His call of the day? A loose dog. Child's play. As he rounded the curve he let the trees behind. He came upon a row of houses; wide, one story buildings. He slowed down and kept his eyes peeled for anything furry and on four legs. In his search he noticed something out of the ordinary, an open door. Barett stopped. As he set to exit the vehicle, he saw and oddly familiar sight. Within the open door was a glimmer like water vapor. In previous experience, such a vision preceded the rolling of heads. However, this was different. The glimmer was smaller, less smooth, and appeared to be carrying a 20" television. Unsnapping his hip holster, Barett eased himself out the driver's side door, keeping the vehicle between him and this unexpected perp.
So, what's next?
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Barett leaves the truck running, pulls the stungun from his jacket pocket, and palms it in his left hand.( so that it can't be seen)And leaving his right free to use the .45 cal 1911, He walks to the front of the truck and yells in his best trust and intimidate voice. " SHERIFFS DEPT. FREEZE ". If the person stops, he will handcuff and search the rest of the house, for other perps, right now he is scanning the yard and road for a get away car, as they are out in the country.( they had to get here some how) If they run he will hit them with the stun gun, running quickly the distance to the door. then tie them up and search the house and yard. I assume that he parked the big sheriffs truck at the end of the driveway, blocking anyones escape.
The glimmer freezes in place. The TV bobs up and down, left and right as whatever is holding it acts as if he doesn't know what to do.
"Set the television down gently. Slowly! Now show yourself."
The glimmer sets the television down. It hesitates. "Erm. I...well...I...um..."
"What? Show yourself now!" Barett is losing his patience.
"I'm naked."
Of course. To be effective, a chameleon must have no clothes on. Otherwise it spoils the affect.
"So what? I thought you reptiles kept your junk inside you 'til you needed it. Now do as I say!"
The chameleon appears, naked just as he said.
Barett orders him to the ground, cuffs him, and searches the rest of the domicile. Nothing. It's clear.
Barett returns. "Who are you working with?"
"It's just me."
"Oh yeah? What, are you going to do? Carry a television naked down the street?"
"Kind of. I was actually going to go behind the buildings, but yeah. Can we talk about this, um, officer?"
Okay, now what?
Barett picks the guy up by the handcuffs, pushes him into the bed of the truck, scans the area again, looking for tracks or other chameleons. Then he leans in real close and says " what would you like to talk about, I hope that it's worth my time?" In his best threating voice. He does not trust lizards, they have a bad reputation, especially the naked stealing kind. The whole time he keeps a pressure hold on the chamelon, in case he needs to control him. As much as he can Barett keeps scanning the area, it's hard to believe that one naked lizard is working all by himself out here in the country. Then again he is stealing a tv, not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
"Ow. Ow. Ow," he keeps saying as Barett keeps his submission hold in place. "Er. Let's talk about the weather? No? Um. Just kidding?"
Apparently he talks when nervous. Not a good trait for any criminal. As Barett loads him in the back, the chameleon stops talking. When Barett gets behind the wheel, the mouth opens again.
"Look. It's not like I stole anything, right? The TV is in your possession now, so, technically I just transferred the TV into police custody. No? Okay. Well, you're awfully young for a sheriff. A different sort of guy you are. Progressive. I can tell. You had that stun gun and you didn't even use it on me. Not once. Now that's progressive for you."
"What about right to remain silent don't you understand?" asked Barett, increasingly annoyed.
"I...uh...waive that right. I just figure maybe we can work something out.
"Are you suggesting a bribe?"
The chameleon gulps hard. "Nope. Definitely not."
"Then what are you suggesting, exactly?"
"Let me off with a warning?"
What's Barett's reaction?
Barett pulls the truck to the side of the road, leans over the back of the seat and looks the chameleon in the eye. " what's your name ? Because I have a deal for you today, see, I think you were going somewhere with that tv. So if you want to go free, tell me where you are from, where you were taking that tv. and promise not to ever come back into my town, and I will let you go...But if I ever see you back in my town, you will not find me progressive at all." Barett says with as much intimidation as he can muster. " so tell me what I want to hear."
The chameleon offers a weak smile, showing a few missing teeth. "Well, my name's Donald Green. Donny. I was about to carry that TV all the way back to my truck. It's a good thing you stopped me. That TV was heavy. That's the thing about us lizards. We don't show age to well. Know how old I am? 53. 53! you don't see folks my age much around."
"You said you have a truck. Where is it parked?"
"Just up the road a bit."
Sure enough Barett soon pulls up to a beat up Ford truck. The thing looks like it has more rust than metal. "Stay."
Barett gets out of the patrol vehicle to take a closer look at the Ford. He pops open the hood. The engine is the automotive equivalent of resurrecting the dead. Whoever repaired the engine had the hands of a surgeon, especially considering that most of the job looks improvised. Barett lets out a low whistle. Shutting the hood, he heads back to the patrol truck.
Getting in, Barett asks, "You do that?"
"What? Oh. Yeah. It was abandoned, so you couldn't really call it stealing it, could you?"
"What are you stealing TVs for? You make a better mechanic than a thief."
"I hear that, Sheriff. Thing is, you need to be certified to do that sort of thing."
"So, get certified then."
"Hell, son, I mean Sheriff. I can't hardly spell my name let alone fill out one of them forms. Besides, who's gonna hire me? I mean, being an ex con and all. Now what's this you said about letting me go?"
What's Barett going to do?
Barett stares at him for a few seconds, even in his short life he's seen men like this before, lots of talent, no ambition. Not much you can do with the type, till they want to do something themselves. Barett smiles and shakes his head.
" well, Mr. Green, I am going to let you off with a warning this time.....But it's a warning with a threat, do not come back into my town. I have been in a good mood this morning, I doubt that will happen again....so do society and yourself a favor, get a job at a shop, they will help you get certified, then start your own shop...It's not that hard...because if you don't you WILL end up dead."
Barett opens the door and uncuffs him.
" I'm going to follow you out of town, DO NOT COME BACK !!"
Barett growls.
Then he sits back in his seat, pulls the plate and serial number he got off the truck, and writes all the info down. He is going to run it through the police data base when he gets back to the office.
Barett gets back to the Sheriff's office and heads straight for the police computer at his desk. From the Deputy's desk, Melissa says hi. Barett gives a noncommittal harumph, indicating that he is busy and can't talk at the moment. He types in the license. Nothing. The truck is probably too old to have been updated in the DMV records. He types in Donald Green. Bingo. A list of offenses pops up on screen. Barett scrolls through.
Early offenses are drunken and disorderly, DUI, Disturbing the peace, loitering, and other minor violations. Then there is a shift to a string of thefts, petty thefts, possession and selling of stolen goods, trespassing, and breaking and entry. Near the end of the list is something peculiar. Alongside the ordinary crimes of theft and such is indecent exposure and sexual assault. Finally, at the bottom of the list is a warrant for arrest for escaping a correction facility.
Barett swears. Looking at Don Green's record, he had escaped from prison close to a half dozen times in the last few years.
"What's wrong?" asked Melissa.
"I showed mercy. That's what's wrong."
What does Barett want to do now?
Barett grabs the keys to his Landcruiser, and gives Maria the keys to the Sheriff's truck. We are going looking for a " Repeat offender " Says Barett.
Looking over the map, he figures Donny is'nt going to leave without getting something, so he searches for the best path out and where he would go. He grabs some spray paint and powder, his b.o.b bag and some infrared goggles, if your going looking for a chameleon you'd better be ready. Barett tells Mellisa ( Mel as he calls her ) about the whole thing as they load up the vehicles. She is to drive around as a diversion, then Barett is going to use his unmarked Landcruiser to scope out area's where donny may be. Hoping for the best, before anyone gets hurt, Barett makes a b-line for his best guess on Donny's location.
Barett's preparedness is usually an asset. Here it is overkill. In seeking out Donny, Barett soon runs across the old pick up. Donny is bent under the hood making routine maintenance to keep the feeble engine alive. He is shirtless, but is also wearing prison issue denim jeans.
Barett slows to a stop. He exits with pistol and handcuffs ready. Without looking, Don says, "Hi ya, boss."
"Boss? That's a prison term, right?"
"You caught me."
"And prison jeans. Okay, Donald. Hands where I can see them and turn around slowly."
Donald does as asks. Upon his face he wears a look that is a comical mix of defeat and good-naturedness. "Guess you got a good look at my rap sheet, then."
"Yes. You had quite a run of it. Now turn around."
Again, Donald turns around, this time putting his hands behind his back so Barett can cuff him. "Anything stand out. Anything out of the ordinary I mean?"
"Haven't you learned to stop talking yet?"
"Listen. I can't go back. You know what they do to types like me...I mean to the guys they think are me? No, that's wrong, too."
"Shut it. You can tell it to the judge."
"Wait. I got it. Do you know what they do to fellows for what they think I did?"
Barett escorts Donald for the second time into the back of the prowler. "You lost me."
"Look. Do I look like a pervert to you?"
"Are you sure you want me to answer that."
"No offense, boss, but you know how the chameleon thing works. I got to be naked as a jaybird. Otherwise its a pair of boxer shorts bobbing in the wind."
"Let me guess, the indecency charge?"
"Bingo."
"And the sexual assault?"
For once, Donald's lizard face takes on a serious countenance. "I didn't touch noone. Like you said, we lizards hide are 'junk.' Thing is, it takes concentration to keep hidded. You have to think real hard. Well, its hard to think when you step on someone's toy."
"You appeared naked in front of a young boy?"
"Worse. 9 year old girl's slumber party. That one done me in."
How does Barett respond?
Barett looks around really careful, searching for traps or weapons then looks donny in the eye. "I can't let you off this time, that's the price you pay for things like that." Barett says then cuffs him up and searches the truck and donny really good. When he is done searching everything he calls Mel up and tells her to call in to the state prison that they have aprehended an escape prisoner, name of Donald Green. And to arrange for them to come pick him up at the sheriffs office in town. Baretts plan is to take him back to the holding cell, and have Mel make the exchange when the state prison guards show up, not wanting to show his own face to them.
Barett calls in to Melissa.
"Please. Please don't do this," says the lizard.
"To late now. Besides, more than likely you will just escape again."
"I don't know about that," he says.
He is strangely quiet on the ride to the station. Melissa has beat them there and apparently has just finished the call. Barett hauls Donny into the holding cell. Seeing Melissa seems to have improved the Chameleons spirits some.
"Prison authorities won't make it here 'til tomorrow morning," says Melissa.
"Thanks, Mel."
Donny's eyes dart from Barett to Melissa. "That's Mel? Wow. I pictured some paunchy Badger or something. Pardon me, miss."
"Miss?" says Melissa, perturbed.
"What? Ma'am? Is that better?" asks Don.
"Try sir, or officer. I'm not your niece and I'm not your aunt."
Don whispers, "What bee got in her bonnet. Hey. Wait a second. Have you ever been in the joint?" Don's question is aimed at Barett. "'Course not. What am I thinking/ Only you look awful familiar. I wasn't sure 'til I saw her tail. How'd you lose yours?"
"Don't ask," says Barett.
"Wait. You two brother and sister? No? Well, you can't be...I mean, that would be unprofessional. Back in the day you could do that sort of thing, but now? Office romance. Cousins then?"
"What are you going on about?" asks Melissa.
"Oh, it's just that I know who you are?"
Barett swallows hard. If Donny knows who they are and blabs to the authorities there will be hell.
"You're those Miner cats."
"Ringtailed Cats," says Melissa.
"Yeah, that too. Anyhow, there was one of your type in the joint. Scary fellow with darker marking like you."
"How like me?" asks Barett.
"Just same tone in the fur. Bit bigger, stockier guy. Not someone you want to mess with. First day I spent in that place that ringtailed cat threw some joker over the third tier railing. They have chain link there now. Folks say that joker looked at him funny. Can you imagine?"
What does Barett do?
Barett Looks over at Donny in the cell.
" Strange story, never heard that one myself, I prefer the one where he kills the President, Perhaps the one where Sacramento gets burned down. " Barett says with as much lack of interest as he can fake.
" I'm no relative of those freaks ! But I will tell you one thing, they have caused me a lot of trouble....all because we look similiar."
Barett turns back to his paper work like it's no big deal, and starts to work on getting some paper trail developed for Donny.( to himself Barett thinks, I may need to fake Donny's death, a failed jail break or hangs himself in the cell would be plausable, perhaps he just escapes again and is never to be found....Then he thinks about all the double talk and strange references to himself in the third person...)
" say Donny" says Barett, not even looking up from the paper he's working on.
" You don't have a twin brother do you ? "
"Uh. No. Why? That's kind of a funny thing to bring up," says Donny. "I don't have much family at all these days. And what's all this about the President? Sacramento? You know this guy?"
Barett considers his options. "You have escaped from prison how many times now?"
"I guess six or seven times. Yeah, seven."
"You're pretty good at escaping then."
"Pretty much. I'm just not that good at staying escaped," says Don.
"There's a trick to that. In the bigger cities, Chameleons make do pretty well without going through the trouble of actually robbing places." Barett is in casual speech mode. Mel watches with one raised eyebrow, fearing what he may have in mind.
Don shakes his head. "Who in the city is going to hire a pervo. It's bad enough being an ex-con and illiterate."
"Who said anything about work? See, in San Francisco, L.A., San Diego, and even in Seattle all the jewelry stores and such keep all the merchandise locked in cases because chameleons could just walk off with it. However, cities also have convenience stores and grocery stores and the like. All one really needs to steal is enough to live on. Food, beverages, occasionally some personal supplies."
Don catches on. "So, exactly where do these chameleons live and spend their time?"
"Being warm blooded, I suppose near the dessert. Not much call for air conditioned housing. Speaking of, Mel, would you mind turning down the air conditioning for are scaly friend here?"
"Friend?" she mutters. She does as asked, though never quite taking an eye off the lizard for long. Suddenly, she speaks up. "I hear you're quite the mechanic."
"What? Oh, yes I am, officer. I can say that proudly because its really the only thing I'm good at."
"How did you come to fixing things?" she asks. Barett patiently lets her have her little interrogation. As things are, he will need her help later and can not afford to have any resentments stand in the way.
"Well, well before either of you two were born, things were pretty messed up. You had groups of folks, tribes, city states, whatever you want to call them."
"Factions," adds Barett, helpfully.
"Yeah. Well, I was with one of these factions. We were a bigger one with lots of fancy equipment. I had to make sure all that stuff kept running. Cars, trucks, motorcycles, boats, planes, helicopters, generators, you name it. Back then either I was elbow deep in oil and grease, or I was eating or asleep. Sometimes all three at once."
"Helicopters, eh?" asks Melissa. "So, what do you think of the HL-2200?"
"You're into helicopters, too? Wow, you are a lady of many talents."
"You can say that again," says Barett.
"Well, the HL-2200 is fine for your commercial vehicles, your news and tourist type Helis, but I wouldn't take one for a joy ride."
"Why not?" asks Mel.
"The engine, she runs smooth and clean and all, but you get the blades at an angle steeper than 30 degrees and she stalls out on you. Plus you drop so much of a screw in the engine and you might as well buy a new one. Now, the HP-500 is the way to go. Yeah, it's big and clunky. It burns fuel like an alcoholic on a bender, but it's steady. It can take a few hits and keep running. So if you want military use, I say go with that. Don't worry so much about weight and fuel when the government is paying for it."
"I see," says Melissa. She sits down at her desk and looks at Barett as if to say, "You really are thinking about letting him go free?"
However, she is also clever enough to have picked up on Barett's references to his brother. She knows how important family is to him. Just from her expression, he can see how she appreciates his dilemma, but washes her hands of it.
What does Barett have planned?
Barett leans back in the chair, and pulls out a map.
" say donny, where was this 'faction' you worked with....you know before the unification war ? And which prison were you in when you meet this guy that reminds you of me ?"
Barett kicks out a chair for donny and lets him sit down. He figures that he has all night to see how much info he can get out of him. He also remembers Sang and the Military base they grew up on. This Chameleon would be the right age to be a uncle or relative to Sang, perhaps he knows where he is at. Barett plans on using his trust and intimidate plus his skills in interogation, but on the friendly type, make him comfortable, see how much he will talk.
He winks at Mel and says.
" say would you mind getting us all some food, since we will be here all night. Here is twenty dollars, perhaps some hot food would do us well."
It is pretty clear early on that Donny has no direct relation to Tsang. Furthermore, his faction was Texas based. This was well before the unification war (between Pacific Northwest and the Pacific Coast). This was back in the days where Papa Rick and Uncle Bob were in combat. Sadly, Donny has no stories about Rick and Bob. His is the story of how Dallas, Houston, San Antonio, and Austin formed treaties that made Texas a strong, independent country.
What he knows about Utah is also sketchy. He recalls that this ringtailed cat was brought in after being involved in a bar fight with at least one off duty police officer. Other police were called in. It took several canisters of tear gas to finally bring him down.
Donald never refers to the ringtailed cat as Utah. This makes sense as should the authorities know it was Utah, they would surely execute him on the spot. The ringtailed cat has no name as such. He is known only as the cowboy, or Cowboy. Donald's first contact with Cowboy in a Texas prison falls some time within the period Barett was no longer receiving messages from Utah. Utah had simply disappeared. Rick had made several attempts at searching the web for clues, but came up with nothing. It was odd not to hear from Utah for so long. Even Dave managed to send updates fairly regularly.
Things seem too coincidental for the ringtailed cat not to be Utah. How many ringtailed cats fitting his description could there be? It is just hitting nightfall when Barett and Donny finish up.
Now what?
Barett looks around, streches his arms and fakes a yawn. Then he motions to Donny to get back in the cell, he shuts the door and locks it.
"Hey, I'm going around the corner to get some coke and a bag of beef jerky, walk around the town a bit, then come back. Stay put Donny, Mellisa come with me for a second will you." Barett says.
Then he pulls her aside down the block, and tells her to get the helicopter all lined up, and fueled. they are going to take a little trip down to Texas to look for Utah.
" Mel, please pack bags for three of us. I should be out of here in an hour."
Barett wanders down to the local country store and gets him a large coke a couple of bags of beef jerky and some breath mints. He finds some cowboy work cloths that don't look prison and are Donnys size and gets them to. He buys three felt cowboy hats and some redhandkerchiefs and two packs of cigars, then he heads back to the office.
Checking the poice data base and calling in to the central info base records department, Barett uses his charm and impress to get more info out of the girl in data entry to see if he can get more solid intel on "the cowboy", He is hoping to get the phone number to the Prison that Utah is in, and then call them. Pretending that he is coming down to interview him about a case up here, see if he can get close to him.
Then he plans on flying south to Texas for the night, and leaving a note that Donny escaped and they are out looking for him. In case the Prison guards come looking for Donny.
Barett checks the database for "The Cowboy" and finds a badly beaten image of what appears to be Utah. The face is swollen, the fur matted in places. It is clear it took a lot of firepower to bring him down. There are no prior convictions. The record is clean save the charges of assault, battery, resisting arrest, and a number of petty charges just there to add some additional months to the sentence.
Barett has no luck on the phone. The Comptroller in Texas is male and all business. He keeps asking for the case number, Barett's badge number, and the like. This guy is very hush hush. The more Barett presses, the more resistant, impatient, and suspicious the voice on the other line gets. This guy takes his job seriously as a gatekeeper of information. He is like a dragon guarding treasures.
It is pretty clear this fellow will likely run back up checks should Barett attempt an interview. Barett is annoyed, but impressed nonetheless. It is rare to find such dedication in a desk position.
If Barett wants to contact Utah, he will have to try something else.
