American Criminal (16 page)

    Once again, time went by and Burnside didn’t know if he was in the cell for hours or days. Every so often, he ate a cold or lukewarm meal, waited for it digest, and then did as many pushups as his aching body would allow. After, he usually fell asleep from of a combination of boredom, pain, and physical exhaustion. He lied flat on his stomach diagonally in the cell, using his arms as a pillow, and let the icepack go to work.

    He didn’t know how long he slept during these intervals, but when he awoke, his brain was at its most active and he was unable to contain the flood of images in his mind. This was bad because he felt better when he didn’t think. He re-played every crucial scene in the prison, including the horrific rape scene, as if his mind was doing a continuous loop. He tried to break away from thoughts about the prison and travel into the past, but it was not easy. He kept returning to the events that led to his current predicament.

    Ray repeatedly went over the incidents in his mind until he thought he would go insane. Eventually, he was able to switch to a different track. When he thought he couldn’t take it any more and he was going to start smashing his head into the concrete floor, he began imagining vivid scenes from his past as a police officer.

    The first person he thought of was his cruiser partner, Paul Devlin. When he first met Paul, he seemed like a great guy, but circumstances had proven that idea wrong. Dead wrong. He remembered his first day patrolling with Devlin and all the jokes Paul bombarded him with. He guessed it was about four and a half years ago. At the time, Ray thought Paul must have bought several joke books on-line with all the material he had stored up in his head, but it turned out that he learned most of them in cop bars and hangouts. Paul was only a few years older than Ray, but he was married with kids. In fact, he was always complaining about how tough it was to raise three kids on a cop’s salary. How could Ray have known that something was amiss from such an innocent comment?

    But Devlin wasn’t just a jokester. He was also a great police officer. Four years ago, circumstances had placed their cruiser down the block from a liquor store that was being held up by two armed men. Ray and Paul arrived in front of the glass-fronted store as the drug-crazed perpetrators barreled out the front doors. As soon as they spotted the cruiser, they opened fire. Ray was in the passenger seat and he remembered ducking as the guy at the vanguard pointed a gun in his direction. The passenger side window shattered as a bullet whizzed by that would have struck him in the forehead, if his reflexes had been slower. Another bullet spider-webbed the front windshield and narrowly missed his partner’s right ear.

    Paul threw the lights and siren on and pulled onto the sidewalk, attempting to run the gunmen over as they ran away. Several innocent pedestrians also had to dive out of the way. He narrowly missed running over the gunmen as they ducked into a side alley.

    “Fuck. They’re going to make us chase them,” Paul said, slamming the brakes and pulling the keys out of the ignition.

    Ray followed his lead as he exited the car and drew his gun. Paul approached the alley with his gun pointed up – movie-style – and aimed around the corner – also movie-style. Ray darted across the alley opening and did the same on the other side. Paul fired a few shots at the perps’ backs as they ran, but missed. Ray was too stunned by events to take careful aim and could only concentrate on the goal of covering his partner. The gunmen fired a few shots over their shoulders and Paul took that as his cue to leave cover and pursue them. Ray thought his partner must be crazy, but he followed him anyway, ducking low, as if that would stop a bullet from hitting him.

    “We have to at least keep the bastards in sight until back-up arrives,” Paul said, running.

    Paul pulled out his radio as he ran and spoke quickly into it, “927 and 935 pursuing suspects down alley toward 38
th
street. Will continue to appraise.”

    At the time, Ray didn’t know how his partner could keep cool enough to radio in their location while running - after being shot at. Ray remained silent as he followed his more experienced partner with his gun drawn. They saw the two gunmen turn a right corner at the end of the alley.

    “Hold up. This is too good a spot for an ambush,” Devlin said, stopping in his tracks and putting out an arm to stop Burnside. “Find some cover fast.”

    Ray ducked behind a trashcan in time to avoid getting peppered by a barrage of bullets from a pair of semi-automatic handguns aimed around the corner. The bullets penetrated the trashcan’s first metal sheet and were barely stopped by the second, saving Ray’s life. Paul also ducked behind a trashcan, but as the gunmen fired, he fired back, hitting one of them in the shoulder.

    “Got the bastard!” he shouted.

    “Nice shot, partner,” Ray said with awe in his voice.

    Damn my partner is good!
he thought.
     

