Chapter 2: Maximum Security:The SHU
Part One
My name is Jack Keyes. People think it is funny to call me Jackie. I hate it! Ask my mother-in-law. Just run over to Peace Hills cemetery, that will tell you everything you need to know. She is the bitch who put me here. Well, I guess I put myself here but I told her not to call me Jackie.
We were fighting that day. She referred to me as Jackie. I told her to shut her fucking mouth but she just kept pushing it. She was mad because the heist that morning almost went awry. When we got back to my house, she just kept on Jackie this, Jackie that, and then came the baseball bat. My wife, Patricia, was screaming for me to stop but I had a bad habit of not quitting until the job was done. I hit her so hard with the first swing one of her eyeballs popped out of her head. Then again and her skull split right down the middle. There was a lot of blood. My wife passed out when our dog picked up her eyeball and had it as a snack.
Anyways, the robbery was enough to put me in prison for 20 years but the vicious murder of my poor elderly mother-in-law was what got me 50 to life in max. I would have rather gotten the death penalty.
Max is a horrible place to go. The walls were just heavy duty, gray concrete walls with solid iron bars covering the tiny windows in the cells. It is very depressing. They locked us up for twenty-three of the twenty-four hours each day. That did not include meals and showers but I would rather have skipped those. The food was mush with a name to make it sound like food. The prisoners were rowdy. In addition, I had many enemies here.
...
Big Jim was on one of my first crews. We took out large jewelry stores and scored big. Unfortunately, for Jim, he was our distraction the day he became a rat in a cage. Hey, it was all part of the business. He was supposed to know when to get out of there. Instead, he shot two SWAT members right between the eyeballs. They wanted him alive so they wailed on him with beanbag bullets and nightsticks. He had welts the size of Russia from head to toe but lived so they sent him to max for life without a chance at parole. He was a hurting man but he would be able to serve his sentence.
He blamed me for his failures in the heist but he knew the risks and the rules. It is what it is though. He is a big guy. He towered over most at six feet seven inches tall and weighed a staggering three hundred eighty pounds of pure muscle. To call him large would be an understatement. He has a deep scar running just under his left eye where the cops sliced him during interrogations. He wears his jet-black hair in a flattop cut so he looks like an evil drill sergeant. He always made me a little nervous.
Then there was Little Louis. Do not let that name fool you though. He mastered several different Japanese and Chinese fighting styles. He may have only been five and a half feet tall weighing in at just a hundred forty-five pounds but it took six cops to take him out when they busted him. He had decided to go rogue, abandoning my crew and starting his own. I got a little jealous because he was pulling off some big heists. Therefore, I may have tipped the cops off...maybe not. Call me a snitch or whatever the hell you want to call me but I called it protecting my business.
Last but certainly not least was my second in command; Brock Hughes. Brock was an average looking guy with an average build. You could never have known he was a cold-blooded killer. He handled most of our dirty work. He was directly responsible for at least thirty-five murders. He was vicious, bloodthirsty and batshit crazy. People trusted him though. He was charming, as I said average looking but he did have the bleach blonde hair and those steely blue eyes that present a sense of calm to the unwitting. Normally his victims were not calm when he was chopping off body parts or slicing throats from ear to ear. However, the sense of calm he portrayed hooked them in.
....
Since Big Jim, Little Louis and Brock had gotten to the max, it seemed like they had done well for themselves. They each had a large following. Brock even had a couple of guards he had smooth talked onto his payroll.
Being my first day, I did not know anybody but I was definitely known. The guys decided to lay out the welcome mat for me. It was not a pleasantly warm welcome though. My first meal in the joint and I got skipped. I walked through the line finally getting to the front, I hadn't eaten much in two days so anything looked good, but the dick behind the line shook his head as he shoveled the slop onto the guy's tray behind me.
I sat at one of the steel, bolted to the ground tables reserved for the outcasts of max. The crowd consisted of rapists, child molesters, and the mentally ill. By mentally ill I mean the schizophrenics, sociopaths, you know, the real psychos. I was hungry but maybe at dinner I will get to eat something. Even a scrap would be cherished.
After my less than fulfilling lunch, I went back to my cell with my cellmate. He did not seem to know me or have a problem with me. He also was not very talkative. I sat there until dinnertime staring at the cell wall listening to the other rowdy prisoners hooting and hollering back and forth across cell block D. Some of the noise was hard to stomach because every now and then you would hear a couple of guys going at it. Some of them willingly others screaming in agony at becoming their cellmates bitch.
