Life in hopeful village

Back in lockup

Time passed slowly in isolation. Quinton, tried to relax and have happy thoughts, but the speed at which he lost his freedom, the plans to hit the gym later and to check out the girl with the personality to match her bubbly size all seemed to evaporate into thin ear. For some strange reason he had lost his ability to rationally evaluate his circumstances and to figure out a way through the tangled web of thoughts that kept jumping in and out of his head. The possibilities were endless, was Judge dread behind it or was Jubba cutting a deal to make good his escape?

Quinton took a deep breath as the stench of his own stale pee in the bucked assailed his nostrils. The small slats above the door that allowed light also allowed fresh air to enter the 8 x 8 room. He could not decide what was worse to endure. The thoughts bombarded his brain was terrible but so was being confined in such a small space. Quinton abhorred small spaces from childhood. His older brother had locked him in the trunk at the bottom of the bed and had lost the key. It had taken four hours of sucking air through the small keyhole and trying to imagine playing football with his friends from dying in the trunk of the bed for him to survive. However, that was still not enough preparation for being trapped in such as small area and inhaling the rank odour of urine. The torture intensified when he realised that he would never be sure when he would be able to see daylight again.

The nostalgic experience of being locked in the bed trunk had inspired Quinto to become an advocate for the less fortunate and made him one of the best criminal defence attorneys in the country. Many people hated him for his outspoken views on many matters including the freedom to choose on any matter.

However, anger slowly replaced disbelief. It was just like that day twenty-five years ago. Quinton started to bang on the metal door, his muscles still ached from his shower experience. He could still feel the hard, throbbing muscle at his entrance and as he remembered he began screaming until he was hoarse and no sound came from his mouth. Tears streamed down his face. He took a deep breath and began howling again.

"Shut up, prisoner, pretty boy or else we will send you back to the showers for Ralph and his crew to finish what they started," The male voice chuckled.

Quinton slumped to the floor.

None of the advice he had given his clients who had faced incarceration came back to his brain. His life flashed before his eyes, the sexy car, his loft apartment overlooking the harbour, his mother and what he missed the most, the bevy of girls.

He did not even notice the small piece of paper that was pushed under his cell door and rested beside his hand.

The brightness of the light changed gradually to artificial light from the outside. Quinton was curled into ball on the floor. A bang from the other side startled him.

"Time to eat prisoner," said a voice from the corridor.

Quinton vaguely recognised the voice. The latch rattled. A plastic plate with a lumpy yellow substance was pushed through the opening. Quinton's stomach rumbled. It was his first meal in almost two days. The plastic spork fell to the ground, and it was then he noticed the note.

"Didn't you get my note prisoner? You have money and you need to acquire friends to look out for you in here Lockheed or else you might not be so lucky next time in the shower," the voice said softly.

Quinton shovelled the food in his mouth and almost gagged. It was cold and insipid but it was food. In less than two minutes the food had disappeared. He tried to read the note in the limited light while lying on the floor and using the light that entered below at the bottom of the door.

Ten minutes later, the thump returned and Quinton jumped. Every sound made him nervous.

"What's your answer Lockheed? Yes, or no?"

"Yes or no to what?" Quinton asked nervously.

"Security and comfort."

Quinton thought for a long while.

"But I can't afford to pay for anything!" Quinton replied.

"A man has many ways to pay in here boy, but I know you are a rich man on the outside. The nights get cold down here and some men search anywhere for a warm place," the voice replied.

Quinton's body trembled.

"Ok, can I get a call," Quinton replied.

"Roger, that, will link you before the shift changes," the voice replied.

Then there was just silence. Not even the sound of dogs barking in the distance or a radio playing broke the silence. The dead silence was killing him. As he tried to lie down on the pieces of board, the cold night air nibbled at his fingers. Quinton huddled into a ball to find warmth, but the only place that was warm enough was hit crotch, his fingers curled around what was left of his shrivelled manhood. He contemplated tugging at it to find comfort, but the thought of rubbing out his own hand middle felt disgusting. Minutes later, one tug followed another then another, soon Quinton fell asleep with his hands stained by his youthful exuberance.

The thump on the door woke him up and Quinton rubbed his eyes. His hand was still sticky from the self-induced sleeping pill.

"Yes," he whispered.

"The village boss wants to see you now," was the response from the other side of the door.

Quinton was apprehensive at first.

