Gaming The System [Book One] Page 5

  "Two o'clock." Rico leaned in next to her. "That one of the guys he was talkin' about? Jenkins?"

  Piper scanned the room, spotting the officer he was talking about. She read his name badge and nodded. Rico went to say something else but she'd already stood and started moving toward the officer.

  "Jenkins, isn't it?" She said as she casually sat across from the officer.

  The guy looked up with a smile and nodded.

  “That’s right, honey. I was wondering when we'd run into each other," he said, leaning back in his chair.

  Piper cringed inwardly but smiled politely and accessed her ocular camera. Best to start recording sooner rather than later. You never knew what gems people might drop in the first bouts of conversation, something she'd learned the hard way on previous projects.

  "I was wondering if you would mind talking with me—“

  "For your movie?" He finished.

  Piper nodded.

  Wow, nothing gets by you.

  "I'm your man. Frankly, you couldn't find any better. Probably shoulda found me earlier. I'm a senior officer ya know..." Jenkins leaned his chair back a little further. "been around, seen a lot of shit go down, ya know?”

  "I can see I've found my guy," Piper said, hoping her sarcasm didn't bleed through too much.

  "Yes, you have." Jenkins winked.

  It took all her strength to not roll her eyes before launching into some standard questions. She asked how long he'd been at The Tank and some standard procedure questions, feeling the officer out. He was as loosed lipped as they came and Piper smiled. She'd definitely found her man. She’d put up with his chauvinist manners if it meant getting what she wanted.

  "So what's it like coming to work every day knowing the danger you face?”

  Jenkins puffed out his chest like a damn peacock and swiped his nose with his thumb. She clenched her jaw and reminded herself to be nice. Like it or not, she needed the guy.

  "It's no easy task, ya know? I'm mean, how many other jobs you know of where people are constantly trying to take you out?" Jenkins droned on. “Everyday, we’re here, putting’ our lives on the line. Everyday we go out there, ready for those animals to make their move. You gotta be better, faster, one step ahead. Eyes open all the time.”

  She must've asked the right question, the guy wouldn't shut up. Piper did her best to look interested but her eyes strayed. If Jenkins noticed, he didn't let on.

  “It’s a challenge, ya know? Comin’ in everyday, puttin’ on the uniform. Plenty of guys don’t make it. Most don’t last more than six months. Hell, it’s a miracle if we can get ‘em to last more than two. This place gets to ‘em. Can’t say I blame ‘em. This job isn’t for everyone. It takes a special breed.”

  After fifteen minutes, Piper noticed Ortiz had come back in the room and stood at the scanner on the far wall. She'd seen the time clock in the locker room, so what the hell was the scanner for?

  His hand hovered over the scanner for a moment. A few times, he lowered his hand but quickly raised it back up, like he changed his mind.

  Jenkins' voice flooded the background of her consciousness but she had no idea what he was talking about, she could only focus on Ortiz as he shifted slightly from foot to foot. Again, he lowered his hand but pulled back quickly.

  She couldn't take it any longer. She interrupted Jenkins. "I'm sorry…but what is he doing?"

  Jenkins blinked a few times before turning and looking over his shoulder, following her gaze.

  "Ortiz?"

  Piper nodded as Jenkins turned back around.

  "He does this nearly every month. At least, since his mom got sick. Guess she passed a little over a month ago. Sad shit. Good guy, a little too boy scout for me sometimes, but can’t hold that against him, ya know? Anyway, since then he's been over there three times or so." Jenkins glanced over his shoulder again then turned back. “If you ask me, he's just too chicken shit. He'll never do it. Knows he couldn't hack it. Ain’t got the balls big enough.”

  She still had no clue what the guy was talking about. The confusion must've shown on her face.

  Jenkins shook his head before glancing around and cleared his throat. He lowered his voice and leaned closer as if uttering a dirty word. "It's the sign up for MAX."

  Ch 13 Anthony Ortiz

  Ortiz walked the dimly lit corridor in B-block and regretted taking the extra shift. He was beat. He kept reminding himself it was only half a shift, and the overtime meant he was one step closer to his goal. He couldn't argue with the money.

