American Criminal (25 page)

     An armor-plated elbow struck Ray in the forehead as he tried to rise. Burnside cursed vehemently, grabbed the guard’s helmet and smashed it against the floor. He heard the thick Plexiglas faceplate crack. Ray looked up to see a black riot baton descending toward him. He didn’t have time to move, so he raised his arms to protect his head. The baton smashed into his crossed arms and continued downward, striking the top of his skull. The blow smarted, but it wasn’t enough to take him out of commission. Ray thought it was best to go down anyway. He dropped and rolled toward the closest bunk. A baton struck him in the shoulder before he could disappear underneath.

    Burnside glanced to the side and saw countless intermingled sneakers and boots scuffling on the floor. If he didn’t roll away when he did, he would have been trampled. The riot guards appeared to be getting the upper hand because black boots began to dominate his view.

    Ray decided it was time to get out of Dodge. He rolled out from the opposite side of the bunk, away from the fight, and ran down the aisle. After making it a significant distance from the fracas, he found a fairly isolated bunk out of range of the surveillance cameras. He glanced around to make sure no one was looking and ducked under it. He figured he could wait out the riot from there.

    The riot burned itself out after about twenty minutes. Burnside figured this out because the shouting finally diminished to a subdued murmuring. It was time to get out of his temporary hidey hole. He poked his head out, saw no one was looking, and rolled out. He got to his feet and began sauntering casually down the aisle as if nothing had happened.

    He walked in the direction of his bunk, hoping to lay low for awhile until things calmed down. It was not to be. The leader of the white inmates, Williams, spotted him from the far end of the aisle and converged on him like a guided missile with his two lieutenants, Roland and Downey, flanking him like overeager sheepdogs. Ray didn’t want to appear guilty in any way, so he continued toward them. He stopped when he reached them.

    “Where the fuck were you?” Williams asked, his blue eyes glaring into Burnside like twin spotlights.

    Burnside saw that Roland and Downey’s muscles were strained to the limit as if they were racing dogs at a starting line. It looked like they wanted to pounce on him, but were holding back until Williams gave the word.

    “What do you mean?” Ray asked, appearing perplexed.

    “During the fight,” William said. “I didn’t see you. Where the hell were you?”     

   
“I was there just like you,” Burnside said, reasonably. “I was fighting this big bull nigger at the start of the fight and someone jumped me from behind, knocking me down. I must have been out of commission for a while because when I came to, the riot guards were here, beating on everyone. I got up and tackled three of them. After that, I rolled under a bunk to avoid getting my head smashed in by a riot baton.”

    “Do you expect me to believe you tackled three riot guards?” Williams asked, incredulously, as if he couldn’t believe anyone would invent such an implausible tale.

    “I’m sure somebody saw it. Ask around,” Burnside said.

    “Hey, we saw it,” a familiar voice spoke from behind him.

    Burnside turned to see his skinny bunkmate, Scanlon, approaching with another inmate.

    “I saw that crazy bastard tackle three of the fuckers,” Scanlon said, pointing at Burnside. “He’s certifiable.”

    “Knocked them down like dominoes,” Scanlon’s buddy added.

    “You actually saw this?” Williams asked.

    “Sure, I was right there. Me and Jones here were duking it out with a couple niggers when these riot guys came at us, swinging their sticks. One of the niggers got hit in the back of the head and went down. The other one dove out of the way. My face was about to get smashed in when this crazy bastard tackled the fucker and he went down, along with two other fuckers. Jonesy here was also about to get pulverized when he brought the fuckers down.”

    “Dropped like a fucking rock,” Jones said. “Ka-boom.”

    Williams glared at Burnside, then at Scanlon and Jonesy, and then back to Burnside.

    “All right, I’ll let is slide this time because these two vouched for you,” Williams said, pointing his finger at Ray’s chest. “But I’ll be watching you, Burnside. Make sure you don’t fuck up.”

    Williams glared at Burnside for several seconds before gesturing to his lieutenants to follow him. Burnside turned toward Scanlon and Jonesy.

    “Thanks for that, guys,” Ray said. “You just saved those guys from getting hurt really bad. I appreciate it.”

    “No problem, you maniac,” Scanlon said, clapping Burnside on the shoulder. “Damn, you’re a solid motherfucker,” Scanlon commented as his hand struck a brick wall of solid muscle.

    “No, really, you saved me a lot of trouble,” Ray said. “I owe you one.”

    “As my Irish friends back home say, ‘No worries,’” Scanlon said, grinning.

    “Who’s this guy?” Burnside asked, turning to the short, thick, heavyset, bald-headed inmate at Scanlon’s side. Ray thought he resembled a rhino without the horn.

    “This is Jonesy,” Scanlon said, wrapping his skinny arm around Jonesy’s massive bull shoulders. “He’s sort of like my guardian angel here in prison. I’m the brains and he’s the brawn.”

     Burnside stared at Jonesy as if he expected him to add something, but the human rhino just smiled at him proudly with a wide, gap-toothed grin. 

    “Sounds like a profitable arrangement,” Burnside said, smiling genuinely for the second time since arriving in the gymnasium-turned-holding-cell.

    “Listen, guys, I appreciate what you did, but now I’m kind of beat and need to chill out for a while. I’ll catch up with you later,” Ray said, shaking Scanlon and Jonesy’s hands again.

    “Burnside, you’re the man,” Scanlon said, grinning ear-to-ear as he walked away with his sidekick.

