Slammer (12 page)

'Aye,'
Moore
said. 'That cunt needs to get his cunt kicked in.'

'Exactly,' Crogan said. 'Almost as bad as Caesar.'

Glass went cold in the forehead. Why was Crogan talking about Caesar? Was it just a coincidence? Or did he know something? 'You had a run-in with Caesar?'

Crogan laughed. 'One or two. Work here long enough, you'll have a run-in with him.' He sighed. 'All in the past now, though. Stuck here in the gatehouse till I retire. Never have to see him again. And that makes me very happy.'

He sounded genuine. Maybe he was just letting off steam. Didn't look like he was going to push the topic anyway.

 
'I really better go,' Glass said, and handed his mug to
Moore
.

'You've only had a couple of sips,' Crogan said.

Glass looked at his watch. 'Got to take a few minutes to psyche myself up.'

'Right,' Crogan said. 'No problem. Stop by any time for a chat, though, you hear?'

Glass stood, stepped forward, and cleared the metal detector, legs shaking.

Just like any other day.

They didn't suspect him. He was too normal, too boring, far too unadventurous to be a drugs mule. Too
scared
to be a drugs mule.

It was only once he was in the locker room that he breathed normally again.

He'd thought Crogan had known something was up there for a minute, thought he'd been set up. That Caesar had arranged all this just to get Glass sacked. But, no, Caesar had better things to do. And he wanted his drugs.

No one else was in the locker room yet. Still early for the next shift.

Glass changed quickly, put on his uniform. Distributed the foil-wrapped heroin bundles among his various pockets. Felt bulky, but he doubted anyone would notice. He took the wad of notes out of his wallet, crammed it in his pocket.

He was ready. There was no way back now.

*

Glass didn't want to walk straight into Caesar's cell. He might be doing something indecent with Jasmine again. But Glass couldn't knock. So he looked through the Judas window. Saw Caesar on his bed. Alone. Jasmine was in the upper bunk. Both of them were staring right at him as if they knew he was on the other side of the door.

Glass put his key in the lock, opened the cell door.

Found Caesar on his feet. 'Well?'

Glass emptied his pockets and tossed the foil parcels onto the desk.

Caesar picked one up, grinned as he unwrapped it.

'Hi
ya
!' Jasmine leaned over the edge of her bunk. 'Oh, honey, Officer Glass, I'm so happy I could suck you off.'

'Don't let his new reputation get to you, bitch,' Caesar said.

Glass looked at him.

'Heard you fucked Mafia in the Digger,' Caesar explained.

'Oh, Officer,' Jasmine said, pouting.

Glass took the notes out of his pocket. Tossed them at Caesar. 'I don't want your money.'

Caesar said, 'Up to you. But I suppose you should pay for what you took.'

Glass had redistributed the bags. No way Caesar could have noticed, not without weighing the contents. 'I didn't take anything.'

'It's light.'

'That's all I got.'

'That so?' Caesar said. 'You want a little for yourself, I don't mind. Especially if you don't want paid. But don't think you can steal from me. If I hear of you dealing—'

'I'd never—'

'That's right. Never. And one more thing,' Caesar said. 'Next pick-up will be a week on Tuesday. Same place. Same time.'

'No way,' Glass said. 'I can't.'

'You're on nights that week. Course you can. Should be even easier.'

*

Later, during the hour of free association after dinner, Mafia walked towards Glass outside the TV room.

'That you, Officer Glass?'

Sometimes Glass thought Mafia had to be putting it on. Wasn't possible that somebody could be so blind, especially with glasses on. But someone must have seen Mafia's medical records before he was authorised to wear shades 24/7.

'It's me, yeah.'

Mafia muttered, 'Can you spare a few minutes?'

'What is it?'

'Just want to talk.'

'Okay. Your peter?'

'Nah, folk'll see us. They'll gossip. They gossip enough. Where can we go for a bit of privacy?'

'This is a prison. It's not designed for privacy.'

'Thanks for pointing that out. An expert already and you've only been here … six weeks?'

'Seven.'

'Forgive me. Extra week makes all the difference.'

