Title: Prison
Featuring: Eddie O'Neil
Date: December 2, 2010
Location: London, England

They say that there are only two things in prison that feel good. Jerking off and thinking about all the crazy shit that you’re going to do when you get out. I can’t really say much about the jerking off part, I can’t even remember the last time I got the urge. You see, sexual release is something that humans need, some weakness of mortal flesh. But I am no longer human. This place has changed me, it has hardened me and it has dragged me deeper into the rabbit hole than I ever thought possible.

My cell is dark and damp, the entire place smells of sweat and blood and the walls seem to reflect suffering and hopelessness. I despise this place. This place that has been my home for the past 1090 days. I’m doing my time, hard-time they call it, but this place isn’t so hard. They say it breaks men’s will to be here, but to me it just makes me feel like an animal. Like a caged animal, backed into a corner and waiting to strike. And strike I soon shall.

I’m currently nearing completion of the third year of a sentenced five. Five years for a bogus burglary charge. Not bogus because it didn’t happen, hell everyone and their mothers know it really happened, but bogus because it wasn’t me that did it.

Back then I was stupid. Back then I was young. I didn’t know any better. Back then I followed orders. I think about the night they called me into that meeting three years ago, I think about that meeting every night before I close my eyes in this hellhole. I think about that meeting, and I can’t wait to get out and repay the debt.

*****

”Eddie, Eddie mah boy, how you been?” D.B asked me as I walked into the room.

D.B. is known throughout the entire London underground as Double Barrel. Called as such for his extreme love of the use of a double barrelled shot-gun to solve the majority of his problems, most of them illegal. D.B. had his hands in every little thing too, if it was illegal in London’s east-side you could bet that D.B. was getting a piece of it. Drugs, prostitution, illegal gambling, black market goods, protection, you needed any or all of it? You went to see him.

Or more likely, you went to see one of his lieutenants, all of whom were gathered here tonight. Mickey the Mick, Vinnie Jones; no relation to the actor, were here as body guards. Albert Greenleaf the chemistry major turned meth lab supervisor sat on a couch beside D.B. Miss Scarlett; the head of his prostitution ring, dressed as provocatively as ever in a mini skirt and blouse sat near the back of the room smoking a cigarette through a long old-fashioned filter. Black 24; the appropriately named head of gambling operations, known for his love of the roulette wheel is sitting on a leather recliner shuffling a deck of cards.

The one face I didn’t expect to see was that of Tommy’s. Tommy is D.B’s nephew and a notorious trouble maker, at only sixteen years of age, he’s already got a solid rapport with the local police and is a regular drug abuser and borderline alcoholic. Judging by the look on his face, along with the black and blue bruises all over his face, something big has gone down tonight. And judging by the way he wouldn’t look me in the eye, I knew that it was going to have some kind of effect on me.

With a final scan of the room and a few head nods, I turned my attention back to my boss. D.B. had been my employer for almost three years now and although I had never experienced his rage and anger firsthand, I had heard the stories and I knew all too well the price to be paid for being on his shit-list. The usual result was a visit from Double Barrel and his shotgun.

“Good, D.B. Real good. Business has been good,” I said. I’m not sure why I added the part about business, but they had told me that I was being invited to a meeting to discuss ‘business’ and several members of D.B’s businesses were gathered there. I thought it only appropriate. I realize now that back then, I could have told every single one of them, to go fuck themselves, and it wouldn’t have made a lick of difference.

D.B. simply nodded at me and motioned for me to sit down. I did as I was told. He reached towards the bar and grabbed his glass from the table, I never saw them make it, but it wasn’t hard to tell what it was, it was always the same with D.B, Jamieson’s on the rocks. He took a sip of the whiskey and swallowed hard, his gaze never left mine.

He put the glass down and once again he turned his attention to me. There was an eerie silence lingering in the room, an awkwardness about his whole thing, it should have been there that I realized I had to get out, that I should have stood up right there, but like I said, I was young and I was loyal. Look where that got me now.

D.B. may have been staring a hole through me, but no one else in the room could even meet my gaze. Instead of seeing the suspicion I simply turned my eyes to the one man who wouldn’t look away. Sitting there, staring at him, I never knew how much pain and suffering his next words would cause me.

“We’ve got a problem Eddie,” he began quietly. “A very big problem.”

I nodded before responding. “No problem boss, you know I’m the man to take care of problems.”

That wasn’t exactly true, that was what Mickey and Vinnie were for. I was a low-level drug enforcer, but when D.B. tells you that he has a problem, there are only two things you have to know. Number one, you’d better not be the cause of his fucking problem, or you’re already dead where you stand and number two, if you’re not the problem, you better be ready to do everything in your power to fix the problem, or you’ll become the new problem.

“I’m glad to hear you say that my boy,” he said, his last words lingering a little bit longer than the others. “Tommy here has fucked a few things up. He’s taken a job and as you can see by the look of his pathetic fucking face, the little wanker can’t complete the task.”

I looked at Tommy, who was completely shielding his face from view now. Even without seeing his face, his body language screamed of guilt and regret. That night I figured it was just about the job, about failing his uncle, looking back now, I know what he was truly regretful for.