"It's me, Macky. I slipped the note earlier."

"Oh," Quinto replied.

Trust your gut.

Quinton heard a tiny voice in his head as he shuffled off the bed, wiping his hands on the jumper. The quiet clink, clunk and screech of the cell door opening made Quinton cringe.

"What time is it? Can I get a call?" he asked quietly as he tried to see Macky's face clearly. He wondered if Macky was someone he knew. He was worried about jumping from the pot and fire but he had to try and trust someone. The outside air was just as cold as the cell, but it was fresh and Quinton filled his lung with long, slow breaths.

"You meet Village Boss first and then you can get your call. It's 11 p.m."

The light was behind the man's head and Quinton's eyes struggled to adjust to the light, but he could make out the fatigues that the man wore. He felt a little relief, knowing that it was the same soldier who had rescued him, but his spider senses still tingled. Was he about to be extorted or was he in for more stress?

He followed Macky, who walked briskly, but quietly. The cell block was shaped like a quadrangle with patches of lush green grass. As they walked further away from his cell, Quinton could hear faint strains of music and as they climbed a metal staircase and walked along a lone corridor, he saw bright lights and the radio got even louder, there was laughter, and he could swear he heard female voices. Hope sprang.

"I can't give you a phone, but I can make the call for you and make the necessary arrangement. Besides, phones won't work in here because of the jammers, but I can get almost anything in for the right price Lockheed," Macky spoke in an almost inaudible tone.

Thirty seconds later, they arrived at Block G, cell 666. Macky stood at the door and knocked three times which was clearly a code.

"Come in corporal," the voice boomed from inside, Quinton's mouth fell agape as he walked in, there was flat screen television with NCIS on the screen. A microwave and a small refrigerator.

"Ahh, Mr Lockheed," said the man seated in the recliner.

He was at least 300lbs, of Indian descent and had a beard that almost hid his lips.

"Up," he said and Quinton saw an effeminate form, it was hard to make out if it was male or female, but it was clad in purple, lace panties and matching brassiere. Quinton frowned.

"Macky, you may leave Mr Lockheed, when I am done, I will summon you," the man growled.

"Yes, Boss," Macky replied and Quinton could hear his footsteps recede.

"Why the frown, Mr Lockheed? A man must have the pleasures of life despite being incarcerated. I am happy that a man of your unique skillsets has joined us in the village."

Quinton's frown changed to a quizzical expression as he looked around.

"Village? I thought that this was a high security remand centre." Quinton asked.

He heard an effeminate giggle from behind the curtain where the thing had disappeared.

"Yes, Mr. Lockheed, contrary to what people on the outside, might believe, behind these walls are housed are some of the greatest minds and skillsets. Yes, they may walk a thin line between good and evil, but someone must take charge and manage them. It certainly is not the state. I am Jonair Singh, you can call me Boss for now."

"Boss?" Quinton asked.

"Do you think, it was pure coincidence that brought you to my Cell, Lockheed, you almost killed Ralph's brother on the way here? Plus, not to mention your escapades the other night, killing the Don and raping the girl. You're a very violent man under the guise of being an attorney."

"What the hell are you talking about? I'm innocent," Quinton protested.

"Yes, Lockheed, we are all innocent, but I had my man rescue from being reamed. You, owe me for taking out Ralph's brother. We can have you put back on the general block and you take your chances, or you can help me out. I understand you're a man that love the ladies, I can even let you have Sheila for a day or two. After a while you won't even notice the difference," Jonair said.

Quinton felt the gruel he ate earlier coming up in his throat. He swallowed the bile. His heart sank.

"Relax, Lockheed would you like a slice of pizza and a cold beer? I can get you anything or reach anyone on the outside. Even your ex-father-in-law if you need him taken care of, just say the word," Jonair chuckled and his flabby stomach giggled.

Quinton watched as Jonair took up the remote and pointed it at the television.

"Watch this Lockheed, it's the news at 11p.m."

Quinton's knees went weak as he read the banner then saw the pictures.

Prominent young defence attorney Quinton Lockheed is feared dead in a fiery car accident in Portmore. The former son-in-law to Senior Judge Mathew Ebanks was burnt beyond recognition. Investigators are currently processing the scene.

"Lockheed, you seem to be stuck with us. After all if you are dead on the outside who are you here? The walking dead?"

Jonair's laugh echoed in the air as Quinton's head spun dizzily.