The Patch was a special unit where old-timers saw out their twilight years. It had a population of around 35, all sentenced to life and all over the age of 60. They worked specific jobs around the prison, including the library and some academic roles for a few screws and administration staff.
Each time Li or Joe wheeled their trolley in, several books on the top shelf would be hollowed out, perfect for hiding anything we needed to move around. Because they visited every unit throughout the week, it made them an especially valuable commodity in the transportation chain.
There were numerous ways to move shit around the Palace, including officers and prisoners. If someone was discharged from our unit and sent back to their own after a sickness or injury, I would be sure to add a little something to their take-home bag. Thefts were very rare and when they did occur, drew immediate wrath that often resulted in them returning to the medical unit with a fresh batch of injuries.
Yup, life was grand in the medical wing. I had a regular job I enjoyed and a regular hobby I loved. While one relied on a mop, the other relied on cunning. And as weeks turned into months and months into years, I was busy planning my revenge.
Chapter 2
1.
Frank and Nails ran the unit with infantry-like efficiency, continuing to offer ‘protection’ to those willing to pay with drugs, cash and other special favours. Nails opted for Razzie to join him on his daily rounds, acting as a pure lookout while Nails did the intimidating. His arrogance grew with each day, putting even the late Tommy White to shame.
But Frank seemed to enjoy his new right-hand man. I would often see them banter on the top deck when I returned from work each day. The relationship between Frank and myself was strained as far as I was concerned, but I didn’t let it show. As far as Frank knew, we were good. I was doing my job and making him money, lots of it. While I wasn’t too fussed about my own cut of the cash, it helped with my growing shopping list.
It seemed that the more I worked out and built myself up, the more food I needed, especially protein powder. I also began to eat a much cleaner diet, avoiding prison-cooked food for the most part. I could purchase what I needed with relative ease, not only because of the money I made from my day job, but also because of San.
2.
San disappeared from the unit a few days after the Traiforous girl was killed. We hadn’t exchanged a single word on the matter, nor to each other and I wasn’t surprised to learn that he’d left without saying goodbye.
His sentence was simply over, the lucky prick getting early parole. The money worked in his favour on that occasion and I doubt he minded the prospect of home-cooked meals again.
I didn’t take his leaving without a farewell to heart, understanding that it must have been hard for him. I’d grown to understand his reasons for the things he did to my family, even feeling a kind of forgiveness. I doubt whether things were easier now that we opened communication lines between us and the murder didn’t help the situation.
It took him a few months to work up the courage to make the first move, eventually paying me a visit. It wasn’t a very long one, but for what it’s worth, it helped the both of us. The conversation was a little bit one-sided, but what words we did have, probably saved our relationship.
He dropped by unannounced on a Sunday afternoon. I wasn’t expecting anyone and thus had been laying back on my bed, reading one of Jack’s old additions to his library. He was an amazing writer and I sometimes found myself wanting to read his work more than King’s.
Anyway, the officers on duty summoned me to the station, handed me the slip and sent me on my way. There wasn’t really anyone else it could have been, so wasn’t that surprised to find him sitting at one of the visitor tables. The irony was that the table was the same one where my final visit had been with Rhonda.
“Hey, kid,” San said, rising in his chair a little and shaking my hand. I shook, smiled and sat, all in one motion. We sat in silence for a few moments and I began to wonder if he was going to feed me some preaching stuff, maybe to make himself feel a little better. But he didn’t.
“How ya been keeping?”
“Not bad,” I replied, reaching for the chocolate he’d broken apart on the table. I popped one in my mouth, meeting San’s gaze again.
“How’s the unit? Everyone still getting on?” It wasn’t really a question that needed answering, simply nodding. I knew he wanted to ask me a specific question. I waited patiently waiting for him to build the courage to ask. He looked at a patch of linoleum that didn’t match the rest. It was about 10 feet by 10 feet, a significant piece that looked out of place.
“Is that where it happened?” he asked, staring at the ground where a grieving Nick cradled the corpse of his eldest child. He turned back to me, looking into my eyes, but trying to delve deeper. I could feel the questions burning into him behind his gaze and wanted to tell him everything. But part of me wanted to hear him ask. I wanted to know what he thought of me.
“Did you know?” was what he said next. It was the only question that really mattered. One that had probably kept him awake at night. He wanted