Barett grabs Donny and puts him in the truck, they drive out to the farm and get in the helicopter. The idea is to fly down to the town where the prison is, do some sneak and peak, find out how Donny got out so that they can break in. Hoping that Donny will go for this Barett promises to let him go afterwards. Perhaps some extra money to help him start a new life, or a forged cert. for a mechanic, Barett still has some from working at the college.
So off to Texas they go.( strictly as civilians )
"You're going to break into prison? Are you crazy?" asks Melissa.
Donny nods along as she speaks, when she finishes, he adds, "Yeah, breaking out is hard enough. You know, there are easier ways to get in."
"I hate to say it, but he's right."
Barett has been here before. Back in his biker days, it was not uncommon for his cronies to question his authority. Back then, he could just smack them around a little to remind them who was the alpha male. He couldn't do that now. Instead, he asks, "So either of you have a better idea?"
"Well," says Melissa. "I was thinking."
Oh boy, thinks Barett.
"Going in as a visitor we know they will likely do a background check, right? What if they don't feel the need to do a background check. We have the forms. You know a judge. We could dummy up the proper documentation."
"To what?" asks Barett. "Go to prison as a convicted felon? I thought the whole idea was to escape capture, not walk into the lion's den. Now who's the crazy one?"
Melissa glares at him. "You'll be undercover. They won't know it's you. They don't seem to know it's Utah."
"If it even is Utah," says Barett. "But I guess that's what we're trying to find out here, but at what cost?"
"It's still better than sneaking in," says Donny. "What if we got caught? They would think it was an attempted prison break. Who nows what would happen then. Going in as a convict at least you know where you stand."
Barett considers his options. Sneak in or walk in, both are risky.
Barett thinks it over for a long time, its no good either way. The only advantage he can see is sneaking in, at least this way he controls what he takes with him. Barett decides to case the local bar down the street from the prison, hoping that security guards visit it on the way home from work. He thinks finding one close to the same size as him and knocking him out and taking the uniform is his best bet, then sneaking into the prison dressed as a guard will allow him some greater latitude. He starts quizzing Donny about how he got out and what the guards routine was. He needs as much info as he can get out of Donny before going in.
"great plan," says Donny. "For the moving pictures, maybe. Look. I know these guards. They're a tight bunch. They know each other, hang out together, have a softball team, the whole bit. You knock one of 'em out and go waltzin' in then either they think your the new guy and pull a few pranks, or they suspect you and nab you right there."
"I've made up my mind," says Barett. "Sneaking in is the best option I have."
"Don't say I didn't warn you. Some of these guards were cons back in the day, so I hear. They can get pretty rough, so you best watch yourself."
The routines of the guards is pretty straight forward. Each has a section to watch over for the week, then the watch list rotates. That way a guard can pick up on something another guard would have missed. Also, it cuts down on any fraternizing between guards and cons as there is only a week out of every couple months the two may be in close contact.
Picking out the right guard to impersonate may be tricky. A lot depends on his relationship to the other guards. Also, the guard has to be a similar build and shape. Emulating a guard could be even trickier. Most of what Donny has to say fits in with the few prison movies Barett has seen.
Eventually, a guard leaves the bar without saying goodye to any of his buddies as he appears to have no buddies. He strolls to his sedan without any knowledge that he is being watched. He is a red fox with full stance and hands, but with partial looks. The fur in his bushy red tail sways in the evening breeze. The Texas sky is orange, pink, purple, and blue as night starts a'creepin' in.
How does Barett handle the situation.
Barett rushes at the guard, striking him across the back of the head repeatedly untill he goes down. Then he will push him across the seat and jump in the car, driving aways off into the woods and tying him up. Taking his uniform then looking for his work schedule. Hoping to find some info. about him and trying to make himself look like him. Then forging some official looking documents to use to move Utah around, he may need to steal those once he is inside. A alternate plan Barett is working on is to sneak into the wardens office and get papers to forge to get Utah's release.
Barett dashes forward. Feeling the presence of someone quickly coming up behind him, the fox turns around. He is too late as Barett strikes him in the forehead with the butt of his pistol. It takes a few more hits to bring the fox down. His head is split open and he bleeds all over the passenger seat and his uniform. Barett finds a set of plastic tie cuffs and fixes one around the unconscious fox's wrists behind the back. He drives off into a more wooded area.
There is no sign of a work schedule in the car. There are two likely places to get one, the prison and the home of this fox. Barett takes the ID badge off the security guard/corrections officer. A little photography, a scanner, a printer, and a laminator and he could probably get the badge to look authentic, at least from a few feet away. Getting to look like the fox is trickier. That would entail a lot of red hair coloring and a fake tail.
Getting release papers may prove a challenge, but that is a bridge to be crossed later. First of all, Barett has to get inside.
Barett opens the glove box and pulls out the car regestration and looks up the adress, then he pulls out the wallet to make sure they are the same place. Due to the blood and such he needs a clean uniform. The plan is to get a clean uniform, look for some schedule, most people on a rotating schedule like cops or factory workers have in thier wallets or on the fridge at the house. once he gets a clean uniform and this great cover vehicle ( the fox's ) he will take a second two-way radio, get a run down of the prison layout from Donny and make his way down to where Utah is. Barett sneaks on his person a backup snub nosed .38 special, and a flash grenade, a spare pair of handcuffs, some heavy duty nylon zipp ties, two extra knives and some tape. keeping Mel and Donny in the car he will just do a sneak and peak on the first run, until he gets a look at the place, he will not form a plan for getting Utah out, unless an opertunity presents it self. After the sneak and peak at the cell he hopes to make his way up to the adminstration wing and see what he can find. He has a vanilla envelope with official writting on it from his office and plans on using it as a ploy to get around other employees by saying it needs to go direct to the warden, all this is to be down at night, when most of the staff is off.
Back at the Fox's trailer home, Barett finds a spare uniform and a work schedule. He also finds the work schedule just where he imagined it would be. it is tacked to the refrigerator with a refrigerator magnet featuring the phone number for some insurance agency. The fox works A block from 0800 to 1100 and from 1230 to 1630. He works the cafeteria from 1100 to 1200 hours. His breaks are at 1000 and 1400 hours. Lunch is spot on at 1200 hours.
Donny is not much help with the layout. His escapes were often done on the fly (an advantage to being a chameleon). Also, Utah is most likely in a higher security area, which is someplace Donny had never been. However, Donny can tell you from experience that most prisons have a pretty similar structure. There are several wings branching off a center of command. Several other buildings are separate from the main structure and are primarily for secondary functions, such as the shop, the chapel, etc.
Utah is most likely in the East wing, also known as D Block. It is a high security area for the keeping of the more violent criminals. Driving around the compound, you see that this appears to be the case. Even at night there appears to be plenty of guards at the towers and along the walls.
Barett would like to have a better plan, be more prepared, but that is not the case.
Looking over the situation he gets that familiar pit in his stomach, and buzz in his head. The rush before the act, a real push to go do something a little more planned and less likly to get him killed. But only a few seconds later the thrill of pulling off something like this gets his senses on fire and ready to run.
Barett gets ready for his shift and practices his Texas draw, using his Rogue skills to impersonate a guard as best he can and heads for the gate, he checks his radio to Mel and double checks his gear. This could go well or very bad, no way to find out but to jump in with both feet.
The parking lot is unguarded. From there, Barett walks to the main gate and clocks in. The uniform works. "It's dryer than a menopausal fire ant out there," drawls Barett. Though Barett is not known for his impersonations, it seems to work. The desk clerk gives a noncommittal grunt and presses the button to allow Barett access into the main hall. From here he can go to any block, the main command center, or the wing of offices (where the warden is located). Each seems about as well guarded as the other. The rush doubles in intensity as the heavy door swings shut behind him and locks with a loud buzz.
Where does he go?
Barett heads to the wing with the wardens office, he wants to scope things out and get a real lay of the prison. Right now he is holding a large vanilla envelope as a decoy, if he can find a map of the prison he will study it out to get a idea of where things are. ( his hope is that they have one on the guards locker room wall, a fire-escape plan posted by the door, like most government places, if he can he will steal this.) Then he wants to break into the Wardens office and steal some official looking papers and then try to go down and get them to release Utah for some medical reason, to go see a hospital out of the prison. ( like the guy who broke out of the doctors office while having a x-ray.)
As with other parts of the prison, the offices are separated by two separate heavy doors. Barett holds up the envelope and taps on the glass. The guard buzzes him in through both doors. Barett is hoping this current of luck doesn't run out. His presence there has yet to be challenged. He snags a fire escape map off a bulletin board. It is fairly generic, giving very little description other than floor design and the names of each block and exit.
He tracks down the warden's office only to encounter his first snag. It seems the warden has secured his office from his staff as well. There is a magnetic strip card slider and a keypad for inputting a security code. Barett's chances of getting in are slim. It doesn't help that the warden is not there. Sometimes the best way past a closed door is to just knock.
What now?
Barett looks around and knocks on the door, if there is no answer he will look around for the secretaries desk and if she is gone will go through her desk and files, with any luck she keeps medical releases and the like in her desk as the Warden will likley just delegate these to her. If this doesn't work he will walk down to the medical wing, and see what he can find.
Barett manages to locate the secretaries desk and starts to rifle through the stacks of paper, the drawers, and eventually the filing cabinets. In a supply cabinet he finds a number of official forms, including the medical release papers.
At that moment the lights, which had to this point been only partly on to conserve energy, flicker and turn on to flood the area. Quickly following is the now familiar buzz of the double security doors. Next is the hurried, purposeful steps of a guard detail. Barett's keen hearing and superb combat training allow him to estimate four guards in total. Likely they are armed with shotguns, pistols, and/or high powered rifles at the very worst.
Barett considers acting casual, but it is nearly unmistakable that the squad is after him. Looking back, it was just a matter of time. With all the security doors and close circuit cameras, some tech in the security booth likely spotted him and ran a check against a current staff listing. Whatever the case, Barett had to decide how to respond. He could hide, but there was nowhere to run. He could engage in a firefight, but to what end?
He was so close to getting Utah out.
(By the way, for Barett to meet the key plot points of this adventure, it is sadly necessary for him to get caught. You certainly gave me a run for my money as Barett is very skilled at evading detection. He carefully plans ahead, but is also gifted at thinking on the fly. I am sorry to spring this on you, but otherwise this could be a very dull experience)
Barett Hides the extra gun and grenade under a desk, and stuffs all the papers he can find, plus some, Into his shirt. Telling Mel to abort, and to scramble, he heads for a corner, planning to give up and let them take him down. He may play rough a little He wants them to take him to the same block as Utah, so he will fight a little with them( blocking and parrying attempts to hold him down), just to make it look real, mostly he wants to look like a thief after some official papers.( he will attempt to role with punches, but act like they hurt him more ).
Two guards stand back as the other two leave their weapons behind and scramble to seize Barett. He manages convincingly to struggle. Finally, he feigns defeat.
One of the armed guard's reports in his radio, "Retrieved the package. Over...copy that." The guard instructs the others. "Careful with him. The boss wants a look. Find him a team uniform."
With that said, Barett is led away under careful scrutiny. They have him strip, wash him down with a hose, delouse and tick him, then hand him his new uniform. Ah. Sturdy convict class denim. He plays it cool, not giving anything away. No use giving his story if no one is asking. Eventually, Barett is led back to where he had just been, the waiting room to the warden's office. It is not a long wait as the Warden soon walks in. He is one tough looking hombre, a black panther with the look of wartime experience followed by many years of police work to follow.
He squints his yellow-green eyes at Barett. In a booming, resonant voice, he asks, "So, what have we here?"
(By the way, did Barett kill the fox gaurd or leave him tied up in his trailer? I can't remember and my poor brain forgot to look it up first.)
( Barett did not kill the fox, but left him blindfolded and tied up in the bedroom of the trailer. He never let the fox see or hear Mellisa or Donny )
Barett looks around, like he is looking for the person the warden is talking to. Then he says nothing. He never plans on saying anything at all, never a word, well he may kick the wardens desk over, and break his pictures on the wall.
"Playing dumb, eh?" asks the panther. Still facing you, he says in a more commanding voice, "Check on Red."
There is no response. The panther turns and looks at the head guard. "What's the hold up?"
"Right away boss!" the head guard then send one of the other guards off.
Turning his attention back to Barett. "I guess there is no point in asking who you work for, or why you're here is there? I didn't think so. I have a pretty good idea what, or rather who you are after."
It is a good thing that Barett is experienced at keeping his feelings to himself. Otherwise that last statement may have triggered some reaction that would give him away.
"It's no surprise. Many have tried and failed. I have to hand it to you though, you've made it pretty far. It is a good thing the kid in the security booth is a bit of a snoop. Keeps tabs on everybody like the security cams are his daily soap operas. You have to admire someone who loves their job. You love your job don't you? To be good at anything you have to love it, I say. So the cowboy?"
Barett plays it cool, hoping the warden will reveal more pertinent information.
"Lots of folk want him out of the picture, or working for them. I won't have it. I'm happy with where he is. So, what? Were you going to spring him with a phony medical release? Wouldn't have worked. I personally sign off on anyone leaving this paradise, however temporarily. Even if it worked, what then? Kill him? I imagine that would be harder than you would think. Either way, you will still have your chance to meet him, that is, considering that's why you're here."
The panther stands his full six and a half feet. "Guards, put him in the program."
With that said, Barett is whisked off to his cell in B Block. It is mostly drug abusers and dealers. Barett can pick up on a guard offering a rock (of crack) for information regarding the location of some criminals' drop off point. Barett is put in a second level cell. A rat with dreadlocks lazes about on the top bunk.
"Aye, star, what bring you to babylon?" he asks without stirring from his resting spot.
Barett looks him over, and then checks over the cell. He is looking at the locks on the doors, the plumbing and beds for things to use as weapons. After that he is going to do a complete sweep of the cell for bugs and cameras. ( Barett assumes that the rat is a snitch for the warden, and will treat him as such, why else would he put him in this cell. The warden seems to know a lot more than Barett does.)
Barett leans on the wall and looks at the Rat.
" B block is babylon right, what is D block? "
The rat laughs with the kind of ease only found in a Rastafarian.
"All dis here be Babylon, breda. Babylon is de long arm of de law, seen? I an' I in dem clutches now. D Block where dey keep dem gorillas. Dey call it de zoo, mon. Bat crazy blood clots an' badmen in D Block, seen?"
Barett had encounter Jamaicans before in Dave's band years ago. The meeting was too brief to pick up on anything. However, Dave, being keen on languages and dialects, often fell into a Jaimaican accent just for a laugh. Barett learned a few phrases from joking around with his little brother. Basically, Babylon is the law in any and all forms. D block is where they keep the most violent criminals, referred to as Gorillas.
"Hope you don' min' I and I grab de top bunk. Me no deal wit' rats, seen? Don' like 'em crawlin' o'er me person, you know?"
Barett was about to comment on the Jamaican as being a rat, but it made sense. He wasn't thrilled about rats either. Better than skunks, but still. He couldn't even warm up to he idea of sleeping with an actual ringtailed cat crawling around him.
"You see many rats?" asks Barett, laying on think the double meaning.
"Furry tings? I an' I see only one in de mess (referring to the cafeteria). Other rat? Dere be a sight many dose tings. I an' I say bury dem clots in de ground, seen? Blood clot done rat me out to Babylon. Dat's why me here, breda (brother)."
Apparently a blood clot, or clot, is a very offensive term typically used for anyone disingenuous or nefarious.
There are cameras outside the cells directed at the landing. However, the cell appears clean beside the faint smell of ganja. Barett could manage a weapon in a pinch by yanking the sink out of the wall or prying off part of the bunk, but for now that would be a little extreme. Besides, his fists have done him alright when there was no other recourse.
Barett decides that the first time he gets to the yard he is going to find the biggest guy he can and fight him, dirty and mean. He might not even let him know that he is going to fight. From the guys Barett knows that did time in the pen, the only way to get respect is to fight, they respect the fists. He can see that this is one dirty and mean prison, he suspects that the warden is using the inmates in some fighting ring/gambling scheme. Why else would one keep a prisoner like Utah around if it did not make him some green backs. Barett plans on fighting several times, hoping to make his way to Utah. He then looks over at the Rat.
" What time do we get to exercise in the yard ?"
Barett plans on stretching out and warming up his muscles by going thru some training exercises.
Then thinking of getting a message out to Mellisa, hoping to use her as his legal contact. Best now to play this hand out for a while yet, he decides.
"You claustrophobic or someting', mon? Sight early for gwan'nin' to stretch you legs, i'n'it? You jus't got here, breda."
Barett proceeds to do some preliminary stretches before a workout.
"Wot? You got ants crawlin' all up ya leg?" He sits up and dangles his scrawny, brown, and furry legs over the side of his bunk. "Irie. You no user. You no rudeboy dealer. I an' I don' tink you smuggler like I, seen? Der a fire in you, rasta. You ha' some big time purpose or someting."
Having completed his stretches, Barett does a slow and relaxed routine of his phoenix eye techniques. He practices each of the many punch techniques, each with the fore knuckle as the striking surface. Uppercuts, hooks, jabs, gouges, crosses, and both fists at once.
"Course," says the rat. "'Nother brawler dey bring me. You must be one of de bossman's new toys, yeah?"
Barett quickens each routine, his reaction time and power at the next level, getting quicker and more powerful. Between controlled breaths, he says, "What do you know about it?"
"More dan you can 'magine, me tink. I know what you tink you gwanna do."
"Oh, yeah," says Barett. "And what is it you think I'm going to do?"
"What every rudeboy fool tinks. Him go up to some big clot and swap blows like youths in de playground. I an' I say don' give dem de satisfaction, mon, seen? Dat wot bossman want. Him want to seen you clop some rudeboy. Him take notes so him boys crunch de number, make de odds. You only make it dat much easier for him to make de green off ya now, rasta. You gwanna be like proper girl. Give 'em no ting on first date, seen?"
Barett ends his routine. "And how do you know all this?"
"I an' I look after de brawlers, mon. Me trainer, seen?"
"You? A trainer?"
"Irie. You laugh, rudeboy, but I an' I know wot's wot in a brawl, seen. Jus' I prefer peace an' love and all dat. Some clots don' see de world like I, so me gwanna keep from bein' put in de ground, yeah? Me an' my breda was taught karate on de island. Wot's dat you done? Kung fu? I an' I wonder why bossman no introduce us proper. He jus' dump you here in de middle of de dark like some rudeboy clot. Irie. Here him come now."
And just as the rat says, up the stairwell comes the warden with two guards. Surely he is coming to check up on Barett and how well he has settled in.
Barett decides to take the rats advice, it seems that he could use some good info like that. He decides to play it cooler now, the exercise clearing his mind just a little.( he is going to avoid any big fights for the time, see what happens). This time when the warden comes round he will be cool but talkative. Barett askes the rat to train him as well, what the hell, he's never really fought for money, just life or death, this may be fun. His role is to hold back, and not be really aggressive. Its hard for him, but he is going to give it a try.
The warden steps up about two feet from the bars. Just out of reach.
"Settled in?" he asks.
"More or less," says Barett casually.
"What do you know? He speaks. Been shooting the breeze have you, Marcus? You know it's supposed to be lights out."
Marcus, the rat, says, "Wot? You some fool clot gwanna say no speakin' when lights out. You wit' your guards pushin' de rock. Den you go throwin' in some new fish like some rock in a pond and be surprised there be ripples. Wot wrong wit' you, bossman?"
"Uh, yeah. I didn't get any of that, did you fellows?" says the warden to his guards.
"Nope," says one. "even if I did whatever he is accusing us of is well within prison protocol."
"They better since I make those protocols," says the warden. "Really, Marcus, I need to get an interpreter. You should learn to speak English."