'I know where we can go.' Glass started to walk away and Mafia followed, standing on Glass's heel. He apologised but Glass had the feeling it was deliberate.

*

The education block consisted of four classrooms. Today, only one was occupied.

Glass led Mafia along to the room at the end. He swung his key chain. Fiddled around for the right key. Unlocked it.

Inside, a cold breeze was blowing into the room. The windows were open but barred, like all the windows in the prison.

Glass went over, closed one window, then the other.

On the whiteboard, someone had scribbled some mathematical equations that meant nothing to him. He'd always preferred English. He'd been good at English. Enjoyed words. He'd been planning on studying English at university. Or maybe music. If he'd practised his guitar a bit more.

Mafia took off his shades.

Glass said, 'What's this about?'

'Come over here, I can't see you.'

Glass walked forwards. Stopped a couple of feet in front of him.

'You mind?' Mafia reached out a hand, touched Glass's chin.

It felt odd, this man's fingers touching his face, but he stood where he was, watching Mafia's eyes dart about in their sockets.

Mafia traced his jawline, then moved his hand over Glass's cheek.

Then:

WHAM.

Out of nowhere.

Glass reeled backwards, the taste of blood in his mouth. He spun off the edge of a desk, almost went down. Felt like he'd bitten his tongue, but the blood was coming from his lower lip. It was swelling already, tasted raw. He braced himself for another whack, but Mafia hadn't moved.

'I can't let that pass,' Glass said. Why the hell had Mafia done that? Glass really couldn't let it pass. Letting an inmate hit him without reporting it wasn't possible. Not even if that inmate was Mafia. And even if it was, after what Mafia had just done, Glass didn't care. Mafia deserved whatever was coming to him. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Mafia said, 'You can let it pass if you want.'

'You're going on report. They'll ghost you out of here.'

'Gosh. Got all the slang now, haven't you?' Mafia paused to shake his head. 'Maybe the governor will be interested to know you're bringing drugs in for Caesar.'

Cold crept out of the air and into Glass's body. The backs of his legs first, behind his knees, then up his legs and into his spine until he could feel it in the back of his neck. 'I can't believe Caesar told you.' He spat out a mouthful of blood. A string of it stuck to his upper lip. He wiped it with the back of his hand.

'He didn't.'

'Who, then?'

Mafia rubbed his knuckles. 'My little brother. Called me up, special.'

Watt was a total bastard. Why couldn't the fucker leave him alone?

Glass said, 'Well maybe he explained what
he's
been doing.'

'I don't care.'

'Your brother's been threatening me.'

'He's not my responsibility.'

'Threatening my family.'

Mafia shouted, 'I don't fucking care.'

'Well, I fucking do,' Glass shouted back.

'You can't do it,' Mafia said.

'It's done.'

'Then don't do it again.'

'What choice do I have? Your brother will hurt my wife. Or, God forbid, Caitlin.'

Mafia said nothing.

'He will, won't he? He's not bluffing.'

Mafia shrugged.

'He's your brother,' Glass said. 'Tell me I'm wrong.'

Mafia still didn't speak.

'Why's it so hard?'

'That's why you got the gun?'

Glass didn't answer.

Mafia said, 'Let's go.'

'I thought so.' Glass nodded. 'Just one last thing.'

'Yeah?' Mafia turned and Glass caught him a beauty on the jaw.

PART TWO

CONFABULATION

MONDAY, 16 NOVEMBER 1992

'Nothing you'd like to talk about?'

John Riddell still had that strange milky smell about him. And it was a little sour. Glass reminded himself that Riddell was the sort of man who didn't have a single photo to put on his desk. Just that empty frame.

Glass said, 'I've no more to say now than I did last time I was here.'

'Tell me about your job.'

'What do you mean?'

Riddell scratched his goatee. 'You happier with it?'

'It's fine.'

'But are you happy doing it?'

Glass leaned back in his chair. 'If I wasn't, what difference would it make?'

Riddell bent forward. 'I don't follow you.'

'I have to work here, happy or unhappy.'

Riddell tapped the rubber end of his pencil on his notepad. No pen today. Maybe he was making too many mistakes. 'If you spoke to me about what was making you unhappy, maybe it'd help.'