American Criminal (19 page)

    “I sure hope so,” Price said, drawing back his right arm and jabbing it into Burnside’s abdomen.

    Ray doubled over as the wind was knocked out of him. The enforcer to the right of the boss wound up and smashed him in the cheek. Ray staggered back into the body of another enforcer behind him. An unknown fist connected hard with his lower back. Another one struck his left arm. Another hit him in the side. They began striking him with a succession of blows that caused him to collapse. When his knees hit the ground, the blows stopped.

    “Get up,” Price said. “You’ll take your beating like a man if you want to survive it.”

    Burnside couldn’t answer because he was having trouble breathing. He pushed himself up with his arms and staggered to his feet. Price wound up and punched him in the jaw. It was painful, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Price was one of the smaller guys. He grinned when he saw Price grimacing and shaking his fist as if he had broken it. He prepared himself for a barrage of blows like before.

    A fist hit him hard in the side and he doubled over again. He was expecting more when a gunshot rang out and the enforcer who had just struck him grunted with pain, clutching his left arm.

    “Who the fuck’s shooting at us?” Price shouted, holding his right fist protectively as if it had been injured. “Those are supposed to be our guys in the towers!”

    All eyes turned toward the closest tower where a uniformed guard was taking aim at the group with a high-powered rifle. Another shot rang out and a
Skin
to Burnside’s right dropped to the ground. There was another shot and another scream from behind him.

   The gunshots initially took Ray off-guard, but it was just the distraction he was looking for. While all eyes were on the guard in the tower, he reached under his left sleeve and seized the handle of the shank. He ripped it from his arm with one fierce tug and immediately went for Price. Price’s eyes widened with shock and he raised his hands, palms outward, as if to ward off an oncoming blow. Burnside lowered his center of gravity and plunged the shank into his gut. The shank slid in up to the handle and Burnside used all his strength to rip it upwards. Price screamed as it tore him open. Ray considered the
Skins
leader to be out of commission, so he turned to face the others surrounding him.

    The enforcers looked like a herd of deer caught in multiple headlights as their eyes darted back and forth from the tower to Burnside. Another shot rang out and a
Skin
to Burnside’s right screamed in pain. The two
Skins
directly ahead of him finally realized he was the deadlier of the two threats and charged him. Instead of waiting for the charge, Ray lunged toward the one on the right, taking a hard blow to the face from the other as he plunged the shank into the
Skin’s
abdomen. The point slid into the man’s stomach and he used a slashing motion to spill his guts. Ray pulled the shank out and stabbed outward at the other
Skin’s
flailing arms. The
Skin
tried to punch Ray in the face again, but his forearm encountered the shank first. The shank bit into a large vein in his forearm, spurting a geyser of blood. The
Skin
screamed as Burnside pulled the shank out.

    The
Skin
staggered back, clutching his arm, but someone struck Ray hard from behind before he could turn. Two enforcers tackled Ray to the ground and he lost his grip on the shank. Their bodies landed on him and knocked the wind out of him. Another shot rang out. One of the enforcers screamed and suddenly Ray felt less body weight on top of him. His face was in the dirt, so he tried doing a push-up to lift his body. It was useless as a powerful arm wrapped around his neck, squeezing like a vise. Ray gasped for breath as his air was cut off. He tried to struggle, but his strength was slipping away. Another gunshot thundered and the arm around Burnside’s neck went limp.

    Ray couldn’t believe his luck. He gasped for breath, shrugged off the arm, and rolled out from under the slack body. He scrambled quickly to his feet as another
Skin
came at him. This time, he was able to dodge aside, so he only received a glancing blow from the charging body. His shank was gone, so he wound up and delivered a hard right to the
Skin’s
forehead. He struck him square in the temple and he crumpled. Another gunshot exploded and there was another scream, but Burnside didn’t see where it came from. He was dimly aware of the remaining enforcers in the yard moving toward him from all directions. He chose the better part of valor and ran. There was another shot and another scream, but he didn’t look back.

