Fake Fan Fiction ❯ Prison Rose ❯ Chapter 3

Prison Rose

 

by Mori Ryoshi

 

 

 

Disclaimer: I do not own FAKE or Sanami Matoh's wonderful characters.

 

Summary: A murder investigation requires an undercover assignment in New York City's Sing Sing prison. The job requirements include: knowledge of weapons, blond or light brown hair, and a protective personality. Ryo would be perfect; but, he arrested the suspect in the first place. Enter Commissioner Berkley Rose, tall, blond, violet eyes, and perfect for playing the part.

 

Dee's warning bells are set off when the events begin to unfold. Will his predictions be correct or is his internal radar off this time? How will a cop deal with one of the most difficult situations a person can be placed in? And, what the heck is wrong with that guard?

 

 

Rating: NC-17, adults only

Warnings: Yaoi, violence, racial hatred, mature themes, loving sex, and rape (chapters will be clearly marked)

 

Pairings: Ryo/Dee, J.J./Drake, Berkley/?, OC's/OC's

Timeframe: The present

Series: None, standalone story

 

 

Prison Rose

 

 

Chapter 3

 

The ride to the prison was too short. Traffic had been surprisingly light and they were running ahead of schedule. As they passed through the main gate and stopped for an identification check, Berkley could only hold his breath and hope things would go smoothly. “At least the check-in won't be a problem.”

 

Dee watched as the high fence closed behind them and knew this was the last possible point for the commissioner to back out. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He whispered into Berkley's ear. “We'll find another way.”

 

“It's not a matter of wanting to do this,” Berkley whispered back. “We need the information as quickly as possible and this is the most expedient method of getting it. I'll be fine.” He glanced out the window and watched as a trio of guards approached the van. “Any way, it's too late to turn back now.”

 

As Mackey slid the door open, allowing the rush of cold air to rush into the van, Dee shuddered. The bad feelings were back full-force. He could only nod in silent support and two of the guards reached into the van. “Good luck,” He mouthed silently. “Sir,” He added as a second thought.

 

The commissioner swallowed hard and only tipped his head in thanks.

 

“Albert Schmidt,” The tallest guard hissed. “Get out here.”

 

Berkley struggled to his feet, the shackles somehow more restrictive now that he was entering a compound where their use was common. “Yes, Sir,” He said as his head brushed the ceiling of the van, even though he was stooped over. As he made his way past Dee and paused before stepping down from the van, he looked at the guards. He was surprised to realize that both the lead guards, at least the ones closest to the van, were black and the third was Hispanic. All three were shorter than he was and built like professional football players. “If the guards are this massive, what are the inmates going to look like.”

 

“Come on, Old Man,” The Hispanic guard growled. “We don't got all day. If you can't move out here, how the hell do you expect to stay alive inside?”

 

Dee glanced at the guard and barely hid his irritation and surprise. “Damn, if you have to fight off the guards as well as the prisoners, you're in major trouble.” He almost stopped Berkley from leaving the van. Then, the moment passed as the commissioner stepped down, tripping over the length of chain binding his ankles together. “Geez, you could have helped him,” He said to the guards as he quickly climbed out of the van and helped the fallen man to his feet.

 

“He ain't our responsibility yet,” The second black guard drawled. “Anyway, it's fun to see this bastards get some punishment. He's a criminal; why should we care if he falls on his face.”

 

“Blackwell,” Lincoln called in a low voice. Suddenly the rookie investigator seemed authoritative and in absolute control. “He hasn't been convicted, yet. His lawyer will have fits if he ends up in worse shape because the guards aren't doing their jobs.”

 

“Holy shit, Linc!” The demeanor of all three guards shifted from aggressive and confrontational to friendly and open. “I didn't know you were back on prison detail.” The Hispanic guard stepped forward and punched the investigator on the shoulder.

 

“Well, I'm not. I'm handling this because I was in on his arrest.”

 

Dee looked at the young man suspiciously, wondering what was up.

 

“Cool, your first pick up after becoming a real cop,” The guard Lincoln had called Blackwell said with a nod. “You're in the big leagues now.”

 

“Nah, I'm just a peon; but, if this guy gets convicted, maybe it'll get me a promotion.” Lincoln stepped forward and continued talking amicably with the trio of guards.

 

“At least he's buying us a little time,” Dee whispered to Berkley before helping brush him off. “You'll need to have your hands taken care of.”

 

“I know.” Berkley nodded and frowned as he studied his scrapped and bleeding hands. “It's colder out here.”

 

“I'll get your coat.” Dee went to the back of the van and brought out Berkley's coat and silently wondered if it would be warm enough. He slung the thick material over the commissioner's shoulders before buttoning a couple buttons in the front so his hands would be protected. Mentally, he berated himself for not putting the coat on while they were still inside the vehicle. “At least then, his hands wouldn't have been torn up. Then again, who would have guessed the guards wouldn't extend him the courtesy of steadying him as he stepped out of the van.”

 

“All right, we'll take good care of him,” Blackwell said with a sneer before reaching for Berkley's arm. He jerked the older man toward him; then shoved him in the direction of the prison entrance. “Don't worry, Linc. Your criminal's in the right place.” He turned and followed the commissioner as he shuffled toward the prison. The powerful guard poked him every few steps, drawing laughs from the other two guards.

