“Stand there, Banks.” The prison officer pointed to one of the cell doors. Believe it or not they all had numbers, like hotel rooms. The one the officer pointed to was 24.
“What’s the number for room service?” Damien asked, holding his new bed sheets and toothbrush in front of him.
The officer scowled at him, and said, “Shut it!”
Damien smiled to himself. It was the staff of this wretched shithole that were in for six months of punishment, not him. They would have their hands full with him.
The door to cell 24 was unlocked and Damien was ushered inside. There was already someone in there; a lad about the same age as him. He was rolled up on the bottom bunk bed in a foetal position, staring at the far wall without ever blinking.
“Say hello to your new roommate,” the officer said. “He doesn’t say much.”
The cell door closed and Damien sat on the single chair that filled the barren room. He examined his new acquaintance with interest. The lad was big, tall with muscles, but from the way he lying, curled up on his bed, it was obvious he was a frightened mess. Prison did this to some people, Damien’s dad had always warned, which is why it was important to beat the system before it beat you. In the nick, reputation was everything, and if you didn’t gain respect from the get go, then this was the result: a broken, shattered mess, lying alone on a rusty old bunk.
Damien had fully intended to start his incarceration by going in strong, fighting and clawing his way to the top of the pack. There would be no point trying to intimidate this boy, however, so he decided upon pity instead. “Hey,” he said to the lad. “My name is Damien Banks.”
There was no reply to his introduction. His new roommate continued to stare at the wall as if Damien’s presence was invisible to him.
“Come one, man,” Damien said. “We got six months together. I can’t be having a mute as a roomie.” The lad still said nothing. It was starting to annoy him now. “Just snap out of it! We can have a laugh in here, if you cheer up. We can be like brothers or something.”
“I already have a brother.”
“He speaks at last! Great, so you have a brother. What’s his name?”
“Davie.”
“Davie? Not as tough as just plain Dave, but not bad. So what’s your name, then?”
The lad looked at Damien and seemed to have utter distrust in his eyes. The answer eventually came, “Francis.”
Damien sniggered. “Now that is a queer name. I think I’ll call you Frankie; much better.”
Frankie shrugged, not seeming to care what he was called.”
Damien looked around the cell for conversation starters, for belongs of this boy that may share something about him, but the room was empty beyond a desk, chair, and the beds. “So what are you in for?”
“Drugs.”
“No shit?” said Frankie. “Me too. How long you get?”
“Three years.”
Damien whistled, impressed. “Wow! You must have been carrying big to get a stretch like that at your age.”
“A grand’s worth. I got done for assault too.”
Damien couldn’t fit the crimes to Frankie, he didn’t seem right for them. “So why are you a bloody shambles if you’re a drug dealing hard man? You should have it made in here.”
Frankie sat up in bed, and started to act a little more relaxed. “S’what I thought. I came here thinking I’d be respected for what I done, but they didn’t want to know.”
“You have to earn respect, man. You can’t come in playing the big’un till you know the lay of the land. Who’s top dog?”
“Conner.”
Damien nodded. “Conner West? I know that guy. He ain’t nothing. Give me a week and I’ll deal with him. There’re a few lads in here that work for my dad so I’ll have the backup.”
Frankie seemed to perk up. “You’re going to take out Conner?”
Damien shrugged. “Won’t need to. Once I have enough backup and support, he’ll just step off and let me take over. Like I said, he don’t have the minerals to take me on once I’m set up. You stick with me and you’ll have an easy ride.”