problems, faked cardiac arrest. At first the guards decided to ignore him and let him go, but on second thought they got involved. His cell mate stabbed two guards with a shank, grabbed their Tasers, fried them, then beat them senseless. The inmates quickly put on the guards’ uniforms and managed to open the doors to about a hundred cells. With near flawless coordination, the inmates flooded other wings in the unit and soon several hundred extremely dangerous convicts were on the loose. They began burning mattresses, laundry, anything that could possibly be ignited. Eight guards were beaten; two would later die. Three guards with pistols hid in an office and called for help. Before long, the inmates found weapons and gunfire could be heard across the prison. In the melee, four snitches were hanged with electrical extension cords.
We wouldn’t know these details until later, so at the time Link and I casually play cards while Big Wheeler explodes around us. It takes CNN less than five minutes to pick up the riot story, and when we hear it we stop and watch the television. After a few minutes I say, “So, Link, are you in charge of prison riots, too?”
To my surprise he says, “Yes, at this moment anyway.”
“Oh really? Then tell me how this one started?”
“It all goes back to personnel,” he says like a polished CEO. “You gotta have the right people in the right place at the right time. You got three guys in Unit Six doing life with no parole, so they got nothing to lose. You set up an outside contact who promises all sorts of stuff, like a van and a driver waiting in the woods if the guys make it out. And lots of cash. You give them plenty of time to plan it all, and at exactly 9:00 on this night, when the warden and his goons are thinking of only one thing—giving me the needle—you launch your assault. Unit Four should blow up any minute.”
“I won’t tell a soul. And the bombs? Who rigged the bombs?”
“Can’t give you the names. You gotta understand prisons and how stupid the men are who run them. Everything here is designed to keep us in, with little thought to keeping bad stuff out. Those incendiary devices were planted two days ago, well hidden; they’ve got timers and all, really basic stuff. No one was looking, piece of cake.”
It’s a relief to hear him talking like this. I suppose his nerves are starting to jump, though he looks as calm as ever.
“What’s the endgame tonight, Link? Are these guys gonna attack death row and rescue you?”
“Wouldn’t work. Too many guns around here. Just having some fun, that’s all. I’m at peace.”
As he says this, they flash another image of the prison burning, another camera shot from a helicopter nearby. We’re too deep in the building to hear anything, but it looks like total chaos. Buildings on fire, a million red and blue lights flashing, an occasional gunshot. Link can’t help but smile. Just fun and games.
“It’s the warden’s own stupid fault,” he says. “Why all the pomp and ceremony, just for an execution? He brings in every available guard, gives them automatic weapons and Kevlar vests as if someone—me, the guy getting the needle—might somehow put together an offensive. Goons everywhere. Then he turns on all the lights and locks down the entire prison. Why exactly? No good reason. Hell, two guards without guns could just as easily walk me down the hall at the appointed hour and strap me onto the table. No big deal. No cause for all this drama. But no, the warden likes his rituals. It’s a big moment for law enforcement and, hell, they gotta make the most out of it. What any fool can see, anyone but the warden, is that he’s dealing with men who live in cages and who hate anybody in a uniform. They’re already looking for trouble, so you crank up the pressure on them and they blow a gasket. Just takes someone like me to facilitate things.”
He sips a cherry cola and nibbles a french fry. He’s got forty
We wouldn’t know these details until later, so at the time Link and I casually play cards while Big Wheeler explodes around us. It takes CNN less than five minutes to pick up the riot story, and when we hear it we stop and watch the television. After a few minutes I say, “So, Link, are you in charge of prison riots, too?”
To my surprise he says, “Yes, at this moment anyway.”
“Oh really? Then tell me how this one started?”
“It all goes back to personnel,” he says like a polished CEO. “You gotta have the right people in the right place at the right time. You got three guys in Unit Six doing life with no parole, so they got nothing to lose. You set up an outside contact who promises all sorts of stuff, like a van and a driver waiting in the woods if the guys make it out. And lots of cash. You give them plenty of time to plan it all, and at exactly 9:00 on this night, when the warden and his goons are thinking of only one thing—giving me the needle—you launch your assault. Unit Four should blow up any minute.”
“I won’t tell a soul. And the bombs? Who rigged the bombs?”
“Can’t give you the names. You gotta understand prisons and how stupid the men are who run them. Everything here is designed to keep us in, with little thought to keeping bad stuff out. Those incendiary devices were planted two days ago, well hidden; they’ve got timers and all, really basic stuff. No one was looking, piece of cake.”
It’s a relief to hear him talking like this. I suppose his nerves are starting to jump, though he looks as calm as ever.
“What’s the endgame tonight, Link? Are these guys gonna attack death row and rescue you?”
“Wouldn’t work. Too many guns around here. Just having some fun, that’s all. I’m at peace.”
As he says this, they flash another image of the prison burning, another camera shot from a helicopter nearby. We’re too deep in the building to hear anything, but it looks like total chaos. Buildings on fire, a million red and blue lights flashing, an occasional gunshot. Link can’t help but smile. Just fun and games.
“It’s the warden’s own stupid fault,” he says. “Why all the pomp and ceremony, just for an execution? He brings in every available guard, gives them automatic weapons and Kevlar vests as if someone—me, the guy getting the needle—might somehow put together an offensive. Goons everywhere. Then he turns on all the lights and locks down the entire prison. Why exactly? No good reason. Hell, two guards without guns could just as easily walk me down the hall at the appointed hour and strap me onto the table. No big deal. No cause for all this drama. But no, the warden likes his rituals. It’s a big moment for law enforcement and, hell, they gotta make the most out of it. What any fool can see, anyone but the warden, is that he’s dealing with men who live in cages and who hate anybody in a uniform. They’re already looking for trouble, so you crank up the pressure on them and they blow a gasket. Just takes someone like me to facilitate things.”
He sips a cherry cola and nibbles a french fry. He’s got forty
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