  You got this, it's worth it. You got this.

  He leaned back against the wall and lit a cigarette. They weren't supposed to smoke in there. Fuck it. Who the hell really cared about a damn smoke when prisoners were stabbing and killing each other? All the shit that was allowed to go down in the name of a damn game and he wasn’t supposed to smoke? Seemed pointless in the grand scheme.

  He tried to let the tension melt from his neck and shoulders as he took his impromptu smoke break.

  Relax your tongue.

  He'd heard that somewhere once. It sounded fucking ridiculous but he had to admit it worked. He'd even tried to read into it a few times. Something about relaxing it and it loosened something else at the back of your head and brain or some shit. He rolled his neck and tried to relax again as he took another drag.

  Nights like this were few and far between, the blocks were never quiet. Any player at any given time could be logged in, figure in different time zones, and you had the chaotic nightmare that was Lockdown. When shit got quiet, this quiet, you worried. And there was nothing you could do, nothing but wait.

  Ortiz focused on slowly blowing out a long drag and relaxing. He was just being paranoid. Maybe there was a glitch in the game? Rare, to be sure, but the only thing reliable about technology was that it was unreliable. Nothing could possibly work perfectly 100% of the time.

  His eyes drifted up the tiers of cells. Inmates were actively being shady, nothing new there. They were criminals after all. Notes and cigarettes were being slid across the ground and fished back into other's cells by pieces of string. Another infraction they'd been ordered to overlook. The inmate's ingenuity never ceased to amaze him. Add the outside players to the mix, and it seemed to reach new enlightened levels of deviance.

  He watched the archaic messenger system work for another minute before putting out his smoke and moving toward the cell block door. Duty called, he needed to make rounds, get count.

  He asked control to open it and stepped inside. He'd barely made it halfway down the first tier when the shouting started. The noise ignited the other inmates and soon the eerie silence transformed into an overpowering assault of sound.

  Ortiz ran up the first set of stairs, sure the initial screams had come from above. He scanned the row of cells. He couldn't even hear himself think let alone pick out one voice among the masses.

  Booking it up the next flight, he turned left and surveyed the bars then spun right. Near the end, he saw a solitary arm waving frantically through the bars of a cell door.

  He took a chance and ran toward it not knowing what he'd find or if the inmate was green or ghost.

  When the cell came into view all Ortiz noticed was red. Blood on the floor, on the walls, on the bed, on the inmates. Everywhere. The waving arm clawed at him in desperation, and Ortiz stepped back finally recognizing the man.

  "Flea, I need you to calm down and take a step back," Ortiz ordered.

  The inmate just kept shouting, tears creeping up at the corners of his eyes.

  Ortiz searched for the other inmate and noticed Flea's cellie lying lifeless near the toilet at the rear of the cell.

  "Control, inmate down, possible assault by cellmate. Request open on 672." Ortiz said through the Jacklink.

  "What's the status of the inmate?" Control asked.

  Ortiz checked for Flea's band but the inmate was still thrashing around and shouting. He couldn't get a clear view.

  "Flea, band!" Or
tiz shouted. When the guy reached for him again, Ortiz backed up. "Band, now inmate!"

  "I didn't do it man, oh god. Help him!" Flea yelled. “I swear I didn’t do it. He…he just went nuts. I don’t know. You gotta help him!”

  After another moment of trying to talk the prisoner down, Flea finally stuck his wrist through the bars.

  "He's green..." Ortiz didn't get to finish his sentence when the band blinked yellow.

  "No! No!" Flea shouted as he noticed too.

  "He's going ghost," Ortiz told Control.

  "Hold on, we're sending backup. Do not go in,” Control said.

  "You gotta help him! Don't just stand there!" Flea shouted.

  Ortiz felt stuck. He thought he would've been used to feeling helpless. Shit happened every day that was beyond his control. How many violent assaults had he watched go down right in front of him and couldn't do anything about it? He was there, it was one inmate. He could help.

  "Hands out. Through the bars," Ortiz said as he reached for his cuffs. "Come on, Flea."