....
Finally, dinnertime was here. I was hungry and I was hoping for food. I got to the front of the line again. This time they reached down to serve me something on my cheap plastic tray. The douche who would not feed me earlier plopped down a nice big, dead rat in the entree slot of my tray. I was hungry so, fuck it, I ate the damn thing. Then, when it was time to put our trays away, I hopped over the dinner tray cart pummeling the dick who served me the rat. By the time the guards got there, I had knocked out eight of his teeth, busted his nose and successfully sent him to the infirmary. As the guards were rushing me I grabbed a few of his teeth, shoved them back in his mouth and made him eat them.
One day in and I was already in solitary, also known as the SHU or shoe. The conditions in the solitary housing unit were much worse than the cells up top, but at least I was alone. There were no windows. The hole in the door only opened when a guard was bringing dinner or just wanted to spout some shitty comment to us dirty criminals. I only had to spend two days in the shoe for my first time, which I was okay with. It was psychotically peaceful.
That was my first day in max. I have been here three weeks now. Shit has not gotten any better but I have been able to avoid too much trouble from my old crew. The weekends were the hardest because we had more free time. Rather than the one hour during the week, we had six hours. We got track time, library time, visitors if anyone visited us, and TV time. I chose library time most weekends, then back to my cell. This weekend will be my fourth weekend. I have to find a different hobby because I am tired of just sitting and reading. This weekend I am just saying fuck it and going out to do something different. I need a change. I cannot read every weekend for the rest of my life I will go nuts.
Part Two
Friday through Sunday are the days we get six hours of free time. I am enjoying my jog around the track. This is the best I have felt since being locked up. The air is crisp, biting with the first hints of a cool fall. It is the best time of year when you are a free man, the best few hours of a weekend when you are stuck behind bars. That is, as long as you can look past the fact that the track is just a circular section of cement with potholes every few feet. You could break your ankles in them if you are not paying attention. Of course, I think I would rather be out here than in my cell. My cellmate has not been much more talkative since the day I started bunking with him. He actually seems on the verge of a full mental breakdown. Leaving all of that behind me I decided I would enjoy my first weekend out of my cell.
........
After circling the track a few times, I decided to rest. I sat on a bench as far away from everyone else as I could. I may be getting out of my cell but I sure am not ready to mingle just yet. As I was getting comfortable, I sensed a group of guys staring at me from a distance that probably did not want to make friends either. Especially with me.
I glanced back at them and then behind me hoping they were eyeing someone else, but there was just a barbwire fence there, so I knew they were eyeing me. I recognized a couple of them; they were some of the assholes that became friends with Little Louis. Then one of them started in "Jackie's a snitch, Jackie's a bitch, Jackie's gettin' stitched." Then another one joined in and another as they headed my direction. I could feel the anger building. I wanted to rip the tall lanky one's jugular out. Call me a snitch but do not call me Jackie. As they got closer, it got louder "Jackie's a snitch, Jackie's a bitch, Jackie's gettin' stitched." As they moved closer, they began to sound like a terrible choir.
I could not control it, just like a lion pouncing on his prey, I was up and off the bench trying to get that tall lanky bastards throat in my hands. Unfortunately, I met up with the meaty one first. I tried to get a swing in on him but someone grabbed my other arm while it was in its backswing. Oh FUCK! He snapped my pinky finger like a brittle twig. The pain radiated through my entire arm but I was able to free my other arm so I turned and clocked the finger breaker. His nose crumbled under my fist as blood spattered out of it. I turned back around to get the tall lanky one again, why can't I just forget about him for now, when someone jabbed me with something sharp in my right thigh. More pain but still no gain. This was a losing battle. Where the fuck are the guards?
I finally collapsed to the ground bloody, bruised, and brutalized. Just as I heard the guards whistle, someone sliced off my left earlobe. Everything went hazy then blurred and finally to black.
.....
I have been in the infirmary, unconscious apparently, for the last two days. Everything is still a bit fuzzy but the pain has not faded. I reached up to feel my ear because that was the last thing I remembered and it felt like I did lose the lobe maybe more. I need a fucking mirror. Then again, maybe I do not want to see myself. I tried yelling for a doctor but nothing would come out. What the hell?
