cobra and the delinquents 22

 

 

Chapter 22 Pulling one sixth of my weight

 

I awoke to prison breakfast. It was nutritious.  I think that’s the kindest thing I could say about it. A high-roughage porridge of some kind, with dried fruit in it, because for long term prisoners, they wanted to keep their insides healthy rather than worrying about low-yield food, and a protein bar. It was brown, but it tasted a rather sickly pink with grey streaks.

Then I had another pretty full medical.

I didn’t bother to complain; I didn’t want the spiritual descendent of Dr. Mengele to find an excuse to keep me and run more tests. I decided not to hold it against the doctor, though; for all I knew, he might have had a relative who had been a victim of the man whose face I was wearing. A doctor should be scrupulously impartial, but you can’t expect anyone who wasn’t half way to a halo to hold to that in some circumstances. Thankfully, I was well enough hydrated; I did not want to have a canula to an IV drip and a catheter to measure output. I was feeling a lot better as well.

“You can have three days off,” he said. “Get out. You’ll have to leave the books here as they were drawn here.”

Ah, the joys of petty bureaucracy.

I went back to my cell with the guard assigned to take me.

I palmed his key, and made an impression in the soap I had stolen from the toilet in the hospital.

I had it back before he noticed I had stolen it.

Keypad locks are all very well, but they can fail if there’s an outage, and solar storms can cause outages. Mechanical locks are indifferent to solar storms.  Moreover, clever inmates can find out and pass on pass numbers, and manage to break out. Retinal scans, fingerprint recognition, I hear you ask? Well, all good technology, except that no guard likes serving on the moon any more than the prisoners like being here, and with a high turnover, the logistics of making sure the cells can be unlocked is horrendous.  So, good old-fashioned turn the keys in tumblers it is.

And the beauty of that lies in the fact that very few modern crooks understand how to break through such locks.

I had, in one of my pouches, a tube of resin, and a UV torch [and I was going to avoid shining it on the bedclothes because I did not want to know what secrets of body fluids I might surprise] to set it hard. I’d prefer sunlight, but that was a limited commodity, and came through glass which cut out most of the UV light anyway.

And yes, I could use lockpicks, but they scratch the lock.

There was a camera on the corridor. Cautiously, I used the miniature rig to enter the security network.  I saved a load of footage of what Willow calls BAH, or Bugger All Happening, to insert into the system when I decided to move.

I had just time to get out of the system, everything back in my skinsuit pockets and my skinsuit hidden when the corridor’s security door opened. I lay on the bed, scowling, as the governor came to my cell.

“Lewis! I hear you saved the life of that fool of a boy, Tickbush,” said Governor Plunkett. “Surely not the result of sunstroke making you act like that?”

“I wondered if it might not be a bad idea to have him owing me,” I said. “He’s good stock, after all.”

“True enough, though he spurned my offers,” said Plunkett.

I gave a harsh, sneering laugh.

“He’s a pretty boy, perhaps he thought you were propositioning him for a more intimate service,” I said. “He’s confused. I told him I wanted to atone for his brother’s death. I thought he was worth working on.”

“You are a cunning bastard,” said Plunkett.

“I’m still alive,” I said, with a shrug. Which was true enough as far as I was concerned, if not as far as Lewis Hackenbohm’s case. “Bored, though, Dr. Mengele stole my library books on grounds they were drawn in the medical wing.”

“I’ll see they are brought to you,” said Plunkett, hastily. “Please don’t call him that.”

“I don’t like him,” I said.

“He doesn’t like you,” said Plunkett. “Wonder why.” As irony lay heavy in his tone, I had to assume there was good reason.

“No problems?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I haven’t heard from Major Harkness with regards to that interfering teacher.  But there was a meteor strike which landed near the main base. But he surely could not engineer that, could he?”

“Accidents happen,” I said. “Attributing all bad luck to an enemy is the start of madness.”

“Yes, yes, you are right, of course,” said Plunkett. “And he could not possibly get inside the jail here. But I would like to know what happened.”

“Maybe a report was made which got lost in a flare,” I suggested.

He looked relieved.

“Yes, that will be it,” he agreed.

He left me to my own devices, and an hour later, my library books turned up.

I read the cowboy bodice ripper, and it was as hilarious as I expected, because of how bad it was. I’d back any one of the kids to write a better book.

Still, it whiled away some time.

I was planning on getting things done tonight.  I’d found out where Jason was kept. He was sharing with a child molester, because he was too mild mannered to beat up on a guy who was bigger than him. He’d learn. In the meantime, I’d have no compunction over killing his cell mate.

I was hoping that Plunkett had a decent skin tight suit that would fit Jason; they were not dissimilar build. I put on my skin-tight under my clothes, and waited for lockdown. 

I was going to go by air vent; there were none in the individual cells, but each corridor had its own air conditioning vents, to make sure the air circulated. And yes, they could be closed off, to isolate portions of the prison, either for quarantine, or to take an isolated part to the point of oxygen starvation and quiescence. I am not fond of vents. They kick off my claustrophobia, but needs must.

I might have spent time researching various jails and their air vents because the temporary tightness is less bad than being locked up… and I have a dislike of the idea of jail time. Something I started researching when embarking on a life of unlawful killing.