   At the time, he couldn’t think of anyone he would rather be partnered with. When Devlin testified against him at the trial, he cursed the hideous luck that paired him up with the corrupt bastard. Of course, Devlin was nothing compared to Mike Pierce. Pierce was the true bastard who got him where he was today. Pierce was the head of the precinct’s Tactical Drug Squad. Pierce and Devlin were friends and Devlin worked with Pierce sometimes on special missions when he needed someone he could implicitly trust to back him up. Burnside had been a fool to volunteer to work with the squad on a part-time basis at Devlin’s urging. Devlin thought that Burnside’s slightly rebellious nature would allow him to fit in with the group. He was wrong. Burnside turned out to be a straight arrow in a den of corruption. When a lot of money disappeared after a drug bust, Ray spoke up. It had cost him everything.  

    Pierce was an intimidating bastard, standing at six-five and weighing 260 pounds, all of it muscle. He was known as being a fanatic at the gym. If not for his flaws, he would have been the ideal leader for a tactical team. Pierce’s philosophy was simple: work hard, play hard. He was an expert at both. He was a kick-ass tactical team leader and he could out-drink anyone at the bars and clubs. The tactical team’s favorite hangouts were
the Black Rose,
a typical cop bar
,
and
Body-shots,
a high-class strip club. A lot of cops hung out at
the Black Rose,
but only Pierce and his gang hung out at the club. Pierce was friends with the club owner, Tommy Rosado, and he and his buddies were given VIP treatment. Ray had gone there a few times when he started with the tactical team. The women at the club were hot, but the male bartenders and bouncers were low-lifes. Rosado was rumored to be connected with the Mob.

    Pierce and his team strutted around
Body-shots
like they owned the place, knocking back shots like frat boys and grabbing all the T&A they could get their hands on. Ray had a decent time, but he wasn’t impressed with Pierce or the squad. Something about them didn’t seem right even then. He should have known they were all on the take. Most of the team testified against him at the trial: Cavanaugh, Jones, DiGiovanni, Blasdale, and Hurley. They turned the situation around 180 degrees at the trial and said he was on the take. Ray didn’t know which one of them had planted the drugs in his car trunk. It didn’t matter. They were all scum and they all deserved to die. The only good thing about them was they were creatures of habit and he could easily find them if he ever got out of this hellhole.   

Chapter 22

    A metallic scraping sound woke Burnside from a fitful slumber. He opened his eyes, looked up, and saw the thin beam of light shooting through the darkness from the small opening in the door. His back still ached, but it felt like the pain had subsided a little. By now, the icepack had dissolved into tepid water, but it seemed to have done its job. He didn’t know how long he had been out. He heard a key turn and the cell flooded with light. He squinted his eyes against the glare. Rough hands grabbed his arms and dragged him to his feet.

    “What’s up, guys?” Burnside asked the two guards standing in front of him.

    “Turn around and put your hands behind your back. We’re transferring you,” the closest one, a tall, thin, youthful guard said.

   
Only two guards? Either they’re slipping or I’m slipping,
Ray thought.

    Ray did as he was ordered and the guard snapped metal cuffs around his wrists.

    “Let’s go,” the same guard said, pulling him from the cell.

    The youthful guard went ahead while the other followed behind, so Burnside couldn’t see what he looked like. He still couldn’t figure out why they only sent two guards. This was the first time they had done that. He ignored the small pack of tepid water that was still taped to the bruise on his back.

    The guards led him out of the Isolation Block and turned down a corridor going in the opposite direction from the main cellblock. They took several lefts and rights until they entered a dimly lit maintenance corridor with large metal pipes lining the walls.

    “Where are we going?” Burnside asked, not recognizing the area.

    “You will find out soon enough,” the youthful guard said.

    They turned a corner and Burnside was surprised to be facing a muscular, bald inmate wearing a typical red prison jumpsuit. He recognized him as the
Skinhead
lieutenant, Jake, he met in the yard with the big
Skins
boss, Price.

    “Thanks for delivering my package,” the
Skin
said to the guards, winking at them.

    Ray was more surprised when a key turned in the handcuff lock behind him and he was freed. He turned to look at the guards, but their backs were already receding down the corridor.

    “It’s just you and me now,” the
Skin
said, grinning an evil-looking, gap-toothed grin. Burnside noticed that his teeth were yellow and several were missing.

    “Sure, okay,” Ray said, trying to go with the flow.

   
What the hell’s going on now?

    “Follow me and make sure you keep up,” the
Skin
said, turning and moving ahead.

