Eventually, Bunny, Blake and Truant reached the sixth floor.
One cell they passed contained an alarmingly thin man with a long beard who was wearing a bedsheet.
Blake brought Bunny to a stop. “You a religious man, Rourke?”
“I have my moments.”
“Excellent. Well, in that case, meet our very own Jesus.” Blake raised his voice. “How are you this evening, O holy one?”
The man stretched out his hands and, with a beatific expression, looked up at the ceiling. “Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.”
Bunny noticed the cellmate, a guy with one arm, who didn’t even look up from the book he was reading. Doubly impressive considering he was holding it upside down.
Truant laughed. “Yeah. What Jesus here did was vehicular manslaughter while out of his frickin’ mind on PCP. Forgive that too, you dumb fuck.”
Blake sighed. “Charming as always, Truant.”
Bunny felt a push in the back and walked on obediently. They passed another cell in which a man was making braying noises, and another in which a man sat on the floor, rocking back and forth.
Blake came to a halt outside another cell, where an Asian-American gent with tightly cropped white hair lay on the bottom bunk with a book, his reading spectacles balanced on his nose. On the top bunk, a shaven-headed black man wearing headphones was listening to a Walkman. An actual Walkman. Bunny hadn’t seen one for decades. The cell was notable for being the first Bunny had seen that crossed racial lines.
“This here is Cuts,” said Blake.
The Asian man moved his book down and gave Bunny a nod. “I must admit I didn't think much of Andy DuFresne first time I laid eyes on him; looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over. That was my first impression of the man.”
“Cuts talks all kinds of crap,” said Truant.
Blake turned to his younger colleague, genuine disappointment in his eyes. “How can a man work in the penal system and never have seen Shawshank?”
“What?” said Truant, which Blake entirely ignored.
“Cuts here is your hall monitor. He’ll explain the boring stuff about how everything works. At least, he will do when he deigns to speak in something more than movie quotes.”
Cuts nodded. “I’m tired, boss. Mostly, I’m tired of people being ugly to each other.”
“What can I tell you?” said Blake. “Every landing needs a prefect, and he’s the closest to sane you get up in the belfry. Top bunk is Harsh. You’re in for a treat there.” He pointed at the next cell along. “Rourke here is sharing with the Quiet Man.”
This caused Cuts to raise both eyebrows.
“Yeah, I know,” said Blake, as he nudged Bunny forward.
Without looking back, Bunny spoke: “There’s no place like home.”
Blake sighed. “You two are going to get on like a house on fire.”
The trio stopped just before the end of the landing. One last cell before a brick wall that blocked it off from the other cells. Before they entered, Blake spun Bunny around and backed him up against the bars.
“Now, Mr Rourke, do I need to remind you of the rules explained to you earlier?”
“No, sir,” said Bunny.
“Good. Because, just so we’re clear …” Blake leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Any violation of them, and you leave here in a body bag.”
Bunny gave a curt nod.
“I’m so glad we understand each other.”
Blake whirled Bunny back around, released the cuffs and pushed him into the cell, where a large shaven-headed man lay on the top bunk. Bunny noted that he wasn’t wearing the mask that he’d seen on the footage, and he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He only caught a glimpse of a chubby face before it disappeared back behind a comic book.
The cell was neat. A row of books was carefully lined up on one shelf, ordered by size. A kettle and some toiletries sat on the second shelf. In one corner, sitting atop a padlocked locker, was a small, portable TV. In the other corner was the toilet, a white sheet hanging across to offer a modicum of privacy.
“Oh, and Rourke,” said Blake, causing Bunny to turn around. “I meant to ask, are you hungry?”
“I’m starving.”
“Great. You should have been here for dinner an hour ago. Time-keeping is important in a place like this.”
Truant laughed at this like it was the funniest thing ever and then tossed Bunny’s stuff onto the floor.
“Ah, come on, lads,” said Bunny. “I’m famished.”
“Welcome to life in Longhurst,” said Blake. He pointed at the camera above his head that covered the cell and smiled. “And remember, Rourke, Big Brother is watching.”
It was odd to be in a room with somebody and not speak to them. It was odder still, seeing as Bunny desperately needed the toilet. He moved across and went, feeling the camera burning into his back as he stood there, peeing. It was going to be hard to get used to this. As he scanned the toiletries, he noticed that his cellmate had a toothbrush fit for a human, as opposed to a chipmunk, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.
Just as he flushed, he heard a voice outside hollering, “Count!”
Bunny looked at his bed. He was tired, hungry and in a truly foul mood. He was about to clamber on it when the head of Cuts appeared around the cell door. “New fish, get your ass out here, man. It’s count.”
Bunny trudged onto the landing and noticed that all the other inmates were standing outside their cells.
Bunny glanced across to Cuts and the man spoke without looking at him. “Trust me, new fish. Everything goes a lot better if you toe the line.”
“What film is that from?” asked Bunny.
Cuts gave him some side-eye. “The
