. He felt a burning pain in his back every time he took a step.

    The guards led him out of the infirmary and down a clean white corridor that could have been found in any hospital. They pulled him through an open doorway at the end and entered a concrete corridor like the ones he was used to seeing. He tried hard to ignore the searing pain, as the interminable journey seemed to last for hours. Finally, when he thought he was going to collapse, they passed through the entrance to the familiar Isolation Block. He wasn’t even worried when they placed him in one of the dark cells because he was happy to rest his aching back. He lied down on his stomach and stretched his body out diagonally across the small cell. Crossing his arms, he used them as a pillow. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

    At least I’m still alive,
he thought.
At this point, I don’t know whether that’s good or bad.

    Burnside glanced up at the thin beam of light shooting through the small hole in the door to the back wall.

  
  A thin beam surrounded by total darkness, but still powerful.

    He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what a real beam of sunlight looked like streaming through an open window. He expanded the beam in his mind until it was like a spotlight piercing the night.

    I will make it through this.

    His mind drifted into darkness as the beam slowly faded out. A metallic banging sound quickly pulled him out of his self-induced trance. He opened his eyes and realized someone was banging on the cell door with a fist.

    “Welcome to the drive-through,” Burnside said. “Would you like fries with your order?”

    “You’re fucking hilarious,” an unknown voice spoke through the small hole in the cell door. “Stand up so I can talk to you.”

    “Well, since you asked so nicely,” Burnside said, steeling himself for pain as he rose slowly to his feet.

    He looked through the small hole and saw a youthful guard’s face he didn’t recognize.

    “Did I pass the test or what?” Ray asked.

    “Test? What are you talking about? The Warden sent me,” the guard said.

    “The Warden? I was expecting someone else,” Burnside said.

    “Listen, I don’t have much time,” the guard said. “The Warden knows what’s going on and he wants you to know that you will have back-up when you do the
Skins
assignment.”

    “The assignment? I don’t even know what it is yet,” Ray said, perplexed.

    “But we do,” the young guard said. “Shut up and listen to me carefully. This comes directly from the Warden. Our guy on the inside has already briefed us about what’s going to happen. Do you follow me so far?”

    “I guess I do. You’re saying you already know what the job is that I will be doing for the
Skinheads
?” Ray asked.

    “That’s right. It’s a hit on the
Bloods’
leader,” the guard said. “There will be one prisoner, the target, and two guards. One of the guards is on our side. He will be the tall, thin guy with a mustache. His name is Reynolds. The other guard will be randomly assigned. Let your
Skin
partner take out the random screw and then you and the other guard take out the
Skin
. Reynolds will tell you what to do from there. Do you understand?”

    Burnside was trying to concentrate on what the guard was saying, but he had been taken off guard. He was expecting a representative from the
Skinheads
, so he was having trouble adapting.

    “So what you’re saying is that me and a guard are supposed to take out a
Skin
assigned to kill the
Bloods’
leader?” Burnside asked.

    “Look, I don’t have any more time to talk. Just remember the guard with the mustache is on your side. His name is Reynolds. The other guard is a nobody; he can be taken out of commission, but not killed. Your
Skin
partner, the lieutenant, has to die. Our guy will help you accomplish it. That’s all I can say. Good luck.”

    The guard ended his cryptic speech abruptly and his face disappeared from view.   

    I still don’t know what the hell’s going on. Was that conversation supposed to help me?

   
Ray tried to decrypt what the guard said, but it still didn’t make any sense. The
Skins
are going to assign him to kill a
Blood
leader. Instead, he is going to kill a
Skin
lieutenant.

   
Then what? We all live happily ever after?

   
When word got back to the
Skins
that the
Blood
leader was still alive and Ray’s
Skin
accomplice was dead, his life would be worth nothing. It would be obvious that he failed the
mission and was not on the level. Then, he would die.

    I hope to God that’s not the complete plan, because if it is, I’m finished.

   
Burnside closed his eyes and tried to get some rest before he was forced to partake of whatever insanity the Warden had planned to get him killed.

Chapter 21