 

“Before you say anything, Detective Laytner,” Lincoln said as Dee started to say something. “They would have treated him even worse if I hadn't stepped in. I don't know that much about this case. I was given the bare minimum; but, what I do know, the minority guards in this place are very rough with white prisoners. If Blackwell believes the commissioner could be the feather in my cap, he'll at least keep him alive.”

 

“Why didn't we know about this before? Commissioner Rose shouldn't be in here.”

 

“No one asked me.” Lincoln frowned and shook his head. “Plus, and maybe worse, it's a secret hidden in plain sight around here. All the transportation personnel know about the guards and we all stay silent because most of the people who are sent here deserve anything they get.”

 

“Not everyone deserves what they get,” Dee said quietly as he thought of one a case he was involved in that was recently overturned. The man had been convicted on first-degree murder for killing a man during a barroom brawl and was sentenced to life in prison. He'd always maintained his innocence and never admitted any wrongdoing. Prior to the arrest and conviction, he'd never even had a parking ticket. The evidence was circumstantial and even Dee had had doubts about his guilt. But, the DA had gotten the conviction only to have the real killer arrested four years later. When faced with a deal where he would allocute to the various murders and tell the cops where the bodies were buried, he stood in court for close to an hour bragging about the people he'd murdered. He finished by saying the first man he'd killed was in a barroom brawl and after that, he couldn't get enough of the rush.

 

“I know that,” Lincoln said quietly. “That's the reason I got out of security; so, I would have a chance to help people before they ended up behind bars.” He sighed and turned to Mackey. “Why don't you stay with the van while I help Detective Laytner with the prisoner's bags.”

 

Dee was already digging into the back of the van for Berkley's meager belongings. “I can handle this myself.” Lincoln was surprised by the detective's irritation.

 

“Sir, they're going expect both of us. I only stepped in because I thought it would lend Commissioner Rose a small reprieve.” He stepped back as Dee swung his coat around to put it on. “I wouldn't have said anything if I thought it would make things worse.”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Dee said as he picked up the large bag with Berkley's clothing and slung it over his shoulder.

 

“I'll get these.” Lincoln grabbed the two smaller bags. “Do you need any of these printouts?”

 

“No.” Dee slammed the door almost hitting the investigator's arm. He wasn't even sure why he was so irritated with the young man. Something in the familiarity of the conversation had made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and set off his internal warning system. “Why do you know those guards so well?” He started toward the prison entrance without waiting for an answer.

 

Lincoln rushed to catch up and after a couple additional steps glanced at the detective. “I used to handle most of the transfers from Rikers to here. These guys always met the deliveries of white prisoners. It's an intimidation tactic to keep the prisoner from feeling comfortable, as most do if they're greeted by someone just like them.”

 

“Are black prisoners greeted by white guards?”

 

“No, normally Angel leads a group of Hispanic guards for them. There aren't many white guards here,” Lincoln admitted. “The warden and his deputy are white and there are a few others; but, most are black or Hispanic.”

 

“Not a good place for a white supremacist,” Dee thought sarcastically. “As long as they do their job and keep everyone safe, color doesn't matter.”

 

Lincoln quickly opened the door for Dee. “They're just here to keep the inmates from killing each other.” Dee nodded as he stepped through the doorway.

 

The pair entered the intake area and was surprised to see Berkley standing with the same three guards and two official-looking men, both black. “I thought the warden was going to handle this prisoner?” Dee asked.

 

“He had meetings this morning and you're early,” The taller official answered. “We'll get him processed and put in his cell.” He checked the clipboard with the processing information. “Hey, he's bunking with Mr. Trouble himself. You'll probably fit right in. You one of these Hitler wannabes?” He hissed in Berkley's face. “Unchain him.”

 

Dee did what he was ordered and spared his boss a questioning look. “Just say the word and I'll figure a way out of here.” Berkley dropped his head to avoid Dee's penetrating look. With a sigh, the detective stepped back away; he knew the commissioner wasn't going to turn back.

 

“All right, you came right from Rikers. You're a fighter. That should make your stay interesting.”

 

Berkley wisely kept his mouth shut and avoided making eye contact. He didn't need a confrontation this early in his stay. Inside, his heart was racing as he fought his fear of what was ahead of him. He knew if the warden wasn't handling his intake that he wouldn't be spared any part of the normal process. He just hoped the scanner was off so the wires and other security measures would get through.

 

“His bags,” The second official prompted. He took the large bag of Berkley's clothing and tossed it on the scanner. Dee and Berkley held their breath as the bag slowly moved through the equipment and came out the other side, in silence. “What's in this?” He questioned when Dee handed him the heavy bag filled with chocolate bars, meal bars, a couple rolls of Lifesavers, and two bags of hardtack candy.

 

“He's a diabetic. It's controlled through diet; but, he's got to have chocolate and sweets on hand in case his sugar drops.” Dee shrugged like it was nothing. “He actually has a note from his doctor in his file and Rikers didn't have any problems with it.”

 

The man laid the bag on the belt and opened it, digging through the supply of candy before removing the expensive hardtack, meal bars, and about half the chocolate bars. “I'll take these and I'll make your real search painless; you might even enjoy it, Pretty Boy.”

 

With the slightest of nods, Berkley indicated that was fine. The normally proud man hunched over a little as he closed himself off from what was happening. He now understood what the books had meant when they described the process of going to prison as demeaning and dehumanizing. These officials were making him want to crawl away or beg to be taken somewhere else. Even though, he understood the psychology behind their actions, he didn't have to like it. The feeling that they believed he was worthless and didn't deserve an ounce of respect was clearly evident in how they handled his belongings, pushed him around, and through their tone of voice as they talked down to him.