    A muscular
Skin
cut him off before he could reach a long dumbbell rack. He came straight at Burnside, trying to plunge the point of a shank into his stomach. Burnside dodged aside, but the shank sliced across his ribcage, ripping open a ten-inch wound. Ray instinctively covered the wound with his right hand and thanked God it was shallow. A half-inch closer and it would have been the end of him. The big
Skin
jabbed the shank at Ray’s chest. Ray narrowly blocked the jab, but his forearm was sliced open. He moved his right hand from his ribcage to stifle the new wound. The
Skin
moved in for the kill.

    Suddenly, Ray saw the
Skin’s
eyes widen as he froze midway in his lunge. The
Skin’s
back arched unnaturally as his body writhed with pain. Ray heard sucking sounds and was aware of a small figure behind the muscular
Skin
. The
Skin
screamed as he collapsed and Ray was shocked to see his wiry little cellmate, Frank, holding a bloody shank. Glancing down, Ray saw a number of bloody red holes in the
Skin’s
lower back.

   
Well, I’ll be damned. That little fucker was the Warden’s inside guy.

   Ray checked the wound on his forearm and saw it was only superficial. Frank grinned at him briefly and then turned to face another attacker as more
Skins
came at them from all sides.   

    Burnside ran toward a dumbbell rack and grabbed for the smallest one he could find, a five-pounder. He lifted it and shot-putted it at the closest
Skin
coming at him. The
Skin
tried to dodge, but was struck in the shoulder. Ray heard a crack. The blow stunned the
Skin,
so Burnside seized the opportunity to grab a ten-pounder and smash it over his head. Ray heard a sickening crunch as the body collapsed in the dirt. Two more
Skins
stopped in their tracks as they watched him pick up another ten-pound dumbbell and brandish it over his shoulder like a javelin. That was all the hesitation he needed. More
Skins
were coming behind them. He dropped the weight and vaulted over the dumbbell rack, placing it between himself and them.

    Ray ran for another section of the yard where a curling bar was resting on a rack. He seized the five-foot, twenty-pound bar like a broadsword and swung it at the closest
Skin
. The
Skin
was quick enough to dodge back and the bar swished through the air. The other two formed a semi-circle around Burnside and closed in.

    “What are you waiting for?” Burnside asked, brandishing the heavy bar, two-handed, like a knight holding a broadsword. “Come in and take a bite.”

    Ray swung the bar over his head with both arms and charged, roaring, at one of them. He smashed the inmate in the head, crushing his skull like a melon. The
Skin
to his right watched his comrade drop and then turned tail and ran. Burnside stopped and lowered the bar, turning toward the remaining
Skin
. The enforcer hesitated, observing the bar in Ray’s hands, and then took off running.

    Burnside took a moment to catch his breath. He stood by the curling rack, breathing heavily. He suddenly noticed other screams and shouts coming from the perimeter of the weightlifting area. Glancing left, he saw a group of four black men pummeling a pair of
Skins
with fists and feet. He looked ahead and saw a
Skin
and a
Blood
locked in a wrestling match. Glancing right, he saw two
Skins
facing off with two
Bloods
. A gunshot exploded like thunder and one of the
Bloods
went down. Burnside turned and realized the shot didn’t come from the same tower as before, but a different one behind him. He saw a guard taking aim at him from the second tower. He ducked behind the curling machine as another shot rang out, ricocheting off metal.

    Glancing left, he saw a pair of
Skins
ganging up on the
Blood
whose partner was shot, punching and kicking the shit out of him.

   
I’ll give that sniper a moving target.  

  
Ray felt an adrenaline surge as he ignored the pain from his wounds and he ran toward the
Skins
beating on the
Blood
. He saw the
Blood
go down, ineffectually raising his arms to ward off blows, as he was viciously struck by punches and kicks. Burnside roared like a savage as he closed on the
Skins
and swung the bar back horizontally. One of the
Skins
turned toward him and was struck in the jaw with the twenty-pound bar. The jaw cracked under the pressure and spouted blood. The other
Skin
looked up from his bloody work to see an enraged savage coming at him. He turned and ran.