  For a moment, it looked like the guy was going to comply. Ortiz inched closer. Flea stuck one wrist out and Ortiz moved to grab him. They locked eyes and Ortiz could see the instant the player took over. He'd witnessed it dozens of times but it never ceased to unnerve him. The way their soul seemed shoved aside and left behind a mindless shell, it was disturbing. Gave him the chills every time. It was enough to fuel a lifetime of nightmares. He froze, only for a second. But it was enough.

  It was a mistake, one countless officers and inmates alike had made. Flea grabbed his arm and yanked him forward into the steel bars. The impact rattled his teeth and he felt the skin near his temple, split. The inmate seemed to have gained the strength of a horse. Thank God, he hadn't gone in.

  Flea seemed to loosen his grip but when he tried to wrench his arm free the inmate pulled him back into the bars. The air rushed from his lungs and panic started to creep in.

  "He's gonna rip my fuckin' arm off!"

  "Hold on a bit longer," Control said.

  Fuck you, what are you talking about, hold on a bit longer?!

  Ortiz grunted and yelled as the inmate pulled and the pain hit. He'd been half joking but seriously started to wonder if the guy could tear his arm off.

  A blur streaked by his side and Ortiz felt something touch his shoulder. He glanced over and saw Lenox reaching for Flea's arm.

  "Pull!" Lenox said.

  Together they yanked the inmate forward into the bars and Lenox grabbed Flea's pinky and twisted until they both heard a snap. Pain didn't even register across the inmate's face and Lenox pried him free.

  "Fuck, thanks." Ortiz panted as he held his shoulder.

  Lenox held Flea's wrist at an awkward, immobilizing angle and nodded.

  "Reaper's here. We're good. Open it," Ortiz said as he rubbed his shoulder a moment longer then prepared himself.

  He took a deep breath as a buzz echoed through the block, piercing through the jeering inmates. He had no idea what to expect. Could the Reaper really handle Flea? What if Hoyt popped up and came at him? He wasn't sure they could handle the pair injured or not. The cell door started opening and Lenox held Flea's arm through the bars, moving with the door. Guess they were going to find out.

  At the last moment, Lenox let Flea go so his arm wasn't snapped off. Ortiz waited for Lenox to move inside and take Flea on before pushing by the two. His feet slipped and skidded across the wet concrete and he tried not to think about the slippery liquid oozing beneath his polished boots.

  In under a minute, Lenox had Flea face down, his face against the ground, her knee firmly lodged in his back. He just stared at her a moment and caught himself when he felt his jaw starting to drop. Lenox was half his size. She had to weigh a buck twenty? A buck twenty-five at the most? Lenox fixed him with a hard stare the purple of her iris glinting through the dimly lit cell, almost glowing. Another tingle crept down his spine and he tried not to shiver as he cleared his throat and crouched next to Hoyt feeling for a pulse. He shook his head.

  "He's gone. But it looks self-inflicted. Please, advise." Ortiz told Control.

  Ch 14 Piper LaRue

  The coffee budget had to be astronomical. It seemed that was all the officers did when not roaming the prison. And it wasn't the shitty sludge found in most break rooms either. Clearly, MAX Corp took their caffeine seriously, if nothing else.

  Piper helped herself and tapped a packet of sugar with her fingers before dumping it into her cup. She'd already had her typical two cups earlier, but it was a great excuse to scope out her options for the day. See which officers seemed particularly chatty and which ones might shut her out.

  Rico joined her, a mangled, chewed coffee stirrer clenched between his teeth. "What you thinkin'?"

  She turned and surveyed the room. "I'll see if we can get an interview with an inmate or two."

  "Work your magic," Rico said as he leaned back against the countertop and watched her leave.

  Piper casually moved across the room to Ortiz and sat across from the officer on the leather couch. Ortiz glanced up from the Jackpad he was working on but didn't say anything.

  She wasn't used to being ignored. Treated like shit, sure, but rarely straight out ignored.

  "I want to talk to some inmates. Preferably this Lucho guy I've heard so much about."

  Ortiz looked up, his eyes narrowed. She stared back, she wasn't backing down. A small cut above his eye sparked her curiosity and she mentally logged it away for later.