    Ray followed him down several intersecting concrete corridors that were narrower than the ones he was used to. Large metal pipes lined the walls and ceiling. They entered a large, dark room with a generator rumbling at the center. They had to duck under several overhanging pipes and circle around more metal equipment until they found themselves in another narrow, pipe-filled corridor.

    “In case you’re wondering, we’re in a maintenance area behind the main cellblocks. This is where they transfer high-profile prisoners from the infirmary to the cells when they don’t want to attract any attention. Unfortunately for them, they have already attracted ours,” the muscular
Skin
said, grinning like an ape.

   The
Skin
, Jake, cautiously approached a bend in the maintenance corridor and glanced around it. “Here they come. Get ready,” he said. “You take out the guard in front. I’ll get the one in back. Then, you watch my back as I eliminate the target,” the
Skin
lieutenant said as he drew a nasty-looking sharp metal shank from a hidden pocket beneath his uniform. The metal shank gleamed in the dim light as Jake replaced it in his pocket. “And whatever you do, don’t kill any of the guards. I’ve heard about your reputation, psycho-boy. That will bring down more heat on us than we can handle,” he said, winking at Burnside. 

    “Who’s the target?” Ray asked.

    “Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s the
Bloods
head-honcho, Troy Jones. The stupid bastard thinks we don’t know that he has Diabetes and he has to get an insulin shot at the infirmary at the same time every day. They take him through these maintenance corridors to try to keep it a secret. It sure ain’t no secret to us.”

    The echoing sound of footsteps got louder as the guards and prisoner approached.

    ”I want you to go in first, psycho-boy, and bring down guard number one,” the
Skin
said, pushing Burnside to the edge of the corner. “I’ll follow you and smash guard number two. Your job is to make sure the screws don’t decide to be heroes and fuck with me as I do the deed. Got it?”

    “Sure,” Burnside said as he felt adrenaline kicking into his system.

    “Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” the big
Skin
said, laughing while he pulled two folded black objects from his inner pocket. “You better wear this if you don’t want to spend the rest of your life in this place.” He handed Ray a black ski mask and pulled on his own. Ray quickly followed suit.

    “Any second now,” the
Skin
said as the footsteps sounded like they were right on top of them.

   “Okay, get him, psycho-boy!” Jake whispered harshly as he pushed Burnside into the path of the oncoming guards and prisoner.

    Burnside barely noticed the gape-mouthed, wide-eyed expression on the first guard’s face as he smashed him in the jaw with a hard right. He followed up with a left to the forehead. The guard’s eyes rolled up in his head as he dropped. Ray saw the
Skin’s
muscular body dart by him like a striking cobra and grab the rear guard in a vicious headlock. He watched Jake pound the guard’s head against a pipe in the wall and then drop him like a sack of wheat. Meanwhile, the startled, handcuffed prisoner tried to dart past Burnside.

    “Stop him!” Jake shouted as his face contorted with rage.

    Burnside instinctively reached out and grabbed the black inmate by the shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. A feral grin spread across Jake’s ugly face as he drew his shank and moved toward the inmate’s back. Burnside only had a split second to make a decision. He shoved the inmate aside and lunged toward the
Skin
. Jake’s
eyes widened with surprise as Burnside grabbed the wrist holding the shank while he drew his other arm back over his shoulder. He pummeled his right fist into Jake’s forehead several times until Jake’s legs gave out beneath him like a marionette abandoned by its puppeteer. Ray released the
Skin’s
wrist as the shank fell from his limp hand. Ray pulled off his ski mask and reached down for the shank on the floor. Jake hit the floor, but recovered quickly. He struggled to get to his feet as Ray picked up the shank.

    “You fucking nigger lover!” Jake shouted as he got to his knees. “I should have known you were-” A sickening gurgling sound followed as the
Skin
tried to form his next word. A blood bubble formed in his open mouth as Ray plunged the shank deeper into his throat. Blood spurted from the wound like a geyser, soaking the front of Burnside’s orange jumpsuit. Jake’s eyes bulged from his head and the blood bubble burst in his mouth as he tried to speak, clutching futilely at the homemade weapon protruding from his impaled jugular. Ray watched his eyes roll up in his head as he keeled over. A widening crimson pool flowed across the concrete like a miniature flash flood.

    Ray turned toward the shackled inmate, Jones, and saw him staring at the fallen body of the
Skin
with wide eyes.

    “What was that all about?” Jones asked.