    Ray headed back in the direction of his bunk and found it near the end of the first aisle. He lied down on the bottom one and placed his hands behind his head. He hardly noticed the constant murmuring of low voices in the background. Apparently all the sass had been beaten out of the inmates. Which was good because he needed to rest. And think. Think about what lessons he learned from today’s riot and how to utilize them. A succession of images flowed through his mind and then the image of the Riot Team exiting the doorway single-file became dominant.

   
You never go single file in a rapid response team. You always have to be watching out for your partner. You can’t have him behind you. Anything can happen to him.

   
Burnside allowed a half-smile to creep across his lips as he drifted to sleep.
 

    Burnside bided his time like a wild animal in a cage, pacing endlessly until discovering an opportunity to escape. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for the magazine rack Scanlon told him about to show up and it wasn’t too hard to muscle his way in and grab the latest U.S. News and World Report. He read the magazine to death in the following weeks, holding onto it like an intellectual life preserver. After a week, he almost knew every story by heart. He alternated reading with bouts of exercise, which consisted of push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups due to the complete lack of anything resembling exercise equipment.

    Time dragged on, slowly and inexorably. Every day was a carbon copy of the previous one, alternating between eating, sleeping, reading, and exercising. It was easy to lose track of what day of the week it was and that happened a lot. It took two weeks for the magazine cart to come around again. This time, he had to wrestle with another inmate, a three hundred pounder, in order to capture his prize. He dropped his competitor with a few well placed punches and casually walked away with his U.S. News and World Report as if nothing happened. It was just like Darwin described. Survival of the fittest.

    Burnside was beginning to despair there would ever be another riot when a fight broke out between two black inmates and a white inmate who wandered into their territory. Bad move. The white guy was getting beaten pretty severely until more whites jumped in. From there, it escalated into a full-scale brawl.   

Chapter 34

Opportunity

  
This time Burnside jumped right into the action, but with a plan. He joined the fight at the far right edge of Bunk City where there was less chance of being swept away in the mob. He stayed on the periphery, punching anyone with black skin who came his way. It was a necessary evil to single out opponents by race and the sooner he was done with it, the better. When it got too intense, he backed into the closest aisle, which only allowed his opponents to come at him a few at a time. It was imperative that he time his departure from the brawl perfectly. His route was already planned to avoid the surveillance cameras. He just needed to wait for the right moment. 

    It didn’t take long to come. Burnside heard a loud metallic clang and he took to his heels in mid-brawl. His surprised opponent didn’t bother chasing him because there were plenty of closer antagonists at hand. Ray sprinted at top speed, weaving in an out of the bunk maze as he had practiced many times before. At the right moment, he cut left between two bunks and took a hard right, ducking under the view of the closest camera. He went tight against the wall, out of range of the cameras, and began inching his way toward the security door like a mountain climber moving along the edge of a cliff. The first riot guard entered the gymnasium and a succession of armored forms followed him. Ray moved toward the open doorway, staying tight against the wall.

    One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…..

    He counted them, one by one, as he inched closer to the doorway.

   
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve….just a little closer…

    He quickened his shuffling pace along the wall and resisted the urge to wipe sweat from his forehead.

   
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…..almost there.

    He reached the edge of the doorway and prepared to strike.

    Nineteen…..now!

   
Burnside raised his arm to neck level and clothes-lined the final guard through the door. Ray’s muscular forearm connected solidly with the guard’s neck and he dropped. The clang of the riot armor striking the floor was like a thunderclap, but it blended into the raging storm erupting in the gymnasium. The impact knocked the guard out. Ray reached down and grabbed the guard’s wrists. This was when all those hours of working out with weights would pay off…..or not. Burnside dragged the heavy body out of the doorway, moving as fast as his straining muscles would allow. An adrenaline surge helped him pull the heavy load across the gym floor toward the opening in the bunks he had emerged from. The hard part was ducking down out of camera range as he moved. In his left-hand peripheral vision, he could see the riot guards assembling into formation. He had to move faster. With a titanic effort, he turned on the speed.

   
Burnside dragged the body through the opening between bunks and entered the aisle. The guard formation disappeared from view as the line of bunks formed a solid wall between them. He went to work. Ray utilized his knowledge of police riot gear to find the right buckles and straps, stripping off the armor like a professional. The thunderous clamor of the riot increased in the distance.

   
The formation must be moving out, sans one.

   
Burnside didn’t allow the thought to distract him from his work. Fuelled by adrenaline, he moved with mechanical precision, unfastening pieces of armor one-by-one. Now was where luck came into play. If the guard was significantly larger or smaller than Ray, the plan wouldn’t work. If he was about the same size…..

    Ray hastily unbuttoned the guard’s shirt.
He stripped it off and held it up to his body. He tore his own garment open at the chest with a lightning quick motion and pulled it down. He stripped it off and donned the guard’s shirt.

   
It was a little tight, but close enough. It would be covered by armor. Burnside guessed he outweighed the guard by about twenty pounds, but the guard still had some muscle on him, which gave him just enough room to breathe if he kept the top two buttons open. He pulled on the guard’s pants and zipped them up, but didn’t button. Ray’s adrenaline-fueled muscles shoved the guard’s legs into the prison jumpsuit. He pulled the fabric over the guard’s legs from the top and seized the waist of the jumpsuit, lifting garment and man off the ground. The guard slid into the large jumpsuit like a small foot into a large shoe. Burnside didn’t bother to worry about the huge rip down the middle of it. He shoved the body under the closest bunk and went to work putting on the armor.