Defined By Deceit

Chapter Six

Llew served the inmates on the chow line with his head down, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. He’d scooped a helping of mashed potatoes on the tray that had appeared in front of him, but when he pulled his serving spoon back, the tray didn’t move.

Here we go. After a few more tense seconds, Llew’s heart rate kicked up.

“Look at me,” the deep voice demanded.

Llew slowly looked up and saw it was the man he’d seen in the visitation room. He had at least twelve, hell maybe fifteen guys standing behind him, all of them big and angry-looking. This man was holding up the chow line, but not one person uttered a word or a “move the fuck on.” Llew figured this had to be a bad motherfucker. Once Llew looked in the man’s crystalline eyes, he saw something there that he hadn’t seen in a while; decency, maybe kindness. “My name is Ace. Remember it. You’re gonna need it.” And with that, he was gone, leaving his tray behind.

Fuck me.

“So, you going to talk this time or just stare at me, Llewellyn? I think you might feel a little better if you let out some of that pent-up stress.”

I don’t.

“Are you afraid to talk to me? Nothing you say goes past these walls, Llewellyn.”

Yeah sure, Doc. You work for the state.

“You think you’re the first innocent man to go to jail? Hmm? You’re not the first and you won’t be the last.”

Llew’s head shot up, his eyes had to be the size of saucers; but he had to see if the Doc was just pulling his chain, a ploy to get him to talk. Was it possible that someone in here actually believed him? The counselor watched him back.

“I’ll see you next week, Llewellyn.”

Llew got up and walked to the door. His scratchy polyester pants irritating his skin.

“Unless you want to see me before then. You’re able to request to see me anytime, you know that right? I can help you get through this, Llewellyn.”

Llew walked back to his cell. He’d decided to forgo chow and eat a cup o’ noodles instead. The chow hall wasn’t the safest place for him. Eating a metal tray didn’t sound too appetizing. After he’d finished his meal, he stretched out on his bottom bunk and opened up the new book his brother sent him. His throat formed a lump when he thought of his brother, just like when he read his many letters. Llew still hadn’t agreed to see him again.

“Well, lookie here. You enjoying yourself?”

Llew’s repulsive cellmate had come back to their cell with disgusting red sauce around his mouth and on his shirt; as if he’d eaten his food like a two-year-old. He jumped up off his bunk, too vulnerable there. His cellmate was usually in the rec room after chow, until lights out. What the fuck was going on?

“Ya know, Damon will let me join his crew if I deliver you to him on a silver platter. Grab your shower shit and let’s take a walk, tree-jumper.”

Llew steeled his spine. He wasn’t going a damn place and he certainly wasn’t going to be given to Damon and his crew. He’d fight to the death before that would happen. All they’d do was beat the shit out of him, rape him, and then beat him again. Rinse and repeat.

“Let’s go,” his cellmate growled. The West Coast gang tattoos bulged on his thick neck, and Llew wondered if a guard would bother to come if he screamed loud enough.

“I ain’t going nowhere.”

“Dumbass cho-mo.” His cellmate pulled out his state-issue toothbrush, and Llew frowned at him wondering what the fuck that –

“I’ll cut your fuckin’ throat out,” he snarled, turning the toothbrush around revealing a razor-sharp edge on the other end.

Fuck. The big bastard was going to try to cut him with that thing ,and Llew had been in long enough to see what kind of damage a rigged-up shank could do.

“Freeman. You ain’t got to do this. We gon’ end up in the hole, man. Chill out.”

“Get your shit and let’s go.”

Llew shook his head. Trying to fend off one man was better than going up against Damon’s entire crew.

“Big Waldo. Big Waldo walkin’,” a loud voice yelled outside.

“Shit,” his cellmate growled, shoving his shank under Llew’s mattress.

Oh fuck no. Big Waldo was prison speak for the warden or the guard’s captain: the highest ranked prison official. If either one was on the floor, it wasn’t going to be good. Llew was pretty sure it wasn’t the warden, so it was probably Captain Jessup. Llew sprang into action, pulling the shank out from under his thin mattress and throwing it back at his cellmate. Freeman flew at him, throwing a wild punch that Llew tried to duck, but that meaty fist still half-connected with the side of his jaw. If it had been a full-on hit, Llew’s jaw would be shattered.