Bang Up: Prison walls don't just keep criminals in, the keep the outside world at bay (18 page)

They checked the coast was clear and put a look-out on the end of the corridor. The circle of men started to close in around them like a pack of wolves. If this was going to kick off, their job was to make sure no screws got to them before the beef was over. Mikey stood and went nose to nose with the main man, teeth clenched tightly together. Their foreheads touched, their eyes were locked. They were touching heads now, it was a test of strength. Potter stood with his back to the wall. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t have a clue. Should he be preparing to jump Warren and help his mate if he was getting leathered? Potter looked confused. Should he stop the fight, whack the kid over his head with a chair? He’d seen stuff like this before on the TV and he knew a few moves he could throw into the mix if he needed to. For now though, he was frozen to the spot.

Frank’s eyes were bulging from their sockets and he knew this inmate wasn’t backing down. Mikey had balls and he was willing to go all the way. There was no way he was having the piss taken out of him. It wasn’t his style. He had a name to protect, a wing to run. Winner takes all. Frank sank his fat fingers into Mikey’s cheeks, squeezing at them, his warm stale breath on the end of his nose. “Fuck off nobhead before I put you on your arse in front of this lot. Don’t ever think you can chat shit to me. Go on, do one.” The other inmates were on edge. This had to happen fast, the screws would be here soon. Someone needed to throw a punch. The prisoners were sneering now, placing bets on who would knock who out.

“Fucking waste him Frank,” his wingman yelled.

Mikey freed himself from Frank’s grip. They were all looking at him now, he had to come back with something, make his mark. Potter was trying to support his mate and before he knew it he was shouting too. “Bust his nose Mikey, give him a dead leg.” The inmates sniggered at Potter. Where the hell did he think he was? This wasn’t a bleeding youth club scrap for fucks sake! This was serious shit. This was jail life. Mikey flicked his eyes rapidly and clocked a weapon near him. But, this was a one-on-one, no weapons were allowed; a bare knuckle fight. He might have bitten off more than he could chew, he’d not thought this through. He was going to get wasted if he didn’t think quickly, he needed to pull something out of the bag. Here it was, Mikey reached the point of no return. He was ready to rumble. His fists curled into tight rounded balls at the side of his legs and his nostrils flared. It all happened so fast. Mikey steamed into Frankie and twatted him. The pair were going for it now; punches, kicks and head-butts were exchanged. Potter moved closer, he was steps away from the pool cue. Was this the right time to pick it up and steam in as well? He wasn’t sure. If he moved in, Frankie’s mates would as well…

Frankie was like a gladiator, he picked Mikey up and slung him against the table. His head crashed against it and it looked like it was all over. No, wait, Mikey was back up and his eyes were menacing as he ran at his opponent at full pelt. He was rapid and each punch connected with his opponent. The inmates heckled and some of them started to bang objects on the walls. “Fight, fight, go on, kill the fucker.” Potter chewed on the end of his fist. Mikey wasn’t giving up without a fight, he was giving it all he’d got. He was a crank, he was biting and mauling his victim, he fish-hooked his mouth at one stage, it was a superb move that hadn’t been seen for a long time in the big house. The inmates were alive, they were ready to kick off and smash the wing up. What did they have to lose? Frankie might have been bigger than Mikey but the younger man was fit as a fiddle and agile, he dodged Frank’s punches and stung Warren with his own. Inmates gathered around the pair of them, this wasn’t going to last much longer. Mikey had Frankie on his arse in minutes and was kicking fuck out of him, pummelling his fist deep into his face. “Go on Mikey, give it him,” Potter screamed at the top of his voice. His eyes were dancing with madness, his head was in the game. He’d never felt excitement like this before, he was alive and part of something.

Alarm bells were ringing now. The footsteps of the screws pounded ever closer. The inmates backed off. The show was over anyway and there was nothing much left to see. With one final kick Mikey took his role as the main man on the wing. Frank was out for the count, sparked. Mikey growled and let out a roar from the pit of his stomach as he banged his fist onto his chest. He’d earned his stripes now, they now knew what he was all about. He wasn’t all mouth. He was a hard fucker. Who’d have thought it? What a result, there was no way in this world you would have backed Mikey against Frank. Gasping for his breath Mikey was quickly rugby tackled to the floor by two screws, he fell like a sack of spuds and was soon pinned down. The screws were eager to get the cuffs on to restrain him; there was shouting as inmates hurled abuse at the officers. It was kicking off now on the wing and it might take hours for it to calm down.