 

“Shit,” Dee thought. “He was searched thoroughly before we left Rikers. A body cavity search isn't necessary.” He didn't hold out much hope that the official would listen; but, he had to try.

 

“Wayne,” An authoritative voice warned from the doorway. “I told you that I would handle this prisoner's intake. Mr. Laytner, you should have informed Mr. Wayne that I handled Mr. Schmidt's outtake at Rikers. What did you think my meetings were for this morning?” The warden stepped to Berkley's side. “You can remove his coat.” He indicated to Dee. “The rest of you are dismissed.” The room emptied immediately. “I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier. I was caught in traffic.”

 

“It's okay,” Berkley said quietly, his head still down.

 

“At least you've done your homework. Keep your head down and avoid eye contact with inmates and increasingly important, avoid it with the guards.” He quickly checked Berkley's bags before leading him to a side room for a more personal search.

 

The commissioner got his first chance to catch his breath and relax inside the room. “Thank you for getting here.”

 

“You're welcome. You know you're nuts coming in here like this.” The warden extended his hand. “I'm Warden Glen Russell.”

 

“Commissioner Berkley Rose, also known as Albert Schmidt.” Berkley shook the man's hand and granted him a nervous smile. “Is that what I'll have ahead of me inside?”

 

“That's minor. The other inmates are still the greatest threat in here; but, the guards are becoming more of a problem. When Gideon came in, he made it clear that he hated being around any minorities and demanded to be kept with the humans. He meant whites only. The prison isn't officially segregated; but, in an effort to reduce the violence, we have set up different areas for the major gang and crime family affiliations. Because of Gideon's vocal complaints, the lead guard, Wayne, made it a point to put him in a predominantly black section of the prison. Each time I've pushed to move him, the guards have complained that it would reward his behavior.”

 

“Aren't you afraid he's going to get killed?”

 

“I am. But, I have to deal with the guards. There are several who have gang affiliations, others who use the inmates as their private toys. It's almost impossible to get rid of the bad ones. Their union will do anything to protect them while ignoring the good ones.” The warden shrugged and shook his head. “Some don't care about the internal politics and are only here to do their jobs; but, the ones who have an ax to grind might cause problems if I appear to be favoring a white inmate over everyone else. Racial tensions are very high behind bars and our facility seems to be at the forefront in dealing with it.”

 

“New York has a lot of racial tension. The gangs are proof of that. It would have been too much to ask that this place be any different.”

 

The warden only nodded at that observation. “ A few things you'll need to know about Gideon and that area of the prison. First, Gideon is attacked on a daily basis. The other prisoner's know he doesn't want to be there, not just prison, but in the same area as they are. Second, while he hasn't reported being raped, I know there is at least one rape-gang trying to get him. I wish we could identify the individuals involved in those groups; but, everyone stays quiet because they don't want to be next on the list. Third, I noticed you have a bag of chocolate. That's going to come in handy. There are at least three inmates in your section who will do almost anything for chocolate. All of them are black; so, it won't work if you're representing yourself and a Gideon-clone. Even with the chocolate, there's a good chance they'll distrust you because of your appearance. Regardless, all three regularly try having drugs smuggled inside so they can trade it for chocolate. I guess it isn't good street-cred to have something as innocent as chocolate smuggled into a prison. You might want to have your `attorney' bring more in now that Wayne swiped most of your stash.”

 

“Are you willing to tell me their names and cells?” Berkley asked with a grin. “It would make my job easier.”

 

“No, they'll check you out right away when they see your medical alert bracelet. We don't normally permit them to be worn; so, they'll be very interested in why you get to keep yours. Once they hear you're a diabetic, they'll assume you have a sugar stash and will hit you up.” The warden frowned as he noticed Berkley's hands. “What happened? I know why your face is messed up. Why the hands?”

 

“I missed the step out of the van. The chain caught around my foot.”

 

The warden shook his head and sighed.

 

“I'll be all right. By the way, if we're in here much longer, Dee and Lincoln will suspect that you did the search after all.” Berkley forced himself to grin. “I can promise you; I don't have anything hidden in there.”

 

“Keep that sense of humor. You're going to need it. If you have any trouble, tell your attorney so he can relay the information to me. We won't have any more contact unless absolutely necessary.”

 

Berkley nodded. He knew that course was prudent. “I'm sure everything will be fine.”

 

“Hopefully.” The warden led the way out of the room and wasn't surprised to see Wayne and Blackwell back. They were in charge of the section where Berkley would be housed and rightfully the ones who would deliver him to his cell. “Everything checks out. Take him directly to his cell so he can get settled in.” Turning to Berkley, “You missed breakfast and lunch has already started. Dinner's at five.”

 

“Thank you.” Berkley's soft voice was barely audible and he kept his head down. He wasn't sure why; but, the pair of guards frightened him more than most of the criminals he'd arrested over his career.

 

“It talks,” Wayne said sarcastically. “You carry your own bags.” He tossed Berkley's large bag at him and laughed when it hit the floor at his feet.

 

“Yes, Sir.” Berkley picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder before placing the smaller of the other two bags inside the other and switching it to his left hand. He spared Dee a quickly glance and nodded slightly in an effort to let him know everything was all right. He'd have liked to be able to talk to his detective a little; but, he was already pushing his luck with the guards. Knowing a little more about the political situation inside was going to be helpful and knowing his chocolate stash was valuable was even better. He followed the two guards into the main section of the prison. When the heavy steel doors slammed shut, he had a moment of panic that mutated to sheer terror as soon as he heard the roar of the inmates reverberate through the hallway. “What the hell did I get into?” He asked himself. He spared a moment to reflect on the craziness he was embarking on.