An hour had passed when the doctor finally came in to see if I had woken up. He looked surprisingly upset that I had, in fact, survived. He explained to me that I had several broken ribs, my earlobe had gone missing, a couple teeth were gone, a few stitches in my legs, and while the guards were breaking the slaughter up someone accidentally stepped on my throat. That is why my voice is not working. Lovely. As much as I would have loved to stay awake enjoying every minute of my pain and agony the doctor shot me up with some morphine.
.....
I am finally out of the infirmary. It's Friday again but I think my cell is the safe bet this weekend. Then again, I might have a plan. It may be foolish but that is what a temper gets you.
It is the last three hours of our free time for today. I spotted Little Louis just a few minutes ago and decided to follow him. He is dangerous, but this should be quick. He was on his way to go meet his little groupies but I have something else in store for him. I do not like getting beat down but I really do not like the fact that everyone was starting to call me Jackie around here. Revenge is going to be swift and sweet.
Looks like Louis is waiting to meet someone behind the guards' shack. I sneak around the backside of the shack sitting there silently. He is meeting with another prisoner. I am twiddling my handy dandy handmade dagger thinking of how much fun this will be. I do not want to kill him. I do not want to risk having to serve my actual life sentence out. Fifty with a chance of parole is better than life without a chance at parole.
Here he comes. He does not have a clue. Just as he passes by me I jump out slice the backs of both of his ankles, one right after the other, and he falls over. He is screaming loudly. I should probably get out of here but there is just one more thing. Using a fast sawing motion, I cut off the tip of his nose while he is convulsing, trying to squirm away from me. He screams some more. I drop his nose to the ground in front of him and run. A minute or two later, while stalking Big Jim, I see the guards rushing over there.
I know the lockdown whistle will be going off soon but I have to take the offensive here and strike while I can. It all fits perfectly into my plan. Big Jim is meeting with Brock. I have them both in the same place at the same time. I am within ten feet of them when the whistle blares its obnoxious howl. They fall to the ground hands on their heads, which is procedure when the whistle goes off, while I lunge at them. They did not see it coming. I stabbed them both in the backs of their knees. I then proceeded to bash their heads off the ground until the guards pounced on me. They beat me good with their sticks but it was worth it. I heard one of the guards yelling to Brock that they had me and not to worry. I knew where I was going but that is all part of the plan. My new home will be the shoe. I do not know how long they will lock me down there but at least I will be safe. I'm not getting killed in here.
Part Three
"Hey! Piece of shit, hey!" The guard was screaming.
"Fuck you!" I yelled back.
The guard politely replied, "I've got a gift for you from one of your dirtbag buddies."
He handed me a damn noose with a note that said: HERE'S YOUR ONLY WAY OUT OF THE SHOE. God dammit! Must be from one of my good friends from the past.
I threw the noose back at the hole where the guards glaring eyes were watching me with delight. I am sure he was hoping to see a hanging this morning or whatever time of day it is.
I have been down here for four days but it is already getting hard to keep track of the time. With glorious wake-up calls like this one, you think I would be able to track them a little easier. Unfortunately, my wake up calls happen whenever they feel the need to wake me. Most likely, whenever one of my friends tells them to. Seems they run the place. Anyways, I get a wakeup call at least every two or three hours. I have not slept much in the last several days.
It is funny; I thought I would be safer down here. I also thought I would finally get my meals. The first day no one showed up with food. The second day I got a slice of toast topped with a roach and some jam or someone's blood; I am not sure which but I did eat it. The third day was actual food. They must have been having fun so they decided to keep me alive by feeding me; it's no fun if I've starved to death. I got three full meals that day. Although, the last meal of the day did have a special treat under the entrée; several whole fingernails with some of the skin still attached. Oh well, at least I was full.
Now today I get a noose. I have not gotten any food yet. I am not sure what time of day it is since windows are nonexistent in the shoe. I can hear the crazies on the floor howling and catcalling the guards so it must be daytime.
The guard who tossed me the noose slowly opens the rusty-hinged door. As it's squeaking open, another guard lunges through the partially open door screaming at me to stay back. I did until his club cracked me in the back of the head and I fell forward.
"What the fuck! I was as far back as I could get." I yelled at the overly aggressive guard.
"Shut up inmate scum! You're coming with us. There's a place worse than the shoe for trash like you." The burly guard was yelling.