I used my knowledge of jails once in my early career; my mark was nicked and quickly scheduled for execution, which I considered in my youthful arrogance to be unfair in depriving me of my fee. I couldn’t break him out of the death house, but I could sabotage the deathhouse equipment; I rerouted the lethal gas to a containment bladder, and installed instead a bubble machine.

I’ve always been whimsical, all right?

Anyway, they took him on a road trip to another jail, and I took him from the convoy, and then executed him.

And you know what? The client said it didn’t count. All that effort for nothing. Cheapskate.

I installed another bubble machine on his car so he trailed bubbles wherever he went. The coincidence left him answering some very nasty questions from the cops.

Which is of no consequence to what I was doing.

I activated my BAH footage, unlocked my door, and strolled along to the far end with its vent. And yes, I had BAH footage up for this one as well. I’d made some for each of the cameras I expected to have to bypass. I had some soft clinks on the bars from other inmates as I passed; whatever lies between cons, there’s always a fellow feeling for a breakout. They were making enough noise to encourage, not enough to be noticed.

I had the blueprints in my head. And I’m good at caving, if not enthusiastic. Long story short, I reached Jason’s corridor. On with the BAH, and I’m touching down. The keys were a one size fits all, so I unlocked his cell.

“Your fairy godmother is here,” I said.

He sniggered.

“I think you more nearly resemble the pumpkin,” he retorted.

“Here! Is this a jailbreak? I’m comin’ or I’ll make trouble, see?” said his cellmate, struggling out of his bunk.

I broke his neck before he could make a row, and stuffed him back in his bunk.

“I don’t hold with being nice to paedophiles,” I told Jason.

He went with me, unquestioningly. Handy, but not a survival trait. I told him so.

“If you kill me, right now, that’s better than another 20 years here,” he said.

“Fair point,” I agreed.

He needed a bit of a leg up into the shafts and I had to talk him through some corners and a bit of chimneying.

“You’ve seen Jay Silverheels do it, you can do it,” I said. This seemed to help a lot.

I changed my face for him; and being with his hero seemed to make the kid grow up to be a man.

We had to cross the air-recycling centre, which was a pain. I decided to shut it all down so we could do so without being blown off our feet, or worse, sucked into a fan. If security were vigilant, they would notice; but they were mostly looking for aberrant behaviour of inmates, not aberrant behaviour of equipment. It’s only people like me with nasty minds who consider that machinery misbehaving might be evidence of large scale problems of infiltration or exfiltration. I got it going again as soon as we were in the executive passageways. And guess what? Fewer cameras. Being late at night, most of them were in bed like good little warders.

One of them came round a corner unexpectedly; but he was more startled than I was, and I hit him hard enough to make him lose all interest in us.

I parked him in a cupboard. In the recovery position, so he would not drown if he vomited.

“I have no beef with him, so no reason to kill him,” I said to Jason.

He nodded, and looked pleased.

“I like that you don’t kill everyone in the way,” he said.

“Life is a precious thing and it is very easy to snuff it out,” I said. “I like to make sure that anyone I kill improves life for others by being dead. I wasn’t always so scrupulous, but I’ve learned a lot.”

“I bet if you’d tried to take down Hackenbohm, you’d have succeeded,” he said.

“I left it to the Feds,” I said. “I retired from killing and became a teacher, but unfortunately I don’t look for trouble, it just continues to find me.  My class of remedials, including my sister, were kidnapped to force one boy’s father to buy shoddy chips for his military contracts.  Hackenbohm’s brother got greedy and decided to extort what he could from all the parents. The driver was dead, not that she was a great loss, she was supposed to be chaperone to the girls and refused to do a darn thing but doing the driving. I was shot, and played dead so I could follow them. By the time I’d ridden on the roof of a truck and seen my sister hit and terrorised, I wasn’t in a very good mood, so I killed the lot. There were only eight or nine of them; and I double tapped the man in charge, which irritated the Feds, but they pulled enough evidence to get Hackenbohm. I guess killing him here to use his face is closing what I began a few years back.  As for the governor, he’s the last standing of an organisation which makes organised crime look like a basket of kittens.”

“It is something bigger, then?” he asked.

“It was,” I said. “I’ll tell you later. But I’m here for what I hope is my last sanction.”

 

If I was running a prison, I’d make sure that the governor and all the guards wore lifesigns bracelets. However, this being a government initiative it was either too expensive, or the various departments involved could not agree on which department’s responsibility it was. So, consequence, none of them coughed up.  It made my life simpler. I did not have to work on keeping him alive until we were ready to leave, and I could plan a more detailed exit strategy.

I already had a basic idea, but it relied on Jason behaving himself.

“Jason,” I said. “When this is done, we need to get away. Can you manage to do exactly what I tell you when I tell you.”

“You’re the expert,” he said. “I don’t have to understand what I’m doing, is what you mean, as long as I do it?”

“Pretty much,” I agreed. “Trust me, I know more or less all there is to know about escape and evade.”

“I’m not about to gainsay Jay Silverheels,” he said. “It was your performance which made me think I might be able to fight for justice. But I screwed  up.”

“You didn’t know enough,” I said. “I can probably get you a federal pardon, as you were trying to uncover corruption; but if not, we can change your identity.  And if you want, I can teach you all the tricks of the trade; or you can live your life quietly. But I won’t leave an essentially innocent boy in this hellhole.”

“I want to learn, and I want to help,” he said.

Oh, well, the girls were going to want more dancing partners than Hammond.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“Follow me,” I said.