 

“What are you! Too good to answer?” Wayne asked as he punched Berkley on the shoulder.

 

“I'm sorry, Sir. Um, what did you ask? The noise distracted me.” The commissioner was careful to keep his head down so he appeared as submissive and non-threatening as possible.

 

“Was the warden good? I really think I would have made you enjoy it a lot more.”

 

“It was embarrassing,” Berkley said as he raised his head slightly. He thought of the most embarrassing things that had ever happened to him and was thankful when he felt a blush spread over his face.

 

“Yeah. Embarrassing,” The guard scoffed. As he turned away, Berkley swore he heard him say, “We'll have to see if my way is embarrassing.” But, he couldn't be sure.

 

As they walked through the noisy hallways, Berkley was glad most of the cells were empty. The inmates must have been in the cafeteria, wherever that was. They'd arrived at a perfect time since it would provide him a chance to settle into the cell and orient himself to his surroundings before having to deal with Gideon and the other inmates.

 

“In there,” Wayne growled as he shoved the commissioner toward an open cell. “The other whitey uses the top bunk so you're the bottom. I think you're smart enough to figure out everything else on your own.” He slammed the door after Berkley was inside.

 

“Great. Now what,” Berkley whispered. He changed out of the orange jumpsuit and put on a clean pair of jeans and loose sweatshirt with front pocket, before quickly unpacked his clothing, arranging everything neatly on the shelves and hooks Gideon wasn't using. The bag with the wires hung on the hook nearest their beds. He assumed that would be where they would do most of their talking, if they talked at all. After hesitating a minute, Berkley also unpacked the other two bags, placing their contents on the last open shelf. He looked around the cell and was oddly relieved the toilet was partially hidden by some of the shelves. The stainless steel looked cold and stark and he knew it would be cold in the middle of the night. “This is not going to be a walk in the park.”

 

After glancing around the cell for several more minutes, he realized the noise in the hallway had increased slightly. He assumed the inmates were returning from lunch and decided to use his last few minutes of privacy to go use the toilet and settle into his bed. When Gideon was shoved into the cell, he was slouched on the lower bunk.

 

“So you're the new guy. At least they gave me a human for a cellmate.”

 

Gideon's voice was not what Berkley had expected. The rich, cultured tenor wasn't that different from his own. His physical appearance wasn't what up to expectations either. The convict was short. He'd known that from the arrest record. What hadn't been mentioned was the rest of the picture. Gideon was slim, even slimmer than J.J., who was one of the thinnest men Berkley knew. His hair was more brown than blond and he wore it neatly trimmed with his face clearly visible. His clothing, while creased, was neat and clean and had once been expensive. “I'm Albert Schmidt.” Berkley introduced himself and offered his hand.

 

“Good name and looks.” Gideon ignored Berkley's hand and simply studied him. “Schmidt. Hmm.” With that, the small man climbed to the top bunk and flopped down. “I'm Gideon. Just don't bother me and we'll get along fine.”

 

“Okay,” Berkley laid back and wondered if this was going to be what every day would be like until he gave up on trying to get answers. He hadn't expected Gideon to trust him from first glance; but, he would have preferred some kind of dialogue. He let his eyes drift closed and surprised himself by falling to sleep.

 

“Hey, new guy. Wake up,” The inmate prompted before poking Berkley in the side. “What was your name again?”

 

“Albert Schmidt.” Berkley sat up and banged his head on the underside of the top bunk. “Ouch.” He rubbed his head and climbed out of the bed more carefully. As he stretched to his full height, he pulled his hand away and was surprised not to see blood on it. “I'm sorry. What did you need me for?”

 

Gideon raked his eyes over Berkley's legs and body before focusing on his face. “It's time for dinner.” He gave his cellmate a wry grin. “Well, he's not bad.”

 

“I am hungry,” Berkley admitted. “What's the procedure here?”

 

“Never been to maximum security before?”

 

Berkley shook his head. “I was at Rikers. Ended up here because of some moron that didn't know its place.”

 

“Hmm.” Gideon nodded. “Well, they'll line us all up outside our cells and then march us to the cafeteria. We'll end up last in line. Don't expect anything to still be hot, or cold, when you get it. Then, we find a table, eat, and they march us back here. It'll be lights out at ten.”

 

“Not much difference from Rikers.” Berkley shrugged.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Get out here, Whiteys,” Wayne called from the cell door. When Gideon and Berkley were standing in the hallway, he grabbed Berkley's face and leaned close. “You want to go to the front of the line, let's check out the showers. I'll rock your world and you'll get something fresh to eat. Very fresh,” He hissed. “I can't say it's clean.”

 

Berkley pulled his face away and growled low in his throat. He expected to be intimidated by the inmates; he'd figured he'd be safe from the guards.

 

“You're feisty now. You won't be in a few days. You'll beg me for some help.” Wayne brushed his hands through Berkley's hair and caressed the side of his face before turning away to direct traffic.

 

“Damn,” Berkley said as he grimaced. He felt like a piece of meat and desperately wanted to take a shower.

 

“Yeah. He harassed me until you came. Now he's got his eyes on you.” He snorted in irritation. “You'd think he'd stick with his species instead of setting his sites on a human to humiliate.”