"I speak de English, you blood clot. Have de Doc check your hearin', you dumb fool. You jus' don' listen right. Irie, your mother should ha' taught you to hear right, seen?"
"Well, whatever you said, take care of this one, will you."
"'Course me will, fool. I an' I take care of him sight better than you an' your fool rudeboy crew."
"Oh, and you," referring to Barett, "better get some rest. You have quite a work out ahead of you, I assure you. I am expecting great things from you. I do hope you don't disappoint. Good night."
And the Warden turns and walks away.
Barett settles in on his bunk and thinks about what the warden has said.
"so Marcus, what should I do tomorrow ?"
Says Barett in a serious tone.
" seeing that you are now my coach, but what exactly are you coaching me on and how is the game played, I really would like to know the rules."
"Okay, star. I tell you de rules. De be real simple like, yeah. Is like boxing. You get tree minutes of fightin' then tirty seconds in your corner. You win de bout by knockin' a clot out, by submission, or whoe'er scores most blows by de end of twelve rounds, seen?"
"Anything off limits?"
"Aye. Dey look down on gougin', pullin' on de hair, an' goin' for de jewel pack. Even den, rudeboys be still knockin' each udder in de package, seen. Jus' don' do such so often as to get t'rown out an' you be real star."
"And what exactly will you be teaching me. I don't mean to sound rude or anything, but there isn't much I don't know about fighting. I've been pretty much fighting most of my life."
"As was I in me youth, breda. Used to have wicked chip on me shoulder, right? Get inna fights with any dread dat cross me path, seen? I an' I know dat your t'inking is not always good in de ring, seen? Too much damn boderation goin' on 'round you to t'ink right. I an' I help you keep your head clear of all dat boderation. Maybe I teach you a few wicked moves as well. You never know wot a breda might have to give. Dat's all for now. Bossman be a right fool, but him right on one ting, breda. You need your sleep. G'night, rasta. We talk more inna mornin'"
Boderation? He must mean botheration...chaos. Marcus would keep Barett's head in the game, not let the adrenaline cloud his thinking, that sort of thing. He might have a few pointers as well. Couldn't hurt to let the old rat do his thing. As for now, Barett needed rest. That was easier said than done, however. It wasn't the new bed. Barett had slept in far less familiar and far more uncomfortable places than a prison bunk. No, it wasn't that. He was restless. He had loosened up and readied himself for a fight that he now decided not to enter. His heart rate had quickened as had his breathing. He closed his eyes attempting to relax. He let the soft breathing of the rat above him lull him to sleep.
He had a dream. He was back at the sheriff's office looking over a printout of Utah's mug shot, the swollen and bruised face, the matted fur. Barett worked with his fingers attempting to manipulate the image. He pushed in bumps and bruises, he smoothed back the matted fur, he pried open one swollen eye, but when he attempted to get rid of a cut above one of the eyes, the wound opened. It seeped black ink like blood. Barett tried to wipe it away, but only ended up smearing the ink over the image to the point Utah was unrecognizable.
He awoke to the sound of the rat relieving himself in the corner toilet. The morning sun poured mercilessly through the barred window. Barett felt as if he hadn't slept at all.
Barett rolls over, pulls himself off the bunk, and strechs out.
" Ok coach, what do you want me to do ? "
Barett keeps thinking, one day he will kill the Warden.
"G' mornin' rasta. First we get de breakfast. Fill up, me breda. You need strength for what is comin' to you, seen."
Barett, Marcus, and the rest of B Block head down to the mess. Standing in line at the buffet counter, Barett has low expectations. However, as they pile the food on his tray, he is pleasantly surprised. "Hey, Marucs, this doesn't look so bad. It even smells good."
"'Course, breda. Dey serve no slop here. Food is righteous, seen. Ting is, if some fool serve up rotten meal to de wrong dread, dat same fool answer to de knife later, seen?"
"That makes sense. Cons are a vindictive lot, not likely to forgive even a case of indigestion. Still, it is not just the way it's cooked. The quality of the food itself is good."
They head over to a table, Marcus's table to be exact as several cons slide over to make plenty of room. "Aye," says the rat, sitting down. "Food come from local farms, seen? De bossman say he pump money inna community, right? Food come fresh jus' few miles from dis place. Chicken, cob corn, greens, hamburger, e'en de rib an' steak. Eat up good, now, star."
Barett digs in, hungrier than he had imagined. Hash browns, biscuits and gravy, pancakes, sausage, bacon, ham, the lot. As Barett is eating, another con comes up to Marcus and starts a conversation.
"Good morning, Marcus," says the sparrow.
"Mornin' Tom, sleep well did you, rasta?"
"Fine. Just fine."
"Tell you wot, breda. Dis here be me new cell mate. Him have no name, yet, seen? Dem boys straight from Babylon name him soon enough, seen?"
Meekly the sparrow gives a smile and a wave. "Uh, nice to meet you."
Marcus then introduces Tom to Barett. "Star, this be Tom. Him righteous fella enough, seen."
The sparrow says, "I can see your busy so I'll just..."
"No. Not busy 't all dis moment, breda. Tell I wot boderin' you."
"I just wanted to come by and thank you again for clearing that whole thing up with Dorian."
"Don' mention it, rasta. All a dread can do, seen."
"Yes, still, if there is anything, anything I can get for you or do for you, let me know, okay?"
"Much appreciation," says Marcus. He lingers on each syllable, drawing the word out in contrast to his rapid fire comments. "I an' I let you know should I need help wit' anyting, seen?"
The sparrow bids his farewell and goes back to a table full of mostly other birds. "Who's Dorian?" asks Barett casually.
"Irie. Dorian jus' some rudeboy pusher. He deals wit' the inmates. Tom dere, he do a job for Dorian, but Tom no badman."
"The job didn't go as planned, eh?"
"No. Tom get jumpy and dump de package down de crapper. "
"So how were you able to square things with Dorian?" asks Barett.
"Dorian be a businessman. Him listen to reason, seen. I an' I make him see de udder side of tings. Me also see dat dere is no boderation in him next job or two. Dat him clear of no babylon."
"You can do that? Get the guards to look the other way?"
"I, no. Maybe one or two of dem. But if five, ten, twenty rudeboys make a rumpus an' guards gwanna look."
"So you organize some sort of distraction. You must have some pull," says Barett. "Here I thought the only way to get respect was to win a fight."
"Dat one way. Dey show it inna movies, but dread don' know who him punchin', seen? Any rudeboy gwaana have bredas. You mess wit' one an' de whole crew come down like hard rain. Better to fight only when some fool start someting wit' you. Don' start anyting first. Fool asks for wot a fool gets, seen? Respect, yeah? You give respect, it come back to you, seen? You make boderation, you get boderation. Dere anyting else you gwanna ask, star?"
" So Marcus, what does the boss man want me to do, and what would you have me do? I don't want to cause no boderation, I'm just here to do my time."
Says Barett, as he scans over the crowd, looking for Utah and checking out the number of guards in the room.
" What kind of training are we going to do today ? "
"We all want de same ting. You gwanna stay alive in de ring, seen. De bossman, he make the long green off de fightin'. All manner of bloodclots bettin' on de fightin'. Bossman shave a lickle off de top. An' don' go makin' fun of de way I talk," he adds with a friendly smile. "I an I jus' want you not to go bleedin' about de place. Bossman is happy coz de fight better. I happy coz one more dread don' go feet up in de ring. You happy coz you still takin' in de air an' not lying in de ground bein' de food of worms, seen."
"I'm beginning to see how you fell into this, breda," say Barett.
"Wot you sayin'? Makin' fun."
"So, your job is basically to keep me functional, or at least alive, long enough to make the fight interesting. I suppose the training falls along those lines."
"Aye, an' to win de fight if posible, Jah be willin'. You a badman, star. You could go far. Bossman tinks de same ting. I an' I be trainin' you not on how to fight. You know dat ting by now. I an' I teach you to fight in de ring. Dis be different, seen? Out dere, you fight to live. Respect. In here, you fight to score points. One is self defense. De udder be a contest, seen? "
Barett nods along. Covertly, he scans the cafeteria looking for Utah. Nothing. Only B Block pimps, addicts, pushers, smugglers, and other vice offenders. Barett feels way out of place. The only thing that fits him is smuggler, maybe.
"When does D block eat?" asks Barett.
"Wot dis fascination (again drawn out) wit' D Block, Breda? Dere some clot you gwanna put down? Revenge. It is like a bad meal, seen? It come back to you in ugly, smelly ways, yeah? Who you after, mon?"
Barett thinks about this. Answer honestly, reply with a half truth, lie, or say nothing. How much does he trust Marcus?
"I'm here to fight, that's the only reason I'm still alive. The Warden says I'm to fight this "COWBOY", the guards say he's in D block."
Barett emphasises the cowboy and Warden.
" The guy must be good, have you meet him, did you train him as well ? "
"De Cowboy," Marcus takes a sharp breath. "Dere be a real badman. Him a killer. If bossman say you fight Cowboy, you be a righteous killer. Respect. Cowboy be de champion. Him fight only to keep de title. You make it tru all dem clots an' rudeboys an' you'll come toe to toe wit' de Cowboy sure 'nuff. An' trainer? Cowboy ain't got no trainer. Him got no bredren. Him only bossman is Jah (meaning God), an' Jah help de fool dat steps in de ring wit' dat badman. Aye, you seem like de Cowboy a lickle."
"I hope it's my fighting ability that reminds you of him and not something else from what I've heard," Barett says. This fighting could take awhile. However, if he fights well enough, he will get so close to Utah that he could quite literally reach out and smack him.
Meanwhile, Utah gets to sit around and wait for the best of the best to challenge him. Utah liked to spar. Being a practicianer of Jeet Kune Do, Utah sought out other martial artists in order to learn, adopt, and adapt from other styles. Here, the martial artist was brought to him while he got to spend the rest of the time reading and working out.
"Okay, star. Training time." Barett and Marcus put away their trays and follow a number of other cons to the yard. It is much as Barett had seen from his sneak and peak. The yard is a wide expanse of hard dirt and weeds. A number of benches and bleachers are set up along with a baseball diamond, a basketball court, and some gym equipment. Barett can see other buildings in the distance.
"I an' I gwanna hook us up wit' a crew. Me be right back, seen?" Marcus says as he temporarily parts ways with Barett. Barett, being the cautious fellow that he is, keeps his back to a wall, but not to a corner should he need an escape. While he has time, he does a few preliminary stretches, working the muscles loose from what may or may not be a strenuous workout ahead. As he stretches, three cons come forward. It looks like C Block crew. A, B, and C seem to share the yard, but D is absent as always.
C block are thieves, muggers, robbers, carjackers, and the like. Barett knows the signs as two of the three are sporting brandings of a Spade, the prison symbol for a thief. Two are cats, the other is a ferret. All are partial looks.
"Hey! New fish!" says the apparent gang leader, the ferret. It is pretty clear from how one of the cats looks to the warden's window that they were sent on a mission to find Barett. Clearly they wish to start something.
Barett moves away from the wall a little, just enough to give him room to swing, but not allow them to get behind him.
" yo, whats up."
Barett looks them down, using his trust and intimidate.
" You don't want to do what you are thinking, don't give the Warden the satisfaction. Just walk on and enjoy the sun and fresh air."
Then he takes the meanest stance he can, and eyes down the leader.
" besides boys I'm here with Marcus, you know what that means, don't you?"
One of the cat's speaks up. "Marcus. What is he to us, man? He's all peace and love and that crap. We're not afraid of stinking Marcus."
"Shut it, Jose!" says the Ferret, never looking away from Barett. "What this homeboy is sayin' is that he's one of the Warden's ring boys."
The second cat takes a step back.
The ferret continues, "We've been set up. He might not look like much, but if the warden is sicking the three of us on him, he must be tougher than he looks."
Barett is firmly planted in a horse stance. He calculates who to take out first, and how. "You better believe it. Now move along."
"You heard the nice man," says the ferret to his crones.
The second cat pipes up. "But the warden will have our hides."
"Better the hole than the infirmary. Come on."
With that, the three step back and slowly walk away. Marcus comes up with a raccoon and Tom, the sparrow from before.
"Righteous, star. You done chased em away. Dat de work of de true master, seen? You win a fight wit' out de fighting. Respect. Here be de bredren I an' I got for you. Dis here be Gordon. You know Tom."
Gordon raises a black, furry paw in salute. "That's me, Gordon. I'll be your cutman. It's my job to keep you looking so pretty."
"And what will you be doing, Tom?" asks Barett.
Marcus speaks for the bird. "He be another cornerman. He get water, towels, dat sort of ting. Tom is a good man. Respect. Come. We go to de Gym, seen? It be hight time to get to work."
Marcus leads the motley crew not to the gym equipment that Barett had observed earlier, but to a gated building apart from the main complex. A guard waits expectantly at the gate.
"Okay, Marcus. You have the gym for two hours. After that, you're out of there. Capiche?"
"Irie, rudeboy. Let us inna place, now, seen?"
The gate opens and Marcus leads the group inside. The gym is high end with top of the line equipment including weights, exercise cycles, treadmills, and bags. Dominating the space is an open area covered by a blue mat, the kind used in dojos. Two close circuit cameras are located in opposite corners of the space.
"So, star, you know de kung fu. What else you be knowin'?"
" we'll, I did some boxing, and some wrestling, what do you have in mind ?"
Barett looks over the mat, and the bags.
" This is a nice set up, where do the "BIG" fights take place ?"
"One step at a time, me breda. You be fightin' in de auditorium. Dey got de ring set up an' everyting." Macus goes over to a row of equipment lockers. He breaks out some boxing gloves and has Gordon strap them on his hands. He does the same for Barett.
"You want to fight me?" asks Barett.
"No, star. I an' I only do some light spar, seen?" He walks up to Barett and goes into what must be his ready stance from karate. "Now, put up dem dukes an' try to block I."
Barett does as told, putting his forearms close in front to protect his ribs, chest, and head. Marcus throws a few quick punches, clearly holding back on the power. Barett swivels his waist to protect his sides.
"Righteous, star. Dere be no gaps in your defense. When I an' I want you to block, I say 'Wall,' seen? Dat mean you take defensive position. Now for de legs."
Marcus starts some sweeping leg moves and some snap kicks to Barett's shins, knees, and thighs. How does Barett respond?
Barett blocks and parrys, moving in close and tapping his gloves againest marcus' gloves.
" So how does the whole system work, I get scheduled in to some fight cycle or the like ?"
Barett is curious how the whole fighting in prison for money ( well not money to him, he suspects ) and spectators and the like, how it all comes together.
Marcus catches Barett with a leg hook. Barett fallsto the mat, but quickly rolls to his feet and into a ready position.
"Gwan an' watch for de leg sweep, breda. Keep balance. Now wot were you speakin'? Irie, de fightin matches an' tings. Basic round robin ting. Dey set you up against a fighter. You beat him, you gwan an' fight de winner of another fight an' so on. If you win a sight many times, you fight de champion, de Cowboy."
"So how many fighters are there in total?" asks Barett.
"Sixteen mostly."
Barett does the math. "So I have to fight and win four bouts before I can face this Cowboy person?"
"Respect, star. It be slow goin' at first, seen. You sit an' wait out all de other fights. Tings will pick up later, not dat me fighters get dat far. Now, de sweep leg. When a fool try an' sweep de leg, you can jump over it, you can kick de leg, or you can tackle him. Dis last one is wicked hard. You have to be a righteous badman to pull it off, seen?"
"I get it. Any word or phrase you want for that one."
"I an' I don' see no reason, but if you want I speak 'tackle him.'"
"Subtle. So, how much you figure the bossman makes off a fight?"
"Dat depend on who do de fightin' Early on, he make maybe a couple thousand a fight. Say wot you want about dat badaclottin' rudeboy, but him got him own rules, seen. You get a cut off de winnings. Him call it incentive pay."
"Oh yeah? How much?" asks Barett.
"Five to ten percent. More if him like you. You make de fight righteous, him pay you more. Not like you got anyting to spend it on. Some fighter's, dey send de green home. I an' I told it gets dere."
"What about you, Marcus? How much do you make training?"
"Me got no reason for spendin' green, star. I an' I get privilidges."
"Like the weed I could smell in our cell."
"Sort of. De herb Babylon have is wicked clot, seen? It hydroponic and filled wit' chemicals dat burn out de brain. It not of de earth, seen? I an' I do good, me get some righteous kali."
"Must be why I overheard that guard bribing that fellow (Barett almost said con, but held back lest he give himself away as a cop). Seems the warden wants to find the location of some storage facility."
"Irie. Dat rudeboy have him grubby fingers inna everyting. Now, when I speak 'Shot' I an' I want you to attack all-out, seen. Gwan an' attack me."
Marcus gets in a firm stance with his gloves positioned defensively. He awaits Barett's attack.
Barett moves in close real fast, and does a finger tip attack at his chest.
watching for his legs, hoping to crowd him out and force him back, each time moving in close, striking out with multiple finger tip attacks.
His objective being to unsettle him and force him to make a mistake. Then if it looks good he will do a body block tackle.
"Ow!" cries Marcus, Barett's fingertip attack having slipped pas his defenses. "Ow. Ow." Even as he adjusts to better defend, Barett alters his attack, crowding in. Marcus sets his feet and bumps Barett with his shoulder to force him off. Barett is prepared for this and hooks his leg around Marcus' lead foot and jabs with an opposite shoulder.
Marcus trips and falls. Barett helps him to his feet. "Wot in 'ell you call dat, star?"
"Never really thought it needed a name. I guess I call it getting the job done."
"Righteous. Respect. I tink dat be all de time we have, seen? Come on." They leave the gym in a group. Shortly after, a large ape with nearly no looks goes in with his own posse.
"Think I'll end up fighting him?" asks Barett.
"Don't know, Breda. Whatever bossman want. Now, star, dat kung fu finger ting is righteous in close. Wot you have for far?"
"A little taekwondo. Jump kicks, spinning kicks, that sort of thing. To be honest with you, that is really not my seen. At a distance I prefer a different approach to combat."
"Respect. You tink you do okay in de ring wit de taekwondo?"
"Oh, I'll manage if there's much need for it. Rings are pretty small. How big is the ring here?"
"De usual size, you know. Maybe you better off wit de finger."
"Whatever you say, Marcus. You're the coach."
Just then two guards approach. "You," one says to Barett. "Warden wants a word with you."
Maybe not fighting with those thugs ruffled his feathers. Barett could only hope. Now what to say to the guards, if anything?
Barett looks over the situation, if he understands what is going on, everyone gets a small cut of the action, even the guards. What was that statement by Janes Addiction " the gang and the government are no different, that makes me one percent."
What could possibly be the take on a gig like this, it must be good to get such loyalty out of the men.
He looks at the guard and shrugs his shoulders.
" ok, ok lead me to the Bossman,.......say how do we lay bets on the fights ?"
Barett decides to use his trust to see what he can get the guard to tell him on the way up to the wardens office.
"YOU don't lay bets. You're a fighter. We can't have you throwing fights now can we?" says the guard.
"I meant other fights, not mine. Besides, I don't like to lose even if it is for money."
The other guard pipes in. "You would love that, wouldn't you? Staking out the competition. Where's the sense of adventure in that? No. You'll get what you earn and count yourself lucky."
So that's that. They seem pretty adamant about it. These guards are definitely a different lot. Apparently loyal, true, but not very professional. Other institutions would not stand for guards talking so freely with the inmates.
It isn't long before Barett is at the Warden's office, the same office he had attempted to break into just a day ago. The warden is expecting him and rises as Barett is shown in, still under guard. A short owl sits upon the office sofa, trying desperately to appear invisible and failing miserably.