Potter was up in arms and ran to Mikey’s side but he didn’t get a word in because the screws pushed him out of the way and started to drag them down to the block. The pair of them were forced down the corridor at speed. The poor fucker, he was done for. Mark was on B-wing now with Smithy by his side and they were making sure all the inmates were back behind their doors. There could have been a riot; chairs smashed, windows going through. It was a struggle at first but with a bit of extra manpower they were getting there. At last the prisoners were doing what they were told. Frank Warren was still on the floor receiving urgent medical attention. He was coming round now and his eyes were twitching slightly, he was fucked up. What a disgrace he was, he’d been beaten by a newcomer, his empire was in tatters. How could he ever come back from this? He was a laughing stock now. His reign was surely over. From this day forward nobody would listen to a word he had to say anymore, he was just another wannabe. There was only one option for him, he had to be shipped out. He would go on the vulnerable prisoner’s wing, what a disgrace this was.

“Fuck me, loosen the cuffs, they’re digging into me,” Mikey howled at the top of his lungs. He was right too, his skin was starting to bleed and the colour of his skin was changing.

The screws at the side of him were not listening to a word he said, they were ragging him about. “Shut it Milne, let’s see what kind of a big man you are once you’re down the block,” one growled at him. This convict was a trouble causer and they knew the moment he had landed in the jail that their work was cut out for them. Mikey was cut on the side of his cheek and bright red blood was seeping from a deep gash but what did that matter now, he was a winner. He’d taken the big bastard down and made a name for himself in the jail. Cuts and bruises were the least of his worries. Mikey was flung into a cell and the door slammed shut behind him. It was just something he was used to nowadays. The screws were stood outside and he could hear every word they were saying about him. “He needs sorting out. We should put his name down for a ship out, who’s his personal officer? I need to have a word with him. I can’t be arsed with all this shit again. We’ve only just got the wing sorted out and that prick in there thinks he can mess it all up. Look at the state of me, I’m sweating my nuts off.”

Mikey smirked as he held his ear to the door. He was used to people talking behind his back and didn’t give it a second thought. He’d done what he had set out to do and that was all he was arsed about. Mikey started to calm down and licked the blood from the end of his knuckles. Was he really fucked up in the head or was he just misunderstood? It said on his personal file that he was a violent prisoner but didn’t most of the inmates have an evil streak in them? It was the environment they were living in, it changed men forever. There were only two charges of assault on his criminal record and, could you really call them violent crimes when he had slapped a youth around his head and took his mountain bike from him? They had it marked down as assault and robbery on his notes but not a word was said that it was nothing more than a slap, he had just clipped the kid and got off with his bike. Yeah, he robbed the bike but he’d wanted one for ages and this rich toffee-nosed kid was riding one about without a care in the world. He even left it outside the shop when he went inside, he didn’t care about his possessions. His family had more money than sense. Mikey lay down on the bed. The block was getting to be his second home now. No sooner had he left there than he was back again. It didn’t faze him, it was what it was, pure bang up and more thinking time.

*

Mark sat with his colleagues around a table in the cafeteria. Their shift was over and they were just finishing off a coffee. Barry, the one who’d nicked Mikey earlier, marched to the table and gasped. “Mikey Milne, he’s your lad isn’t he?”

Mark hated this tosser’s attitude already and snarled at him, “and what?”

“Either sort him out or get him out of this jail. Two minutes he’s been here and he’s fucked everything up. Frank Warren is on the hospital wing in a bad way. A broken nose and ribs they think. He’s not with it at all, he’s still in shock.” Mark was sick to death of this smart arse. If ever there was a problem on B-wing this shit-stirrer was always there knocking at his door about how he should control the inmates on there.

Smithy sniggered and looked away. He was aware of the beef between these two and didn’t want to get involved. Mark could hold his own, he didn’t need any help from him. He folded his arms tightly across his chest and watched the fun and games begin. “Listen Barry, crack on with your own shit and stop sticking your nose on my wing. I will sort Mikey out, so just back off. And, if I remember rightly pal, am I right in saying Frank Warren was on your wing first before you carted him over to me?”

Barry stuttered and loosened the collar on his shirt. “He was, but it was none of my doing why he was moved. Talk to the governor about that, he was the one who made the decision on that one not me.” This guy was lying through his teeth. Everybody knew Barry was a smacked arse and if any bit of trouble came his way he was banging on the main man’s door asking for help. Barry was too old for the game now. Like a lot of the other officers who worked there he was waiting out his final years here before retirement and a fat pension. He didn’t need the aggravation, the fights, the endless rows and banter between inmates. He wanted a quiet life. 