 

“You said it,” Berkley said. He knew he'd have to be careful. He wanted Gideon to suspect they were alike in their beliefs; but, he didn't want to come on so strong that it would scare the other man off. “I need a shower.”

 

“You can rinse off in the sink. We won't get a shower until tomorrow morning.” The people around them started moving and the pair fell into step.

 

“Isn't there someone who can stop him from doing that?”

 

“Nope,” Gideon said sharply. “Most of the guards are black or brown and the few whites have learned to keep their mouths shut. If you complain, you end up being harassed even more. If it's an inmate, fight back. The guards,” He shrugged and shook his head. “We're on our own.”

 

When they entered the cafeteria, Berkley almost turned to run back to the cell. There were several hundred men packed into the room and the noise was almost unbearable. He swallowed hard and rubbed his nose. The smell of sweat, food in various states of freshness, and an underlying hint of excrement permeated the air causing him to gag.

 

“You'll get used to it,” Gideon said as he moved into Berkley's personal space.

 

The blond assumed the close contact was so Gideon could speak in a normal tone of voice and he chose to ignore the behavior. Normally, he would have pulled away at the invasion; but, under the circumstances, contact with someone who wasn't threatening him or feeling him up was actually welcoming. True to Gideon's earlier description, they were the last two served and the food was cold while the bottled water was room temperature.

 

Gideon led the way to the farthest table, near one of the few white guards. “Sit down. We're safe over here.” He took a seat and ate, hunched over his food.

 

Berkley attempted to appear more civilized and carefully ate his food, sitting straight while scanning the room, trying to make sense of everything. He'd only finished a third of his food when Wayne came over and struck his shoulder.

 

“Come on, Fancy. Dinnertime's over; more it,” He growled before laughing at Berkley's shocked expression. “What, Pretty Boy, did you think you'd get all night to eat?”

 

Berkley watched as Wayne walked away, still laughing. “I thought I'd get a little more time.” He turned back to Gideon.

 

“We don't get any more time just because we're last to be served.” He shook his head and gave Berkley a sad smile.

 

“Where do we put out trays?”

 

“You really are civilized. I'll show you.” He nodded toward one of the corners of the room where a large number of inmates were milling. “What brought you here anyway?”

 

Berkley looked suspiciously at the small man and acted as if he hadn't heard the question. He wasn't sure if he wanted to get into anything serious yet. He'd barely spoken to the guy and didn't want to give out too much information without getting anything in return.

 

“Just slide the tray through the window like you did in school.” Gideon put the words into action.

 

“One minute,” Berkley rolled the last few pieces of meat between two slices of bread and tucked the sandwich into the pocket of his sweatshirt.

 

“Slick,” Gideon said approvingly. “Just don't let the guards catch you. You're not allowed to remove food from the cafeteria.”

 

“I won't tell if you don't.” Berkley smirked. He was beginning to understand what it would take to survive in here. With the added pressure of guards making his life difficult, he'd have to develop new skills.

 

“No problem,” Gideon whispered before turning toward the exit. “We need to get lined up. You're all right Schmidt.”

 

“Thanks, so are you.” Berkley was surprised that he actually meant it. He new his usual behavior wouldn't work in here. He didn't have any back up and these people, convicts and guards, were playing from a different playbook that he didn't understand. Oddly enough, knowing the small man beside him had survived this long gave him confidence that he, too, would survive.

 

The walk back to the cell was uneventful. A couple of inmates got into a pushing match; but, nothing came of it. At the cell, Berkley and Gideon waited until their door was opened.

 

“I saw the food,” Wayne whispered as he pressed his hand against the front pocket of Berkley's sweatshirt. “I'll overlook it this time, for a price.” He pushed Berkley against the bars and rubbed his hands along his sides before leaning in to kiss him.

 

“Get off me,” Berkley said as he pushed the guard away. “Take the food, I'm not dealing for the right to eat. I'm off limits.”

 

Wayne shook his head and licked his lips, suggestively before opening the door and pushing the pair inside. “I don't want your food. I want your ass.”

 

Berkley sat on his bunk and folded himself in the furthest corner of it. He sat quietly for a couple of minutes before realizing that he still had the sandwich he'd made. “You didn't eat much, Gideon. Would you like half my sandwich?”

 

“Yeah, thanks.” Gideon took the offered food and sat in the desk chair. “You've never done time before.” He knew he was stating the obvious.

 

“No, never,” Berkley bit into the sandwich and chewed it slowly. Strangely the forbidden food tasted wonderful. “I shouldn't be here now either.”

 

“Why are you in here?”

 

Berkley knew he couldn't avoid the question forever and decided to deal with it now. He took another bit of his sandwich and waited until he'd chewed and swallowed it before launching into his cover story. “I was picked up in Washington DC because I believe in the second amendment. You can't trust those minority-loving liberals down there. Turns out the cops up here think I was involved in that bank heist a couple years ago and had me extradited. They arraigned me and tossed me in Rikers with a bunch of brown-gang members. Two of them jumped me, one had a knife and the other a board; so, I fought back. They're still sitting pretty; but, I'm stuck in here. My attorney hasn't even been informed of where I'm at.” Berkley shrugged and took another bit of the sandwich. When he'd swallowed it, he continued. “At least when I left, he hadn't been told, yet. This will jeopardize my defense because I don't have easy access to my attorney and he can't even get to me in a timely manner.” He finished the last bite of his sandwich.

