‘That’s the gang they call La Eme?’
‘Nice to see you did some homework, Lock. Yeah, La Eme got their shit down cold.’
‘I thought they were tight with the Aryan Brotherhood too.’
‘They’re allied to whoever doesn’t draw any heat on them. Remember, out on that yard and in the unit, all that matters is that you stand with your own. Check all that black and white together bullshit at the door. Don’t matter who you are, who you roll with, or who you’re talking to. In Pelican Bay, you’re in the jungle.’
11
That night Lock was troubled by images of Ken Prager’s family in their final moments. Every time he shut his eyes, their terrified faces crowded in on him. Lock tried to force them out, but it was no use. As soon as he began to drift off, they were back. The look on Ken’s face was the most haunting. It was the look of a man who had sacrificed not only himself but those closest to him. A man who had been walking a tightrope, only to have it cut by some unseen hand.
Finally, he gave up on trying to get to sleep, and lay, eyes open, staring at the barren concrete walls of the cell. He should be back at home in New York, lying next to Carrie, Angel asleep at the foot of the bed. Instead he was spending the night in an eight-foot-by-twelve-foot concrete cell with a stone-cold killer who’d already made plain the fact that Lock was an unwelcome intrusion.
Given that sleep was proving impossible, he used the relative calm and quiet to think through what lay ahead. In some ways the task he’d been handed was simpler than other close protection jobs he’d embarked on. For one, the time frame was finite. Five days. By the time morning arrived, in a few short hours, they’d be at the start of the second day.
The second advantage Lock possessed, if it could be called an advantage, was that he knew the threat was both clear and present. The Aryan Brotherhood would be coming after Reaper. That was a given. The only two questions that remained were when and how.
With Reaper having insisted — idiotically, Lock thought — on being placed back in the general population, the most likely scenario would be a strike in one of the public areas. That said, Lock couldn’t categorically rule out an attack in the cell. In some ways, the confined quarters of the cell would be an ideal venue for assassination. There would be nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
There was also the problem of bathing to consider. In addition to the stainless-steel sink and toilet bowl bolted into the wall of each two-man cell, the unit had a communal shower area. Showering would have to be kept to a minimum. Reaper wouldn’t like it, but tough.
Lock got up and walked to the cell door. Bars ran vertically from floor to ceiling. The building itself was two storys. They were on the upper tier. There were a dozen cells on each tier, all facing out towards a central reinforced-glass-fronted control pod. Lock could see what the prisoners referred to as the bubble cop sitting inside the pod, leafing through a magazine and eating candy, his position giving him a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of every single cell door.
Looking down from behind the cell door, Lock estimated that from the top of the five-foot guard rail to the floor of the unit was maybe twenty feet. Not enough to definitely kill a man if he happened to fall over it, but enough to make sure he didn’t make court. Lock made a mental note to ensure that Reaper stayed on the inside of the walkway at all times.
On the floor level were some blue hexagonal tables and chairs, all of which were bolted to the floor. In fact, since he had arrived, Lock hadn’t noticed any furniture or fittings in areas that would be used by the inmates which weren’t similarly secured.
On a wall that lay parallel to the front of the cells were four pay phones, wall-mounted at equal distances from one another.
There was a single blue reinforced door that led out of the two-story cell area and into a waiting area. On one side of the waiting area was the entry point to the block’s control pod. On the other side was another glass-fronted office. Lock had also noticed at least one single-man restraint cage. Next to that was the door that allowed entry directly on to the yard.
Undoubtedly, the yard would be the most challenging environment, but Lock had only seen it in passing. No doubt tomorrow he’d get a better look. For now, he had to try again to get some sleep. He returned to his bunk, closed his eyes, and within minutes he was back in the lonely, blood-soaked clearing with the blazing cross at its centre as it filled with screams of abject terror.
Lock was woken a little after six by the squeaky wheel of the metal food trolley as it rolled along the walkway outside his cell.
‘Chow,’ said Reaper, handing him the first of two trays passed through a slot in the door by a black prison orderly.
‘We eat every meal in our cells?’ Lock asked him.
‘Uh-huh,’ Reaper grunted, spooning some powdered egg into his mouth.
‘Even on the mainline?’
Reaper put down his spoon. ‘Used to eat outside the cells in a chow hall, but so many dudes got killed that now they use the chow halls for storage.’
Either side of them, the heavy barred doors of the cells started to clank open and inmates began to filter out. Reaper put down his tray, stood up and grabbed his towel. He was wearing loose blue cotton prison-issue pants and not much else.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Lock asked him.
‘Hit the showers,’ Reaper said.
‘Oh no you’re not,’ Lock said, putting his own tray down and sliding off his bunk.
‘What? You think you’re my mom?’
‘Mom, nursemaid, babysitter, all rolled into one, that’s me,’ said Lock. ‘Don’t you think we should see what kind of a reaction you get on the yard before you wander off to take a shower?’
Reaper sighed. ‘You’re taking this kinda seriously, aren’t you, soldier boy?’
‘And so should you, if you want to stay alive.’
While Lock finished breakfast, Reaper settled for washing himself in the sink. As he ate, Lock mulled over Reaper’s overwhelming confidence. He couldn’t decide on its source. Was it a macho veneer acquired over years spent in prison? Or did it go deeper? Did Reaper know something that either Lock or Jalicia didn’t?
Lock took his place at the sink as an orderly came back along the tier and collected the breakfast trays.
‘So, what now?’ Lock asked Reaper, unsure of what kind of day lay ahead.
‘It’s Sunday, right?’ Reaper asked him.
Lock had to stop and think about it. Already, the confined quarters were starting to distort his perception of time. ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ he said, pushing away the thought that Sunday mornings were usually reserved for walking Angel in Central Park with Carrie.
‘Then we got no work,’ said Reaper, ‘just play. And I tell you what, soldier boy,’ he went on, looking around the stark confines of their cell, ‘this sure as hell beats solitary.’
Their cell door shuddered and began to roll open.
‘Yard time,’ said Reaper. ‘Let’s go meet the neighbors’
12
As Lock stepped out on to the yard, bright sunlight caught him unawares, and he had to put his hand up to shield his eyes from the blinding glare. The yard itself was a large grassy space divided up with benches. A walking track ran round the perimeter, and beyond that was more fencing topped with razor wire. Beyond that was another yard and another set of cell blocks which emptied out into the same sub-divided central space. The entire yard fell under the watchful eye of a guard in the gun tower, who scanned the inmates from behind mirrored sunglasses while toting a Mini-14 rifle.