They're suddenly dragging me down the rough concrete hallway. I can hear my prison clothes ripping; I feel cuts on my legs tearing open as they're pulling me along. I also fell a little blood dripping from an apparent gash on the back of my head.
We finally get to a solid black, heavy metal door. One of the guards is pulling the door open. I can hear scratching along the concrete as he does. Suddenly they toss me in the room. The door slams shut.
"What the hell!" I'm screaming as someone grabs my hair, pulls me up and slams my ass down in a chair. "Hey, I mean it, what the fuck's going on?"
Someone savagely slams my hands down on the arm of the chair. They're strapping them down tight I guess so there is no wiggle room. I look up to see Brock and Big Jim sitting in a viewing room. I'm in the electric chair.
"Hey fuck you guys! You can't kill me here. The prison won't allow it. You might be able to torture me and trash me but you ain't getting away with killing me here." I'm screaming frantically, almost desperately now.
In his ever-so-smooth, know-it-all voice Brock says "Now, now Jackie you should know by now we can do as we please here. Isn't that right warden?"
"Sure as shit!" Says the warden.
"We don't want you dead yet Jackie boy. Don't worry, when we do, you will be. We just want to show you our gratitude for the other day." Says Brock as he lifts up his legs so I can see the bandages wrapped around his wounded knees.
"Get it over with then! Quit fucking around and cut me, rape me, beat me to hell and back just get it done and quit being a pussy!" I yelled.
"Oh, you'd like that. Something that would be easy to move on from. That's you always taking the easy way out. No...no this is going to be memorable for...haha...well all of us." Big Jim was speaking this time in his deep, baritone voice.
I started thrashing violently hoping to break a strap or tip the chair, but it was to no avail because the chair is bolted to the ground. I think this is my Waterloo. I'm probably going to wish I'd used that noose earlier today.
With a jolt, my already sore head was slammed into the back of the chair. That hurt. The guys behind me are strapping my head in now. Not the eyes, not the eyes. My eyes have been taped open as well. I hope this isn't some CIA strobe-light type shit.
"Well Jackie, now you get to see the whole show." Said Brock from behind the glass.
He disappeared for a moment. Now he's limping through the big black door. It looks like he's going to do some of the dirty work too.
He kneels down beside me staring at my feet like a rabid dog. He's nearly foaming at the mouth. He calmly grabs my right foot, strangely caresses it, holds his hand out behind him and a pair of needle nose pliers is dropped into his hand.
"This little piggy went to market, this little piggy was a bad little piggy...." Brock chanted.
"Aahhhh...you fucking psycho!" I screamed as he pulled the nail off of my big toe. The pain hits instantly and it is excruciating. Tears are running down my face since I can't shut my eyes. The worst part is having my head angled so I have to watch it. I can't look away. I see him looking at my hand now. He flips the pliers up, grips my pinky nail and tears. Blood squirts out hitting Brock in the face. He just smiles and wipes it away; he's done this a few times.
I'm starting to feel pretty woozy. He's got all my toenails off and I only have two fingernails left. I'm bleeding pretty good. Why am I still awake, oh that's right the adrenaline shot they gave me. They really did want me to see the whole show.
"I...I...I fucking get it, Brock. You gotta stop." I was pleading barely audible.
"But we're having so much fun. We haven't even got to reminisce about the old days yet." Said Brock, as he ripped one of my last two nails off.
Luckily my vision is getting really blurry so I can't see as much anymore. The shock is numbing the pain a bit. It still feels like a nail gun being shot in my fingertips but better then it felt earlier.
"DAMMIT!" there went the last nail.
"Well now wasn't that fun," said Brock, "I think we're almost done here, boys. But Jackie one more thing."
He took the pile of toe and fingernails and shoved them in my mouth. I tried spitting them out but he clamped my mouth shut I just don't have the strength to fight him. I refused to swallow them. He finally moved his hand, only because he's got vomit on it but at least he moved it.
"Shit Jackie now you've made a mess." He said. Everyone's chuckling behind him. "I guess you can go back to your room now. They got an execution soon."
"Third one this week," said the warden "I love roasting you dirtbags."
They finally unstrapped me. I closed my eyes for the first time in I don't even know how long. Whoever was behind me the whole time shoved me onto the floor. The pain is unbearable. I think I'm going to take that nap now.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone