“Wasn’t listening at all, you sap.”
2.
Despite trying to find out, none of us knew why the pair were secretive. I decided to pay Frank a visit myself, to see whether I could get to the bottom of it. As I reached the top of the stairs, Nails was leaning on the guard rails outside of Frank’s cell.
He eyed me suspiciously but didn’t speak. I half-expected him to challenge me, but Nails simply continued watching the unit as I knocked on Frank’s door.
“Come,” Frank’s voice yelled out and I pushed the door open and peered inside.
“Ah, Dylan my boy,’ he said, waving me in from his bunk. He was sitting with his back against the wall, reading the daily newspaper. “What brings you here today?”
“Just thought I’d drop by before work. You know, catch up and stuff,” I said, taking a seat on the chair he had near his desk.
“Ah nice, always a pleasure. Any issues there? At work, I mean?”
“No, not at all. Sad to see Friendly go but her replacement seems OK.”
“Ah yes, Jackie’s replacement. I have it on good authority that there will be 2 new faces in the quack wing soon. Both from the new course. Maybe offer each of them a cell, if you catch my meaning.”
I groaned inside, Sam’s face staring back at me from another time. Frank must have picked up on it, laying the newspaper down in his lap.
“Sheep, remember?” he said.
“I know. Listen, I was wondering if everything was OK? Some of the boys seem a little concerned.” I tried to make it sound a bit off the cuff, but in true Frank style, he saw through me.
“If Hal and Jack have a problem, let them come and see me themselves. Don’t be their little bitch, running in here for them.” I was expecting him to explode, but instead he remained composed. And then it happened. It was the look he gave me, one that instantly took me back to another time.
The place that look took me was in that very same cell, a couple of years before when I was listening to Frank and Danny plan the hit on Nick the Greek that never happened. Their deceptive grins, the wink they shot at each other, it all came flooding back as Frank now looked at me.
Both Hal and Jack had been right. Frank was up to something; something he didn’t want me, or anyone else, knowing what it was, but I knew. There was something behind his deceptive grin that he wanted me to see, wanted me to be aware of, but what it was would remain a secret until a time of his choosing.
“Everything alright?” he asked as I stared at him.
“Yah, listen, the lads didn’t send me. I came by myself. I really just wanted to, you know, touch base a bit.” He looked at me for a moment longer then resumed his newspaper.
“There’s a shipment due in this afternoon that needs to come directly to me,” he said, ignoring my comment. “It’ll be in a small pillow case on the linen truck. Think you can find it?” I nodded and stood; positive I wasn’t going to get the answers I was looking for.
“Sure thing, Frank.” He didn’t stop me, not even bothering to watch me leave. Frank continued to read his paper as I turned and walked out. Nails was still leaning on the railing outside, him also remaining neutral to my presence. I closed the door and returned to my cell, an uneasy feeling continuing to build.
3.
It was a revolver that turned up in the delivery of linen the next day. I didn’t know too much about guns, but from I’d seen on TV, it appeared to be a 38, the kind worn by a lot of the cops on shows I regularly tuned in to.
There were also half a dozen bullets, rolled up in a small swatch of fabric. Every prisoner was given a carton of milk each day and it was in mine that I hid the gun, after draining the carton’s contents first. I first stuffed a torn pillow case into the bottom of the carton, jammed the gun inside and then topped it with more pillow case to stop the cargo from rattling around inside.
It was a nervous wait to get my cargo back to the unit. There were still a few hours to go and if anyone decided to ramp the unit, I would be fucked, caught with my pants down and nowhere to run.
As if on cue, I heard the doors to the toilets slam open out in the hall, followed by the distinct clip-clop of bootheels on the linoleum floor. By the spring in their step, I knew it was members of the Tactical Unit. They just had a certain sound to them, the air itself changing volume whenever they entered an area. Another door slammed open, the sniffer dogs seeking me out.
“Billet!” someone shouted, the voice bouncing off the walls.
“In here,” I called back, the milk carton in my hand. I panicked, picked up a bucket and was about to hide the carton underneath it when my time ran out. I turned to see 2 Tactical screws looking in at me. I had a bucket in one hand and a milk carton containing a handgun and ammunition in the other.
My heart had dropped into my stomach, pounding away like a John Bonham rift on steroids. I could feel my cheeks start to burn as their eyes drilled into me. One of the screws, a prick called Daniel McPherson, took a step into the room and looked around, as if searching for something.
“What are you doing back here?” he asked. Just as I thought the game was over, the other one spoke up, probably saving me.
“Come on, kid. Bring your mop and bucket. And a blood-spill kit.” I waited as the second officer turned and walked
