to do is put you in a compromising position. I know there’s a lot at stake with your job, although I’m selfish enough to admit I’d risk it all.
Can you forgive me for wanting you the way I do?
Saxon.
When I’ve finished writing, I wrap the kite with sticky -tape, making sure to fold it up as small as possible. The loud chatter of rough voices coming back from the yard are enough warning to the fact that my fellow house mates are returning from their outdoor rec time.
I watch from my ba rs as they file into their cages. I pay particular attention to a cell on the opposite side of the block. There are two inmates who keep squaring me off. I know they were part of the gang rape crew who were convicted along with the two assholes I beat up in the shower block a couple of weeks ago. They look like they want to rip me a new one. I say, come and try. I’m not afraid of rapists. Killers, maybe, but soft-cocks relying on numbers to subdue and overpower a woman to steal what isn’t theirs to take in the first place, no.
With all the indifference I can muster, I stare them out until they turn their backs on me and retreat onto their bunks. I’m going to have to watch out for them, I know that now. It’ll only be a matter of time before they come looking for some retribution.
From where I’m standing I can see one of the prisoners slowly making his way down the linoleum with a mop and bucket. I’ve seen him on many occasions and occasionally swapped contraband with him for favors. His name’s Jessop and he’s doing time for armed robbery. Hard to imagine the old guy with a gun in his hands, but there you have it.
I watch as he makes his way towards me. He notices me standing at the edge of my cell long before he arrives. His eyes are calculating, w eighing up prisoners and guards. I’d say he’s a smart man, although not enough obviously because he’s here doing time instead of living it up in the Bahamas with dough to last him a lifetime and a hooker young enough to be his daughter.
When he finally arrives, he scans my cell while the mopping continues. Whether he’s in search of a new arrival or contraband, I can’t rightfully say. The wrinkles around his eyes tell me he doesn’t have all the time in the world – not like the rest of us younger crims. So I get right to the point.
‘Can I trust you , Jessop?’
‘Th at would be a fair assumption, mister.’
‘I’d like to think I can.’
‘I think I’ve proven that since we started our business relationship.’ His voice sounds old and scratchy, like he’s done far too much talking over the years.
‘Good. I need a favor.’
‘I see, and what kind of favor would that be?’
‘I need to get a kite to someone important.’
‘How important?’
‘A guard.’
‘I’m listening.’ Still he mops.
‘She’ll be knocking off soon. Cole, I mean.’ The mopping halts abruptly while he stops and stares at me. He looks around to see if anyone is paying any attention to us. They’re not. He goes back to the mopping, digesting what I’ve just said.
‘A favor of that variety is going to cost you.’
‘I’m willing to pay.’
‘Well, judging by the nature of the favor I’d say you are, mister.’
‘So what would you want in return for making sure that my kite gets in the right hands?’
‘Well, it’s of great risk and personal sacrifice to myself you understand?’
‘I get it. What’s it going to cost?’
His eyes dart about the possessions in my cell while his brain cogs spin, working to make a decision.
‘You got any chalk?’
‘No.’ He’s referring to a crude wine made from yeast, sugar, fruit and water. Usually on ly the kitchen staff are privy to this forbidden alcoholic contraband.
‘You got titty mags?’
‘No.’
‘Extra chow? Can you hit me up?’
‘I could do that.’
‘But that ain’t much , mister. This kind of thing is risky. Risky business needs compensation.’
‘I could get you coffee?’
‘Now
Can you forgive me for wanting you the way I do?
Saxon.
When I’ve finished writing, I wrap the kite with sticky -tape, making sure to fold it up as small as possible. The loud chatter of rough voices coming back from the yard are enough warning to the fact that my fellow house mates are returning from their outdoor rec time.
I watch from my ba rs as they file into their cages. I pay particular attention to a cell on the opposite side of the block. There are two inmates who keep squaring me off. I know they were part of the gang rape crew who were convicted along with the two assholes I beat up in the shower block a couple of weeks ago. They look like they want to rip me a new one. I say, come and try. I’m not afraid of rapists. Killers, maybe, but soft-cocks relying on numbers to subdue and overpower a woman to steal what isn’t theirs to take in the first place, no.
With all the indifference I can muster, I stare them out until they turn their backs on me and retreat onto their bunks. I’m going to have to watch out for them, I know that now. It’ll only be a matter of time before they come looking for some retribution.
From where I’m standing I can see one of the prisoners slowly making his way down the linoleum with a mop and bucket. I’ve seen him on many occasions and occasionally swapped contraband with him for favors. His name’s Jessop and he’s doing time for armed robbery. Hard to imagine the old guy with a gun in his hands, but there you have it.
I watch as he makes his way towards me. He notices me standing at the edge of my cell long before he arrives. His eyes are calculating, w eighing up prisoners and guards. I’d say he’s a smart man, although not enough obviously because he’s here doing time instead of living it up in the Bahamas with dough to last him a lifetime and a hooker young enough to be his daughter.
When he finally arrives, he scans my cell while the mopping continues. Whether he’s in search of a new arrival or contraband, I can’t rightfully say. The wrinkles around his eyes tell me he doesn’t have all the time in the world – not like the rest of us younger crims. So I get right to the point.
‘Can I trust you , Jessop?’
‘Th at would be a fair assumption, mister.’
‘I’d like to think I can.’
‘I think I’ve proven that since we started our business relationship.’ His voice sounds old and scratchy, like he’s done far too much talking over the years.
‘Good. I need a favor.’
‘I see, and what kind of favor would that be?’
‘I need to get a kite to someone important.’
‘How important?’
‘A guard.’
‘I’m listening.’ Still he mops.
‘She’ll be knocking off soon. Cole, I mean.’ The mopping halts abruptly while he stops and stares at me. He looks around to see if anyone is paying any attention to us. They’re not. He goes back to the mopping, digesting what I’ve just said.
‘A favor of that variety is going to cost you.’
‘I’m willing to pay.’
‘Well, judging by the nature of the favor I’d say you are, mister.’
‘So what would you want in return for making sure that my kite gets in the right hands?’
‘Well, it’s of great risk and personal sacrifice to myself you understand?’
‘I get it. What’s it going to cost?’
His eyes dart about the possessions in my cell while his brain cogs spin, working to make a decision.
‘You got any chalk?’
‘No.’ He’s referring to a crude wine made from yeast, sugar, fruit and water. Usually on ly the kitchen staff are privy to this forbidden alcoholic contraband.
‘You got titty mags?’
‘No.’
‘Extra chow? Can you hit me up?’
‘I could do that.’
‘But that ain’t much , mister. This kind of thing is risky. Risky business needs compensation.’
‘I could get you coffee?’
‘Now
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