    Ray took several deep breaths and wiped the sweat from his forehead before he replied. “That was supposed to be a hit on you. Obviously it didn’t turn out that way.”

    “Obviously,” the black inmate said, grinning. “Are you my guardian angel or something?”

    “Or something,” Burnside said, grinning back.

   Ray turned to look behind him when he heard a painful groan. For a split second, he thought it was coming from the corpse until he realized it was one of the fallen guards. The guard Burnside pummeled was still out cold, but the other guard that Jake had smashed into a pipe was writhing on the floor, as the disseminating blood puddle soaked his bare arm. Ray was about to kick him in the head when he recognized him from the description that the Warden’s messenger gave him at the isolation cell before. Burnside splashed through the blood puddle and lifted the fallen guard, Reynolds, to his feet. The guard was a tall, thin man with a mustache, just like the guard had described him. Ray held the officer upright and glanced over his shoulder to make sure the other officer was still down. He was.

    “Damn, look at all that blood,” the dazed guard said, wiping his soaked arm on his black pants. “You certainly don’t fuck around, Burnside.”

    “I may not fuck around, but I’m certainly fucked now,” Ray said. “This little stunt has just cost me everything.”

    “Not necessarily,” the guard said, regaining his composure. “Not if we follow the Warden’s plan.”

    “The Warden’s plan? How the fuck does he think he’s going to get me out of this mess?” Burnside asked.

    “If you do exactly what I say, you’ll find out right now,” Reynolds said, glaring at Ray intensely.

   “Okay, then shoot,” Ray said.

    “Hold on,” the guard said, turning toward the shackled prisoner. “How are you holding up? You all right?”

    “Sure, I’m fine,” Jones said. “I’m just a little confused.”

    “No, you’re not confused. You’re dead. You were killed in this attack,” Reynolds said, glaring at him.

    Jones contemplated the statement for a moment before replying, “Now I think I see your game. How do you intend to accomplish my death while I’m still breathing?”

    “Simple,” the guard said, turning to Ray. “First, we have to move that corpse to a secure location. Give me a hand.”

    “Wait a second,” Burnside said. “I don’t even know who the fuck you are.”

    “Dave Reynolds,” the guard said, grinning and extending his blood-soaked hand. “I’m with the Warden’s faction.”

    “Nice to meet you,” Burnside said, shaking the guard’s bloody hand without a second thought. His jumpsuit was already soaked with blood, so he didn’t see how any more would make a difference.

    The guard reached down and grabbed one of the dead
Skin’s
flaccid arms. Burnside realized what he was up to and grabbed the other. They dragged the body across the gray floor, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

    “What about me?” Jones asked.

    “Make sure he doesn’t wake up,” Reynolds said, pointing to the guard who was still lying unconscious on the floor. “If he stirs, do what you have to do. Kick him in the head or whatever. Just make sure he doesn’t get up before we move this body.”

    “I think I can handle that,” Jones said, smiling widely.

    Burnside and Reynolds dragged the corpse down the hall and jammed it unceremoniously into a mostly-empty housekeeping closet. When the body had been safely deposited, Reynolds grabbed a mop from the same closet and began mopping up the blood trail left behind by the corpse. He mopped all the way up to the large blood puddle near Jones and stopped.

    “This has to remain to look convincing,” the guard said, pointing at the puddle. He noticed a quizzical expression on Burnside’s face and added, “The other guard has to think Jones is the one who got whacked. That way he can spread around the good news to his
Skin
buddies. He’s one of their
screws.”

     Now Burnside saw the complete picture. They were going to fake the gang leader’s death. There was still one very big problem with the plan.

    “What about him?” Burnside asked, pointing to the gang leader. “If we take him back to the infirmary, word is sure to get around that he’s still alive.”

    “We’re not taking him back to the infirmary. We’re bringing him through the maintenance corridors to a service elevator that will take him to the executive floor. From there, we’ll clandestinely bring him to the Warden’s office, where he can lay low for awhile.”

    “That’s great, but he can’t stay there forever,” Burnside said.

    “Not forever. But a week shouldn’t be a problem. By that time we should have all the problems with the
Skins
sorted out.”

    “That’s hard for me to believe, but I guess I don’t have any alternative,” Ray said, rolling his eyes and sighing.

    He glanced down when he heard a groan emanate from the guard lying prone on the floor.

    “You said this guy is with the
Skins
?” Burnside asked, looking down at the guard.

    “Oh yeah, he’s as dirty as hell,” Reynolds said.