Mark knew he had him where he wanted him and he turned his head slowly towards Smithy. “Isn’t that right mate? Everybody knows about Barry’s snide meeting with the governor. You’d better be careful, people will start getting the wrong idea about you. Nobody likes a suck-up.”

Barry was up in arms. He’d never snitch on his work mates and he was more than willing to put his neck on the line to prove it. His cheeks were bright red now as he rested his body on the wall behind him. How dare anyone blacken his name in this joint? He was a team player, there was no way in this world he was a Judas. Mark knew just by looking at him that Barry was backing down. His tone changed completely and he sat next to Mark patting him on top of his shoulder. He backtracked. “No offence meant, Mark. All I’m saying is can you have a word with Mikey? He’ll listen to you. You have a way of getting through to anyone with a chip on their shoulder.”

Mark smirked and licked his lips in a cunning manner. He could tell a brown-noser a mile off and Barry was that far up his arse it was untrue. His workmate was right though, in his time as a prison officer he had been able to reach out to some of the most notorious criminals inside the jail. He had a knack of getting them to drop their defences to reveal the real person inside. But that had been many moons ago when he was a bit wet behind the ears, when he was new to the job and still had a faith in people that told him everyone deserved a second chance. His finger stroked the scar on his cheek, touching the deep crease, remembering how he had been scarred for life. He had been a good screw in his day but the constant dramas in this place had worn him down and made him hard on the inside. He could never be soft again, it was too dangerous but who would help these sick twisted fuckers if he gave up on them? He was fighting with his own conscience and a part of him was realising that just because one convict turned on him in the past, he couldn’t take it out on the rest of the youths who came through the door. He needed to think this through, he’d sleep on it and address it in the morning.

Smithy stood to his feet and put his coat on. “Clocking off time guys. I don’t know about you two but I’m ready for the knacker’s yard. This shift has written me off.”

Mark reached his hand out towards Barry, he’d been a bit harsh with him and was regretting his foul mood. This man was harmless and he didn’t deserve the way he’d spoken to him. “Don’t worry Barry. I’ll have a word with Mikey. You’re right, it’s my job to see what’s going on with him. I’ll crack on with it tomorrow.”

Barry was relieved, he hated a bad atmosphere in the workplace. He shook Mark’s hand and walked out of the cafeteria with them both. Another day, another dollar. The shift was over.

CHAPTER NINE

Rachel gazed out of the window at Sarah’s gran’s house. It was a nice compact bungalow out of the way in a respectful rural area. There were so many plants in the garden, a bloom of bright colours. This was nothing like her garden - that was a jungle. Fuck all grew there except weeds and the odd dandelion. Rachel had never been into gardening, although sometimes she wished she had green fingers. It looked so calming when she watched other people doing it and thought it could be the answer to her stress levels. It was too much like hard work though, a headache in her eyes; cutting grass, pruning flowers, feeding the lawn. No, she was alright with her barren garden. The cycles and old motorbikes in her front garden added culture onto her lawn, at least that’s what she told everybody who commented on it. The housing were always onto Rachel about tidying it up but she never listened, she told them she’d do it when she was ready, she never did. But today, for some strange reason, she was fixated on every flower and petal she cast her eyes on. She loved flowers and the scents from them, sweet calming aromas. The last time anyone had ever bought her flowers was longer than she could remember. They were all tight cunts her former lovers and they wouldn’t part with a fart, buying her flowers was the last thing on their minds and they would much rather have shared a spliff with her instead of giving her a romantic gesture. Gary had given her the odd bunch but he never paid for them. He was a right tight arse. I mean, proper tight. The kind of guy who would do anything rather than put his hand in his pocket, he was as tight as a fish’s arse.  At first Rachel thought that he was a romantic guy. Every night he was coming home with a new bunch of flowers for her, and we’re talking huge spray of flowers here, not just a few stalks. She thought he was madly in love with her. Nobody had ever showed her love this way before. It was only when she read a card shoved down the side of the cellophane wrapper that she uncovered what a low-life sly sad bastard her boyfriend really was. She had to laugh when she thought back about it though, he’d pulled the wool right over her eyes. What a hard-faced fucker he was. “Rest in peace, Auntie Mabel. We love and miss you. Love Janice and family,” it read. That night she steamed right into him and whacked the dead woman’s flowers right over his napper. She knew it was too good to be true. He was a scruff with no morals or respect for the dead.