"The Real Deal" - Chapter 3
"The Real Deal"
(C) 2017 Sinclair Diavante
Chapter 3.
His collar itched.
Tap-Tap-Tap. Tony's eyes sprang open, he turned his head to look at the narrow window set into the door of his cell. Cop was banging his key against it. Yeah, he's fucking alive, obviously. Who cares, during the day? It ain't count time. Some cops, can't fucken stand watching dudes sleep, not when that's what they wanna do, too. Must be one of those.
"Ducat," Cop shouted, voice muted through the thick steel. He pointed at Tony, and not his bunky lying on the rack below. "You ready?"
"Celly? Cop's here." From below. Martin, brown lab, first termer. Too young to be here for anything but a sex crime. He gave good tongue, though, so he stays. Tonight, after shift change, Martin gonna give something else... trade some tail. Eventually, he'd take his knot, and Tony seriously looked forward to that day. He was grooming him for it.
"Yeah, I heard." What if he wasn't ready? He didn't get a ducat last night, maybe it fell out from the crack in his door. Some dude using it to roll a cig right now with it. This place run like it only been open for a fucken year. He hopped down onto the duracrete floor, smirking at the swirl patterns on it. First time he saw that, he knew why. Someone was lazy, didn't set the aerator to auto. One fucken button, must have been too much work to press.
Cop rattled his keys, and opened the door, it swung outwards to stop against his booted foot, he stared at Tony through the plasteel window. Ready to deliver some whatfor, if he decided to take off on his celly right then.
That's when all the fights happened, right in front of the fucken cops. Dudes not looking to get busy, just get celled with someone else. Fight don't happen long, not in front of a cop. Tony pretended like it was nothing. It's all just a game.
"Sup, man?" He grinned, walking out. Treating the cop like a close, personal friend, but that was part of the game, too. Reality was, they'd beat you with their stick, spray the shit out of you with mace, and then watch as you twitched in agony while the immobilizer collar prevented you from wiping it out of your eyes. All in just a blink. Sure, they're nice and friendly. Less stress that way, for them. It is just a job, to them. But they ain't your friends, don't ever make that mistake.
This cop, he was old school. His scent wasn't wary or nothin. Just neutral, bored, lazy. Best scent in prison. Fat and lazy meant they didn't hit cells all day, tear your shit up.
Noises and smells from the day room flooded his senses, no one was on the tiers, but down at the tables, in the middle, dudes talking, playing dominoes, poker.
He stared down, a few glanced up. No one would miss the fact a cop was escorting him out. There'd be questions, later. Maybe he's a rat, was pointing his snitch stick at someone, gonna talk to the cops down at the program office? Be real bad for Tony, anyone gets scooped up, next couple of hours. Convicts don't believe in coincidences, all he could do was hope that didn't happen.
"You know where you're going?" Cop asked, shutting his door, locking it with a giant over-sized nickel plated key.
"No clue, I never got a ducat, man."
"Patio, counselor wants to see you. Get your pass at the gate."
Counselor, he thought. Shit, maybe he was transferring out.
Prolly that.
He wasn't endorsed anywhere else, though, just this shithole pansy-assed level two.
Maybe... that was about to change.
Prolly, found his escape attempt, back in YA, that'll be awesome. Something from a dozen years ago gonna make him close custody. There goes his yard time.
Fuck.
He was immune to most of the scents coming under all the doors he walked past. Dudes cooking in their cells. Fucking. Stressing. Shitting. It all blended together, entirely distinguishable as only one thing: prison.
He pulled his fur out from under the metal collar around his neck, scratching an itch under it, walking down the stairs. Fuckers made it too tight, part of their game, this place was seriously anti inmate. He nodded to a few dudes he knew, one even remembered him from five years ago. Was not happy to see him back here at all, almost got busy on sight.
Some dudes, like him, they was doing life. See him leave, come back, that's freedom wasted, they got no respect for him. Why should they? They'd do better than him out there, with that freedom. Tony fucked off his chances, again. Now he's back. Another term, four more years. Failure to pay creditors, it's considered grand theft in the end. He still owes, too, that's all part of his restitution, now. Coming back, like this, basically he's doing life, but in the installment plan.
Fuck it.
Cop opened the gate leading to the yard, handed him a pass. He walked on outside, immediately hating the fact that it was raining. Water sluiced down into his fur, he put his ears sideways and walked through puddles, mud, and got to the gate at the other end. Some dudes still working out, in the rain on the yard. Crazy fucks. Not everyone born with muscles like what Tony got, though.
