Buried Biker Read Online Free PDF

you?” he asked.
    I turned to eye him. Hard to see much in the dark. “Right now, parole violation.”
    “Parole violation.” He spit out the words, contempt in his voice. “What, they catch you using again? Dirty piss or something? How much backup time you got?”
    I considered how much I wanted to tell him, but decided there was no point not telling him the truth. “Maybe another twenty years or so. Depend on how much good time I could pick up.”
    I heard the sharp intake of his breath. “That don’t sound like usual drug charges,” he said. “What did they get you for?”
    “Couple of things. Pretty much all related.”
    “Like what?”
    No point in lying now. “Conspiracy. Possession of a handgun during commission of a felony. Murder.”
    He made a strangled sound, kicked off his shoes and lay down, curling into a ball and away from the wall, his eyes open wide and staring.
    I don’t think he slept well the rest of that night.

    “Breakfast!”
    Dressed only in jail-issued shorts and a T-shirt, I slid down from the top bunk and slipped my feet into the shower shoes. An inmate in kitchen whites stood by the hatch in the cell door, a tray in each hand.
    The CO stood behind him, watching.
    I took one tray and set it on the steel shelf set into the cinderblocks against the back of the cell.
    Glancing at my cell buddy, still lying in the bottom bunk facing the wall, his blanket pulled up over his shoulders. I asked, “Ain’t you gonna eat?”
    No response.
    “Don’t you want your breakfast?”
    He didn’t look up at me. “Shut up.” Even less friendly than last night.
    I shrugged and turned to the kitchen worker. “Can I take it for him? He might change his mind.”
    “No skin off my teeth,” he said, slipping the other tray through the hatch. I put it next to the other one.
    The actively circulating air was damp and chilly. The cell had no window. I peered through the grilled door into the brightly lit common area, which at this security level wouldn’t be used much. No windows there that I could see. No skylight, either. This was going to be depressing. As if being locked up wasn’t depressing enough.
    The oversized orange jumpsuit I’d been given the night before was at the foot of my bunk and I reached for it, pulled it on, and snapped it.
    Not very warm, but a bit better than just the underwear. I could do with some socks and a sweatshirt, but the prospects of getting them didn’t look very good. Neither did the possibility of a shave. I rubbed my cheek. Maybe I should just grow a beard.
    Breakfast wasn’t bad. A good-sized square of reconstituted dried eggs, two pieces of toast which actually had a smear of margarine on them, a carton of juice, and one of milk. I had no idea how quickly someone would be around to collect the trays again, so I scarfed mine down.
    My cell buddy didn’t stir. I looked longingly at his tray. “You gonna eat that?” I asked him.
    “Shut up,” he said again.
    This was going to be cheerful. First no natural light, now I was going to be locked in twenty three hours a day with somebody who wasn’t saying anything but “shut up.”
    We were in the restricted, high security cellblock. People were assigned here because they were considered dangerous, escape risks, or crazy.
    How about this guy? An assault charge didn’t seem reason enough to be assigned here, but I didn’t know the circumstances. I hoped he wasn’t a total crazy, although he wasn’t giving me any indication to the contrary.
    “Look,” I said. “I’m thinking we’re gonna be locked in here together for a lot of time so we might as well make the best of it.”
    He didn’t move, but he said, “I bet you’re not gonna be here long. I’m not going anywhere soon.” He choked on the words. I hoped he wasn’t going to start crying. Can’t say as I’d blame him, but I never knew what to do when anybody did that. Especially when I was locked in with them.
    “If all they get me for is the