"Well, good news. I have organized our first fight for tomorrow," says the warden.
"That's sooner than I expected," says Barett.
"Need a bit more time, do you?"
"Not at all. I'm ready right now. I'll take on these to guards here and now if you like. Unless of course you want a go?"
"I admire your enthusiasm, but no thank you. Besides, if you wanted to give me a decent demonstration, you could have done so earlier. Ah, spilt milk. It's no matter. Allow me to introduce our little friend, Melvin. Melvin?"
The owl nods his head. "I traded Melvin here for two wrestlers. It was a steal considering one was blind in one eye and the other was going deaf. Still I bet they think they made a good deal. You see, Melvin here is an accountant. He did books for the local branch of the mafia 'til we put an end to their business dealings in this area.
"Didn't like the competition?" jibes Barett.
"Hah. You certainly have an attitude. Anyway, as I was saying, Melvin here is a number cruncher. And as he was working with the mafia, he knows a certain thing or two about taking bets and making odds."
"A bookie. So, what is he going to do, size me up or something? Want me to strike a pose?"
"Melvin will do fine without that. That is not the reason I called you in here."
"No?" says Barett in mock surprise.
"No. I figure if you are going to fight tomorrow, you will be needing a name of some kind. The guards, bless them, wish to call you Cindy Lou. I oppose the idea. I thought you may have something in mind that is less, well, girly. What say you?"
" That is real decent of ya' Warden. I have been thinking about that, I'll just go by Teancum the Boy Scout, or how ever that works out."
Says Barett as he looks over the wardens office.
" Say, how do I make a little extra on the fights for myself, I do have some unpaid debts to...lets say... pay off. What would I need to do in the ring to make a little extra."
Barett looks straight at the owl.
"Do we know each other, You wasn't in N'oleans last year, were you ?, nah he was much taller, anyway, I prefer cotton over silk or polyester shorts. Maybe something in british racing green, very flattering."
smiliing all the time, but looking over the security, cameras and the like, where the Warden keeps his security card, and safe.
" by the way Warden, thanks for hooking me up with Marcus, and the food is top notch."
"Boy, aren't you the chatter box," says the warden. "Teancum is too strange. People like a name they can chant. We'll just call you Roy. Well then, Roy, if you want to make a little extra, you have to make the fight interesting. People come from a long way to see the fight. They should be entertained, you understand. They should get their money's worth. Otherwise they may not show up for your next fight. If you want to pick out your underwear, talk to one of your cornermen. We have more complex issues on our hands at the moment. Also, didn't your mother teach you that it's impolite not to look someone in the eye as he's talking to you? Someone would think you weren't paying attention."
There are no cameras within the office that Barett can make out. As for the safe, it is probably in the floor or in the wall behind a picture of the Texas landscape. In any case, it is hidden. Barett knows already that the door has a complex security system. The carpet inside is oddly cushiony for an office. Likely there is a pressure sensitive mat underneath. This is all Barett manages to gather by the time the panther catches on. It is clear he suspects what Barett is doing, staking out the place for whatever reasons.
"Now off you go. We have business to attend to."
Barett is led back to his cell. Marcus is putting the cell back into order. He explains why. "Clot rudeboys mess up de cell, mon. Say it inspection, seen?"
"They find anything?"
"No. Dere be no ting to find, seen?"
"Flexing some muscle, huh? Trying to scare us. Why?"
"We no do what bossman want. You no fight when he say, dat why he send him rudeboys."
"Speaking of, we're fighting tomorrow."
Marcus shakes his head. "Too soon. Bossman don' like you."
"He likes me fine. I think its you he doesn't much care for."
"Irie. I an' I a clottin' thorn in him side." Marcus smiles a broad, toothy grin. "So, if you to be fightin' you need some gear. Wot color you be tinkin'?"
Barett smiles back at Marcus, " well its good to know we both make the Warden upset....I think british racing green, or something close to it for a color on me would be fine."
He looks around the cell, and whistles real low.
" now why would they go and mess up a prison cell, thats like knocking over garbage cans at the dump.....huh...so the Warden says for me to make the fight interesting, any idea's on that?"
"We burn dat bridge when we come at it, yeah? Now, it be time to get some food, seen?"
Over lunch, Barett and Marcus give Tom the details on the fighting uniform. Afterward, Barett asks, "So, who do you figure I will be fighting first?"
"I an' I can ask around, but no one will be knowing. Bossman keep things real hush hush."
"Yeah, it seems he is not one for surprises, except for the ones he springs."
"Not to worry. You do as I speak, we do alright, seen. You righteous fighter, star."
"No offense, Marcus, but from what you've told me so far you're other fighters have not faired so well under your supervision."
"Respect. Dat coz dem fool rudeboy blots not listen. Dey walk into punches. Dey back into corner. You listen up, you do sight better, star, seen?"
Marcus has yet to prove himself unreliable, though his supposedly sage advice is a little thin at times.
The rest of the day sails by. The foursome watch the sun melt behind the prison wall. Eventually the inmates are led back to their cells. Soon after is lights out. With a set purpose ahead of him, Barett sleeps more soundly. Not one for too deep a sleep, he is awakened by a hissing noise.
"Psst! Chief." It is the voice of Donald Green, the chameleon that got Barett in this mess in the first place. Apparently he sits cloaked just outside the cell door.
Barett prowls over to the bars, moving slowly and as quietly as possible. Looking over to check on marcus to make sure he was not awaken by Donney as well. If things look good, he will whisper back.
"It's 'Roy' in here from now on, what do you have ?"
Barett is hoping they have a line on him,( that is Mellisa is working on a way to get him out) but he needs more time to find out if the "Cowboy" is really Utah, and how to get them out. He does want to know if Donnie has any info on the fights.
Barett assumes that the best time to escape is after the big fight, if it happens.
Donnie says, "Okay, Roy, your lady friend thought I should come check up on ya. Make sure you weren't dead or something."
"I'm not dead. She say anything else?"
"That's mostly it. She did want to know what your plans were if you were still breathing."
"Tell her I'm on track to find this Cowboy. It's just going to take some time. Say, Donnie?"
"Yeah, Roy?"
"You know anything about some fight club?"
"Not my scene. Sounds familiar though. You here guards talking, you know. To be honest, I was always looking to protect my own hide than worry much about that sort of thing. Now that you mention it, that rings a bit of a bell there, but that's all. Why?"
"Well, I'm in the club. So is Cowboy. Thing is I'm just starting out and apparently he is the reigning champion. It may take a few weeks. Think you can come by regularly."
The chameleon nearly drops his guard, almost becoming clearly visible. "Not something I plan on doing regularly. How regularly were you thinking?"
Barett thinks about this long and hard. Its amazing that he has never spent any time in prison, he guesses it was going to happen at some point. Now he can see why Donny wanted to stay out.
" Once a week, real irregular like, don't do it the same time, mix it up a bit...and find out how to make some money betting on me, perhaps get a line on seeing the fights. She'll know what to look for from there."
Barett thinks it over, if Mel can find where the betting goes down she can get a line on stats and who he may fight. How to get involved, work the system.
" you good for that ?"
"Sure thing." Donnie turns to leave when a thought strikes Barett hard.
"Heh, Don?"
"Yeah."
"Think you can get into the command center?"
"As well as anywhere else. Not sure I want to. Why?"
"Well, I left something behind that I don't want anyone to find. Something in the secretary's desk by the Warden's office."
"Yeah?" Donny sounds skeptical.
"It's a few things, actually. A pistol, a grenade, and a headset radio."
"That's a lot of delicate items to smuggle out naked. You want I should leave with them or do you want me to bring them back to you?"
Interesting option. The gun could come in handy, but at what cost? Metal detectors, surprise inspections, snitches, thieves, exactly how long could he hold on to it before it became more a burden than an aid?
Barett was hoping on getting back to the weapons and radio. But now they would be better used for something else.
" I was hoping that you would move it down to the infirmary, and hide it someplace good."
Barett smiles.
" think that you could work that out for me ? "
Barett assumes that he will get beat up here and there, and if he needs a way out, he can communicate with Mel on the outside for a quicker exit. The training gym or the locker room were other options, but he thinks these would be swept for the same reasons, that is others may try to hide weapons there as well. He can't imagine that more of these guys are not trying to get out or steal things to make weapons from. So the infirmary seems like the most unlikly place to be searched, and a place him or the "Cowboy " may end up.
"I'll see what I can do. It may be tricky with the metal detectors. I have to sneak in alongside a guard. Not many armed guards go to the infirmary. I'll have a go, though."
"That's the most one could ask for, Donnie. Talk to you again."
With that, the chameleon sneaks off. It could be dangerous for Donnie, but thems the stakes. He is working for his freedom after all.
Morning comes and Barett and company have breakfast and lunch. As evening approaches, so too does the event. There is some scuttlebutt that a Kangaroo is also slated to fight. The details of his fighting style are not forthcoming, however.
Barett and crew are led to a makeshift locker room that had been converted from a bathroom. It is likely the other fighter is in a similar area. Tom has fetched for Barett a silk kung fu outfit in a color close to British racing green. Kung fu shoes complete the ensemble.
This is not really Barett's style. Dressed he views himself in the mirror.
"I look like I'm wearing pajamas," he says.
Gordon pipes in. "They kind of are like pajamas. Pajamas came from India. I think the kung fu outfit is some off shoot from that."
"Great. That makes it all right then," says Barett.
Barett can here the rabble from a moderate crowd as a guard pops his head in. "It's time."
"You hear de clot, star. Let's go clobber dat fool kangaroo rudeboy, seen?"
They head out. The Kangaroo is in his corner with his crew. He shadow boxes, preparing his muscles and loosening up for the fight at hand.
As Barett climbs into the ring and settles in his corner, Marcus says, "I an' I need you to be a wall, breda. Keep de defense up, seen?"
"You sure? I can take this guy."
"Respect. Don' you tink I know dat, ras? Trust I, seen?"
The referee is outside the ring on an attached platform. Apparently referees do not fair well in the ring. He motions for the fighters to step forward and greet one another. The kangaroo summarily offers his gloved fists. Barett duly bumps them with his own wrapped fists (the wrap is non adhesive as to not catch on his fur). The bell rings.
Barett keeps himself back, his defenses high, watching for leg sweeps and kicks. He plans on dodging and parrying anything that comes his way, looking for the style of fighting the kangaroo is using. He assumes that he will see lots of kicks and leg moves from his general species, but they are know to punch really hard to. He is going to spend as much of the first round defending unless a good clean shot comes up, no real damage, just points. But following marcus advice he will just put up a wall, and keep a really good eye on the kangaroo, wait and see what happens.
The kangaroo starts swinging. It is clear early on that Barett does not have to worry about sweeps or leg hooks. The kangaroo is a straight up boxer. Barett protects his head and body, absorbing the gloved blows in his forearms. Barett can here the initial cheering growing quieter. Barett's best guess is that the crowd i wondering why Barett doesn't counter. They waltz around the ring, the kangaroo swinging away madly while Barett defends. The bell rings to close round 1.
In Barett's corner, Marcus says, "Respect, star. You do a'right by I, mon. You keep on being a wall, seen?"
"Sure about that?"
"Don' be questioning me, youth? I know you be itchin' to clobber dis fool here. Don' worry you head 'bout scorin' points, now, seen? Jus' be a wall."
Gordon offers Barett a sip of water which he then spits into a bucket held by Tom. Gordon says, "Keep this up and I'll have nothing to do. There's not a scratch on you. Now get out there, kid."
The bell rings and the kangaroo steps up confidently into the center. He wears a broad grin across his no looks, kangaroo face. He is hopping around, showboating and waiting for Barett to be his personal punching bag. Clearly he thinks he is winning.
Barett knows he can take him. Be patient, or lay the kangaroo out now?
Barett does not like being a punching bag, but he thinks that Marcus may have the right idea. He is pulling in all the control he has and is going to play it cool, just to defense, be the wall.
He is going to taunt the kangaroo just a little by moving away from him, making the kangaroo move around the ring alot, if he can.
By now the crowd is booing. It has been six rounds and Barett has yet to take a swing. Just the same, Marcus' plan appears to be working. With Barett's help in moving around the ring, the kangaroo is showing signs of fatigue. His blows are soft and he is winded. The bell rings and the fighters return to their respective corners.
"Righteous, star. You be makin' an' old rat proud, son. Now go like a shot, breda. Beat 'im up good, now, seen?"
The bell rings once more. The kangaroo can hardly hold his hands up. He's almost defenseless. Barett can pretty much go with whatever attack strategy he wants.
Barett steps up and dances around a bit, he is going to do some snap kicks and a few knuckle punches then lay the guy flat.
He does want to get some points in, but not show off what he's got. The objective being to not let them see what he can do. He has really enjoyed the fighting, and likes the whole ring thing.
Barett kicks at the thick legs of the kangaroo, further accelerating the opponent's rate of fatigue. He occasionally strikes with his signature phoenix eye punch, delivering considerable damage to a very small target area. Barett mainly focuses on weak points like the abdomen and ribs.
The crowd doesn't know what to think. Barett is in so close that his attacks are hard to observe, until...
The kangaroo attempts a counter punch, but it is late, slow, and weak. Barett traps the offending arm and trips the kangaroo. Barett pounces on the downed opponent, assaulting him with many punches to the head. The crowd explodes in raucous cheers. There is a darkness to the sound, a bloodlust as the crowd eggs Barett on.
Although the crowd is cheering for death, the referee blows his whistle. The bell rings. The kangaroo does not rise for some time. The referee steps in and raises Barett's arm, declaring him winner. Marcus and the crew enter the ring and congratulate Barett on a job well done.
Above the roar and the excitement, the warden observes from an upper deck. He is nodding slowly and smiling to himself, a clear sign that he is quietly impressed. Barett is impressed with himself as well. He is in peak condition, needing no patching up of any kind. Furthermore, his bag of remaining tricks is deep and varied. He has a lot of surprises in store.
Back in the makeshift locker room, two of the guards enter. "Good show out there. Warden liked it. He wants a word."
The other guard says, "You better come with us if you want your award money. Soon as your done here, 'course."
Barett has some time to unwind and gab with his crew. He should watch what he says, though, as the guards are in the room, waiting.
Barett smiles wide and leans over to marcus.
" Thanks for the advice, I think things went really well, what do you think?"
looking around the room, he calls to have his hands unbandaged. Planning on doing some evaluation he looks at his crew.
" Great job today guys, I'm very happy to have you in my corner, lets see if we can spread the wealth around a bit, eh, what say you ?
Barett looks over the group. He is thinking that he should give a share to Tom and Gordon, what his share to Marcus is will best be discussed in private.
"On a more serious note, we need to go over any mistakes made and look for better ways to fight, any ideas ? "
Barett is hoping to talk about the fight, and go over some of the things that he couldn't see from the ring, he is interested in the amount of people that were there and what they were dressed like. But he doesn't want to talk about that in front of the guards. Hoping to grab a quick bite and drink before he leaves the locker room, he streches and throws on some sweats.
Barett is a clever guy. Some would say too clever. That 'some' are usually his enemies.
At the mention of spreading the wealth a bit, Marcus says, "Dat be your choice, breda. Jus' be knowin' dat de bossman, he pay us, too, inna way. You do wit' your lettuce wot you like. Gordo an' Tom, dey will make out jus' fine."
"Though tips are appreciated," adds Gordon.
From what Barett had gathered from the crowd, before he stepped into the ring and a little after, the attendees were low level lackeys, likely sent to get the scoop on fighters before the bigger fights to come. Some are likely from other prisons, others look corporate. A select few, however, look like feds. Barett is familiar with the no nonsense, never crack a smile expression.
As for new fighting methods Marcus says, "We wait on dat, star. If history mean anyting it be dis, dat after de first fight, info come pretty quick. We find out wot rudeboys you fight next, seen. 'Til den, we work out. We hit de bags. We tink of plans to come sideways at de next clot in de ring, seen?"
Afterward, Barett showers and dresses in a clean set of con denims. The guards lead him the familiar path to the Warden's office. He awaits with a wide grin on his furry, panther face.
"I knew you had it in you, kid. I know a thing or to about fighters. You did well. You would thing those morons would have seen the rope-a-dope coming. Idiots. A classic. A real classic. Well, I suppose we should get to business. How does $2,000 sound to you? Keep it up next time, and it'll be more."
Barett smiles back at the Warden.
" Thanks, that should do just nice......what can a guy buy with that kind of dough in here ?"
He looks around the office and asks.
" What else would you like me to do to make more money ? "
Barett is trying to appear greedy, like he needs the money and is in it for the fighting to get his reputation increased, some real street credit, if you will.
Mostly he is going to play along, see what the Warden has to say, and wait for the next fight. He will give one hundred dollars to tom and gordon, two hundred dollars to Marcus and use the rest to buy some comfort stuff, maybe some info if he can get it. He would like to get some video or photos of the cowboy, see how he fights and the like. Confidentially he will tell Gordon that he is here to fight the "cowboy" and see what happens.
The money is real and can buy Barett pretty much whatever one can get their hands on in a prison. Unfortunately, a lot of that seems to be contraband that the guards may or may not confiscate. There are a few amenities. For instance, if he wants a radio or television. A computer or a phone is out of the question. For that, he would have to go to the prison library and use the internet there, which is monitored. If he wants to make a call, that to is monitored. One other thing, the only safe place to keep the cash is in his shoe or otherwise on his person. "Tings go missing, seen?" says Marcus with a knowing nod. Most likely the guards help themselves to whatever they like that they find in a cell.
The warden is intrigued by Barett's apparent greed, yet somehow disappointed as well. It is as if he had higher expectation of Barett. The reaction is strange, almost fatherly in a way. The warden has employed former fighters before, many far less competent than Barett. What could the panther have in mind."
Tom and Gordon are appreciative. Marcus refuses at first, but Barett insists. Eventually Marcus accepts the cash, admitting that it would be nice to have some green when, or if, he gets out.
Gordon nearly does a spit take when Barett informs him of his intentions to fight the Cowboy.
"Your good, mister," he says, "but are you that good? The cowboy has been fighting here for months now, in or out of the ring."
"What can you tell me about him?"
"He's fast. Kicks like a friggin' mule that guy. You get in close, he pummels you senseless. If you try to keep a distance, he just leaps in and then pummels you. He's tough, too. I heard one guy kneed him right in the block and tackle. He cracked the guy over the head. That poor dope is still in the infirmary."
"You don't think I could beat him, do you?" asks Barett.
"Won't know that until your toe to toe in the ring. I hear he doesn't get much practice of late. Could be he's getting rusty. With you fighting regularly, you may have a bit of an edge. Also, if the four of us can come up with a strategy..."
"Don' be counting no chickens, seen? Dat time be far off now, youth."
"Just the same, I think I should get more information before that time comes. If I concentrate on my strongest opponent, surely that will improve my odds against the weaker ones."
"Dat so? Don' be so sure, now, rasta. Each fighter be diff'rent, take diff'rent approach to de ring. You be puttin' all your hopes on de cowboy, you ha' none left for yourself, seen? How you figure on getting dis information dat you be seeking anyhow, star?"
Barett is hoping to use the money to get some info on the cowboy. Hoping to spread a rumor that he is willing to pay for info on the fighters, hoping that some of it will be about the cowboy. Then wait and see what happens. Right now he will keep it on his person, perhaps get a radio, some music would be nice. The next time Donnie comes by he will send some out with him, extra cash is always good.
Speaking of Donnie, the next time he drops by is when Barett is showering after a heavy workout. If it wasn't for Barett's keen sense, he might have jumped out of his skin.
"Hey, Chief."
