Sandstorm {Discontinued}{Rewritten}

30. Jail Time and Confrontations

Mick knew he would have his hands full the moment they stepped foot in the prison. Haircut immediately started waving at the inmates with a huge grin on his face, as if he didn’t realize this whole damn place was filled with criminals.

“Hey. Hi. Howdy. How you doing?” Mick rolled his eyes, already fed up with this guy.
“What the hell are you doing?” He should have known he’d only get a stupid response in return.

“Just being friendly,” Ray told him. Friendly. In prison. Really? It only got worse when the tech billionaire added, “This must be where they keep the VIPs.”

Mick scoffed. “This is prison, jack ass. There are no VIPs.” Seriously. What did he think happened here after he and his vigilante buddies sent all the crooks to jail?

Ray ignored him, as they passed by some of the older inmates' cells. “Some of these guys have been here a while.” He glanced inside the cell of one particularly sleazy looking man with matted grey hair and a tarnished blue hat. Mick could tell just from looking at the old bastard that he was trouble, and he had a few guesses about what had landed the guy in this hellscape. Murder. Probably rape. Mick wouldn’t have been surprised if he was one of those sick bottom feeders that preyed on children. Bottom line: he wasn’t someone a person like Ray should be talking to.

That didn’t stop Haircut from getting a huge grin on his face and moving towards his cell. “Hey, maybe this guy knows where Stein and Carter are.” He stopped walking for a moment, opening his mouth to say something to the old man; for a moment Mick panicked. Sure the sleazball was behind bars at the moment, but there was no telling what he might do later. And he’d tell Ray anything just so he could get him alone.

Mick stopped, ready to yank Haircut away from the cell and make him keep walking… He didn’t have to. A second after they stopped, the guards yelled something in Russian (the Englishman's pill things must have warn off, because he couldn’t understand a damn word they were saying now) and shoved them forward.

Mick glared at Ray, hoping the message would actually sink in if he just spelt it out for him. “The only thing you should be worrying about, Haircut, is lasting the night.” Mick wasn’t sure if he could babysit much longer than that. The team should have rescued him by then. Maybe Leonard would even get Mick out too.

Ray shook his head, apparently not realizing he had thoroughly been screwed over. “They need help. They're in trouble.”

“News flash: so are we.” The guards stopped them in front of a cell, and Mick got an overwhelming sense of familiarity as the warden tugged the door open. He’d gone through all of this so many times it was like second nature to him now. The musty smelling walls in the small room that barely fit one person, never mind a person of Mick's size. Mattresses ripped to shreds by moths and who knew what else. Rusted bars for a door. It was all…strangely homey.

He would probably be fine if the others took their time to get here… But there was no way in hell Ray was going to survive. At least they were in the same cell. That would make it easier to watch over him and make sure he didn’t get himself into too much trouble.

The guards gripped them roughly and shoved them into the cell harshly so that they stumbled over themselves. Mick turned and growled at them, as they slammed the bar door shut.

Ray glanced at the thin mattresses on the bunk beds. “You think they’ll bring us some blankets later?”

Mick stared at him for a moment. “Yeah, and they’ll bring martinis and stripers that give you lap dances.”

Ray stared back at him, actually having enough common sense to pick up on Mick’s sarcasm. “Really?” he asked skeptically. 

“No, you idiot!” Mick rolled his eyes. He moved over to the barred window at the back of the room, peering out into the yard. It wasn’t much. Once you’d seen one you’d seen them all – a pathetic basketball court, weight lifting area, and a lame grassy space spread out a few feet with bleachers in every corner. Fences stood in between the solitary confinement (Mick had ended up there more than once. Good times…) and the space where the rest of the inmates would be.