The Fixer. John Stewart

      Chapter 2

      Death in the Yard

      Thirty days had gone by, and Mark had spent them all in a tiny cell in solitary. The guard came to take him back to general population.

      Mark stood in the back of the cell. “Just leave me here, it’s better.”

      The guard took one step in the cell and held out cuffs. “Let’s go, Mark.”

      “I’ll stay, Pete.”

      Pete stepped back and pulled the radio on his shoulder next to his mouth. “Gonna need backup in solitary, cell four.”

      He stepped back in the cell. “Mark, don’t make this bad for you.”

      Four guards stepped up behind Pete in riot gear.

      Mark took a deep breath and turned his stance to a fighting stance he had learned in karate class. “Let’s do this.”

      The Taser probes hit Mark in the chest, and he was out. He woke to four guards dragging him in full chains into the warden’s office. Slobber was draining from his mouth, and his chest felt like an elephant had stepped on it.

      Mark looked up at the warden. “Warden. How’s your day going?”

      The warden pulled a napkin from his desk drawer and handed it to a guard. “Help Mr. Farmer there. Seems to have a drooling problem. My day is going considerably better than yours, I would say.”

      “Yeah, well, good for you. What do I have to do to go back to solitary?”

      “I have good news and bad. Which would you like first?”

      “The good, I guess.”

      “Good news is, I’m transferring you to Florida. A new start for you so maybe you won’t have as many enemies.”

      “And the bad?”

      “It’s not for another week. Did you read the book I gave you?”

      “Yeah, I did.”

      “Assimilate, Mr. Farmer. It will make life easier for you. Take him to his cell.”

      “See you tomorrow.”

      “Oh yeah. Why is that?”

      “Because the next guy in that yard out there that touches me will be dead before he hits the ground. I’m already doing life for murder. What do I care if it’s a few more. Maybe I’ll fix the problems you have out there.”

      The warden straightened crossing his arms over his chest. “I guess you want to spend the rest of your life in prison and never get parole. You kill anybody in that yard, it’s murder, not self-defense since you just told me that’s what you plan to do.”

      Mark started to turn. “Take me to my cell. I’m done here.”

      “Don’t kill anybody in my yard.”

      Mark shuffled toward the door in the chains. “Get some body bags ready, Warden.”

      Mark went through the door and it closed behind him. The warden turned to look at his head guard. “Keep that fucking guy in his cell this week. No yard time at all. He goes to eat and then back to his cell.”

      “Yes, sir. You sure you don’t want me to just put him back in solitary? That’s what he wants.”

      “Fuck what he wants. I’m not gonna be told by a prisoner how to run my prison.”

      “Yes, sir, I understand.”

      “Get me my father’s book back too when you get him settled.”

      “Will do, sir.”

      The warden turned back to the window as the head guard left his office. “I hate that guy.”

      Mark got to his cell, and Kyle was sitting on his bunk. Mark looked over, and he was reading the warden’s book. “Is that yours?”

      Kyle closed the book and tossed it on Mark’s bed. “Sorry, dude. They dropped it by here a little while ago. Who gave you that?”

      The guard behind Mark stepped past Mark and picked up the book. “The warden gave it to him to read, and he wants it back.”

      Mark rubbed his wrist where the cuffs had been. Kyle had cards from various people. Books on his shelf and some sketches he was doing on the desk. Mark looked at his area, and he had nothing. No pictures of family. No letters and no books. He had been in prison for months now and had not made one attempt to fit into this new life. Honestly, he hadn’t planned on staying. He would find a way to break out or he would be dead. One way or the other, he knew this was not going to last for him.

      He lay down on the bottom bunk and stared at the bottom of the bed above. He reached up and between the steel and the mattress, he pulled the shiv out that he took off the guy a month ago. He slid it in his sock.

      Two skinheads appeared at the cell door. One a skinny little runt guy missing several teeth from the meth he had done prior to prison and the other a taller, wider guy. Bald and tattooed head to toe.

      “We been waitin’ for ya, bitch,” the bigger guy said.

      Mark let his gaze drift from the bigger guy to the smaller. The smaller guy blew him a kiss and mouthed, “Bitch.”

      Mark came off his bed razor fast. The two men jumped and moved away from the cell door. He stepped out of the cell onto the mezzanine balcony and leaned on the rail overlooking the cellblock. The two skinheads had moved down the cellblock and went down the stairs to the lower level. The skinny little guy walking behind the bigger guy. Mark watched them as they walked across the room. The bigger guy never looked up at him. He kept his focus dead ahead. Trying to look as menacing as possible. The little rat behind him kept looking up, shooting Mark a bird multiple times as they crossed the room.

      Kyle came out and leaned on the rail. “You know those guys are going to kill you, right?”

      Mark nodded. “Yeah, I know. They’re gonna try. You gonna watch my back?”

      Kyle stared at the floor and scratched at his neck. “Ah, man, you know I ain’t no fighter like you. These guys get pissed at me, and it’s a bad day in the shower. You know what I mean?”

      Mark slapped him on the shoulder. “Yeah, man. I know what you mean. Besides, when I get done with them, they’ll probably kill you just because you’re my cellmate. It’s all good.”

      Kyle walked back in the cell. “Great!”

      Mark looked up, and directly across from where he stood was the head guard. Mark pointed at the two men and then dragged his thumb across his neck.

      The guard nodded yes and turned to walk away, never looking back at Mark.

      Mark laughed out loud. “Fuck me. He wants me to deal with those guys.”

      As he walked back in the cell, Kyle was looking to see who he was talking to. “Who were you talking to out there?”

      “God!”

      “Did he answer you?”

      “Yeah, he said, ‘Sorry I can’t help you.’”

      The next day they went to breakfast. Mark sat in the same place he always did. Against the wall in a corner. That way, whatever was coming at him came from in front of him and not behind. Twice the Nazi guys circled near, but the guards were too close, and they