"What's up, Donnie?"
"So you won your fight? That's good. Listen, I tried to get your gun to the infirmary but it was a no go. The place is pretty buzzing right now, so I managed to get your stuff out of the prison at least. Your stuff is safe with your deputy. Say, she's getting mighty antsy. Any chance you can hurry this Cowboy thing along a bit?"
"I'm trying. I have a bit on my hands right now, Donnie." Barett slips into his prison issue denim.
Don nods in agreement. "I understand, believe me. I used to be in here, you know."
"Yeah, I know. Say, can you remember anything else about this Cowboy?"
"Nothing more than I already told you. Fella keeps to himself mostly. Not many folks know anything about him. He's the kind of guy you don't want on our bad side, I know that."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, you know how prison is. Some guy thinks he's gonna prove himself by beating up on the big guy on campus. I guess Cowboy figured differently. Most folks know now to steer clear of him, you know, after the first couple ended up with their faces looking at their backsides."
Barett thinks about that for a moment. "Huh?"
"He done broke their necks. Twisted 'em all the way around so they could see where they've been. Only they didn't see that good no more since they were dead and all, if you get my meaning."
"That's pretty hard not to understand there, Donnie." Barett digs into his front pocket. It is a good thing he has the shower to himself. He whips out a wad of cash. "Here's some money I won in the fight. Make sure it gets back to Mel, got it?"
"Right away, boss."
"Oh, and Donnie? Good work keeping are meeting places fresh. Even I didn't expect to see you in the middle of the day."
"You bet, boss. See ya." And with that, the old chameleon scampers off.
So Cowboy, Utah, whatever killed the first couple of guys that tried to start something with him. The deaths were pretty brutal as well. He might as well have painted a sign above his head read 'don't F with me.'
Also, the Cowboy seems like a loner. No real ties to anyone else in the prison. Barett couldn't tell from here if Utah simply refused any offer of friendship, or simply hadn't the opportunity in D block. From what it sounded like, D block was a whole other world compared to the rest of the prison.
Barett's search for more intel on the Cowboy ended up mostly with more of the same. He was a volatile loner, a mystery, a religious person in a way. Yet there was never anything solid.
As Barett's next fight approaches, however, he does get some intel on his next fighter. As opposed to the first fight, this clinic his fight comes last. There is only one other fighter eligible to face Barett, and wouldn't you know he was the same gorilla he had passed on his way back from the gym.
Speaking of Donnie, the next time he drops by is when Barett is showering after a heavy workout. If it wasn't for Barett's keen sense, he might have jumped out of his skin.
"Hey, Chief."
"What's up, Donnie?"
"So you won your fight? That's good. Listen, I tried to get your gun to the infirmary but it was a no go. The place is pretty buzzing right now, so I managed to get your stuff out of the prison at least. Your stuff is safe with your deputy. Say, she's getting mighty antsy. Any chance you can hurry this Cowboy thing along a bit?"
"I'm trying. I have a bit on my hands right now, Donnie." Barett slips into his prison issue denim.
Don nods in agreement. "I understand, believe me. I used to be in here, you know."
"Yeah, I know. Say, can you remember anything else about this Cowboy?"
"Nothing more than I already told you. Fella keeps to himself mostly. Not many folks know anything about him. He's the kind of guy you don't want on our bad side, I know that."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, you know how prison is. Some guy thinks he's gonna prove himself by beating up on the big guy on campus. I guess Cowboy figured differently. Most folks know now to steer clear of him, you know, after the first couple ended up with their faces looking at their backsides."
Barett thinks about that for a moment. "Huh?"
"He done broke their necks. Twisted 'em all the way around so they could see where they've been. Only they didn't see that good no more since they were dead and all, if you get my meaning."
"That's pretty hard not to understand there, Donnie." Barett digs into his front pocket. It is a good thing he has the shower to himself. He whips out a wad of cash. "Here's some money I won in the fight. Make sure it gets back to Mel, got it?"
"Right away, boss."
"Oh, and Donnie? Good work keeping are meeting places fresh. Even I didn't expect to see you in the middle of the day."
"You bet, boss. See ya." And with that, the old chameleon scampers off.
So Cowboy, Utah, whatever killed the first couple of guys that tried to start something with him. The deaths were pretty brutal as well. He might as well have painted a sign above his head read 'don't F with me.'
Also, the Cowboy seems like a loner. No real ties to anyone else in the prison. Barett couldn't tell from here if Utah simply refused any offer of friendship, or simply hadn't the opportunity in D block. From what it sounded like, D block was a whole other world compared to the rest of the prison.
Barett's search for more intel on the Cowboy ended up mostly with more of the same. He was a volatile loner, a mystery, a religious person in a way. Yet there was never anything solid.
As Barett's next fight approaches, however, he does get some intel on his next fighter. As opposed to the first fight, this clinic his fight comes last. There is only one other fighter eligible to face Barett, and wouldn't you know he was the same gorilla he had passed on his way back from the gym.
Barett smiles to himself, this may work out for a good chapter in his book, the one he plans on writing in his old age.
The info on the " Cowboy " is both hopeful and disturbing at the same time. Knowing that he has the same potenial for the similar violent behavior, Barett hopes that he doesn't lose his more civilised side in here.
Time now to focus on the next fight, the gorilla will have both reach and strengh, Barett will need to focus on his skills, and getting in close, under his guard and delivering some effective damage. He will need to ask what Marcus thinks.
The one thing that keeps nagging at him is the whole set up for the fights and the Warden. He just doesn't like it, being part criminal himself, he understands the whole punishment thing. The Individual Anarchist in him thinks that keeping men like this for sport, it goes againest his very core beliefs. He hopes at some point to correct this, perhaps in the distant future, perhaps sooner.
It is pretty clear the warden has some hidden agenda, but he plays his cards close to the vest. Whatever his end game is so far remains unclear. Perhaps in time Barett will find out just what exactly the panther has in mind. Until then, Barett can lay low on concentrate on the Cowboy.
Marcus agrees with Barett regarding strategy. Barett needs to stay clear from the gorilla's reach. Furthermore, Barett needs to fight, as Marcus puts it, like a woodpecker or a cobra. He should stay away and, when the opportunity presents itself, strike fast and sure. He should concentrate on striking the most effective areas such as the kidneys or the knees. The head and torso, usually the prime targets, will be hard to reach as the gorilla is quite tall and his arms put up a good defense. Furthermore, chances are the gorilla is a wrestler. If he gets a hold of Barett, it could be game over.
So, the last few days before the fight, the crew train hard on speed drills. Barett does wind sprints, practices the speed of his kicks and punches, mostly jabs and snap kicks. His training regimen is surprisingly close to Utah's, who puts speed and adaptability above all else.
The day of the fight finally comes. Barett is prepared well ahead of time. It seems the warden wishes to build suspense. This is the last fight of this particular clinic and Barett is seeded high up in the roster.
As they wait, Barett has an opportunity to look around the crowd, and whatever else he may wish to observe.
He looks over the crowd, then finds the Warden, waiting till he makes eye contact. Holding his attention just past the uncomfortable stage, then a little longer. He does not smile, or frown, just stares at the Warden. Then he looks to the Gorilla, watching how he warms up, looking for scars or weak spots he is trying to cover, seeing how he streches out and what his guys are saying to him if he can overhear. Then he scans the crowd, trying to memorize faces and locations, looking to see if there are repeats from the last fight.
The warden holds Barett's gaze for a while. The panther is grinning at first, but as the gaze drags on the grin fades. He forfeits this little staring contest, shakes his head, and walks off. Again there is a sense of disappointment in his mannerisms.
The gorilla is almost no looks. He has a huge upper body with extremely long arms. His chest is broad and powerful. His legs, though, are quite short. That is not to say he couldn't move quickly, though it is like he would use his arms to spring about the ring. That would leave his head and shoulders unprotected, but only for a moment before the great beast would be upon you.
The crowd is a lot bigger this time. There are a few repeat visitors, mostly executive and administrative assistants sent in the place of a few prominent figures. There are many new faces this time, men of considerable standing from the look of things. Some have a woman on one arm, some have two. It is obvious that betting is not the major draw here. Yes, there is a lot of money on the line, but these people in their sharp suits don't look like they would miss dropping a couple of grand. They are here for the entertainment aspect.
Other faces are more austere. The persons they belong to are not drinking, they are not chatting away. They are observing, studying each fighter. Barett can sense their eyes evaluating him, weighing him, measuring him.
The Referee steps up and announces the fight. Marcus takes this moment to give some last minute advice.
"Look, rasta. Be remembering wot I an I say, seen? Move like the eel. Slip and slide 'round that clot apeman. Avoid him arms. Be quick like the cobra snake, mon. Do dose tings an' everting be cool runnings, seen?"
Barett nods. It has been their strategy all along. The moment is at hand. Still, it is hard not to wonder to where the warden has gone.
To bring him back into the moment, the ref rings the bell. The ape bounds forward, the long blackish blue fur on his giant arms waving like tiny ribbons.
Barett ducks and weaves, moving around the ring as best he can. Taking shots at his knees, and looking for good solid hits to the kidneys. He plans on holding back a little, trying to keep his distance, then jumping in really quick, making a punch or two, then moving back out. The first few shots going for the knees. He will work as hard as possible to stay away from the apes arms.
" Hey " he says to the ape.
" What do you think about doing when you get out ?"
He is hoping to distract him a little, if that didn't work, he may talk some trash.
The ape doesn't answer. Clearly it is hard to hold a conversation when someone is snapping kicks to your knees. The ape is tough. Dave had provided this tip before when he had first started learning jujutsu. A swift, forceful, thrusting kick to the knee of an opponent's advance leg could pretty much end a fight before it got a chance to begin. However, it would take a bit more to bring this beast down.
In fact, the broad chest and wide stance of the ape makes it hard for Barett to move quickly around the furry con...hard, but not impossible. Barett darts from either side, snapping a shin or delivering a straight punch to the ribs or kidney. The ape growls in frustration.
When the ape has had enough of this, he falls to the ground, tumbles, and rises to face Barett. If it were possible, Barett would have used this opportunity to deliver a few good attacks. However, the move is fluid and quick. The ape makes for a leaping tackle, hoping to land on Barett and finish him off, most likely in a very unpleasant fashion.
Barett jumps in close and knuckle punches to the throat, several quick and fast, then plans on a sharp elbow to the jaw, hoping to knock him down or out. Then move back. spinning and rolling out of the way.
As the ape leaps forward, Barett makes his move. He dashes forward. The crowd erupts in a spontaneous medley of gasps and cheers. Beneath the cacophony Marcus swears. Sure, it looks like a dumb move, suicidal even. Yet Barett is confident. The apes arms are spread wide in preparation of the flying tackle, exposing him to Barett's assault. He strikes with his signature phoenix eye punch aimed directly at the ape's furry throat.
The blow connects. The ape gags and collapses. The smaller Barett sidesteps the falling gorilla and catches him with an elbow to the jaw. The jaw cracks and the big ape grunts. He hits the mat hard. He doesn't move for some time.
Silence comes over the crowd. Spectators stand and gape, trying to make out what just happened. The moves were lighting fast. The bulk of his opponent blocked most of what Barett's attacks. Everything else seemed to happen as if by accident. Of course, Barett's forward dash and subsequent escape proves otherwise.
The ref steps forward and checks the ape. The ape's team steps in the ring to look the ape over, though they keep a wary eye upon and a wide berth from Barett.
Spectators look at one another as if seeking some confirmation for what they just witnessed. Other cheer and laugh almost maniacally. Apparently, Barett was the underdog. A lot of people lost money. A scattered few made a bundle.
Behind him Barett hears Marcus say, "Wot de hell woz dat? Who be tellin' ya fool to go an' charge the roz clot den, eh? Not I an' I, seen." Meanwhile, Tom and Gordon sport cheesy smiles.
Barett looks around, searching the crowd for the Warden. It seems strange to him that he is disappointed in him. The Warden must see that this is a large game, like chess, there is bluffing and intimidation, and trying to read the other player. Perhaps it is more like poker, Barett was never really good at poker, but Hearts for money he could make some scratch. Sometimes he would play a nickel a point, and do ok.
Perhaps.....He thinks, maybe he should just talk to the warden and see what his intentions beyond the fights are with Barett. In Baretts opinion he is being treated as a dog, some sort of pet, and that is not much to his liking.
But for the time, he looks over to the gorilla, hoping that he didn't do any lasting damage. He feels that they are all just pawns in this, forced to play this vicious game. Which is odd, because if they were free men, Barett might have killed him to prove a point, how strange.
He would like to help, but knows that they won't let him get close.
Barett looks over to Marcus.
" I believe that was part of the plan, was it not?....look for the good opening and take it.....Lucky shot I guess....." Barett says as he shrugs his shoulders, pretending that he did not expect the results.
" Don't be mad at me coach, instincts just kicked in........"
Barett wanders around the ring, pretending to be surprised and confused about what to do, all the time looking over the crowd....hoping to make some connections, at least mentally.
As Barett wanders around the ring, the spectators gaze up at him confusion and doubt. That is to say, those spectators there for secret purposes other than entertainment. There are a number of businessmen present. The men are all business. It seems most of them have never had a smile cross their faces.
What is the warden playing at? He certainly is more than he pretends to be. The military background, the hiring of his own cons, it all didn't add up right. Dave and Rick were the ones good at math.
The warden had left some time ago before the fight even started. As for making connections, the guards restrict access between the spectators and the fighters, which makes sense considering big money is on the line. Barett does manage to file away in his memory some of the more prominent faces. He could find names to match after he got out of this place.
Back in the locker room the crew celebrates. Marcus forgives Barett's little indiscretion. Only occasionally does he mention how subtle moves like that get lost on the crowd. If he wants the big bucks or to make a name for himself he should fight in such a way that those in the back row could see. That is, if that is what Barett wanted as well.
Barett had assumed he would speak again with the warden when getting his cash award. He was mistaken. The warden's cronies stop by the cell and hand deliver the cash, a stack equalling $3,500. Somehow Barett suspects there could have been more.
The guards linger for awhile as if waiting to deliver a message from Barett, should he have one.
" Hey, tell the Warden, I'm not who he thinks I am, and we should talk about this." Says Barett to the guards before they leave. Barett is starting to think from the crowd that this may be a big sting operation...maybe the warden is in on it, Maybe not. He is hoping to play the line of an ex-miltary guy that wants to be a champion fighter. He will tell the warden if he gets a chance, that his motivation is personal with the cowboy. He has nothing to do with all the feds in the crowds at the fights. See if that gets the attention he wants. Perhaps Mellisa can find out if the Feds are doing a big sting...if she starts to ask to many questions that could be dangerous for all of them, best be that she keep those questions subtle and indirect. The Feds in the audience starts his mind wandering, almost everyone in this place is not what they seem or who they seem. Barett breaks in and they put him right to fighting, strange. Marcus is just waiting to train him, even stranger. Barett is going to see what some of this money and his new status can get him, background on the Warden, that should come through Mel. The conspiracy theorist in him smells something that is deeper...... better planned than what he sees.
The next time donny drops by, Barett has him relay to Mel his concerns regarding the warden. Barett wants some background on this guy. Meanwhile, he keeps busy with training. it is down to four fighters now. Word has gotten around that there is just Barett and three others. There is an almost no looks cat that apparently knows taekwondo. There is a partial looks bear that may know kung fu. Then there is a partial looks rottweiler that supposedly is a cage fighter. Barett could face any one of the three.
The cat is the least challenging. Knowing TKD gives barett an advantage. He will know his opponent's attacks and defenses. The kung fu bear is a little more challenging as Barett is unable to pin down from the scuttlebutt just what specific style it is. It sounds like a southern style of kung fu, which like Barett's Fong Gnan, features aggressive, close contact punches. The rottweiler seems the most challenging. For one, he has experience in the ring. He knows how to score points. Barett has had to drastically scale back his own combat style just so he doesn't accidentally kill someone.
The other cons are pretty forth coming with information. Even the guards are loose lipped when it comes to the fights. As the competition gets tougher, the fights gather interest. Barett is becoming somewhat of a celebrity. Normally, he would prefer to lay low. However, in the klink fame has its benefits. For one, he and the crew are first in line in the mess.
Barett's message eventually makes its way to the warden and back. Barett is invited once more to the warden's office. The panther is standing at his window overlooking the yard. He looks like a king looking from his castle's parapet. "So, who are you then?" asks the warden. His tone is more serious than usual.
"I'm not a fed, I can tell you that. Not like some of those faces in the crowd."
The panther turns away from the window. Barett cannot see his face as he is back lit. His sillouette speaks. "I know about the feds. After all, it was I that invited them. Please, sit. Let us discuss your future here."
Barett takes a seat. "My future?"
"Why not?" The warden takes a seat behind his grand, oak desk. His face wears the same somber expression that is in his voice.
"Future plans? Here?" Barett cannot help but be incredulous.
"Future, yes, as in tomorrow and the day after."
Barett thinks about pretending not to be stumped. He figures to screw it. "You got me. What the hell are you going on about? Inviting feds to an underground fight club?"
"Just a minor part of a much larger picture. An essential part in some ways, but minor nonetheless."
"Why? Why have us cons fight?"
The panther takes a deep breath. "Men like you and I are a thing of the past. There was a time we were gods among men. The world needed us to establish order. back then, might meant right. It was a chaotic period and only the strongest of us could set things straight. Now, we are an anachronism. Society no longer needs us. Indeed they would rather se us gone from their lives."
"And that is why they lock us up."
"Of course. The world is more and more civilized. It gets smaller and smaller. It has no room for brutes like us. And far be it from them to get blood on their hands, so they lock men like us away."
"Men like me," Barett corrects. "If I am not mistaken, you hold the key."
"Do I? I am as much a prisoner here as the rest of you. Perhaps I have even less freedom, as I have other burdens than the four walls of a prison cell."
"Responsibility you mean? The running of this institution?" figures Barett.
"More or less But I am getting ahead of myself. You wanted to know something of the fights. I appreciate your candor, so I will tell you. They may have locked us away, but many still yearn for that chaos, for the blood and sweat of yesterday. The come to see violence. They come to see blood. They pay very highly. They get what they come for. We get their money."
"We?"
"You got paid, did you not? As for the rest of the money, it gets invested into the prison and the surrounding community."
Barett recalls a discussion he had in the mess. "You mean the surrounding farms."
"And more. Now, as you probably guessed by now, the feds aren't here to see blood."
"No, I suppose they would be here for another reason," says Barett.
The panther looks directly, respectfully into Barett's eyes. "Care to hazard a guess why they might come to see such an exhibition?"
Barett thinks about this, It seems really "Dirty Dozen" but then the Feds and the Military like men that are expendable.
" I would imagine that they are looking for people willing to do covert jobs, dirty assasin type of work. I mean that is why we have the alphabet soup organizations right, CIA, FBI, NSA, and the like. Men that are disposable, but controlable. But that removes some of these guys, loose canons that they are." Barett pauses, and stares at the window, more than out it.
"If there is still work for men like us, how come you are still here ? Everything that I can do is criminal or questionable at best......I supose that is why I am here now, Fate I believe."
"What kind of FEDS are these anyway ?"
"Well, you are partly right. Expendable operatives are a simple thing. Now a days you can pretty much get anyone to work for you for the right price, or if you have something on them. Assassin do not necessarily have to be skilled. Most murders are committed by people who know the victim. What the feds are looking for is somewhat more long term. Yes, many of the residents here would be deemed loose cannons or even miscreants. However, agencies find that such individuals often reverse their opinion of authority when standing on the other side of the fence."
"So, you have yourself a recruitment pool," says Barett.
