Page 35 of Caged In

A spark of pride enters his chest over the job he did, he’s never wiped down a large bench before, or the other things he had to clean. He’s a cleaning pro now.

Strollinginto the depths of the kitchen, Izz wanders around, trying—and failing—to locate Levis. He swearshe’s searched the entire kitchen twice and he can see no sign of the kitchen boss anywhere.

“Excuse me,” Izz asks one of the inmates flipping the cages of bacon to drain off the oil, “do you know where Levisis?”

“He went around back, to check supplies for lunch,” the guy points to a small flapping door.

Izz slowly pushes the doors wide—a huge walk-in pantry greets him. Stacked with a largeselection of bulk food supplies. Barrels of flour as tall as him. Shelves stuffed with more potatoes and onions thanhe has seen in his lifetime. Other shelves holding salt, pasta, rice—bags and bags of it.

Damn, this has to be a hefty food bill.

Izz locates the server in the third aisle of shelves. Levis is sifting through a barrel of something . . .

He spies itemshe knows are definitely not prison issued.

Contraband.

Levisdoesn’t appear to have heard Izz come in. The man is hunched over counting products, maybe fixing up orders or other contraband type activities.

Ducking back around to the other aisle, he sneaks off, tiptoeingfurther away to avoid being discovered. He doesn’t want to be associated—by the guards—with contraband distribution. Or worse—getting caught by the shady kitchen boss, spying on secretive prison business.

“Levis,you in here? I finished the cleaning,” Izz’s voice carries through the entire pantry. He positions himself next to the doors and pretends he hadn’t walked in and seen what he had.

“Yep, give us a sec’ I’ll be right with you,” Levis’s voice drifts back to Izz, along with the clatter of a barrel closing tight.

“Alright,” Izz loiters on the periphery of the pantry, waiting for the kitchenBoss—and apparently, contraband distributor—to come out.

“Terrific,” Izz mutters sarcastically to himself.

He praysthis incident doesn’t go south, prays the guards don’t find out and add more time onto his sentence. When he has nothing to do with the contraband, he was given this job by the counsellor. He has no say in what the other inmates in here have been doing—and will no doubt continue doing.

Come to think of it, the knowledge may be useful. Good to know who to approach for things like weed. If Levisdistributes weed—and Izz has money to buy it. And he is willing to risk dealing with a mob boss—or gang, or whatever they call themselves—to get illegal contraband inside a prison. And if he is willing to take the risk of potentially getting caught in the process.

Seems like more risks than it’s worth.

~~~

He is not enjoying washing up. The dishes are endless. Packing the dishwasher is boring and gruelling—even with four machines available to use, it still takes forever. And the pills are wearing off, his aches and pains returning to him with a vengeance. Punishing him for making them disappear.

Levishad shown Izz how to pack the machines, where the soaps and scrubbing brushes are located. Where the dials had to be set. And where to put everything once it’s cleaned and dried.

Izz sighs as he slams the last dishwasher shut, clicking its little digitalbuttons to start the wash and rinse routine. This particular machine is the newest model out of the four washers, it’s way easier to use than the rest of them.

He’s the last in the kitchen. The other inmates—who cooked and prepared the meal—have finished their work and left to eat. The servers are the only ones hanging around the front of the kitchen, past the divider, out of sight. He can’t see them and they can’t see him. Which he takesfull advantage of, leaning back against a machine to take a break, with no one around to notice him slacking off. It’s not like he actuallyhas anything to do. Not until the loads are finished and he can pack everything away.

Am I going to be the cleaning boy now?

Is this what Reni meant? When his cellmate said someone wanted him here?

He would hate to be stuck in this kitchen job, for the sole purpose of cleaning. He doesn’t know how to cook but that doesn’t mean he wanted to do dishes for the rest of his long prison stay. He has plenty of time to learn how to cook—

Approaching footfalls have Izz spinning to face the machines, and pretend like he’s very busy doing . . . something.

“How’s everything going?” Levis’s heavy strides rounds the corner, “I remember you like the bacon. Made you a tray.”

Izz turns to find Levisholding out a tray containing his usual breakfast choices. Well,‘usual’for the couple of times he’s had it prior to today. He hasn’t been here long enough to have an actual meal preference.

“Thanks, I’m starving. I don’t think I’ve cleaned this much in a year, let alone a single meal.” Izz laughs nervously, accepting the tray from Levis’s grasp.

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