The Fall Guy (Eastward Prison Story)

5. Kaden

CHAPTER 5

KADEN

The dark, stormy sky looms over the Victorian prison. High walls and even taller chimneys blacken its bleak misery. This will be my new home, my confinement, my punishment—or maybe I should think of it as a reward. Kai is free to watch his son grow up and I can be absent from all future family events.

I’m led inside, then stripped of my clothes and jewellery before being hosed down. My possessions are assigned a locker, and I’m given a grey tracksuit with a Velcro patch for my serial number on the pocket. A pair of trainers, white socks and a toothbrush are given to me before we descend into the depths of hell.

Already, I can hear chaos beyond the maze of bars. As we get into the belly of the beast, I’m shown to a small room with bunk beds, a basic sink, and a toilet. I guess this is my new home.

My roommate is absent, so I use my alone time to finally let the weight of my decision set in. Five years is a long time.

Leaving my toothbrush by the sink, I take a look at myself in the dull, plastic mirror. All luxury has been drained out of my life. The toothbrush and the rest of the contents in this room probably cost less than my mattress back home.

Tired dark circles underneath my eyes show the weight of my exhaustion. I’ve had better days, weeks, and even years. A good night’s sleep might help, but that might not be possible. Sounds echo off the walls, and there’s no comfort to be gained from the furniture.

I sit on the lower bed, covering my eyes with my hands while reality sets in. Taking the blame for my brother doesn’t feel like a good deed right now. I’m alone while he’s probably celebrating with his wife. Flexing out my palms, I rub my face. Self-pity washes over me, and I could use a strong drink right now.

I’m lost in myself and don’t notice the newcomer to the room. I guess not all noises travel within these walls. When I open my eyes, cold grey ones stare back at me.

The last time I saw the man before me, he was looking deadly. His blonde curls have been traded for a buzz cut, and his perfect skin is puckered with a scar above his lip. Rio is still the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. I part my lips to speak, but he beats me to it.

“Get off my bed before I make you,” he says. His tone holds a bitterness I haven’t heard from him before.

My features tighten as I recompose myself. “I thought you’d be happy to get me on your bed. What are you doing here?” It’s easier for me to joke than show how I really feel.

“I had to make a choice; security or a grave. Eastward doesn’t seem so bad when the other option is six feet under.” He doesn’t break his stare or crack a smile.

Removing myself from the bottom bunk, I stand so we’re on equal ground. “And why are you unhappy to see me?”

“You’re the reason I had to make that choice.”

My eyebrows draw together as I try to figure out what he means. How is this my fault?

A whistle blows, breaking the noise in the main room. Rio turns his back to me and walks out. Following his lead, I join him outside the door. A list of inmates’ names are called, including Rio’s.

They line up before filing out. Each one is wearing a tracksuit that matches mine. Some have bulging muscles, others have tattoos covering every inch of their skin, and some look like lonely brooding types. None of them appear friendly.

I’ve got a lot to learn so I understand my new home. Navigating the system might take a while, but it is essential if I don’t want to get into any trouble. The judge said no parole, but surely good behaviour counts for something.

A tall, muscular guy with weathered skin is staring at me. He tilts his neck, revealing his cyclone tattoo before giving me a nod and gesturing for me to show mine. I mimic the action, and his lip twitches in acknowledgement.

The crowd disperses leaving me and the big guy. He points to the far end of the hall, and I follow him into a common area.

Two more muscular guys are unofficially guarding the door and inside is an older gent. He sits in a tattered armchair in front of a small old-fashioned box TV with a battered aerial. Dad’s Army reruns play on the telly.

“So, you’re the new guy, eh?”

He glances my way, but not for long. I’m not going to underestimate this guy, but I want to share some of my personality traits with him. A bit of cheek. It’s evident from the mafia setup that he’s important, and I don’t want him to think I’m a pushover.

“And you must be the old one.” If I’d talked to my housemates before I got sent down, I might’ve known who this was.

“You’ve got big balls, kid. I like that.” He gives me more of his attention as he studies my features.

“You need them if you’re going to stand tall in a place like this,” I say.

The guy who led me here says, “Too right you do. I’m Max, and he’s Ernie.” He rests his arms on the back of the old man’s chair.

“My name is Kaden. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but honestly, I wish I wasn’t here in Eastward Prison.” I pull a tight smile, which is probably more of a scowl.

“It’s not so bad if you know the right people and learn the currency,” Ernie says, rubbing his fingers and thumb together.

“And the mashed potatoes are pretty good,” Max says in a monotone.

“Really?” I ask, wondering what that has to do with anything.

“No, not really, but we’re all surviving and waiting for our freedom days. Whether it’ll be heaven, hell, or back to life before prison.”

“Are either of you due to be released any time soon?” I ask. It must be nice to have something to look forward to. Knowing freedom is close has to help calm the mind.

They both say ‘no’ in unison making me lose my train of thought.

“Well, I guess I better try and make a good impression, supposing you’re all the family I have inside these walls.” It’s my bad attempt at another joke. Cyclones stick together, and I guess Ernie might be my new boss by default.