"Indeed. Of course, federal agencies are such a small portion of our clientele. The big money is in corporate staffing. Bodyguards, drivers, pilots, spies, saboteurs, you name it. We cater to many requests."
"Though I imagine you keep the best for yourself?"
The panther lets out a deep, roaring laugh. The guards nearby look at each other. Such genuine laughter must be uncommon from the ex military man. "But of course. If I spy someone particularly talented, I am loathe to let that talent fall into the hands of a possible future adversary. Oh no, definitely not. I prefer to keep them on board, and, if they gain my trust, even keep them close."
"So that's why your guards are former cons."
"Exactly."
"And that is also why I am here speaking to you now? That is what you meant about my future here?"
The panther nods. "I admit that I was uncertain at first. Oh, I still have my doubts. You had shown considerable talents, yes. However, eventually you started to disappoint. You entered into some game against me, most likely at the advice of Marcus. Your only concern seemed to be money. Money is useful, but it is a means and not an end. Besides, its uses are limited. That is the problem of this modern age. People assume money is forever, that it is solid, that investments will payoff. One day they will learn that they are sorely mistaken."
Barett listens and nods.
" Yes I have seen the end of money, and its beginning...It holds only what it supplies for me. But what of the long term, what do you and I hold for each other ?"
Barett is pleased that he is liked enough by the panther for such an offer, but where would it lead.
" If you hold the best for yourslef, say one such as I. To what end or purpose could we be used....merely putting on fights and shows is no real task for our talents, they lay beyond this scope, so there must be more out there, something that a simple man, a fighter like me can not see. Not at least without your help. I am willing to learn, what do you have to teach?"
Barett can see that there is something that the Warden has in mind, perhaps it will help him get closer to the Cowboy.
"I am a man of some experience, as are you I am sure. I have come to see patterns emerging. Others are blinded by ambition, complacency, even hope, that heaviest of evils. People settle in. They construct this cooperative illusion of safety, assured that nothing bad will ever befall them. You an I see things differently. It is in times of such complacency when a nation, a city, what have you is most vulnerable. There is a storm coming. I am certain of it. I don't know when, but it will come."
"A storm? What kind of storm? Another war?"
"Perhaps."
"I see. The prison thing makes a lot of sense when you put it like that," says Barett.
"Indeed. It is as hard or harder to get in than it is to get out. You, of course, are an exception. One, however, I hope for which we have made some corrections. Yes. This prison serves as much as a fortress as a correctional facility."
"And your investment in the local community is what? A stocking of supplies? A food bank? Exactly how big a storm are you anticipating?"
"We will see. Perhaps I am a bit paranoid. Many of my men have hinted as such. Yet, I believe if you should err at all, err on the side of caution."
Barett thinks to himself momentarily. "Which brings us back to my question I put to you. Where do I fit in?"
"Well, as you have seen I have many lieutenants in m little army. However, a general needs captains. Of those i am sorely short. You are a bright, young lad; spirited, capable, innovative. You would make an excellent right hand."
"That's a tall order," says Barett. "I'll have to think about it."
"Please. Take your time. Meanwhile, you have a couple more fights ahead of you. If you wish to speak of this again, or if you have any more questions or concerns, simply inform one of my guards. He will report to me. You may go."
As the guards move to escort him back to his cell, Barett searches his mind for any last words. The question is, does he have any?
"I am a man of some experience, as are you I am sure. I have come to see patterns emerging. Others are blinded by ambition, complacency, even hope, that heaviest of evils. People settle in. They construct this cooperative illusion of safety, assured that nothing bad will ever befall them. You an I see things differently. It is in times of such complacency when a nation, a city, what have you is most vulnerable. There is a storm coming. I am certain of it. I don't know when, but it will come."
"A storm? What kind of storm? Another war?"
"Perhaps."
"I see. The prison thing makes a lot of sense when you put it like that," says Barett.
"Indeed. It is as hard or harder to get in than it is to get out. You, of course, are an exception. One, however, I hope for which we have made some corrections. Yes. This prison serves as much as a fortress as a correctional facility."
"And your investment in the local community is what? A stocking of supplies? A food bank? Exactly how big a storm are you anticipating?"
"We will see. Perhaps I am a bit paranoid. Many of my men have hinted as such. Yet, I believe if you should err at all, err on the side of caution."
Barett thinks to himself momentarily. "Which brings us back to my question I put to you. Where do I fit in?"
"Well, as you have seen I have many lieutenants in m little army. However, a general needs captains. Of those i am sorely short. You are a bright, young lad; spirited, capable, innovative. You would make an excellent right hand."
"That's a tall order," says Barett. "I'll have to think about it."
"Please. Take your time. Meanwhile, you have a couple more fights ahead of you. If you wish to speak of this again, or if you have any more questions or concerns, simply inform one of my guards. He will report to me. You may go."
As the guards move to escort him back to his cell, Barett searches his mind for any last words. The question is, does he have any?
"Say before I go, how is 'Red' doing ?"
Barett is interested to know how the Warden treats those who have failed him, on some level.
" and what do you expect of a captain in your organization ? "
He is hoping to spend a little more time getting some vibe off the Warden, the job on the other hand, looks really good to him. It is even something he would do himself.
"Not well I'm afraid. That blow you gave him was quite something. He will be laid out for some time."
"You don't seem all that upset over it."
"Red was...average. Nothing special. You see, he was just a local in need of a job. He isn't one of mine."
"Not captain material then?" asks Barett.
"No. Still it is disconcerting you could slip in so easily."
"I wouldn't call what I did easy. It was luck mostly."
"And confidence. You seem like a bright lad. I am sure you weighed the risk against the reward before you came waltzing in. The Cowboy is it that you're after? You'll get you're chance. As for the responsibilities of a captain - well, we have yet to reach that bridge. Besides, I think you get the gist."
"You may have overestimated my talents," says Barett. "There is a lot you are not telling me. I can't be expected to fill in all the blanks."
"I suppose not. Suffice it to say that the lieutenants are in charge of the foot soldiers. The captains are in charge of the lieutenants. I am in charge of the captains."
"So, I would answer only to you. Also, I would have some leadership role."
"Yes, should my fears ever be realized. Until then you would simply manage things alongside any other captains should I find anyone worthy."
"What about Marcus? I can see past your whole teasing him about his accent. You respect him. Why else assign him as a trainer?"
"See," says the panther. "I told you you were a bright lad. Yes, Marcus is very skilled. However, he is still hooked on marajuana. He thinks it gives him some spiritual insight. It clouds his vision. He is a much smaller part of this world than he could be. Also, as you have seen he is very much a man of peace, love, and understanding. His philosophy would be out of place in a conflict of a grand scale."
"Yet, you keep him around. Why? To train?"
The panther shrugs. Is there some other reason? "Well, if that is all I do have a prison to attend to and you have an upcoming fight. I do not want to distract you too much from your goal. I only hope your obsession is not single minded. There are other experiences than revenge."
Barett thinks about this for a second.
" Well there is more to me than just fighting the cowboy, I think that this will work out very good."
He plans on asking Marcus some more questions about his relationship with the Warden. In Baretts paranoid planning he had not thought about this level of self preservation.
He wonders if this has some religious tone to it, he doesn't remember seeing any objects of this nature in the office or remembers any overtly religious remarks by the warden.
In most of his preperations it was about him and only him. What would they do with all the prisoners, an army of hardend men trained to fight. Hell you could start your own nation with this kind of manpower in that kind of chaotic situation. You could be king, well Barett would be a Duke then....Duke Barett...huh, that doesn't work. Best get back to the task at hand, Training for the next fight.
Barett does wonder about how many weapons are stored here, they would need helicopters, planes, tanks, heavy artillery those kind of things right. All this could be hidden on the grounds.
Next time he sees Donney he will let him in on the scope and have Mellisa and him look around for such items and the like. There has got to be such a stash somewhere.
The warden does not appear to be an overly religious individual. Like most people, he seems to believe in a higher power, but if pressed, would likely be unable to expound on his beliefs. He has all the trappings of a textbook agnostic, neither certain or uncertain as to the existence of God.
Religious ideals aside, Barett returns to his cell. That night, he casually asks Marcus, "So, what's with you and the warden anyway?"
"Wot you sayin' me breda? Dat clot? Wot in all de world have I and I to do wit' dat lion o' babylon?"
"I don't know. He must have some respect for you to have you train fighters."
"Irie. An' who inna place is gonna do dat but me? Ha' him some udder bredren dat can train dese young rudeboys. No, mon."
"There has to be others. You can't be the only one. There were sixteen fights at the start. From my reckoning most of them had trainers of some kind."
"Wot you gettin' at? I see. Den it is de utter ting, seen? Dere too many fighters, not enough to train jus' like I speak."
"Then why tease you all the time about the way you talk. Why involve you at all when you so clearly dislike him.?"
"Dese are tings only Jah can answer to, star. I an I know not what de warden thinking. Him ha' his sticky finger in many pies. Dat I know for sure. Wot him want wit' me, causin me boderation, me don't know. Why you be asking?"
"Well, your name came up in our last talk."
"And wot else, star? Tell me, seen?"
"Well, if he has plans for you either he isn't talking or even he doesn't know for sure."
"Why speak 'bout lil, old Marcus? Wot be I to him?"
"I don't know. There are a lot of things about this place that I just can't quite put my finger on."
"Irie. Dis place is wicked, youth. All prisons be wicked."
Barett lets it go at that for now. Yeah, prisons aren't the best places, but this one was different. Barett is suddenly reminded of an occurrence the day he arrived. "Hey, Marcus? Remember the day I showed up? That guard was bribing an inmate for some information."
"Irie. I remember dat."
"What do you think that was all about? You think the warden gave that information to the authorities?"
"De warden be de authorities. Him is babylon. Badman use dat information for someting."
That could be part of it. The warden's secret army attacking drug cartels. Money, weapons, all up for grabs if you know the right time and place. If he did have arms and vehicles, that could be a source. That was something else Mel could check on.
Until he could speak with Donny again, he would have to set that aside. Asking too many questions may arouse the warden's suspicions. Besides, he had to focus on fighting. The next few fights could prove challenging, what with the top four fighters contending. Also, the warden's offer was distracting. Barett came here for one thing. Isn't always the way with these things. There are no simple missions. Someone has to throw a wrench in the works somewhere. Could he get Utah out and find out about the warden, or were these two objectives mutually exclusive?
Barett puts the Wardens offer out of his mind, though it is a good angle to work with, it is not a place to be. That would be like walking around a firing range with a bullseye on your head, everybody would be taking shots at you. The second in command is a popular target for those under him, either to replace or discredit, besides Barett has been there before in the motorcycle gang. He has nice little scar to remind him of the fleeting security of leadership.
This does lead to the question of Donny, someone who is moving in and out of a heightned security prison system. Barett wonders if somehow he was not baited all along into this gig. It maybe an avenue he will explore after he gets out, but probably not until then, unless something pops up.
As for the fights, he is going to throw all his concentration into the training. The meditation and kata excersises and anything else he can think of, 24 hours a day. This is going to be the best shape and most skilled he has been in a long time, at least for hand to hand combat. To bad that there will be no real record of this...perhaps in the book he is going to write. He mentions to Marcus that he would like to get to know him better. Perhaps use some of his money to buy Marcus some good " Mary Jane" and see what he will talk about. If he can get him to open up some more, he may get a better feel for the situation, and his relationship with the Warden. Barett thinks that there is more he is not being told, something deeper.
Marcus pretty much goes over the same ground. He was a "rudeboy" in his youth, getting into fights and so on. As he grew older, he mellowed out. He took to Rastafarianism, smoking the ganja and drinking rum to find his spiritual center (kind of like peote for some tribes).
He ended up smuggling the stuff around the islands, and then to the Florida keys, then further and further inland. His plane went down outside Fort Worth. He ended up in that prison.
It is clear he is a bright man, skilled in combat, and steady of nerve. Perhaps the Warden is hoping, should hi premonition come true, that Marcus would take up a position as "captain" or "lieutenent."
In these discussions, Marcus just shakes his head. "Dat fool warden, him a sight wrong in de head. He say dere be some war comin'. Dat why he ha' dese fights an' everyting? No breda can wear more dan one hat atta time, star. Him wanna be general an' warden? Impossible."
"I see what you're saying. It's a real conflict of interest imprisoning the same people you want working for you. It certainly isn't the route I would take," says Barett as dangles upside down from the top bunk. Marcus is sitting upon and holding his ankles as Barett works on his core muscles, pulling himself up while rotating his waist. Having already been in shape, he looks sculpted from marble beneath his fine coat of fur.
"Good ting you say no, seen? You don' want no part of dat boderation. General or warden, him babylon, breda. He only get you put in da ground, seen?"
Barett finishes his reps. He grabs hold of the bunk and gracefully does a slow sort of back flip to a standing position. "Just what I was thinking. Its bad enough I have to fight in the ring."
"Too bad we give him de satisfaction, seen?"
"Yeah. Thing is, I'm doing it for me, not him."
"Righteous. You prove someting to yourself. Dat is a good ting. Jus' don't be getting a big head on dose fool shoulders of yours, seen?"
"I won't."
"And don't be getting to cocky now either, seen? Even should you beat dese clots next, you ha' de cowboy to face."
"Believe me I know."
Barett works out for the remainder of the interval, only resting to allow the muscles to relax. Soon the day arrives. The crowd is the largest it has been so far. There are many high rollers with their paid escorts. There are many corporate suites with clip boards and cell phones at the ready. Also, there are a number of feds, high level government aids from the look of it. There is also in the center of the ring a cat. He is switching stances, hopping to a right foot then a left foot stance. He then bursts into a flurry of fast kicks at varying heights before jumping up and executing a flying, spinning kick. It is the unmistakable techniques of a high level of taekwondo.
Barett has worked his mind, body, and soul. The question is, has he any sort of plan?
Barett does have a game plan, a simple one. He is going to try for some points on this fight. The plan is to block and parry, move in and do a fingertip attack then move back and do Taekwondo kicks and blocks. It depends on how fast this guy ends up being, Barett figures that he has the strengh and stanima to hold on long, it may hurt a little but the crowd should like all the jumping and blocking. He is hoping that the fingertip attacks will start to irritate the cat. But he will only start using them after the third round, and then only for a little bit, then start to go for some close in knuckle punches when he figures the cat thinks it will be a fingertip attack. Then he will crowd him up a real tight and start to work him down a bit, combo punches and knee snap kicks. But this one is going to be for the points, things that look really cool.
the looks of things, this will be a fight suited for the crowd. Barett is thinking to work the crowd, score some points, win in style. The cat is no pushover. It is clear he has earned his place in the competition.
Barett clues in his crew on his plan of attack. Marcus nods. "Jus' watch yourself, breda. One love, you know? I an' I keep an eye on tings. Tings go sour, me come up wit' a'nudder plan, seen?"
"Righteous, mon," says Barett.
"Wot me tell you 'bout makin' fun of de way me speak. Go an' kick some tail, ya rudeboy."
The fighters meet in the center of the ring. The cat has a familiar spark in his eye. He is here for a fight. They bump fists, then the cat bows and steps back into a ready position. The bell rings. For the first few moments, the cat walks around the ring, hands up and guarded. He is watching Barett closely, looking for an opening.
As Barett steps forward, the cat lashes out with some powerful snapping kicks. Barett fades back in time to avoid contact. He is testing the waters. The kicks are fast and powerful.
As no one yet has made a definitive move, the crowd starts getting restless. The cat ignores the jeering and heckles. He is still watching Barett carefully. Barett sees an opportunity and steps in, jabbing with a fingertip attack to the soft ribs. The cat comes down hard will his elbow, executing a powerful block. He counters with a high diagonal kick to Barett's head. Barett deflect the kick with a forearm block.
Barett's right arm stings from the power block. This complicates things. The cat knows broken fangs, a technique of defense that can injure the opponent. Thing is, Barett knows it, too. This will be an interesting fight.
Barett keeps back for now, looking for another opening. Meanwhile, the two swap kicks and parries. Some of them connect. The cat lands a mid level kick to Barett's upper thigh. Meanwhile, Barett manages to sneak in a low, snapping kick to the knee.
The crowd is into it now. The fighters are well matched. However, Barett still has a few tricks up his sleeve. He is just waiting it out, looking for the opportunity to get inside for some real damage.
The bell rings. The fighters return to their respective corners. Marcus say, "Respect. You fight him well. I an' I see him like de high kick. Maybe sweep de leg when he kicks."
Barett has doubts. "I don't know. His balance is good. So is his defense. I know what I'm doing."
"Is dat so? Well, you ha' better do it soon. Him land one of dem high kicks an it could all be over, seen?"
"I know. He's putting up a wall. I can't get in. Maybe if I lure him into attacking more, then I could slip past his defenses."
Gordon asks, "And how do you plan on doing that, exactly?"
Barett is going to try the leg sweep. Then he is going to switch styles and push hard for a little bit. Really step in and crowd his position, hoping that getting in close will stop the high kicks and allow him to get some good knuckle punches in, looking to do some good damage, shake the guys confidence. If that doesn't work he is going to start talking smack. Call the guy names and insult him, then fake some moves and see if he will move in to attack, make it look like he is opening himself up. lure him in to smack him down.
Barett, too, is a master of taekwondo. If he wants to sweep the leg, he knows just when to do it. The cat will deliver a high kick when Barett is just inside the range of his kicks. If he is prepared, he should be able to evade the kick and counter with a trip or a leg sweep.
The bell rings. Having made up his mind, Barett steps up. The cat is still on guard. Barett gets a little too close, or at least that's what he makes the cat think. Sure enought, the cat lashes out with a swift kick to the head. Barett swiftly drops to the mat and blocks the front of the cat's supporting leg with his own leg. Then, Barett uses the other leg to push the cat forward and down.
The cat falls to the mat. In that moment of opportunity, Barett delivers his signature phoenix eye punch to the cat's favored leg. The foreknuckle strike lands on the quadrocep of the right leg. That should give the cat some kind of charlie horse. Maybe that will keep his dangerous kicks to a minimum so Barett can concentrate on his preferred mode of attack, close up and personal.
The cat rolls onto his feet, clearly showing signs of injury in his right leg. He keeps on guard, though, wary of Barett's next assault whatever that may be.
Barett does a leap attack, moving in close and going for a One-hand choke. The plan being to hold him with the choke in his left hand and do snap kicks to the bad leg, while blocking and parrying with his right hand. If it gets to hot and dangerous he will do a backflip and pull back, planning on jumping back in over the top of him and doing a critical strike from the rear. Looking for a knockout or stun by kicking him in the lower ribs knocking the air out of his lungs.
Barett leaps forward with little regard for the cat's attacks. The kitty does not expect this. In fact, it catches him totally off guard. In this moment of hesitation, Barett grasps the cat around the neck, cutting off his supply of air and bllod flow to the brain. Meanwhile, he starts kicking at the right leg.
The crowd, too, is stunned for a moment. Then there is a wild cheer. The cat attempts to recover. He does an inside, hooking palm strike to Barett's elbow, the one leading to the hand around the cat's throat. It is a damaging blow. Good thing Barett is tough. It would have broken the limb of a weaker combatant.
A second blow could spell trouble, though. Wary of going into the next fight with an injured arm, Barett relents. However, for good measure he strikes at the throat with the back of his fist before pulling pack his hand.
The cat is stunned, but somehow still manages to sneak in a vertical punch. Barett is an incredible fighter, but even he knows that is an extremely rare and difficult maneuver to pull off. The cat basically hooked his arm in between the two of them and managed a forward strike to Barett's sternum using the back of his fist. For a taekwondo expert, the cat is surprisingly skilled inside. However, Barett is even more skilled.