  "Can't help ya," Ortiz finally said and looked back down to the Jackpad.

  "Can't, or won't?"

  "Does it matter?" Ortiz said, without looking up.

  "You're a real asshole, you know that?" Piper said, watching the officer closely. "Clearly, I'm not the only one who disagrees with your winning personality."

  It caught his attention and he tore his eyes from the screen. She was sure she'd riled him up, pissed him off, but instead, she saw a glimpse of something else behind his chocolate brown eyes. Humor maybe, or at the very least, amusement.

  "Clearly," he said.

  He looked like he might have said more but his eyes flicked over her shoulder and whatever playful spark they'd had, dissipated.

  "Awe, Ortiz is just sore cause an inmate got the jump on him last night. Ain't that right buddy?" Jenkins’ gravelly voice said behind her.

  One look told her Ortiz was cringing internally and if she was entirely honest she was too. Jenkins had an annoying cockroach way of creeping up at the worst times. It had only been three days but she'd learned that fact all too quickly.

  "Reaper had to save his sorry ass. Looks like he owes the freak one." Jenkins laughed.

  Piper cringed again but this time from the awkward silence that burdened the air. She tried to think of anything to say, reach for any lifeline to dig them out of the murky awkwardness. To her surprise, it was Ortiz that saved them.

  "Lucho shouldn't be a problem. He's usually not ghosted till later in the day."

  "Lucho?" Jenkins' voice betrayed a hint of irritation. "I thought you wanted the real story?" Jenkins held out his hands.

  "We do..." Piper glanced beyond Jenkins and spotted Rico watching from across the room. A moment of inspiration struck. She waved her video guy over. "Rico and Jason will follow you around, get the real look into an officer's life. You know give the people what they really want."

  Rico stared her down like an angry pit bull. It wasn't too far off, Rico had been known to snap when pushed and she was pushing pretty damn hard.

  Jenkins looked like he was considering the offer, or maybe just trying to figure out if she was playing him.

  "Now, that's what I'm talking about." Jenkins slapped Rico on the shoulder.

  Rico looked like he might bite at any moment as Jenkins started to pull him along. Rico quickly leaned into her. "That was fuckin cold. You owe me."

  "Just see what you can get," Piper said and watched them leave before turning back to Or
tiz. "Lucho?"

  "He's right, that was pretty cruel." Ortiz agreed as he stood.

  “Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the sake of art,” Piper said, once again tossing out some obscure quote from one of her film teachers.

  “Uh, huh,” Ortiz said as he headed for the door.

  Piper followed Ortiz to A-block and they both stood outside the gate.

  "You’re strapped up right?" Ortiz asked, patting his own fancier vest.

  Piper nodded. "And it's driving me crazy,” she said as she tugged on the bottom beneath her shirt, trying to stop it from riding up any further.

  The damn velcro was digging into her side.

  “Good. A-block isn’t somewhere you want to be caught naked. That's him." Ortiz pointed to an inmate sitting at a table playing cards in the common area below the cells.

  She could've picked him out without Ortiz's help. The guy was built, and clearly commanded the respect of the other inmates. Without knowing anything else about him, Piper wouldn't want to be left alone with the guy and she certainly didn't want to meet the guy in a dark alley.

  "Lucho, status!" Ortiz shouted to the guy.

  Lucho glanced up and glared at them, but softened when his eyes met her's. He sat his cards down and raised his wrist, showing them his greenlit band.

  Ortiz waved him over. The inmate looked less than thrilled to be summoned like a common dog. His permanent scowl said it all.

  As Lucho neared them Piper blinked twice in quick succession, setting set her ocular cam to record.

  "Who's this pretty little thing?" Lucho asked Ortiz as he rested his hands against the gate separating them.

  "Piper." She introduced herself. "I'm filming a documentary. I'd like to get an interview with you."

  Lucho gave her a snake like smile and licked his teeth as he eyed her up and down.

  “Ohhhh…an interview,” Lucho said loudly so the other inmates could hear then eyed her again like she was a delightful treat.

  The others laughed.

  Piper fought her sudden gag reflex and tried to keep the emotion from her face.