Max gives me a fist bump. He must like the sound of us being close, although I’m yet to understand what that will entail. I meet a few more of the guys, including the two standing outside before the softball teams, Rio, and the others return.

We’re forced into our cells before a search of our personal space is done. Our beds are left a mess, and my toothbrush is abandoned on the floor. When I take a step to retrieve it, Rio shakes his head, so I bite my lip and stay put.

Guards raid all the rooms until they find a homemade weapon. It’s a pencil carved and modified into a knife. A man with a mean facial tattoo is led away. Whoever he wanted to use that weapon on got a lucky break. Although the guy is in prison, maybe he’ll be back. They can’t give him a different punishment than time on the inside.

Now the guards have what they are looking for, prison life returns to normal. It’s surreal how quickly the noise level and activities resume.

We tidy the mess before a whistle signals mealtime, and then make our way to the dining hall. I can smell the home-cooked food and follow the crowd.

My new friends watch me as I collect my tray. Moving along the line, I fill my meal compartments, including the lumpy mashed potatoes in the largest pocket. It looks pretty gross, but I don’t complain.

Once I’ve loaded my tray, I watch Rio take his meal to an empty table in the corner of the room. I hesitate. The Cyclones are expecting me to sit with them, but Rio’s alone. Would he care who I sat with? Fucking hell, this isn’t high school, so why am I hesitating? I take a beat too long, and a guy with a deep facial scar sits with Rio, making my decision easier.

All the men who sit with Max and Ernie have the Cyclone tattoo. They shovel in food while talking amongst themselves. Max makes a guy with black hair move down so I can sit next to him. In hindsight, I’m glad I belong somewhere.

“Don’t worry, you won’t end up like your bunkie. You’re no lame duck and we’re got your back,” Max says.

I glance at Rio. The guy sitting beside him helps himself to Rio’s burnt blueberry muffin. He takes a bite before setting it back down on Rio’s tray. My new cellmate doesn’t so much as glance at the big guy.

“Who is he?” I ask, gesturing to Scarface.

“Felix Broady. He’s part of the Nickle gang. Most members are on life sentences with no chance of parole. They’re bad news, so stay away.”

“How does Rio fit into all this?” A frown knits onto my face.

“Like I said, he’s a lame duck. Weak. He doesn’t fight back even when provoked. He’s been prison bait since the first day he arrived.”

Something doesn’t add up. The Rio I know is calm and collected. He’s calculating but definitely not a pushover. Why isn’t he standing up for himself? He’s capable of fighting back, or he wouldn’t have survived the night we met in the run-down sports centre.

“When was that?” I ask.

Rio isn’t forthcoming. He won’t want me to spill his secrets to Max. It’s better to keep what I’m thinking to myself. Earlier, Rio was stand-offish with me. If I can work out why it’ll help me unravel his truth.

He considers my question for a second. “About eight months ago.”

My eyes widen, but I don’t vocalise the dots that connect in my mind. It was about nine months ago when we had a run-in with the police. Did he get caught that night when everything went to shit?

I watch them interact for a few more seconds, but I turn away when the guy helps himself to his glass of water.

“How do I make money around here? I could use some moonshine and a joint.”

Already, I need a break from the mind games. What else isn’t as it seems? I’m not na?ve enough to think being a member of the Cyclones will set me up inside here. I glance around, feeling like I need to watch my back.

Max chuckles. “Trying to walk before you can crawl? We’ll hook you up all in good time. First, we need to get you settled. Let the meatheads know you’re one of us.”

I fork up some mashed potatoes and shovel it into my mouth. Instantly, I regret it because it tastes like boiled pond water. I put down my cutlery and push the plate away. My appetite is leaving like a fast train to London—on time and without hesitation.

Max laughs again. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. In the meantime, if you’re not eating that, I will.”

“Knock yourself out.”

I stand ready to leave when something shiny catches my eye. Before I can react, one of the inmates grabs a guard from behind and rests a blade on his neck. Another officer hits the alarm, and all hell breaks out.

People start fighting, food flies across the room, and I see chaos everywhere. A guy from another table approaches me, and I hit him in the face before he can get too close.

Max protects Ernie as he navigates him out of the room. I go to follow, but someone grabs the back of my ankle. I’m about to get shanked in the calf when a food tray comes down on the guy’s head. He releases my leg, making me jolt forward. I don’t wait to thank the person who stopped me from getting injured.

High-pitched whistles ring through the dining space. More officers with batons pile into the canteen. Aggression oozes from every corner like it’s been stored in the walls from previous fights.

A guard pushes me against the wall like I’m part of the problem. I could put up more of a struggle, maybe take him down, but I don’t. I’m escorted to my cell, and the whole prison is put into lockdown.

The whistles continue for a further twenty minutes, making my brain feel like it’s rattling. It’s true what they say. You can sugar coat something, but a shoe will still be a shoe. Prison might not seem so bad on the surface, but it’s still close to being in hell.

I lay on my bed with a pillow over my head, trying to drown out some of the noise. The mattress is so thin that the springs stick into my face, but it’s better than listening to the racket.

Rio takes ages to be transferred back to his cell. His features are hard, and he’s ignoring me when he enters. The door slams, and he climbs onto his own bed. I guess this is how it’s going to be.