Tall fences all around, about a football field sized patch of grass. Razor wire spiraling at the top. Guard towers at strategic places, like mini airport control towers, mirrored, 45 degree tilted windows, all with people staring at him, dry and warm inside. Paved oval track at the edges.
Signs on the fences: no warning shots will be fired.
They mean it, ya get tired of doin time, just climb on up. You'll make it halfway, before the guns shred your body, then they put you in a pine box. Ship you out.
He stood there. Staring through the fence at a cop standing under an awning.
Cop stared back. Just waiting for him to show some attitude, so he could make him wait a little longer. Tony wasn't stupid, he acted patient. Standing in the rain, miserable. Inside, he was thinking, yeah, look at you. Pathetic, this is your whole job, standing there, waiting for me so you can push a button. Cop must have been satisfied with his patience.
"Ducat?" he shouted.
"Counselor." He held up his pass. Didn't even bother to read it.
He should have.
The gate slid sideways on little wheels, automated. He walked on up to the cop, turned around, held his arms and tail out. Cop ran his fingers through his fur in a few of the thicker spots, looking for hidden weapons. Armpits, ass crack, ears, only real spots a Rhenthar can hide a blade bigger than his claws, and those had all been cut short, mando. Quarterly injections to the cuticles made em grow bright orange. His touch was brief and professional. It wasn't always.
"You're good," cop said.
Tony turned around to stare at him curiously. He gave him the look, it said, I don't know where the fuck I'm going.
Cop caught it instantly.
"Over there," he pointed, row of doors in a courtyard. Tony walked up to all of them, looking to see if one was open.
There was.
He walked inside, a female was sitting at a tall desk, staring at a terminal, mixed breed, old, some terrier, maybe beagle. She had a stick, spray, and a button. Don't even think of staring between her legs. That area just don't exist, healthier that way.
Several twinges, almost painful, shot through his body. He wanted more than anything to shake the water out his fur, but that'd be about as disrespectful as could get, might as well just spit on her.
He stood there, instead, feeling water trickle down his spine. His collar was itching again.
"Mr. Kratz. You're dripping water on my floor. It's really coming down out there, I'm so sorry to bring you through that."
"Yeah," he said. "All part of the experience, right?" He grinned.
"I suppose," she sighed. "I'm updating your emergency contact information. Your transfer officer is waiting." Tony's pupils grew, that... couldn't be right.
"Uh. Transfer to where?"
"Early release, MCRP, community supervised living?" She hit a few buttons on her terminal, and stared at his photo to do an ID check. Ancient technology, ancient system, ancient practice, that's prison.
"I'm filling in for Miss Lopez, she didn't explain all this very well to you?"
"Uh. No?"
"I shouldn't be surprised. You're eligible. You're my first one, so I can't answer many of your questions. But because you're not violent, you're going to live at a house, supervised. In the county you committed your crime in. Until you parole. No collar, you can have wetware, though you'll wear an ankle tracker. It's voluntary, if you're not ready for this, I can send you back to committee."
"Uh, it's better than prison, right?"
"Yes, Mr. Kratz," she laughed. "Much better than here."
"When do I leave?"
"That's your transfer officer right there." Her eyes shifted up, to look behind him. He felt too shocked to turn and look. "You're leaving right now," she said. Her scent had gained a quality of confusion and skepticism. She was a tired state employee, though. Long since given up on the people she tried to help.
Would he try explaining to her, he couldn't possibly be part of this program, having only been down two months?
Fuck no.
"Your emergency contact information, Mr. Kratz?"
"None," he said, distracted, turning to stare, seeing a really big cop standing in the rain, this one carrying lots of equipment on his belt, and Tony knew, all of it was designed to make him hurt, or die, should he be so stupid as to try anything dumb.
"Paws on the wall," he said to Tony, glancing past him, "Miss... ?"
"Finch."
"Do you mind if we do this here?" Cop asked. "Kind of wet out here, today." He smiled. Rain was slicking down his big green poncho, type that's open at the front, same color as his eyes.
"Not at all, do your thing."
Tony turned, and leaned his weight onto his paws against the wall. In this position, a digitigrade Rhenthar had pretty much no leverage to try anything but falling onto his muzzle. Cop walked close behind him.
"I'm going to put an ankle monitor on your right leg, and take your collar off. Then I cuff you, and walk you out. Transport is waiting. It'll take you to your new house, outside the prison. Any problem with all this, Mr. Kratz?"
"What about my property, stuff in my cell, man?"
"Do you really want it? We can do this another time, next week, maybe. If you're that attached to your soups and Folgers instant coffee, your shitty little tv."
"Fuck it. Celly can have it all."
"Smart choice. Miss Finch? Please call to his hall and have his property disbursed."
