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Authors: Christopher Nuttall
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everything, although I wasn't particularly scared. I had done very well in unarmed combat, under a Drill Sergeant who had been a fearsome bastard, three times as intimidating as the worst of the prisoners.
Others looked more fearful. They did their best to hide it, but they were terrified of the other prisoners, or even of the guards. I didn’t blame them. Some of them looked young enough to be my sons, while others looked surprisingly innocent, almost baby-faced. I distrusted those prisoners on sight. They were too good to be true. Richard escorted me around, keeping me well away from the bars, pointing out some of the worst offenders.
“That’s Lono,” he said, pointing to a man who looked large enough to pick up and carry an entire Abrams tank. “He got into a bar fight and killed pretty much everyone else in the bar and they had to taser him to stop him. Drugged up, of course. He’s been sentenced to life here.”
His finger met a meek-looking man, almost a real-life Clark Kent. “David Apple,” Richard identified him. “He found a small girl in his garden one day and had his way with her. It must have started something, because he kidnapped three other girls over the next few weeks and tortured them to death slowly and painfully. He’s under sentence of death, but he’s currently launching his third appeal. His first night here was almost his last. A pair of convicts got to him and started to rape him when we broke it up. They came damn close to killing him.”
I didn’t hear any regret in his voice. “And that’s the type of people we have here,” Richard concluded. “What are you going to do with them?”
“What I have to do,” I said. My plans had congealed nicely into something workable. All I had to do was get started. “I assume that you have complete records here?”
“Of course,” Richard said, confidently. “You do know that they’re meant to be sealed…” He broke off at my snort. Prisoner records might have been meant to be confidential, but it hardly mattered any longer. There was no longer any Law and Order, but us. “What do you want to know about them?”
“I want to sort them out,” I said, as Brent approached. “Any problems?”
“One of the prisoners tried to grab Stacy’s ass,” Brent said. I scowled. I shouldn’t have allowed Stacy anywhere near the prison, but I wasn't in the mood for an argument over sexual equality. “She broke his arm with her rifle butt.”
“Good for her,” I said, relaxing slightly. The last time anyone had taken liberties with Stacy, during an unarmed combat competition, she’d thrown them clear across the mat. She really was as good as she claimed to be, which made a change from some of the other feminists I’d met in my career. “I have a job for you.”
Chapter Six
I think we need to change that old saying, “I don't need a building to fall on me.” Because two did and we still don't get it. I think we all stick our head in the sand as a deep human impulse.
-Bill Maher
My plan was straightforward, but ruthless.
“Richard,” I said, “I want you to sort the prisoners out into three categories. The ones who need medications to survive, the ones who are truly nasty and beyond redemption and everyone else. I trust your judgement in sorting them out, but make sure that all the real fucks go into the second category.”
Richard nodded and headed off to his office. He’d made a brief announcement to his staff, explaining that they were all part of Ingalls now, and few had dissented. The handful who had dissented turned out to have families in other towns and cities and wanted to go back there. I agreed at once when they demanded the right to return after we’d dealt with the prisoners.
I found myself studying the guards with interest. I had spent time guarding prisoners myself in Iraq
Others looked more fearful. They did their best to hide it, but they were terrified of the other prisoners, or even of the guards. I didn’t blame them. Some of them looked young enough to be my sons, while others looked surprisingly innocent, almost baby-faced. I distrusted those prisoners on sight. They were too good to be true. Richard escorted me around, keeping me well away from the bars, pointing out some of the worst offenders.
“That’s Lono,” he said, pointing to a man who looked large enough to pick up and carry an entire Abrams tank. “He got into a bar fight and killed pretty much everyone else in the bar and they had to taser him to stop him. Drugged up, of course. He’s been sentenced to life here.”
His finger met a meek-looking man, almost a real-life Clark Kent. “David Apple,” Richard identified him. “He found a small girl in his garden one day and had his way with her. It must have started something, because he kidnapped three other girls over the next few weeks and tortured them to death slowly and painfully. He’s under sentence of death, but he’s currently launching his third appeal. His first night here was almost his last. A pair of convicts got to him and started to rape him when we broke it up. They came damn close to killing him.”
I didn’t hear any regret in his voice. “And that’s the type of people we have here,” Richard concluded. “What are you going to do with them?”
“What I have to do,” I said. My plans had congealed nicely into something workable. All I had to do was get started. “I assume that you have complete records here?”
“Of course,” Richard said, confidently. “You do know that they’re meant to be sealed…” He broke off at my snort. Prisoner records might have been meant to be confidential, but it hardly mattered any longer. There was no longer any Law and Order, but us. “What do you want to know about them?”
“I want to sort them out,” I said, as Brent approached. “Any problems?”
“One of the prisoners tried to grab Stacy’s ass,” Brent said. I scowled. I shouldn’t have allowed Stacy anywhere near the prison, but I wasn't in the mood for an argument over sexual equality. “She broke his arm with her rifle butt.”
“Good for her,” I said, relaxing slightly. The last time anyone had taken liberties with Stacy, during an unarmed combat competition, she’d thrown them clear across the mat. She really was as good as she claimed to be, which made a change from some of the other feminists I’d met in my career. “I have a job for you.”
Chapter Six
I think we need to change that old saying, “I don't need a building to fall on me.” Because two did and we still don't get it. I think we all stick our head in the sand as a deep human impulse.
-Bill Maher
My plan was straightforward, but ruthless.
“Richard,” I said, “I want you to sort the prisoners out into three categories. The ones who need medications to survive, the ones who are truly nasty and beyond redemption and everyone else. I trust your judgement in sorting them out, but make sure that all the real fucks go into the second category.”
Richard nodded and headed off to his office. He’d made a brief announcement to his staff, explaining that they were all part of Ingalls now, and few had dissented. The handful who had dissented turned out to have families in other towns and cities and wanted to go back there. I agreed at once when they demanded the right to return after we’d dealt with the prisoners.
I found myself studying the guards with interest. I had spent time guarding prisoners myself in Iraq
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