Barett reels back from the blow more to soften the impact than from damage. He follows up with a backflip away from the cat. To his surprise, the cat follows with a leap of his own, launching into a flying left side kick. Barett lands on his feet just before impact. He has to think quickly. How to defend?
Barett is going to do a Power block/parry attempting to do some damage to the cat. He figures that some damage has been done and now needs to inflict some hurt. Using a palm strike to the face he is going to attempt a knock-out/ stun when he gets in close. If these things don't work he will move back and allow the cat to chase him around the ring for a little bit, hoping to wear him out and see if he can notice any other weak spots. Barett does respect this cats high level of skill and control, he would like to get to know him better on a more friendly/ casual level but that is in the future. But at the moment he will stay focused on the task at hand, not taking to much damage and getting in a knock-out.
As the cat's left foot comes in for a landing into Barett's face, Barett quickly performs a powerful forearm block down and to the left. This effectively deflects the flying kick. The cat just manages to land on his left foot. He is still favoring the right foot. Before the cat can assume a defensive posture, Barett jumps in with an upward palm strike to the chin. It catches the cat just right, pinching the nerve in the cat's jaw and knocking him out cold. He slumps to the mat.
The referee climbs through the ropes and makes it over to the fallen cat in double quick time. He checks to see the if the cat is still alive. Satisfied that the feline remains among the living, the referee stands, grabs Barett's right arm and holds it high, signifying him as the winner.
Barett is quickly assuming the position of fan favorite. Even the warden beams down upon him from the upper deck.
Marcus and the crew surround Barett.
"Righteous, star! You be winnin' dat match in no time. You fight like de smart boy, win like de smart boy, seen?"
"Yeah," says Gordon. "That was fantastic!"
Meanwhile Tom bids a meek congratulations and sets to organizing the team's equipment.
As for the cat, who will ever know if Barett may see him again. That is something to look into later. According to recent history, Barett should soon be escorted to the warden's office in order to receive his winnings and, possibly, another request to join the panther's peculiar army.
For the time being, Barett just looks forward to a soak in the hot tub. That cat just about took the piss out of Barett. Of the four brothers, Barett was never the hand-to-hand guy. That was usually left to Dave and Utah, and Rick on occasion. Barett's lack of a tail had always been a disadvantage against his brothers when sparring. The tail acted as a sort of ballast, providing greater balance and longer leaping distances.
Of course, this was taekwondo, the family martial art. Barett's discovery of Phoenis Eye Kung Fu changed everything.
Southern China is very wet. Mud makes for very poor footing. As such, martial artists restricted kicking to short range kicks, concentrating instead on grapples and short hand strikes. Aggression and taunting the enemy as well as ignoring blows became common elements among the southern styles. These techniques and applications made up for his lack of a tail.
If he could not outright beat his brothers now, he could at least hold his own.
Barett never thought much about fighting his brothers. Perhaps he thought that being in mortal combat with one of his brothers was a bad idea. mostly he thought that there were less dangerous and a whole lot less painful ways of eliminating people. These last rounds of combat had reinforced that belief, even though the standing mantra was that the better you got the closer to the target you could get. That did not appeal to him, he felt that way about people on the profesional level to, better not to get personal and close to them. He really was looking for the hot tub right now, perhaps a word from Mellisa. The whole job offer made some sense and he would like to spend some time investigating the Wardens plan. He even thought that some of it had good merit and may be applied in the future to plans of his own. He was looking to see if more info about the " cowboy " would come to light. Perhaps Utah had decided to stay, it was completly in his character to do such. If he had wanted to leave he would have done so by now, wouldn't he?
After Barett's soak, no sooner has he dried off than the warden's lackeys come to collect him. He is brought not to the panther's desk as custom, but to another building he has et to explore. The structure contains a computer lab, a library, and a number of classrooms. Educational opportunities for inmates. Donnie mentioned nothing about this.
The panther nods a greeting and proceeds with his speech. "Well done. Another exemplary performance. Just one more and you can face the cowboy you are so eager to meet.
Barett realizes the pause is for him to respond. "That's right. Your math adds up. Just one more and the cowboy, speaking of..."
The panther cuts him off with a kingly wave of the hand for silence. Normally, Barett would not be the type to stand for such a thing, but he had a part to play in this strange opera. "Yes. The cowboy. You wouldn't happen to be related would you?"
Calm as the Dead Sea, Barett replies, "Nope. Why are you asking?"
"Just wondering with you both being miner's cats. I suppose there is more than one family of your types around."
"Just like there are plenty of panthers."
"Yes."
Another awkward pause and Barett says, "So, boss man, why meet me here?"
"Oh, yes. This is our educational building. One cannot rely on brute strength alone. One must strengthen the mind as well."
The warden starts to walk down the center of the library, long desks at either side. Inmates sit with books and magazines before them. Many are in deep study. Barett says, "If I didn't know better I would think you were saying that I'm stupid."
The panther back pedals. "No. Not at all. I was only trying to sweeten the offer, that is all. You see, there is more here than meets the eye."
"Not much more. It seems only the more privileged of your inmates have access to this building."
"And would you have it any other way? It's called incentive. Those who show a desire to improve are given the resources to do so."
Barett eyes the corner computer lab. He could send off an E-Mail, but would alert the entire complex doing so. Surely the drivers would be monitored. Rick could bypass that sort of thing, but Rick was not around.
"Well, I am flattered, really, but I am content with my current level of improvement."
"Oh, my dear boy, there is always room to improve. However, I can see that I am occupying your time."
"No big deal. There is an awful lot of it around here."
"Still, you are expecting this I believe?" the warden hands Barett two stacks of bills. "$7,500 is your take in a very lucrative bout. I wish you luck on you next challenge. Win that and maybe we will discuss the cowboy in greater detail."
"Don't want me knowing too much too soon, huh?" asks Barett.
The panther merely smiles. Again there is a pause as though the warden is waiting for a response or for Barett to bid his leave.
Barett smiles kindly to the Warden and pockets the money without counting it, demonstrating that the cash is not a priority. Baretts no computer expert, that is true, but he also does not reveal the extent of knowledge he has aquired from Rick. Simply logging on to a website and leaving a cryptic message or ordering something to be sent to a location. Simple ways to comunicate on the web. But he has no need of these things yet, what good do these serve. Until he can make contact with this "Cowboy", and make an absolute ID and determine if it is Utah and that he wants to be rescued. That is the question that bangs around in Barett's head. Utah is a smart guy, and resourceful....the warden is aware of this ( If it is Utah ) so where does this stand. Is he bait for Barett to get more fight out of him, or something else.
"What other kinds of fringe benefits are there that a man of my needs might find appealing ?"
Barett says in a casual manner, but hinting at other more liberal entitlements.
" I like the idea of a library, but metal shops, fabrication, things to produce...these have some interest to me as well. To tell the truth, I like making things....what do you have along those lines ?"
"That's rather obvious for you, isn't it?" asks the warden. "You really expect me to just let you into a metal shop to, I don't know, design a zip gun, a chisel, a shiv. Trust is earned in inches, not miles."
Fair enough. It was worth asking. "I'm just saying that besides all the training, I have a lot of time on my hands. I'm not used to so many unoccupied hours filling my day."
"Feeling a little cramped are you? Well,I believe that was the point when are forebears designed these kind of facilities. Well, under some supervision I suppose I could let you wander the yard, have yourself some me time. In the meanwhile I will consider your request."
Sure enough,Barett is given leave to wander the yard alone. The guard stay far away, but not too far. Barett suspects he is always one suspicious action away from someone raising a scope to the eye.
It is sunset. The Texas air is cooling as night approaches. Barett has been here too long. A free spirit, the four narrow walls of a prison cell is not his forte. Being in the open alone, or nearly alone, is a refreshing experience.
Acting as sheriff, his paranoid nature could be shelved, or rather, put to use. Here, with no distractions, his mind wandered. It took hold of him, making wild accusations and finding the most bizarre connections and conspiracies. He suspected everyone at one time or another. Could he trust Marcus? Gordon or Tom? Was Donny some ploy to bring him here?
As if by some weird, cosmic twist of fate just that moment Donnie whispered. "Hey, boss." Barett was not one to trust in coincidences.
"Donnie?" Barett whispers back. "How'd you know to find me here?"
"Saw the guards escorting you out. Thought now was the best time to reach you. I have a present for you."
Donnie holds out his hand. Floating atop the shimmering hand is a cell phone. "Actually," says Don, "it's more a gift from your deputy."
Barett palms the phone and shielding it from the view of the guards looks at the screen. The number is pre-entered, just waiting for Barett to hit send. He's in deep already. He takes a breath and pushes the button, then lifts the phone to his ear.
"Long time no hear," says Mel on the other end. "Don't worry. The phones are pre-paid and I managed to get your brother to bounce the signal around. I wouldn't want to upset your sensibilities."
"That's my girl, always thinking ahead. What's up?"
"That's my question. Find your brother yet?"
"Working on that. Maybe a week or more."
"Another week. They'll think we're missing in action."
"We've disappeared for long periods before, you know. That's the upside of a small town. They can't really miss you if you're not that essential. Someone will fill in for us."
"And the officers that came for Donnie?" asks Mel.
" Look, we need more time on this, file a one way report....claim that he escaped and place a warrant out in the northern territories."
Barett is not so concerned about the town. The big one is a escape plan for leaving this place.
" I'll send some more cash out for you, it looks like I'm stuck playing this game. And not one person is giving me any good leads. There may come a time that a quick exit is needed are all things fueled and armed ?"
Barett thinks that all of this may be one big wild goose chase, he finds it hard to believe that he hasn't been able to see the "Cowboy", perhaps the Warden knows they are brothers, maybe Utah has told him so and wants to see him fight. But if Barett knows his brother he is wanting to kill people, accidental or not and leave this place. Perhaps Dave may like the whole idea and stick around to see what happens, but not Utah. Barett may just kill the next guy, to prove a point. Of course that would make him look a lot like Utah. He does want to know what Melissa has found out about the Warden and his "Plan". The waiting game is getting old, not the training, it's good.....This whole offer may just prove to be the only thing that makes real sense. In the realm of secret societies that he reads about and once belonged to some time ago, the belief in a " END of the World" stay with us, we will protect you, is a big control issue. Some of the leaders believed that they were inspired this way and really believed, others just liked the control. He thinks that the Warden may be one of the first.
" What is your game plan out there ?" he asks Mel.
He needs to know how she is holding up.
Barett takes a seat on a row of bleachers overlooking the dirt baseball diamond. The aluminum is still warm from hours under the Texas sun. He puts his head in his hands, masking that he is holding a phone.
"All is well here. Keep me posted so I know the best time to help spring you. If I'm sticking around here, I might as well be of some use. Speaking of, I looked up some info on your warden. It was not an easy task. People are a bit hush hush about the guy. I caught on real quick that people don't want to be asked any questions about him. However, I found out that we was some brass in the military back in the day, a colonel no less. Seems he was a bit of a hero. You know the type, first in last out. Well, seems as he grew older there wasn't as much use for him. Old fashioned war made way for negotiation. Seems he had locked horns with a few administrators. They finally had to let him go with an honorable discharge. Any less and there would be public outcry. I guess this private army thing of his is his way of moving on. Some people can't let the job go."
"I know the type. That's a real tear jerker. You think his offer's on the up and up?"
"Don't know. Can't say. I would look into these little operations of his, but people suspect me enough as it is. I'm keeping low for now. Let me know if there is anything else."
Barett thinks for a moment. It does seem less and less like Utah is here. However, there is always that slim chance. Could he overlook that chance? Even so, how would he make his escape now?
Barett sits there for awhile and wonders, is it loyalty that has driven him to this point, or something else ?
" I will let you know, right now I must go through with the whole charade......and see it to its end.........Please wait on me a little longer, then perhaps we can take that vacation you have been talking about. Contact me next time you are able.........I will wait for you....over and out..."
Barett hangs up the phone and slides it under the seat.
Under his breath, and pretending like he is praying, he speaks to donny.
" There is a lot in this prison system that you did not know about, or anyone else for that matter, perhaps you could sneak over and make contact with this " Cowboy " and find out his identity. What do you think ?"
Barett stays in the same pose, pretending to pray.
But thinking, why was it so hard to find out anything in this area. A little snooping should have brought a lot more to light. The fact that the " COwboy" still remains a mystery annoys him. People like to talk, pride and paranoia open backdoors to see what is hidden. This whole thing, locked down like it was just didn't add up, never had. He was beginning to think that the whole " Scorched Earth " Idea had some real merit. It was strange to him that Rick was able to help, yet knew nothing of Utah's where abouts. Seeing as the two of them were in constant contact. If it was Barett running this whole scene, and he wanted to be the man with the game at the end, HE would start the "END OF THE WORLD", or at least give it a big shove forward.
Taking a deep breath, and exhaling slowly, he waits for Donnies reply.
Donnie hides under the bleachers, taking the opportunity to lift his chameleon's veil. He takes the phone.
"Sure thing, chief. I'll poke around D block and see what I can find out. You want me to talk to him or something? Remember, he's a pretty scary guy."
Barett considers this. There seems to be a growing chance that Utah is not here. Still, neither Rick, Dave, or Barett has heard from him for some time. It's weird.
"Better not. Just watch him and report what you see. I should be able to tell from your description if he is who I think he is. Also, if you can, take some more money back with you for Mel."
"Righty-o! I'll sneak the money and phone out, hide them, then sneak back in for a look-see. Anything else? Want me to report back tonight or the next time I swing by?"
Barett is surprised to see donny taking such intiative, on this issue. He wonders if Mel has been working with him. It would feel good if something positive came out of this ordeal. Slipping some cash down to donny under the bleachers.
" The next time will be fine, we best not push our luck on this one. "
Barett smiles and streches out his back and shoulders.
He walks around the yard then starts to jog, then goes into a full run holding it full bore until he feels it in his lungs then he backs off. Waiting for the next time things just come together.
Bear or dog? Kung fu or ring fighting? It was not long before Barett found out. He knew the dog would be a problem. Like Barett, he was best in close. Furthermore, it was likely the dog had ground fighting skills above and beyond Barett's repertoire. Being the sort of fellow that he is, Barett prepared for the worse. In the gym he practiced with Marcus and Gordon. He went back to his wrestling roots developing his grapples, holds, escapes, reversals, pins, and the like. His Endurance was strong enough as it was. His strength was good as well. He needed speed. When he wasn't wrestling he was doing wind sprints and the sort.
The word that he would fight the bear and not the dog came with a mixture of relief and concern, relief that he would not have to fight the dog, but concern tat he was not sure about the bear's style of kung fu.
Asking around pays off. The bear is definitely southern style like Barett, just as he figured. Furthermore, the bear favors low stances and powerful, often unusually directed hand strikes.
Clearly the bear will be solid and strong. With kung fu training, he will also be fast and agile. Maybe the dog wouldn't have been so bad.
"So, wot we be plannin' to rise 'bove dis clot bear, mon?" asks Marcus.
"I thought strategy was your department, coach," quips Barett.
"Irie. Me say bring it to de mat. Go all out wit everyting you have. Don' play 'round like some rudeboy youth. Dis is serious, mon. Forget de points. Take 'im out right quick, seen?"
"I see. Don't drag it out is what you're saying. I can do that. Finish the fight and keep my reserves for the Cowboy, right?"
"Righteous, star. You plan on ayting diff'rent?"
Barett thinks about this, any other plans, yeah I've got plenty of plans, he thinks. For the fight with the 'Bear', that is a different story, wrestling is probably not a good idea, if he is big and fast that is a deadly combo. This may be a distance fight, striking out with kicks and distant attacks. Knockout blows and if possible critical strikes from behind to the head and ears, that may be guarded heavily.
" I was thinking of keeping my distance from the big guy, using kicks and the like. But as for a plan, I would like to knock him out in the first or second round before we get to worn down. I was planning on going for critical strikes to the vital organs, neck and head."
Barett states, openly seeing if Marcus wants to add anything in.
" I would think combo's and quick punchs to soft areas are the best bet, trying to crowd this guy or wear him down might be dangerous."
"Irie, mon. Dat is righteous tinking. Jus' don' kill de rudeboy, okay?"
Apparently Marcus agrees...with most of it.
"Knock out, not kill. I kill him and I may lose my chance to fight the Cowboy."
"Yeah, mon. De Cowboy is de real goal line, seen? Righteous."
And that was that. Taekwondo would be the best bet. While the bear rooted and went for long arm strikes, Barett could leap in with a powerful kick to the head or gut, then leap out again. Hopefully he would manage to escape getting clobbered by a great bear claw. He was scarred up enough as it was.
Meanwhile, in the interval between fights, Barett awaited Donnie's return. As the pattern went, he would likely show up after the fight. He was hoping sooner. However, now with a game plan in mind he could adjust his training. The question was where to begin?
Barett decides to focus on his Tamashiwara and Iron hand techniques, along with some of the Foot attacks, mostly tripping and jump kicks. He is trying to get better at breaking bones when he strikes, having decided that killing the bear is not good for his objective, but wounding him would be a crowd pleaser, and help end the fight quicker.
He is going to try and get some time with Tom alone and talk to him about the fights, he seems the most unlikely to be involved in any collusion that may be going on. He will work to gain his trust and see what he thinks.
Tom is a nervous sort. The sparrow is clearly a patsy. It is a wonder he is still breathing in this place. However, there is the benefit of Marcus' protection. Furthermore, this is not an ordinary prison. It seems the guards come down hard on violence outside the ring. The Cowboy, whether it is Utah Blaine or not, is clearly a thorn in the warden's side. The whole of D block is where the most violent offenders are. Tom wouldn't last an hour in there.
Getting Tom alone proves difficult. However, both Gordon and Marcus are about as chatty as two girlfriends, so during meal time Barett can speak with Tom and it is nearly as though speaking to him alone with all the background noise.
"Hey, Tom?" asks Barett.
Tom looks up, surprised to find Barett speaking to him and only him. He looks nervous as always. Tentatively, he responds, "Yeah? What is it?"
Yeah, what is it? What is on Barett's mind that he wishes to discuss with poor Tom? He gathers his thoughts and speaks.
"You seem to be a thinker to me, what do you make of all this ?"
Barett asks in a friendly tone. Hoping to gain his trust and make him feel comfortable.
" I was just wondering what brings you into a hellhole of a prison like this. I know what gets a man of my temper and disposition, but you don't seem the normal thug type."
Barett is as much interested in Tom's story as he is in what he thinks of the fighting and gambling.
" What are you doing with your take, is it going to the wife and kids or the like ? "
"Why Am I here?" says Tom. "I ask myself that question every day. I guess I'm too trusting."
Barett knows the type. He lives in the shadows of stronger, more dominant personalities. He clearly is reserved. He looks to others for protection. Marcus is an obvious example.
"What happened?"
College kids I hooked up with started this whole synthetic drug ring. In retrospect I don't know why I didn't leave. I got a little too mixed up is all."
"They in here, too?" It would be a kick to give the brats a little scare. However, Tom shakes his head.
"No. They covered their tracks pretty well. I got stuck with the paper trails. You know, phone numbers and the like."
"So, no family?" says Barett, already guessing that Tom is unattached.
"No. No family. I don't know what to do with the money. I guess pay some people back for the screw-ups I've made."
Tom is not as much of a thinker as one might suppose. Generally still waters run deep as they say. Tom is just lonely, shy, and gullible. A little confidence would go a long way for the young sparrow. From what Barett could see, that seemed a part of Marcus' plan. The old panther was right about one thing; Marcus had a soft spot, one that could be exploited by someone more devious than Tom.
"Any thoughts about the fight?" asked Barett, not yet willing to let Tom off the hook.