Tony felt metal and rubber slide around his right calf, he stared down at it, seeing the composite metal, probably titanium, as it locked in place. Little green status light winking. Did it have to blink? That shit was gonna itch. People would stare.
But he'd be OUT. His breath caught at the idea.
The cop fiddled with his collar, he heard a sharp click, and felt an immediate looseness, it lifted free, and even though he'd only been wearing it for a couple of months, it was such a relief he almost passed out. His heart was pounding with anxiety and fear, now.
This must be a dream.
Where would he stay? Would he have a roommate? What was this... MCRP program, it was on the tv, institutional channels. He only glossed over it, didn't pay no attention. Dudes getting out, overcrowding, early release, yeah, not him, not with his history. He ain't been down long enough on this term.
If this was a mistake, he'd never make it out those front gates. They'd catch it, they always do. Hear about this shit, now and then. Dudes getting out when they not supposed to.
Has to be it.
So let the dice roll, fuck it.
And if this was legit? He'd be back out there, mostly. Though he couldn't yet accept it, a part of his mind... had to start making plans.
Never get caught slipping, in prison, never be surprised. So plan, he did. Planning was automatic, second nature. Where he could work, what he would do.
"Paws behind your back." The cop helped him back to an upright position, Tony reached behind himself. Cold metal encircled his wrists, click, snap. Cop held him by the inside of his right elbow, and walked him out into the rain. For once, he didn't mind the wet.
Lot of gates, check points, paperwork. Usually cops bumped fists, laughed, nodded, talked like best buddies amongst themselves. Their own little gang, but with big paychecks.
Not to this one, he was from outside the prison, a real cop. And Tony was leaving, that represented money lost, fewer resources, he was the enemy, now. Secretly, all these cops wanted be like the one walking him. Wanted to be real. It was fucked up. They acted indifferent to the both of them, scent of disrespect went unspoken.
He climbed into the back of the waiting prisoner transport van, back door had been open, waiting for him. Picked the row of seats in the back, there were three. The seat-belts were a joke, kinda hard to buckle while cuffed.
The door behind him slammed shut, and fuck, someone got sick in here not long ago. He smelled something awful. Puke, blood. This was going to be a shitty ride.
The back door opened after the van floated through the prison for a few minutes, he got asked his ID # and name, by the cops at the outer gates. Door slammed shut again. They smelled it, too. Prolly thought it was him.
Something sticky was under his left paw, he realized it wasn't the rainwater. He didn't even want to think about it.
Musta been a half hour passed, he started getting curious.
Leaning forward, standing up, he looked at the row in front of him, and then the one past that, and blinked in disbelief.
Shock, from what he saw.
Dead cop, laying on the floor, in front of the third row of seats. No chest wound like that would ever heal.
Dude was dead.
Resting on the seat next to him was a weird metal collar, thick, segmented. Buncha gold prongs faced in. It sat there, open, as if it could stare at him, accusing.
Holy fuck.
Van slowed up, and stopped. This felt all off, wrong. He knew, now. This was when they killed him. He never owed anyone but banks, not so dumb as to take money from a shark. But somehow... has to be it. He could feel it, so strange. His time was up.
Back door opened. He didn't look. Smell, though, same cop.
"Why'd you kill him?" he asked.
"Kill who?"
"You know." Traffic was rushing by, air was cold, the rain had stopped. Tony wouldn't look behind him, couldn't. He just sat there, mind frozen, no plan ever accounted for this. Soft laughter.
"You're the real deal. You may have been a wolf, Tony, but you're prey, now. They're coming. Can you hear it? Smell it?" Still, he said nothing, but his ears shook with fright.
"You have no money, no job, no home, no wetware, no possessions, no family, no friends. Your chances of survival from this point forward are zero."
He stared down at his knees, controlling his breathing, swallowing hard. Mind, cycling... nothing, nothing, nothing... all a blank.
"When we get to my ship, I'm leaving."
A small metallic clink, Tony stared down to his right. On the seat, a key ring, handcuff keys, something complicated, probably to what was on his ankle.
"If you put that collar on, you can come with me. It's mine, you'll become mine."
Tony coughed, breathing in as if he'd been holding his breath. Maybe he was.
"What?"
"Do you wish to make me repeat myself? You heard me. I'm not sticking around here, you're a killer. I am getting onto my ship, to watch from a safe distance, if you stay behind. It will be quick, I know that."
Tony shook his head slightly. Unreal.
"We're fifteen minutes away. Do not wait until the end. Cuffs are not easy to take off when you are wearing them. I will not care what you say, or yell, or beg, I am walking."
The door slammed shut.