Evil Urges [ Sideshow Bob X Bart X Jack Lassen ]

Chapter 2

The dull thudding of hammers filled the room. The sound of drilling machines deafed the ears.
The inmates wore bored faces while repairing things as lamps, chairs and other material in the workshop.
'A merciful gesture', as the Mayor says. 'Something that distract the inmates from boredom and gives them a meaningful task to do' he says.
Bob would rather prefer other things for destraction, such as a bibliothek or a place for education.
After the repair of the ware, they would be sold in a second hand shop.
Using the inmates for unpaid work, only to make money with them, wasn't exactly a merciful gesture in Bob's eyes.

But at least there was something to do. Some variety in the monotonous routine of the inmates.
In prison, there was not much to do expect doing sports on the yard, sitting in the cafeteria and well, to potter on trash, making it less trashy.
It was allowed to write letters, but  whom should Bob write to? He wasn't in contact with his family, partly because they showed no interest in him.
He didn't receive any letters from outside either. At all. It was somehow sad. Although Bob was well known,
among other things because he was a teacher and had many students, all of his former colleagues and the time as a 'Child Star' on TV.
Not even a fan wrote him a letter. Nothing.

Paradoxically, Bob sometimes wrote to Bart. No love letters like the other inmates did to their loved ones.
No "I feel like shit, bring some cigaretts" letters to any ex criminals. No thoughtful and caring letters to the family.
No apologizing letters to the victims. No. Bob wrote threatening letters. Written with his own blood.
And most of them passed the control. At some point the letters became bloodier and even soaked the envelope.
That was the time were the cops gave up on checking any letters from him. They were grossed out and didn't want to touch any of Bob's letters anymore.
When they once asked Bob why he wrote with blood, he replied drily:
"Donating blood is healthy".
Since then they had left Bob alone. They simply stamped him crazy. After all, he was already in the rubber cell more than one time.

Bob's eyes slid down to the drill he held in his hand.
Maybe he would enjoy this more if he had a strive for it.
The red-haired man was not gifted with craftsmanship, he had other qualities.
Snake as opposed to, could make anything from a piece of wood and a few screws.
The only thing Bob was knowledgable about, when it came to crafting things, were explosives.
"You can't happen to make nitroglycerine from a piece of wood, can you?"

Snake who sat beside his cellmate, already workig on his lamp, laughed.
"So, you're planning an outburst after all!"

"No. Just want to pass the time. Although...we could make some bombs out of soap."
The ex-clown rubbed his forefinger under his chin.

"Really? This works?"

"It does. But it's not so easy."

The brunette started to think.
"What do we call them then? Bob Bombs? Or wait no! Boboms!
Yeah thats kinda cute. I want to call you like this from now on.
Boboms. Hey Bobo Boboms! "

Bob rolled his eyes. "Very funny".

Snake shruged. "Hey, just passing time! :D "

A guard came by, ending the conversation between them.
"Hey you two cardboard noses! I can not see a single finished lamp here!"
With a momentum, the guard smashed both lamps from Bob and Snake away. "Fix that! Quickly!"
Reluctantly they crouched down to pick up the lamps with all the parts that had spread on the floor.
They exchanged looks of utter loathing for the prison gaurd while sliding on their knees.
Both sat back at the wooden table making some grumbling noises and decided it was for the better, not to talk to each other anymore until they return to their cell.

Bob grabbed the drill again and started to play with it by pushing and letting go of the engine button, instead of actuallay repairing the lamp.
This takes too long.
This takes way too long.
When will Jack come so he could finally get away from this place?
After all, he didn’t know how much time has passed since he and Jack made the deal.
In prison it’s hard to tell if days or weeks were passing by. Most of the inmates lose the sense of time completely after some weeks in prison.
At first he had high hopes making a deal with the cop, but the disillusion came early when he realized that he had to be patient. And now Bob was just annoyed.