 

“That's a bitch. I think the people who run these prisons are nothing but minority-loving bastards. If a person's attacked, they assume we were asking for it or provoked the animals in some way. We need the animals put back in zoos; so, we can be safe. Hell, a woman can't even walk down the street without fear of being attacked by those creatures.” Gideon ate the last piece of his sandwich and nodded toward Berkley. “Thanks for the sandwich. It was delicious.”

 

“Made sweeter that we still got to keep it even though we were caught.” Berkley smirked.

 

“Yeah, Schmidt, you're all right.” Gideon grabbed a stack of printouts and climbed into his bunk. “You should check something out of the library tomorrow. It gets boring in here if you just stare at the ceiling, or my ass.” He hung over the edge and looked at Berkley. “Unless you like my ass.” He chuckled when the older man glared at him; then disappeared back onto the top bunk.

 

“What the hell did I get into?” Berkley asked himself as he laid back and thought about what he'd already learned. Almost an hour later, he realized that he had a lot to learn about surviving inside. An hour later, he was fast asleep; the stress of the last several days had taken a toll on him.

 

Berkley woke with a groan and momentary confusion of where he was. He knew he wasn't in his bed; the hard, narrow mattress was nothing like the normal chambered air mattress he had at home. The assortment of noises that filtered into his brain, were out of place as well. He cracked his eyes and looked around at a world out of focus. The dingy gray of the walls and the hint of a metallic clang in the distance reminded him of where he was, what he was doing, and most importantly, who he was supposed to be. “I thought I fell asleep with my glasses on.” He rubbed his eyes and searched around his head for his lenses. “Gideon?” He asked quietly.

 

“You're awake,” Gideon said as he came into Berkley's field of vision. “Your glasses were on the floor. I put them on the desk. You're lucky; I almost stepped on them when I woke up.” He handed the frames over and Berkley quickly put them on, bringing the world into focus.

 

“Thank you. I hadn't expected to fall asleep at all in here.” Berkley frowned and sat up, leaning outside the bunk area so he didn't bash his head again.

 

“You're sporting a nice bruise there,” Gideon observed. “You didn't sleep well at Rikers?”

 

Berkley stood and stretched. “Not at all. The guy they put me in with thought I was his new wife. How bad is that here?”

 

“Worse than Rikers,” Gideon said, his apprehension clearly evident in the tone of his voice. “These guys act like they're entitled to screw you just because you're here.”

 

“Great,” Berkley said sarcastically.

 

“You shouldn't have many problems. You're bigger than most of the guys here.” A bell-tone rang at the end of the hallway, drawing Gideon's attention. “Get ready for breakfast, the guards will be here in ten minutes.”

 

Even though he had an urgent need to go to the bathroom, the thought of using the toilet with another person nearby disturbed Berkley. He knew he didn't have a choice; but, it still bothered him. “Some things should be taken care of in private,” He thought as he went to the bathroom. “It's going to be worse when I've got to do more than piss.” After washing his hands, he washed off his face and saw the accuracy of Gideon's earlier observation. Even the bruising from Dee's punches was worse. With a sigh, he went to his clothing and picked out clean items to wear. He smiled when he noticed a few things moved and two chocolate bars missing.

 

“I love chocolate,” Gideon confessed from his seat at the desk.

 

“That explains the missing candy bars. Just don't eat all of them. I'm a diabetic and if my blood sugar drops too low, I'll need them. Plus, I prefer the dark chocolate since they seem to hit my system more quickly.”

 

“I don't like dark chocolate; so, don't worry about those.” Gideon was pleased that his cellmate didn't seem angry about the missing bars. “Do you want anything in trade?”

 

“Not right now. I'll come up with something eventually.” Berkley grinned inside. He began changing clothes being careful to turn toward Gideon so the bruises on his ribs and stomach would be clearly visible. “Since I've got them, I'll flaunt them.” He could feel the convict's eyes on him, studying how he moved and looked.

 

“Wow, nice,” Gideon whispered under his breath. When Berkley's torso was bared, he sucked in a breath. “He was in a fight. He isn't having trouble moving; so, he's definitely tough. Very nice muscles,” He thought as Berkley stretched his shoulders and neck to work out the stiffness that had settled there because of the poor mattress. As the commissioner removed his pants and underwear, the other man got even more of an eyeful. “Very nice, I wouldn't mind keeping you around just for your looks.” Gideon had admitted long ago that he was attracted to men. He'd met several over the years that he'd been interested in; but, they were inevitably straight or else not interested in him. This man fit every wish he'd ever had about another man. When Berkley glanced at him, Gideon looked away, embarrassed at being caught studying the stranger so closely.

 

Berkley arched an eyebrow when he caught the other man looking at him. “Interesting.” He filed the information away in his brain and hoped the look meant what it he thought it did. “It would make my job easier.” He dressed quickly and sat on the bed to tie his shoes. “So, what do they usually feed us for breakfast? I'm not looking forward to cold eggs.”

 

“Huh? Oh, sorry, my mind was elsewhere,” Gideon managed to sputter out. “Cold eggs aren't as bad as cold bacon or cereal with warm milk.”

 

Berkley grimaced over the thought of warm milk. “Yeah. I'll take the cold eggs. Cold bacon isn't bad if you put it on bread and call it a sandwich.”

 

Gideon chuckled. “Maybe you can bring back a couple of bacon sandwiches. You've got another one of those sweatshirts.” He leaned back in the desk chair and grinned. “Those should be required issuance for inmates.”