    A gunshot exploded, kicking up dirt near Ray’s feet. He feinted to the left and then ran right, hoping to elude the sniper. Another shot thundered and Burnside felt an impact on his right shoulder, spinning him around and knocking him off balance. He collapsed to the ground as another rubber bullet struck him in the right thigh. The pain was excruciating, but he figured it would be in his best interest to stay down and play dead.

    Burnside became disillusioned with this idea as another shot rang out and a riot bullet impacted with his left arm, rendering it useless. He scrambled to his feet and limped as fast as he could toward the opposite side of the yard, away from the sniper. Riot bullets exploded in the dirt around his feet. He dove behind an inclined bench press, shielding himself. He dropped to the ground behind the bench with the backrest between himself and the sniper. Bullets pinged off the backrest and he thought it best to remain under cover for the moment. His left arm felt numb and he could barely move it.

    Ray still heard shouting and pandemonium erupting from several spots in the weightlifting area, but he didn’t want to lift his head in case a stray bullet made it past the inclined bench. He had heard stories about inmates getting brain damage and even getting killed by the rubber riot bullets if they were struck in the head. He remained on the ground behind the weight bench, covering his head, as bullets ricocheted off metal and kicked up dirt around him. After a seemingly interminable amount of time, the shooting stopped. 

                                              Chapter 27

    When the shooting stopped, Burnside uncovered his head and looked around. A few stragglers here and there were still kicking the shit out of each other, but most of the combatants had relented.

   A loud voice blasted over a bullhorn, “EVERYONE GET DOWN ON THE GROUND AND PLACE YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD! ANYONE LEFT STANDING WILL BE SHOT! I REPEAT, ANYONE LEFT STANDING WILL BE SHOT!”

   
How lucky am I?
Burnside thought.
I’m already in the right position.

    He still couldn’t resist glancing around the yard. He watched as hordes of inmates beyond the weightlifting area lowered themselves leisurely or dropped quickly to the ground. Peering around the inclined bench, he saw a gang of about twenty guards with rifles advancing across the yard in a skirmish line. One of them was holding the megaphone. He saw the guard raise it to his mouth.

    “THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE TO GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!” the voice shouted.

    Burnside saw some movement around the yard as the last-minute tough guys, who had been holding out, hit the dirt.

    Smart move.

   
Burnside had been hit three times with the painful riot bullets and was not even sure if he could get up if he wanted to. His right calf was throbbing with pain and it felt like it had swelled into a balloon. He could barely feel his left arm, which had gone almost completely numb. His right shoulder ached as if he had been pummeled by a Heavyweight boxing champion.

    Burnside glanced right and saw the guard with the megaphone pointing at the ground and shouting orders to his troops without using his amplification device. Ray couldn’t make out the words, but he saw some of the guards grabbing inmates off the ground and pushing them toward an exit where more guards were waiting for them. They began moving the inmates about twenty-at-a-time, obviously for security reasons. Burnside would have done the same thing. He thought it would take a long time before the skirmish line reached him. That was fine because it gave him a chance to rest his aching body.

    Burnside fell asleep on his crossed arms as he waited. He woke up when he heard someone shouting like a drill instructor nearby.

    “YOU THERE BY THE BENCH! ON YOUR FEET!” a familiar voice shouted over the megaphone.

    Burnside attempted to push himself up with his right arm, as his left was still rendered useless by the riot bullet. He was only able to get up on his left knee. The pain in his right shoulder and thigh was exquisite. A pair of guards pulled him to his feet, but he quickly collapsed when they let him go. He found himself with his face in the dirt again.

    “WE NEED A STRETCHER OVER HERE!”  the guard with the megaphone commanded.

