The Bars That Hold Us Read Online Free PDF

guys have in mind, they’re going to have to hustle.
    Lionel covers Clinton’s mouth as he yanks him from the lower bunk. My cellie, drugged with sleep, comes freely away from his mattress. The little strip of moonlight that filters through our grimy window makes the whites of his eyes glow as they widen in surprise.
    He’s held in a choke-hold and silenced while two other accomplices grab his wildly kicking feet. The fourth guy means business. All I can do is look on, unless I want to involve myself – which I don’t.
    Unable to defend himself, Clinton is left wide open for their onslaught. It isn’t pretty and I can see that I’m going to need to find a new cell mate after this little execution. The fourth guy makes quick work of his torso as he goes to work with a homemade shank.
    With the scuffle going on in such a confined space, it was only going to be seconds before the alarm was raised. That’s all his attackers need, though. Cells explode, the din blasting out into the hallway as the pen’s alarm goes off. On the walls, bright yellow lights flash, indicating that all of the custodial staff are needed immediately.
    They come, bearing weapons, Tasers and body armor. The four who’ve entered our cell uninvited stand back against the wall, arms held high in the air. The dark may have provided some obscurity, but now I can see each of their faces clearly as guards work to get them all shackled.
    On the floor, Clinton lies inert. It’s hard to say if he’ll make it. More to the point, who cares?
    A guard each takes one of the jailbirds off in the direction of the hole. A stretcher is brought from the infirmary to take Clinton away. I’m left supervised by the warden as the remaining guard goes and gets a mop and bucket. I can see this is going to be a long night. While the rest of the inmates carry on with their bellowing, I’m left to face off with Reginald Haylock.
    This guy is a no-nonsense fella who runs his ship tighter than a fish’s asshole. If there is one thing an inmate wants to avoid at all costs, it’s a run-in with the warden. Nobody wants to be seen talking to him. You could end up being cast as an informer, which will bring nothing but bad luck and trouble your way. I’ve been around the traps long enough to know to just keep my mouth shut, especially when a Three Knee Deep has just taken place. That’s the term they give when someone’s been stabbed, but not killed, usually as a warning. I’m not about to put myself in a position where I could be given the same warning.
    ‘Prisoner number?’ The w arden barks. There are no nice requests.
    ‘224702.’ I watch while he types the information into his iPad.
    ‘Hmm.’ He looks at me, weighing up the man before him. I know from the Master Index Number I just gave him that he has every single detail about me glaring up at him on his screen. It will show him everything from my jacket and charge to how much I weighed when I walke d through these bars.
    ‘What happened here tonight?’
    ‘I couldn’t tell you, Warden, I was fast asleep.’
    ‘Don’t spin your bullshit to me, Saxon. I’ve got an inmate who looks like he’s about to take a trip to the county morgue.’
    ‘Not my problem, Warden.’
    ‘Do you fancy a trip to solitary, son?’
    ‘No, s ir.’
    ‘Then perhaps you’d like to rethink that vague memory of yours and see if you can help the staff out with a testimony as to what in the hell went on here. You never know, you might just be able to get yourself some creature comforts in exchange.’
    ‘Sorry, but I’m not looking for a juice card.’
    ‘Juice card?’
    ‘I’m not looking for favors, Warden. You can do what you like, but I can only tell you what I know—which is nothing.’
    ‘Fine,’ he says, smoothing down his bad comb-over. The strands of hair are licked together with sticky hair gel, making his baldness just as visible as if it were shaved off. ‘You can clean up this mess. If you change your mind