 

“Maybe,” Berkley shrugged.

 

“You guys ready?” A guard asked from the passageway.

 

“Yes,” Gideon answered quickly. He leaned toward Berkley and whispered in his ear, his lips almost brushing the blondes skin. “This is going to be a good day. Blackwell and Wayne are off.”

 

Berkley almost sighed in relief. At least he wasn't going to have to ward off the aggressive advances and threats of the harassing guard. “That is good.” Berkley pulled away as he spoke; but, he spared the other man a confused smile. “I never moved this fast, did I?”

 

“Move it you two,” The guard said as he opened the door. “Go to the cafeteria now.”

 

Berkley looked shocked at the man and almost thanked him for his kindness.

 

“Shh,” Gideon said with a warning shake of his head. “If you say anything, it'll get him in trouble with the animals. Jacob's a good guy and one of the few white guards. He works the days Blackwell's off; so, we won't have to deal with that mongrel. But, it means Wayne's here somewhere; probably getting his rocks off.”

 

Not knowing what to say, Berkley stayed silent and went to the cafeteria with his cellmate.

 

“Hot food.” Gideon's pleasure was evident.

 

Berkley was amazed at the quantity of food and the difference in smell from last night. He looked everything over before piling a plate full of scrambled eggs, bacon dripping in grease, and toast fresh from the toaster, that were coated in butter. “Is there tea?”

 

“Yeah, over there,” Gideon pointed with a piece of bacon. “You should get coffee.”

 

“I prefer tea.” Berkley went to the area Gideon had indicated and made a cup of tea and finished it off to his liking. After adding a cup of juice on his way to the table Gideon had sat down at, he realized how hungry he was. He took a chair next to his cellmate and began eating.

 

The roar of the other inmates quickly filled the large space. The threatening glares from many of the other inmates in his section made him extra glad that he was seated in a defensible position with his back against a wall. “At least they can't get behind me to attack me.” That thought made him aware that Gideon had placed him in a position where he would be a wall between the other inmates and the white supremacist. “He's already treating me like a protector.” He finished his food and sat back with a contented sigh. He'd eaten far more than normal for a breakfast; but, he wasn't sure when he'd get the chance to have a comfortable meal again. If dinner were an indicator of the norm, he wouldn't see another full meal for several days.

 

“Jacob wants us to leave. That probably means Wayne's on the prowl again.” Gideon stood and waited for Berkley to move. The pair quickly disposed of their trays and went over to the guard.

 

“Gideon, I'll get you back to your cell. Albert Schmidt?” He asked, looking directly at Berkley.

 

“Yes.”

 

“There's someone in the reception area who needs to see you. I was told to have you escorted there immediately. When you're finished, you'll hit the showers. Mr. Taylor will take you to your meeting.” Jacob quickly left with Gideon.

 

“Come on,” Mr. Taylor said as he nodded in the opposite direction. “Don't know why you're so special. Visiting hours aren't supposed be until ten.”

 

“Maybe they realized they made a mistake and are going to release me.”

 

“Fat chance. None of you guys are innocent.”

 

Berkley didn't continue the conversation.

 

“Your visitor is at table five.” Mr. Taylor opened the gate and allowed Berkley through.

 

The commissioner walked into the visitation area and immediately noted the lack of privacy. There were cameras covering the entire room and several guards posted. He was shocked to see the chief sitting at table five.

 

The chief was almost dancing in his seat; he felt as if he'd been waiting a year. When Berkley stepped next to the table, he visibly jumped. “Sir,” He said before he caught himself. “Schmidt.”

 

“Yes.” Berkley took the seat opposite the chief. “What's wrong?” He dropped his voice so only the man opposite would hear him.

 

“Ryo wasn't able to get the recording device set up yesterday. That's not it. He got it set up; but, it doesn't work. The walls in this place prevent the system from picking up the signal. The tech is going to try rigging something up that will work; but, right now, there's no recording. We're not even sure the panic alarm will work. That's why I'm here. Test it out, if it works, the warden will call my pager. If it doesn't work, I'm taking you out of here now.” When Berkley opened his mouth to object, he held up his hand. “You outrank me; but, I'm still the chief of homicide and this case is under my jurisdiction. I will pull you if the risk becomes too high.”

 

Berkley nodded his head and tried the alarm. He held the button for a thirty count and watched the chief for any indication his pager was vibrating. “Nothing?” The chief shook his head. “I'll try again.” He did, this time holding the button for a forty count. This time it must have worked because the chief grabbed at his waist to turn off the vibrating pager.

 

“He messaged that he got to signals. At least that thing works. Ryo's working with the electronics lab to try to figure something out that will allow recording. He'll probably need your bag.”

 

“So he can replace the broadcast units,” Berkley finished. “I don't know how you can get them.”

 

“I'll talk to the warden. He should be able to come up with something.” The chief relaxed a little and looked at the head of his precinct. “You looked like you slept.”

 

“Surprisingly, I did. My cellmate doesn't seem threatening; but, the other inmates in my section are threatening. Also, there are some guards who should be on the other side of the bars.”

 

“J.J. will be here around one this afternoon. When Dee updated me this morning, he mentioned that he's sending several things for you to read.” The chief scratched the side of his head and thought about what else he could say.

 

“Chief, I'm fine. I'm going to be all right. We'll get the answers we need and move on from there.” Berkley knew the old man was stalling and tried putting him at ease. They both new it was faked; but, they both felt better for the subterfuge.