“What is it boss?”

D.B. smiled then. A sincere smile. I was a loyal solider and when he needed help, I was ready to go anywhere for him. I just didn’t know that the place I would be going would be jail.

“It’s simple,” he started. “I’m actually embarrassed that a member of my family couldn’t complete such a menial task. There’s a bar downtown, Oleg’s, you’re familiar with it?”

“Yeah, the Russians joint. Bar up front, cheap import vodka and cheaper import pussy in the back.”

I expected that would at least break some of the silence in the room, but it didn’t. The others in the room remained steadfast in their silence. This should have been giveaway number two.

“That’s the one. Right now, they’re holding a shipment of new computers,” he began.

“Computers? No offense D.B., but what the fuck do you want with computers?”

“Nothing at all is what the fuck I want with computers,” he said his voice rising. “But someone who employed my idiot nephew clearly does. And rather than pay cash for the missed shipment that Tommy dearest here now owes, we’re going to get those computers. And you’re going to do it for us.”

I nodded. It was a slightly strange request, but not something totally surprising for someone as cheap as D.B. He loved his money and would do nothing to give it away. This deal couldn’t have been for more than ten or fifteen thousand pounds, he had more than that in this building to cover it off, but that’s not how D.B. works. Unless it’s on younger women, Irish whiskey or business, D.B hated to spend his money.

“The computers leave tomorrow morning. So you’re going to have to move quickly. Get a crew together and get this over with,” and with that he finished his glass of whiskey and nodded to Mickey. For the first time since I arrived Mickey’s eyes became unglued from the floor as he tossed me a wad of cash, probably about two or three thousand pounds, apparently my rate for one night’s work. I never even thought twice, I headed out the door and I was already on my cell phone, making a couple of calls. I needed a van and I needed it soon.

****

The days go by slowly but the nights are even slower. Time seems to come to a crawl when the lights in this place go out. The only refuge I have found is in these words and in my own mind. There’s only one thought that keeps me going towards my release. Revenge.

The first nights were the worst. The loneliness, the fear, the uncertainty. I’d been to a juvenile center before, but that was nothing. A couple of kids who’d been in a few too many fisticuffs at school, nothing like the rapists, murderers and other walks of assorted filth that called the London Pen home.

I can’t remember if I cried the first night, I probably did. There’s no real shame in it. Everyone cries inside at some point and if they don’t they’re full of shit. This place may actually be worse than hell. You come in here a man and by the time you leave, you’re something far different. They call it rehabilitation, that’s not what this place does. It doesn’t rehabilitate you, it dehumanizes you.

After a month, I’d already been in two fights and gone for one stint in the hole. A couple of the others said that I was lucky, it was more likely for the rookies to catch beatings until they broke or became someone’s bitch. I thought coming in here, D.B. might have set up some protection for me, but he didn’t, he sold me straight up shit’s creek without a paddle.

That yellow, rat motherfucker. I can’t wait to get out and get my hands on him. Just have to keep biding my time for now.

*****

It didn’t take me long to find a van that night. A couple of phone calls and I already had something lined up, from one of my connects over in the trucking yards. I thought about assembling a crew, but it didn’t seem necessary, the hardest part would be lugging the computers, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle on my own.

The lights were off at the bar when I pulled up. It was well past three in the morning and there would have been no reason to think there would be a lot of activity at the bar. I looked around, doing some last minute recon work, searching for any cameras or other signs of security. The only thing I noticed, a small camera mounted outside the back delivery door of the bar. I parked the van across the street and quickly hopped out. I pulled my bag from the passenger seat and began rummaging through.

I pulled out a black balaclava mask and put it on, covering my face from view. Next I pulled out the small 9 mm pistol that I had brought with me as a security measure, now it was going to serve as an anti-security measure. I grabbed a potato from the bag as well. While they weren’t the most popular tool, the potato is a great way to muffle the sound of a gunshot, and that’s exactly what I needed. Loading a shipment of computers was sure to take some time, I couldn’t alert anyone to my presence prematurely.

I quickly ran across the street and stuffed the black steel barrel of the pistol into the side of the potato. I took aim at the security camera, ensure that I was still a safe enough distance away to not be spotted before firing. The potato splattered as soon as the bullet let fly, but did its job. The only sound the bullet made was the sound of shatter the camera and the sound of raw potato hitting the floor. I ran back across the street and turned the engine of the van back to life. As carefully and quickly as possible I began to back the loading van towards the delivery door of the bar.

The back door was locked, but I was prepared for that. I grabbed a small pry bar from the back of the van. The door was steel and heavily reinforced, but the fundamental mistake was the door frame. It was old and rotted metal. It took only a thirty or forty seconds of work with the pry bar to rip the door frame away and gain access to lock. With only a slight resistance I was able to force my way into the bar.

The lights were still on inside, which was slightly confusing to me. I pulled out my pistol immediately sensing that there might be some kind of trouble. That’s when I heard the worst sound I could have heard. Sirens... and they were getting closer. I turned to run, but already outside I could see the dancing cherry lights blue police cruisers pulling up outside the pub.

“Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath. There wasn’t going to be much time, I was cooked. I’d been set up. I should have seen it, I should have known, but I was blinded by loyalty.

I was going away for this one, I already knew that. It would be even longer if I couldn’t get rid of the gun. I needed to get rid of it and I needed to get rid of it fast. Shakedowns were something I was already used to from the drug game and I knew what to expect. I quickly charged into the back of the bar, disassembling the gun as I went. I began to wipe the fingerprints off of the steel, doing the best I could as I went. I found a heating duct and threw the gun inside, before charging back towards the storage room.

When I got to the room I saw dozens of cases of beer and lager, kegs and bottles of every kind of booze you could imagine. The one thing I couldn’t find was a big stash of computers. I shook my head and walked out the door, flashlights already blinding me and officers screaming instructions at me. I didn’t even listen, I wasn’t even totally aware of what was going on. It was like I was simply watching as my body went through the motions. I knew what they wanted.

I dropped to my knees and clasped my hands behind my head. The whole time all I could think was ‘Why me?’

*****

So now here I am. Passing the days by scribbling in journals and making friends with rats. The time has gotten easier as the days tick by, but it seems as if every day closer to freedom I get, the slower time begins to move for me. I’m already envisioning my release. I can already imagine myself walking through that front gate and there are only two things I know. Someone is going to pay for this and I’m never coming back to this hell hole again.

I’ve had parole hearings before, but they’ve all been nothing but bullshit. I tell them what they want to hear. I tell them that I’m better, that I’m healed, that I no longer am violent or that I have found God. All of its bullshit, they haven’t fixed me, they’ve ruined me forever. And not just ruined me as a person, but ruined me as a human being. Every day they bring in a reverend to speak of forgiveness and of faith and of ascension of the soul after death.

There’s no ascension for me. I no longer have a soul. I exist only for one purpose.

Revenge.

*****

There’s been a lot on my mind. My last parole hearing went better than the others. They say that they believe me now. They say that they’ve seen changes. They say that I’m ready to return to the outside world.

I say nothing.

I’m scheduled to be released in two weeks. That’s how long it will take them to prepare and file my paperwork. In fourteen short days I will be a free man. That doesn’t leave me much time to plan. There’s a list. Everyone on the list is going to pay. Everyone that did this to me. Everyone that trapped me here. They’re all responsible.

Mickey the Mick
Vinnie
Albert Greenleaf
Miss Scarlett
Black 24
Tommy
And finally Double Barrel himself.

I don’t know why they set me up yet. I want to know why, but I’m not sure that it matters. I’ve decided I’ll try to find out what I can, but at this point any efforts beyond making sure that they don’t breathe another breath is a waste of energy and time on my part.

Fourteen Days D.B.

Fourteen short days.

*****

The day is getting closer and closer, but I’m starting to have nightmares. The others said it happens to everyone. They call it being institutionalized, a newfound fear of being free. Being afraid to break free from the routine and the discipline of a jail cell. That’s not what it is for me. I can’t wait to get out.

I think what scares me is wondering why. It’s all that I’ve thought about these past few days. For years I thought the only thing I wanted was revenge, but I was angry and bitter then. Now I am scared and confused. Scared to find out the real reason why they betrayed me. Scared to know the secret that took away over three years of my life.

*****

”Please... Please....” his pleading is merely a whimper now. He can barely talk through the tears.

Looking down at his face, I can’t count the number of times that this event has played in my head. For years this image has lived deep inside me, waiting for me to make it a reality.

His face is covered in blood. It’s hard to tell where the mask of crimson ends and his actual flesh begins. He’s barely able to open his eyes and even when he does, it’s hard to tell if he can still see out of them. His jaw hangs loosely, already partially shattered from the beating. Behind the mask, I’m staring down at him, savouring every minute of his suffering.

“I have money...” he stammers. He’s still pleading. He hasn’t realized that there’s no coming back from this. He hasn’t seen that this is where everything ends for him.

I reach under his desk and press the secret lever latch. There’s few people in the world who even know if exists. There’s a moment of recognition in his eyes. A single moment of clarity. It’s in that moment when he realizes what’s truly happening that I find the first real emotion I’ve felt since I’ve been locked up.

That moment of pure terror and fear is the only thing I’ve lived for.

I reach under the table and pull the small shotgun out from beneath the desk. A sawed-off double barrel, D.B’s favourite. I don’t need to check if it’s loaded, it always is. I press the end of the barrel into his face, and as the cold steel presses into his bruised and bloodied flesh I expect him to cry out in pain, or plead one last time.

Instead he’s silent. He says nothing. He simply closes his eyes and accepts his fate.

With a pull of the trigger, the room explodes in a flash of bright light and dark red. Then everything goes black.

*****

That same scene played in my head so many times the night before. Like a bad record player, skipping and replaying over and over and over.

As I made that final walk down the path, I saw the chain-link and barbed wire cage that had trapped me for so long disappear with every step. I saw the path to my revenge lying before me. I saw freedom.

When I took that last step out into the cool London air, I felt alive for the first time in years. Now it was time to take away that feeling from some other people.
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