The complex was made up of four tiers of over one hundred cells on each tier. The bottom was for the petty criminals who had short stays. The numbers on the sides of their cells were colored with red paint. Above them were more serious crimes, pedophilia, armed robbery and that sort of thing. Their numbers were green. MY level, the third level was another step up in the pecking order. Our blue numbers indicated that we were considered a little more violent, a little more unpredictable but still no match for the fourth tier inmates who had killed or raped. Their numbers were in black. The structure was curved to form a circle and the guard tower was in the middle. It gave the guard a 360 degree view of the place. And when their shifts changed the elevator inside the guard tower took them a floor below the first tier so they rarely if ever walked in front of the cells.
We were allowed to leave our cells and walk back and forth along our tiers during the day. In case of a fire there were two sets of stairs that were restricted by double glass doors that could only be released by the guards in the tower. We were allowed outside when the weather was nice. There was a library, sort of, that had a couple books.
The administration that we all had to visit once a month for what they called communication development was through the double glass doors, down the stairs and across the long, smooth tiled floor out two other glass doors. A long, yellow hallway lead you to whatever office it was that wanted to see you. The therapy sessions were also down this way as was a very small chapel that could be easily changed to accommodate whatever religion needed the room at whatever time.
I preferred to keep to my cell and if anyone wanted to talk to me, which they did on occasion for a favor or to pay me back for something, they could just come to me.
I had money all the time so the other inmates were happy to do me a couple of favors. Sure there were a few who thought I was just some pretty boy who was being served up on a platter but they soon realized that wasn’t the case.
Just like in the real world, enough money will get you anything. I had better protection on the inside than I ever had on the outside. I also had a few writers in my service here. My fellow inmates couldn’t spell very well but when I showed them a picture of Natasha, well, they let their imaginations run wild and they wrote her lovely letters of what they’d do if they had a woman like her.
Nothing threatening. That kind of letter would be confiscated by the prison administration and then they’d lose some special privilege like watching television or access to the internet.
No, they were just simple letters to let her know she was sort of a celebrity within these walls. And I knew it had to drive my brother crazy to be getting mail from with the prison listed as the return address. It wasn’t like she was Santa Clause and getting sacks and sacks of mail. But every couple of weeks one might trickle through and make into her mailbox.
She will have had that baby by now. I wondered what it was. Secretly, I was hoping for a girl. Girls are so much easier to manipulate. But a boy can be persuaded, too, especially with the right incentive. Trust me. This place is loaded with big, hairy, sweaty, tattooed little boys.
I found them all to be rather pitiful. Not because they were criminals but because so many of them were really sorry for what they had done. The problem was once you let them out of these brick walls and past the fence with the barbed wire along the top they were already planning their next crime whether they were aware of it or not. Once they got home what would they do? They’d eat a home cooked meal, they’d fuck their girlfriend or whatever woman was inevitably waiting for them, and then they were left with nothing but the glaring fact that they had a record, no money and nothing else to do.
But while they were in here they were sorry. They were sorry they robbed Barney’s Liquor store or the Piggly-Wiggly. They were sorry they set fire to Greater Second Baptist Church. They were sorry they raped that sixteen year-old when she was walking home from the bus stop. And, according to the file my prison assigned shrink had started to build about me I was sorry, too, deeply and profoundly sorry that I had caused pain to my family. How could I have done it? Please, Doc, help me understand my own selfish actions.
Deep down I knew what this really was. Prison wasn’t a punishment for me. The Universe had been so good to me that I realized this was just a test.
She wasn’t going to abandon her favorite son now. Not like my family had done. Not like Natasha had done. No. She was just testing me and I planned to excel.
My bank account had been frozen. You can thank Marty for that. Not until I was proven fit to reenter society would the funds be released and even then, according to Bernie, there was a good chance they were going to put me on some kind of strict allowance. Thankfully, Bernie had suggested many years ago setting up an alternative account. I did that. It wasn’t much, just a couple million. Rainy day money is what my dear old dad would call it.
I paid Bernie with that and kept a good number of close friends among the inmates and the guards very happy with a weekly allowance of their own. And all I asked of them was to help me be sorry for my actions.
Of course the simpletons I was surrounded by didn’t know what I meant. That was fine. The less people in on my plan the better. But, you see, with good behavior I was out of a fifteen year sentence within three years. Sure, my brother with his money and influence would challenge the parole board. But, if I had a record that sang my praises, if the visits to the prison shrink went well, in three short years I’d be back in my own place, just a few blocks from my brother’s building.
Right at this moment I was paying an outside investigator to check on my big brother and his beautiful, budding family. Every month he’d pay me a visit and we’d talk about the weather and sports and he’d tell me if there were any indicators that my brother was going to move or if Natasha was having another baby.
So far the only thing that surprised me was that Diamond was still in the picture. That one I should have finished off when I had the chance. I should have never left her alone in her apartment. That was my own negligence and I accept the full responsibility on my own sloppy handiwork. But see what I mean? There is no use getting mad at Diamond for living. I am mad at myself for not killing her outright when I had the chance.
Too many of these big brutes in here have a chip on their shoulder that they put there. Many of them hate the idea that I am enjoying the respite from bills and socialite bloodsuckers and charity gold diggers and the whole army of leeches that automatically bubble around the fringe of someone who has the money I do. So, when I find myself cornered by a couple of these fellows and they want a piece of me just because, well
, of course I defend myself.
But, in order to make sure it doesn’t happen a lot and that the rumor mill gets the stories going, I just pay off someone who doesn’t have anything to lose to take care of them. They’ve got a mother or grandmother or half a dozen baby-mamas to take care of on the outside. A couple thousand dollars doesn’t mean anything to me. To them, it is all there is.
So far I’ve just had two guys put down and not a single drop of blood has shown up on my hands. I’m not sure if they are dead or if they were just hurt so badly they were assigned to solitary to recuperate.
So you see, I’m not upset that I’ve been sent to this place. I’m learning valuable skills and making priceless connections. Once I am out I’ll have several family members of some of my new brethren more than happy to help me tie up a couple of loose ends that were left when my sentence was started. Prison life is supposed to help us realize our mistakes and strive to not make those same mistakes again.
I couldn’t agree more. So far I’ve met a man who has a cousin on the outside who really likes blondes. I mean, really likes them. There is another guy with a tattoo of a teardrop next to his eye that knows where a budding marksman can find a weapon to hone his skill.
So the Universe hasn’t turned on me. She hasn’t left me. She’s provided me with a banquet table of oysters each one with a valuable pearl nestled deep inside just waiting to be reaped.
I’ll see my brother again and Natasha. I guess I should just call her my sister-in-law, right. Not this year. Not next year. Maybe not even the year after that. But some time, someday I will be released from here. I’ll shake hands with the friends I’ve made, clap the guards on the back and stroll out of this place climbing into my favorite sports car that Bernie will make sure is here and waiting and pick up where I left off. I won’t rush right over to Marty’s place. It will take some time. I’d hate to think he’d go out of his way baking a cake or getting the house all decorated and cleaned for my return.
No, I’d rather it be a big surprise. Just one day I’ll show up on his doorstep. Maybe he’ll be the only one home. Maybe Natasha will be the only one home or maybe their child. It doesn’t matter. That day I will smile with open arms and tell my family I’m out of prison and that I am home.
There are more bonus stories ahead…..just look what you want to read next via the Table of Contents (TOC)
Billionaire’s Nanny Romance Series
THE BILLIONAIRE’S NANNY (PART 1)