 

“Okay, I shouldn't be back unless there's a problem. Be careful.” He stood and quickly left the room, leaving Berkley alone with his thoughts.

 

“Come on, Schmidt,” The guard from earlier said from the doorway.

 

“I'm coming.” Berkley hurried to the door and came face-to-face with not only Mr. Taylor but the guard everyone called Wayne. “Ah, hell,” He thought and hoped the sentiment didn't reach his expression.

 

“I'll escort you back to your cell, and the showers,” Wayne's voice seemed especially evil in light of the failure of the recording device.

 

Berkley fought to stay quiet and followed Wayne out of the less protected areas of the visitation and private areas where an inmate could visit with his attorney. He wasn't paying attention and ran into the guard when he stopped in front of him. He made the mistake of looking up and locked eyes with him. He didn't look away quickly enough and saw anger spread through his eyes. When he did look away, it caused the guard to laugh.

 

“Yeah. That's right; look away.” Wayne brushed his fingers over Berkley's jaw before rubbing his thumb over his lips.

 

Berkley jerked away from his touch. The combined reek of sex and too much aftershave offended his sense of smell.

 

“You will not look away,” Wayne hissed as he forced Berkley to look at him.

 

This time, Berkley didn't look away. His expression hardened, the narrowed eyes, clenched teeth, and blossoming range in his eyes, were clearly visible. Even if it caused him problems later, he wasn't going to let this bully play around with him.

 

“You've got some spirit. I'm going to enjoy watching them break you.”

 

That comment surprised Berkley and it must have shown on his face because the guard released him and finished leading him to his cell. The commissioner gathered what he would need for the shower, foregoing a change of clothing. What he was wearing was still clean; so, he'd redress in it. He followed Wayne to the showers in silence and sighed in relief when the man walked away. His relief was short lived when the sounds of fighting drifted through the closed door. For a moment, he thought of telling the guard there was something amiss in the showers. “A moment of stupidity,” Berkley admonished himself.

 

He entered the shower area and grabbed a towel before being handed a locker key by the guard inside a small caged area. The commissioner had to wonder why the man wasn't doing anything about the fighting that was easily heard. He looked at the key number, went to the locker, quickly undressed, then took his necessities and towel, and headed into the main shower area. He wasn't surprised to see a large communal shower instead of separate personal stalls. What he was surprised to see were several black inmates striking and grabbing at Gideon. Even thought he knew the small man was being attacked, the evidence was something else entirely. He quickly surveyed the space, taking special note that there was only one towel and personal items in the shower area. It fit with the fact the men, other than Gideon, were fully dressed.

 

“Well, this was one of the scenarios I thought would work in my favor. Let's see if I can make something of it,” Berkley put his things next to Gideon's and stepped into the showers. Two men looked up at his approach. They quickly discounted him. “I guess a naked man doesn't seem threatening.” He'd never tried fighting without clothing before; but, figured it couldn't be that difficult. He chuckled as he thought about giving them a verbal warning; the moment passed and the reality of the situation and surroundings meant he didn't have to give a warning. He stepped up to the closest man and cold-cocked him. As he fell, three men broke off from the attack on Gideon. They realized the naked old man wasn't someone to be discounted.

 

“Fuck off, Bastard,” The ringleader said. “We got nothin' for ya. Leave and you don't get hurt. We just wanna play here. He's wantin' it.”

 

“Fuck you, Bastard. That's my cellmate and he doesn't play with animals.” Berkley kicked the guy he'd punched initially to make sure he would stay down; then moved onto the next man. This one didn't go down as easily because he had a warning. The commissioner caught him with several solid punches and was surprised when he didn't drop. Berkley hit him three more times and was rewarded when the man slammed into the wall and sagged to his butt.

 

“Fucking cock-sucker!” “White bastard!” The next two attackers cried out as they came at Berkley.

 

It had been many years since Berkley had participated in live combat. He trained regularly; but, he hadn't trained against someone in quite a while. He sidestepped the first man and hip-tossed the second, kicking him as soon as he was flat on the shower floor. He caught the first man with a direct punch to the chest when he charged him again. He turned toward the other two attackers and was surprised they were still holding Gideon's arms. “Release him.” His voice was full of authority and showed he wasn't afraid of them.

 

“Fuck you,” The ringleader repeated.

 

“You forgot to say, Bastard,” Berkley said sarcastically. He stepped up to the man and got directly in his face. The fact that he was several inches taller made it easier to appear intimidating. “What do you say?”

 

“Fuck you, Bastard,” He spat out.

 

“That's what I thought.” Berkley started to turn away before grinning. The grin was the last thing the inmate saw before hitting the shower wall. “Your turn?” He asked as he turned to the last attacker.

 

“Nope. I'm out'a here.” He made good on his words and rushed from the shower area.

 

“You okay?” Berkley asked his cellmate.

 

“Ah, yeah.” He looked at the fallen men, only a couple of them were moving, the rest were out cold. “You should shower; so, we get out of here quickly. Wayne's here and will come looking for his boys when they don't come out.”

 

“He needs to get new boys.” Berkley smirked. “I've still got it.” He got his shower supplies and left his glasses next to his towel. As he showered still chuckling softly to himself, he watched as Gideon milled around splitting his time staring at him and at the fallen men who were just starting to become aware of what had happened. “Like what you see?” He asked as he flipped off the water and went to dry off.

 

“Ah, yeah,” Gideon stuttered.