Page 20 of White Rabbit

While Cato was occupied in the outside world, I decided it was time to get the wheels turning on the inside. I had an art class to enroll in.

Two days later, I’m cleaning one of the recreational rooms in the cellblock, keeping a careful eye on the clock. Beans is mopping away, humming some awful tune as he loses himself in the task.

When I’d been grabbing my supplies, I’d found a small metal file in the cleaning closet and I thought it might come in handy for the little brawl I had planned, so I’d slipped it inside my boot. Nothing was going to stop me from getting into the art class, not even a giant called Tiny.

The officer overseeing us today is a lazy fucker that goes by the name of Swanson. He literally couldn’t give a fuck what happens as long as it’s no extra work for him. That’s what had allowed me to spend a little longer in the chemicals closet earlier, mixing up my cleaning fluid in a way that made it dangerous.

As the clock finally ticks over to 2:25pm, I knock the chemical glass cleaner off the windowsill and let the liquid spill down my legs. Planning for this, I’d padded out my overalls with extra rags, but it would only buy me a few moments before my flesh would start to burn. Fucking chemical burns were horrible to deal with.

“Officer,” I call out, adding some panic to my voice. “I’ve spilled chemicals on myself.”

All the other inmates on cleaning duties turn to look at me, pausing their tasks, but I ignore them.

Beans rushes to my side. “Shit, Creed. Are you alright?”

“No, it fucking burns!” I hissed. Why was I surrounded by idiots?

Officer Swanson rolls his eyes before getting off his ass to come over and take a closer look. He eyes my damp overalls wearily.

“Has it soaked through?” he asks, probably trying to work out what he can do without having to really do anything.

I nod, but he just continues to stare at my damp legs, obviously trying to think. Think faster fucker.

“Sir, it burns,” I grunt with a twitch of my jaw. The man is an idiot.

“Go wash it off then Creed and report to medical once you're done. Beans, go with him. No messing around from either of you.” He finally replies. It must be like waiting to connect to the dial-up internet inside his head. “I’ll let Anderson know you’re on your way to the shower block.”

Beans tries to wrap an arm around my waist to guide me, and for a few moments I keep up the charade and let him, but once we’re outside the rec room, I give him a glare that makes him wither away.

“Oh. Are you even hurt?”

The corner of my mouth lifts. “Not yet, but there’s still time.”

Everything slots into place as we walk towards the showers. There’s an officer outside keeping guard. I assume he’s Anderson, but he’s another one of the lazy ones, not unlike the fucker on cleaning duties. He barely glances up as he sits there with his headphones in, which benefits me, but I still scoff. How is he supposed to supervise his inmates if he’s sat outside and can’t even hear them?

It’s not my problem, but as the Left Hand, I make a mental note to email Cato later with some feedback for our own officers in Newtown.

Striding in, I quickly strip off my filthy overalls and toss them aside. I get rid of the extra padding and adjust the file in my boot so that I can just grab it if I need it. Nothing worse than fishing around in my shoe while someone beats on me.

With a nod of my head, I motion for Beans to position himself just inside the doorway and stop anyone else from entering.

The watching and waiting I’d done pays off as I see Tiny step out of the showers, towel wrapped tightly around his waist, almost like clockwork after his landscaping duties.

With a quick glance around, I can’t spot anyone else, so I step up to him. I know he knows who I am. He’s been observing me out of the corner of his eye as he heads towards his clothes.

I call out, “Hey fuckface, don’t take this personally but I need you to drop out of Officer Bishop's art class.”

The overhead light glints off his bald head, his skin flushes red from the shower, tattoos looking angry as he pulls on his underwear and then his orange pants.

“Fuck off, Creed.’ he growls as he pushes me aside. “You’ve got no power here.”

Up this close I appreciate just how large this bastard is, and if he wasn’t a filthy fucking Cartel member, I’d even consider inviting him for a few rounds at The Gryphon, the Family run boxing ring.

“I may not have Family power here, behind these bars. But just how do you think I rose to the top?” I give him a sinister grin as I crack my knuckles.

He huffed a laugh. “Shit floats. Everyone knows that.”

Sighing dramatically, I rub my temples. “Tell Carlos Lopez Jr. I tried to keep this civil, but you wanted to do it the hard way.”

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