    It felt like he was lying with his face in the dirt a long time before he was finally lifted onto a stretcher. He stared up at the blue sky as they carried him across the yard. The immensity of the firmament overwhelmed him and made him feel like a tiny flea on the back of a large dog. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the journey.

    A short time later, he opened his eyes and found himself in the familiar environment of the infirmary. They placed him on a cot-like bed between two other injured inmates. He thought they looked a hell of a lot worse than he did and was grateful his injuries were not more severe. The guy on the right had a bloody bandage wrapped around his head, which only left half his face uncovered. The guy on the left was screaming as a doctor, nurse, and EMT attempted to wrap his shattered leg. So far, Ray hadn’t received any medical attention, but he was just happy to be alive, out of the yard, and lying on a comfortable bed.

    A stocky, middle-aged female nurse arrived a short time later and asked him, gruffly, “What’s your problem?”

   
Florence Nightingale she ain’t,
Burnside thought.
Where did she learn her bedside manner? Prison?

    “I would say the three main problem areas are my back right shoulder, right thigh, and left forearm, where I was hit by riot bullets,” Burnside said.

    “That sounds painful,” the nurse said, without any apparent sympathy, as she scribbled some notes on a chart.

    The nurse reminded Burnside of his eighth grade gym teacher, Ms. Irons, an intimidating, short-haired dyke who could bench-press more than any of the boys in his class.

    “Looks like you also have a cut on your forearm and ribs,” she said, pointing at the wounds Ray received from the shank.

    His red prison jumpsuit had been torn away in both places, exposing two nasty-looking gashes. Without further comment, the nurse took a pair of scissors and cut roughly away at the fabric over his upper left thigh, causing much pain and almost slicing his privates in the process. Burnside thought she only missed his jewels by a quarter of an inch. The nurse frowned at the swollen black-and-blue mark on his thigh and marked something down on her chart. She then proceeded with the same process on his left arm, none-too-gently, which caused Burnside to groan.

    “Lean forward,” the nurse said, authoritatively, grabbing Ray by his injured shoulder and pushing him forward.

    Ray winced as the nurse cut away the fabric behind his right shoulder, scowled at whatever was underneath, and scribbled on her chart. Without another word, she turned and left.

    The nurse returned about a half-hour later armed with several bandages and an assortment of ice packs. She shoved one of the icepacks on his back near his right shoulder and taped it down roughly, causing him to think very bad thoughts about her until a pleasant numbness seeped into the bruise. She placed another one against his right thigh with her characteristic gentleness and taped it down, inciting another groan, and then placed the final one under his left forearm. She then attempted to clean the superficial wounds on his arm and ribs with alcohol. She scoured the wounds as if she was cleaning ground-in dirt from a counter with steel wool and then slapped bandages over them. When she was done rendering her assistance, she said, “Okay, you’re all set,” and walked away. Ray did not miss her.

     Ray felt a lot better now that he had icepacks on all his bruises and used the opportunity to get some rest. He fell asleep and dreamed he was being chased by a pack of howling wolves through a forest. He tore a thick tree branch from a nearby trunk and turned to face his attackers. Instead of wolves, a giant Grizzly Bear stalked into the clearing with upraised claws. Ray was surprised at this unexpected turn, but he improvised by using his tree branch like a spear, impaling the bear through the chest with the sharp end. The massive bear roared and collapsed toward him. He dove out of the way just in time to avoid being crushed.

    That wasn’t as tough as I thought it would be
, Ray thought in his dream.

    As he was turning away from the carcass, the howling resumed and the wolf pack lunged into the clearing. He ripped the spear from the bear carcass and began swinging it furiously at the wolves as they growled and snapped their jaws, trying to take chunks out of him. More and more wolves poured forth from the forest until he was overwhelmed and buried in a pile of reeking, furry bodies with jaws biting and ripping into him.

    He woke up, soaked with sweat, and cursed his neurotic mind for conjuring up such a fiendish nightmare.

   
At least I took out the bear,
he thought.

    He closed his eyes made a second attempt at rest. This time he was successful and didn’t remember dreaming.