Page 6 of The Freshman

Alfie unlocked the gate and relockedit behind himself. Henry returned to the office and pushed thegreen glasses back up the bridge of his nose. If one of theprisoners had escaped and lurked in the shadows, Alfie doubtedHenry would be much help even if he was awake. Alfie breathed deepthrough his nose and walked up to the first cell.

He knocked his fist to the cell doorfirmly, and the metal rattled louder than intended.“Name?”

The man beyond the door roared andflung something at the door. A barrage of curse words immediatelyfollowed, spoken harshly and fiercely. Then began the threats. Thethreats of disembowelment, of rape, and brutal murder.

“I just want yourname.”

“I’ll carve it in yourface, how about that?”

Alfie shuffled and tapped on hisclipboard. “Name?”

“Tony Blair.”

Alfie rolled his eyes. “Yeah right,Tony Blair … and I’m Obama.”

He scanned the top of the list andfroze when the printed name was indeed Tony Blair.

“What the hell did youjust say, wise guy? You took the piss out of my name.”

The door rattled with a hard thump,and Alfie’s eyes snapped to the hinges. They held, but Alfie stillshot a cautious look back at the gate to the lobby. Marie and Glenstill hadn’t returned from their night time lovemaking.

Tony’s roars and possession flingingwoke the man in the neighboring cell. A brief conversation ofmainly swear words and grunts went back and forth, and then theinsults started from cell number two.

It was destined to be the longest rollcall of Alfie’s entire life, and he was on his own. Unlike G-wing,they didn’t hurl abuse, and then shove the duvet over their headsand go back to sleep. They stayed awake, encouraging eachdisgusting taunt.

It wasn’t the first time he had heardtheir grumbles. He had listened to their roll call when he workedon G-wing, the storm that gathered momentum, sometimes lastinguntil unlocking at seven. H-wing didn’t complain about the racket,that was inmate suicide.

Cell seventy-eight had a particularlygrowly resident who fixated on Alfie’s mum. He described horrificdetails of what he would do to her once he got out, barking withlaughter after each gory fantasy. The seventy-seven prisonersbefore him all jeered their agreement, laughing like a pack ofravenous hyenas.

Alfie sighed slowly and pinched thetop of his nose. “Well good luck finding her. I’ve looked for tenyears, but maybe you’ll have more luck.”

It was the first time he had repliedto one of them rather than repeat the same old, ‘what’s yourname’.

Mr. Growly paused, as did the rest ofthe rabble. “Smart arse,” he said, finally.

Alfie smacked his lips together. “Nosmart arse on the list. Try again.”

“DanielGreaver.”

“Thank you.”

He moved on to the next cell andtapped the door. The next inmate started with the insults, nolonger focused on his mum, but his dad. Alfie bunched his lips andlistened to the inmate graphically describe fucking his dad. Hereiterated his dad would love it, and beg for more, hoping it wouldanger Alfie, but he only shrugged.

“My dad might enjoy allthat stuff. Don’t know and don’t care. Exactly his sentiments forme…”

That stumped the man in the cell, andhe gave over his name with a huff. Alfie continued up the metalstairs, then asked for the names of the next thirty prisoners, oneby one. It was a job that took the three of them twenty minutes onG-wing, and the insults were said with less venom, less promise. Anhour passed, and Alfie was finally on the home straight.

Two more prisoners left, he knocked onthe cell door 149. The voice momentarily stunned him. Not theaggressive deep tone he was expecting, but higher, and softer. Thefeminine voice told him to go hang himself, and he looked over therailing, then shrugged.

“I didn’t bring myrope.”

The man in the cell laughed, deeperthan his spoken voice.

“You could use yourintestines after I cut you open.”

The nearest inmates howled withagreement and boomed their hands together.

Alfie grimaced, then smacked his lipstogether in distaste. “Sounds messy. I’d feel bad for the poor guythat would have to clean it up in the morning…”

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