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“Are you going to eat that?”
They snickered.
“Boy, you fucked in the head? Do you want to fucking die? Get the fuck outta our area before we beat the shit outta you.”
“I’m sure you know or have heard my name,” I whispered, not backing down from him, “but you don’t know me, and I’m sure you don’t want to.”
They glanced at each other before laughing like hyenas. “Look, you—”
Before he could get another word out, a melted and sharpened spork was in his neck.
They came in so hard and fast that I could barely see their faces. The group at the table was pulled from their seats into the struggle that had broken out in the middle of the cafeteria. After all, we were called the fighting Irish for a reason. It spread like the plague in a locked room. Infecting everything and everyone. As I glanced over the room, I saw that even those who had nothing to do with this were dragged in, and were fighting for their lives as every last man with even a half a drop of Irish blood beat into them.
“Urh…” The skinhead at my feet coughed, as his hands covered the deep puncture wound in his neck.
“This is going to be a long three minutes. You should have just let me go.” I frowned as I took a seat at the table and picked up the cup of red Jell-O.
Counting the seconds until the riot squad finally made it into the hall, I noticed on the top most level stood Warden Alden, arms crossed and glaring. Raising the cup to her, I toasted her with a smile before I dug in.
“Everyone on the floor!” the save-a-bitch yelled, as he began pulling people apart.
I finished off the Jell-O, and took my spot on the ground, without ever breaking eye contact with her. She would learn just like the rest of them. She didn’t own this place…I did. All I needed was three days in any jail. The first two days I burned it down, and the third day, I rebuilt it how I saw fit.
If I was going to spend the next twenty days in this hellhole, I was going to make sure that they all knew who I was and what that meant if they ever crossed me. I was still a bloody Callahan, locked away or not.
DAY 2
“You weren’t exaggerating when you said you had trouble making friends. That riot was because of you,” the warden said from the other side of my door.
Stopping mid-crunch, I glowered at her. “Did anyone say it was me?”
“This is my facility, Callahan.”
“Those who need to claim something as their own don’t really own it. If you did own it, then it goes without saying, Warden.”
Her hawk-like eyes narrowed in on me. “Your mother was here to see you. Sadly, your stunt yesterday has us on lockdown. She even brought photos, cute boy you got, but those are not allowed for criminals. Child pornography is contraband.”
I leaped to my feet and rushed to the door. “What the fuck are you trying to say?”
“There’s that anger. We know you’re a murderer, but what other type of monster are you? I see men like you all the time, and the amount of darkness in your eyes is the same. Like I said, this place belongs to me.”
Calm Liam. Stay Calm. No Emotion. No Fear.
I leaned forward against the door. “You’ve never met a man like me before, Warden, and I’ll gladly prove it to you.”
“Enjoy your day, Mr. Callahan, we’ll let you out tomorrow,” she hissed, as she turned away from me.
The guard pushed my tray of food through the slot as hard as he could when I stepped back, dropping it on to the floor…there wasn’t even any Jell-O.
Clenching my fist, I stared out the window as I tried not to think of her. I wanted her out of my fucking head!
“Damn you, Mel.”
DAY 3
Looking over the yard, I watched them walk past me. No one met my gaze, they just kicked the rocks on the ground as they moved past. They all stayed away, and a small group of Irish, those not sent to solitary, stood not that far off from me, leaning against the wall. I was going to get out of here, and when I did, the last thing I needed was the police trying to make connections. They knew that. Or at least I thought they did until one of them approached.
“Mr. Callahan.”
“Yes, O’Connor?” I asked the bigger man with orange hair and a mustache.
“We took out four. But lost one yesterday.”
“Send the name to my brother. His family will be taken care of as always.”
“We know, sir. Thank you. But there’s something else you gotta know.”
Sighing, I nodded as I glanced at the man. “Then out with it.”
“There are few Italians here. Not much, but enough to cause problems.”
I didn’t speak for a moment. My jaw set. “They believe I killed her.”
“Yes, sir, and they want retribution.”
Of course they did.
It had taken my family years to work the penitentiary system. It was much more complicated than it seemed. You had to have a leader that was loyal to you enough to hold all the Irish in line behind bars, smart enough to know how to keep a low profile, and strong enough to strike fear into the hearts of every other motherfucker out there. On top of that, they had to be committed to life in prison with no hopes of getting out. If they weren’t, they would gladly sell us out in a plea bargain…O’Connor was that man. He’d killed two policemen after they took his wife and son. He would’ve been in the county prison now had it not been for the overflow.
“Who’s the leader on the inside?” I finally asked.
“The Spoon.”
Gazing back up at him, he just grinned.
“The Spoon?”
He shrugged. “The man bends spoons, what else can I say?”
Laughing, I shook my head before I ran my hand through my hair. Then I bent my head back to bask in the sun.
“Fine. Get me a meeting with The Spoon. I swear Italians and their names.”
“You got into bed with them, I don’t know how this is all going to work out,” he muttered.
Frowning, I stood straighter. “It isn’t your place to know. Just get me the meeting. Is there anything else?”
“There are a lot of people in here searching for product—”
“Goodbye, O’Connor,” I cut him off.
With a nod, he turned and headed back towards the corner with the rest of the Irish.
I needed to focus on anything but her. But how could I do that when every time I felt my heart beat, I thought of her and Ethan.
A call came over the intercom. “Callahan, you have a visitor. Callahan, you have a visitor.”
Pushing off of the fence, I felt their eyes on me as I headed towards the building.
Those left in the group of skinheads kept their eyes on me, but didn’t dare to come closer. The Mexicans just parted as I came through, while the blacks pretended as though I didn’t exist. As long as they didn’t get in my way, they would be fine.
The guards at the door escorted me, in chains, inside. My mother without fail came to visit me every other day no matter what jail I was in, and no matter how far it was. She always came with her hair curled, her dress pressed and even through the glass, I could smell the delicate scent of her rose perfume, and no matter what was going on, she always had the largest smile for me. I hated that I had to see her like this.
“Mornin’, Mom,” I whispered into the phone.
