Reasonable Doubt ✔ | Open Novella Contest 2020 | Complete

Three - Colt

I have a delivery to make. I'm already two days late. Between the farm and the kid my gambit has been pushed back.

I hate getting new cellmates. Especially first-timers. Renewed vigilance, time spent watching and listening without looking or hearing. I need to know if he's cool or crazy, thief or thug.

Something about him I can't get a read on. Which bothers me. Seven years in this shithole taught me to observe body language and reactions, compile everything into a functional profile. I know who the drug dealers, murderers and rapists are without asking.

Naive isn't the right word for him. His jaw's too hard, shoulder too chipped. Kid's seen some shit.

I daresay he's...good.

Alex is young. Younger than me when I started here. At least he's street-smart, if impulsive. Knows enough to stay the fuck out of my business.

So when our cell is popped for dayroom, he doesn't give pause when I head toward the gate. I do feel his eyes on me, however. Smart, learning from an older inmate. Wish I'd done that sooner in my career.

I walk off unit like I own the damn place, join the mass movement through the corridor, keep my eyes purposefully forward. In my periphery, I monitor the COs and sergeants tracking us. One pulls the guy in front of me out for a random pat-down. I make it to the crash-gate and duck into A-Alpha as they release for rec.

The COs are too busy herding to notice one extra guy with tattoos and state blues. A brisk clip takes me up the stairs, moving opposite the exiting range. It hides my entrance from the cameras, makes me less conspicuous in Richardson's cell.

"'bout time, Cross." He pockets the small baggy of marijuana and folds his arms over his chest.

I widen my stance, rest my thumbs in my pockets. "You forgetting something?"

Richardson moves to shoulder past me. "Nope."

I shove him back, keep him off camera. "This ain't a charity."

"You and Lawson are slipping." He puffs up. "I'm not paying for late weed."

I ain't got time for this.

This is the fifth attempt at this shit. That's why I'm here instead of my partner. The obedient dog, circling his master's mark.

"You'll pay or I'll take it out of your ass." I growl.

"Try it, you fucking fag – "

Jab with a left hook, uppercut with a right, sling an elbow before he can bring his guard up. My hands and knuckles flare under the blows, spur the adrenaline. Make me hit harder and faster.

It ain't a part of running I particularly enjoy. Just the part I'm good at. Jim gets the shit in, I porter it. Make sure everyone's squared away.

Nobody expects that Southpaw.

Richardson gives almost as good as he gets. Body-shots, mostly. Things that won't be glaringly obvious when we leave the cell. Can't have security digging into why we were squaring up.

This ain't a fight to determine a winner. This serves to reinforce principle: nothing is free. I grit through the pain, harness and expel it. There's something deeply cathartic about beating the shit out of homophobic assholes.

Keys down the range stop our little brawl. Panting we leer at one another, call a silent truce. Richardson gives a grudging nod, hands me a JPlayer.

I tuck it under my shirt against my hip. "Pleasure doing business with you."

The CO gets closer. Richardson exits first and I follow closely on his heels. In the hall, he moves with his unit out to rec, I nip back to E-Echo, adjust my step to avoid a pat-down. Just a normal day at LeCI

Lawson's playing poker in the dayroom. Another of his hustles. I tap the table. "Deal me in."

There's the slight tilt of his mouth, a subtle movement of his fingers. Code, pausing me until he's ready to receive the device. I move so my shoulders block the CO's and camera's view of the table.

We play a few hands. Mowery does his key round. Lawson shifts his fan of cards into his left hand. I slide the player under the table to him.

"Any trouble?" He nonchalantly tucks the tablet into his pants without glancing up from his hand.

I scoff, fold. "We may have a basketball game coming up." Richardson ain't about to take that beating laying down.

Lawson pulls in the cards to reshuffle them. "I'll be there."

Dismissing myself from the table, I limp up the stairs to the second range. The aches have started, now that the high has worn off. I stand beside the cell door until Burke notices and pops it.

Fuck, I'm getting old.

Once upon a time I could function on two hours of sleep, beat my body with workouts, brawls, and partying. Now one two-minute cell fight has me in need of ibuprofen and a cigarette.

Alex glances up, back down, goes back to doodling. "Hey."

"S'up?"

A shrug. "Not much."

At least he's starting to talk a bit more. These past few weeks have been rough on him. He's held his own, barked back when it counted. Better than I did at his age.

His eyes give him away, though. Broadcast his thoughts and feelings like a jumbotron.

Sentiment makes you stupid, makes you lose focus. The belief has been instilled in me from childhood. It was good practice for prison. Putting up walls, creating masks. I practiced with my family for seventeen years.

People in here heard the way I talked, automatically deducted 100 IQ points. Kentucky Fried Chicken was my name for a while. Before I became 'fag'. I used it to my advantage.

Incredible what folks will talk about when they think you're too dumb to understand.

I unbutton the blue overshirt, eager to be out of the motor-oiled clothes. I'm exhausted. The thin mattress is calling to me.

"What happened to you?"

Alex's gaze reveres me in naked concern. He surveys the mural of blossoming bruises over my bare torso. It's only been an hour or two – kid's got a good eye.

I pull the tank down. "I fell."

He cocks a dense brow. "You fell?"

"Yep."

"Yep?"

"What are you, a fucking parrot?" I taunt.

"I mean, that's a pretty impressive tumble," he sneers back. "Fall up and down the stairs? Twice?"

I laugh, correct, "Three and a half."

Gotta give the kid credit, he tolerates me. Ain't his fault I don't do change very well. I'm still getting used to seeing someone so vividly different.

He tugs the gage hole self-consciously. Green eyes narrow against brilliant emotion. Introspection, irritation, and dark humor. I've never seen someone so expressive.

Dangerous in a place like this. People can exploit it.

People like me.

AN:\\

Thank you for reading :D

Hello Colt's POV ;D.

'Old' convict versus new convict – this has been Colt's world through adolescence and into adulthood. See a difference between him and Alex?

How are you liking the daily life of prison?

Thank you for all your input <3. Remember, feel free to ask me anything.

Stay safe out there

~ T