"Not much of a fighter. I mean, it's obvious you're doing well. I'm just here to fetch supplies and stuff. Gordon or Marcus know a lot more than I do.
Tom is more sheep than sparrow. He seems more absorbed in his own safety and security than in the events that unfold before him. That narrow vision is what likely landed Tom in a cell.
Tom is increasingly uncomfortable with the questioning. Most people grow more accustomed with time, opening themselves up, getting more sociable. Tom is not that type. Barett figures he has only a few questions left before the sparrow clams up altogether.
" Hey Tom, don't you find it odd that no one is allowed to see this 'Cowboy' ? to me that seems really weird. I have fought in a lot of different places, and this seems odd to me. We usually get to meet each other, size each other up, some are even friends."
Barett sits back and lets this sink in, waiting to see what Tom will do with the info. Right now his mind is working overtime, trying to think of ways to use Marcus to get him out of here, well him and the 'Cowboy'. Barett is still a little bit in the dark about the details, but plans on making some moves to get himself out of here. Then there is the whole problem of Mellisa and Donny, he guesses that the job as Sheriff is over now, well it was good while it lasted. He is thinking that a simple extraction would be best, he is hoping to plan a big distraction and escape in the confusion.
Tom doesn't take long to reply. "Well, the Cowboy is in D block. They don't let them mix with the rest of the population. The Cowboy, well, he sounds scary even for D block. I can't figure even why the warden lets someone like that fight."
Gordon pipes is, "Because he's a good fighter. It's simple as that. You see, if you're deemed the prison champion you go and fight the champions of other prisons. The Cowboy is the warden's ace in the hole. He has mopped the floor with those guys."
Marcus says, "Irie, breda, but de Warden he be getting badda fed up wit de Cowboy I and I tink. Him lookin' to trade up, seen?"
"And that's where I fit in. I replace the Cowboy," says Barett.
"Righteous. Win de next bout and you be meetin' de Cowboy real soon like, seen?"
Also he gets to fight other champions. Could that mean a transfer. Perhaps then would be his chance to escape. But what about Utah? Could he ask the warden for an alternate? Could he lose to Utah and be his alternate? There had to be some way to get them both out. Of course this was still assuming that the Cowboy was Utah. More and more Barett was developing doubts. Still, he was prone to paranoia. He needed more info, but it seemed like no matter ow he approached the topic he ended up hitting a wall. Time was running thin. Soon he would be toe to toe with the Cowboy and all his efforts would no longer matter. He had a choice. He could be patient and simply wait to see if it was Utah, or he could keep hammering away until he got answers. At least Donnie was on the job, presumably.
Barett relaxes a little and starts his plot for the escape. Bribing the guards is out of the question, they are not going to let that happen. Killing or knocking them out will have to be his option on dealing with them. Barett had thought about a riot, or mass prison escape, but doesn't know if Marcus could organize one that would work, or if he would. Barett thinks that faking an " End of the World" situation would be the best move. It would prey on the wardens fears and hopes. If Mellisa could cut the land lines, send some fake messages about a massive attack and knockout the power supply to the prison and surrounding area. It would start the ball rolling. But that would need to wait, perhaps he can just slip out after a fight on the road and meet up with Mellisa. Barett remembers his S.E.R.E training in the military ( the evasion and capture camp ) they did two kinds of interrorgation. The soft kind ( as they called it ) was what the west coast boys were more susceptible to. Become your friend, act like they are really trying to help you out, that was the Warden. He was former military and would have gone thru the same training. Barett realizes that he has made several very costly mistakes so far, he is hoping not to make anymore. It's beginning to look like Mellisa's plan was the better one, at least that way he had a thread of an out. Reviewing his training and waiting for the events to unfold is going to be the best option now. He can see that it is a waiting game now, being ready to move when the moment comes is his real plan. Until he can meet the "cowboy" he will wait, and train.
Barett is unaccustomed to routine. Having a fixed agenda made you vulnerable. Your enemies knew where you were and what you were doing. Nevertheless, Barett was making a habit of his twilight excursions into the yard. That was the only time he was ever alone. This also made him vulnerable as anyone with a grudge could strike him without warning. That was a chance he had to take. Besides, he had a feeling the warden's guards were not just watching him, they were looking out for him. Strangely, prison had its charm. He was more or less safe from harm as long as he was outside the ring.
Another reason he had adopted his nightly constitutional was that it made it easier for Donny to contact him. Sure enough, the evening before the fight with the bear, Donnie showed up. His familiar voice said, "Hey, chief."
Barett took a seat on the bleachers overlooking the dirt baseball diamond. He could hear Donnie scurrying beneath the bleachers to better conceal his presence.
With his head in his hands, Barett asked, "find out anything about the Cowboy?"
He expected an answer in the negative. However, Donnie said, "Yep. I guess he figured he better do some more trainin' before the championship match. I didn't dare talk to him, but I got to see him train."
"And?"
"Well, he's a powerhouse alright. Just as scary as I remember him. He was doing these crazy hard and fast kicks on the punching bag. He done tore a hole in it. He slit a seam and sand just came pouring out."
That wasn't uncommon. He and Utah had done the same thing at half their present age. A little duct tape and it was good as new.
"Anything else?" Barett suspected that was it. Donnie was not a fighter. His information would be limited.
"Only watch yourself with this guy. Oh, and he's a bit of a loner. The guards don't like him much, that's for sure. Whether he's your brother or not, well, like I said, I didn't dare ask just in case he wasn't"
"I don't blame you. I have my doubts as well. Say, do you have that phone on you still?"
"Sure thing, boss. You want to call your dep?"
" Yeah, something like that."
Barett holds his hands over the phone.
" Say Donny, how much do you think we look alike now, really close or a lot close ?"
"You and the cowboy? Pretty dog damn close I'd say, but being a reptile all you mammals kinda look the same to me."
"Yeah, that helps."
"I'm just saying you look alike, but not, that's all. I mean, his hairs different than yours. Also, if you hadn't been workin' out so much I'd say he was built a bit thicker, too."
Okay, so visuals were not Donnie's thing unless the topic was gear oriented, machine parts, that sort of thing. "How did he act?" asks Barett.
Donnie thinks for a moment. "Seemed sorta focus on his practice. Oh, he prayed first."
"Prayed?"
"Yeah, like they do in the movies. He knelt down, did that cross thing, you know. Oh, and he kissed this necklace he had on."
"A crucifix." It wasn't a question. The cowboy was Catholic, maybe Lutheran. If this was Utah, he was pulling one helluva ruse. No. Utah wouldn't go so far, not with no one watching."
"Interesting." Barett put the phone to his ear, still hiding it expertly from the tower guards. "Mel, it seems I got myself locked up for nothing. It isn't him."
"Are you sure?" she asked. Typical, level-headed Melissa. Always confirm. That was one of the traits the two of them shared.
"Not absolutely certain, but close."
"So, how are you getting out of there?"
"Well, if I make it through the next two fights I can make my escape during my transfer to another prison. Turns out the champion goes on to fight the champ elsewhere. Seems like the best opportunity. Still, I'm getting sick of all this waiting."
Mel says, "Well, time is getting short. If you want to wait, that'll give me time to set up or your escape. If you plan on breaking out sooner you better tell me now."
" We need to wait till transfer......In for a penny, in for a pound. That should give you some time to set something up. Contact Rick or Dave if you need help or back up. This will let me make a visual contact, to make a final, absolute confirmation."
Barett signs and breaths out.
" Thanks for your patience on dealing with my family and me, I owe you a big time vacation........You pick it, and we will go."
"Anywhere, huh? Hadn't really thought about it. I've been driftin' so long now that I just end up wherever the road takes me. Guess I should buckle down and learn to read. Your dep taught me a little. Maybe then I can get back to an honest job. Don't matter to me much where. I guess someplace warm, bein' a lizard and all."
That is all Donnie has to say. They part and Barett goes back to his cell for a night's rest before the big fight. With the beginnings of an escape plan in the works, impatience creeps in. Barett had been locked up for far too long. He wondered how some could stand it being cooped up for years. Barett was a son of the open road. He needed his freedom. Now that tat window had opened a crack he just wanted to smash it and leap through.
He meditated to take his mind off it. Relaxed, he got some much needed rest.
In the converted locker room, Barett stretches, focusing mostly on his legs. Honestly, kicking was not Barett's forte. That is not to say he wasn't good at it. Just, on the list of his favored attacks, kicking ranked pretty low. In fact, it was at the bottom. First there were long range firearms and short range firearms. Second was edged weapons followed by blunt instruments. Finally there were punches followed by kicks. However, a well placed explosive trumped them all.
Nevertheless, Barett warmed up, following the exercises taught to the brothers by their master back in the day. Barett still remembered.
Meanwhile the rest of the crew organized the required elements, mainly water, bandages, towels, and that sort of thing. Marcus was strangely quiet. He watched as Barett warmed up, his eyes evaluating him.
"What?" asked Barett, distracted from Marcus' intense staring.
"Don' you be yellin' like dat, ya fool boy. You scare de ghost right out o' me wit' all dat noisome bodertion."
"You were staring at me," said Barett. "Can't you just read a book or something."
"My apologies, star. I dinna mean no trouble wit' ya. I and I was just to thinkin' how far ya have come, now. Just this one fight more and you finally come to see your cowboy in action, seen?"
"You don't think I'm ready, do you?" asked Barett.
"I an' I say no such ting, mon. Tell Marcus if you tink dat you're so ready? Say de words an' I and I believe you."
Was Barett ready? Yeah he was ready. All the training, all the work. Part of him wanted to see this all through. Even if the Cowboy wasn't Utah, he still wanted to beat him, to prove that he was the best. That is one reason that he wanted Mel to wait, the other being that the more time to prepare the less mistakes that could be made. At least that was his hope. Barett's mental focus just needed to be sharpened again, let him get a razors edge on the real task at hand. Fighting was good for that, sitting in a cell was not.
" I'm ready, keep my back, Stay tight and this will work out for all of us."
Barett says, in the most hopeful tone he can.
Still Marcus seems unsure. Barett had spent too much time with the dreadlocked rat. Marucs must have picked up on Barett's excitement about the future escape. This excitement could easily be misconstrued as apprehension regarding the fight. Barett would have to watch his attitude and not let so much through.
The announcer did his thing, calling Barett "Roy Wonder" and the bear "Boris."
Barett and crew go to his corner. He is in his kung fu ensemble recently cleaned thanks to Gordon and Tom. The silk in the closest thing to British racing green shimmers in the light. The material is soft, fluid, like water. It is what Utah has said time and again, be like water. Be soft when you need to be soft. Be hard when you need to be hard. Water can shape itself to fit into any crack or container, or it can pull down mountains.
Utah's words are reassuring, helping Barett find his center. He will need peace of mind. He will need focus. The bear is massive. Moreover, there is a look of serenity on the bears face, a sense of complete awareness in his countenance. It as if the world had chosen to surround him. The bear, too, has found his center. He will be a challenge, but hopefully a rewarding one.
The two fighters approach one another. The referee lists the few rules after which the bear bows respectfully. The bell rings.
Barett circles a little then tries some kicks and punches. Just to see how fast the bear really is, how good his defense, what his style in the ring looks like. He puts on his war face, and trys some Zanshin, staring down the bear.
The bear holds a 'bear stance.' It is similar to the horse stance common in most styles of karate and kung fu, only he holds his arms upright. The bear deflects the occasional punch or kick. For those punches and kicks that get through his defenses, the bear absorbs the damage by concentrating his vital breath. There is a distinct hissing noise.
Barett is aware of several things. First, the bear has assumed a rooted stance. He cannot kick or move his feet, but as long as he remains rooted he is nearly impossible to move from that spot. Second, the bear knows chi gung, a method of resisting damage by concentrating one's chi. This is advanced stuff. Who is this bear?
Barett's intimidation is working from what it seems. The bear is wary, too wary to attack just yet. He is biding his time, seeing just of what Barett is capable.
Barett can see that he is dealing with a professional. A trained and talented Bear, but where did he learn these skills ? A question that could never be answered, so it was removed from his mind. His focus complete, his warrior face on, the only question being how to take the bear down?
He is going to attempt a palm strike, not to obvious but suggestive enough that the bear should attempt a block with his arm, but Baretts real intention is to use his Tamashiwara to break the bears arm between the wrist and elbow.
What Barett plans to achieve requires expert timing. A tamashiwara strike must be precise. Furthermore, it requires a bit more time in order to generate the power necessary to shatter brick, wood, or bone. An attempt to strike the parrying arm is unlikely to succeed, unless the parrying arm is no longer in motion.
Barett decides to force a parry by striking with one hand. When the bear deflects the blow, Barett will strike with the arm breaking blow.
Barett lashes out with a quick jab of the left hand. The bear deflects. In the moment the arm is stilled, Barett sidesteps, sets his feet, and delivers a powerful corkscrewing palm strike to the forearm. It connects with a sickening snap.
Not only has Barett broken the bear's radius and ulna, but the blow is powerful enough to uproot the bear's stance. He stumbles backward.
The referee leaps into the ring to stop the fight. He points to Barett's corner, telling Barett to step back as he check's the bear's injury.
In Barett's corner, Marcus says, "I an' I say short an' sweet, breda. You don' go halfway, do you, star?"
Barett shrugs. The referee is discussing something with the bear. The crowd is very loud. Apparently the bear was a favorite. A lot of people were losing money this night. Furthermore, it was a short fight. Booing, catcalls, cries of lament, insults, and such were hurled at Barett. He tried to hear under the turmoil the conversation between the humongous bear and the referee, but to no avail. Barett did however hear Gordon laughing delightfully.
"Man oh man. You sure didn't make any friends tonight," Gordon said.
"Tings aren't dat bad, mon, are dey, breda?" Marcus asks Barett. "Who know? Maybe dem blot rudeboys bet on you an' not dat cowboy."
Barett starts to yell at the top of his lungs.
" Come on you pussy, lets fight, you can do it.....You know you want to hit me now.....lets go.....give the crowd something to talk about."
He is jumping up and down really high in his corner, trying to get the crowd to join in, seeing if he can con the bear into fighting some more. Really trying to put on a show, get some things going.....in his mind he is calm, this is all just a show. Trying to use the crowd and the excitement againest everyone, everyone but him.
The referee turns and gives Barett a warning. Behind him the bear gives a knowing look, bows with grace and respect, and leaves the ring while cradling his arm. The crowd get louder. Some spectators belt the bear with empty (and some not quite empty) cans of beer.
They came here for blood and got it, but it was never enough. Where would all this lead? Perhaps even the warden was in over his head. He and his ilk had created a beast and the beast demanded to be fed. The bear gone they booed Barett. As the cans started to fly a couple of guards entered the ring.
"Come on, boys. Let's get you guys out of here." They attempt to escort Barett and crew to the locker room.
Barett starts to chant.
"we want a fight, we want a fight."
Trying to get the crowd started up.
If he can accidentally get some people angry at him, by making rude gestures he will as well.
A gunshot goes off. The crowd quiets. The guard holding the rifle stands by the warden. The warden looks angry. He speaks in is booming, drill sergeant voice, "This is a prison. I will lock up the next person that behaves improperly. You," he said, directing his voice toward Barett. "Its the cooler for you. That is all."
The guards look at each other, then attempt to seize Barett and drag him willing or not to the solitary confinement cells.
Barett's had enough.
Grabbing the first guard he will flip him into the other then throw one of them into the crowd and try to get a gun off the other. Punching and fighting his way to a gun or weapon, throwing things into the crowd, and just generally causing mayhem. All the time cursing in Korea and Chinese, with some English....acting like a complete madman. Prison or not this place was in need of some anarchy and Barett was willing to give it some.
There is no gun to grab. The floor guards have clubs and mace, but no guns. Barett seizes the one guard and tosses him into the other. Another shot rings out, puncturing a hole near Barett's left foot. This was a warning shot. The next one will not.
Meanwhile the crowd seeks cover. Bodyguards escort their bosses out of the room. Others are left to their own devices.
" Your no fun Warden, I thought we could play.....quess not."
Barett yells to him as he lays down on the mat with his hands behind his head.
Waiting for the guards to haul him off.
Barett is handcuffed and sedated. He awakes later to find himself in a small, dark room. There is no cot, no sink, only a hole in the corner in which to relieve himself. His shoes and shirt have been removed, leaving him in his green silk bottoms.
Barett has no idea of the time. It could be day or night, he has no idea. The heavy door has a small window of tempered glass and chicken wire. About in the middle of the door is a hinged access panel.
Having made his bearings, Barett finds the least uncomfortable position to sit without compromising his back, shoulders, spine, or joints.
In time, the warden and his cronies stop by. "Ah, you're awake. It seems the gig is up, and things were going so well between us I thought. So, Mr. Barett Coontail I presume?"
" We were having such a good time warden, why the harsh treatment.....I thought we were friends ?"
Barett is willing to see where this all goes.
"Until you tried to start a riot, perhaps. Things are different now. You don't seem too surprised that I know who you are."
"No, not really," says Barett.
"You put me in a difficult situation. It is clear that to continue the fights would lead to disaster. The appetites of these bottom feeders, these sheep are increasing. They want more and more blood."
"Seems to me you've created a monster. It's your responsibility now."
There is a long pause as the warden ponders over the situation. "I was about to stop. I am very close to having enough money that i could end this little game. You or, God forbid, the cowboy would have made just enough that I would not have to enter any of the convicts in the next tournament."
"Sorry to hear that." Barett wasn't.
The warden waved his hand, dismissing the issue. "I have other plans for the money. There is an organization looking for you, a former employer of yours. Something to do with government I believe? I am sure they would pay well for your return."
"You could do that," says Barett unphased. "Of course, they're not the best kind of people to deal with. They like to employ the old double-cross routine. You won't get your money, and you and your men will likely end up dead."
"Indeed. This brings me to the second option. The Cowboy? He is not your brother. I admit to a certain resemblance. Clearly that is why you came here, why you were so obsessed with him. To tell the truth it really should have donned on me earlier. Regardless, the Cowboy is still a thorn in my side and must be dealt with. There are those willing to pay considerably to see just one more fight between you and the Cowboy, ringtail to ringtail. This fight will be like no other. You will have no crew. Marcus, Tom, and Gordon are not to see you again. There will be no referee and no time limit. This is a bare-fisted fight to the death. The choice is yours."
Barett laughs raucously. "So my choice is certain death or almost certain death. Gee, let me think about it."
"Well, if you choose the latter option I promise to let you go. I have a feeling that keeping you around would prove just as much a problem as the Cowboy. Call for a guard when you have reached your decision." Finished with his offer, the Warden walks away.
Barett waits a few hours then calls a guard over.
" Tell the Warden that the fight is on. Me and the Cowboy, in the ring, to the death."
This looks to be a painful experience for Barett, perhaps a learning one. He spends the time meditating and doing some limited stretching to keep from cramping up. Moving every few minutes to make sure all the muscles get used and kept flexible.
Barett stands and does some compression exercises against the wall of the cell, the solid surface creating tension with his muscle groups. He is still pretty solid. The fitness regimen he followed the last several weeks have kept him in top shape. Now if he could just maintain it.
He wondered how long the warden knew. Probably not long. Surely he would pretend to have known for a longer period who Barett was. It didn't matter. One fight and he's free.
Too bad Marcus would not be there. Chances were Donny and Mell were out of the loop as well. Barett would have to contact them eventually. Hopefully the warden was unaware of their activities.
The warden returns to Barett's cell. "I thought you would make the right choice. Considering everything I think it unwise to give you too much freedom. Your evening constitutionals are a thing of the past. You are to be moved to D block. You will have your own cell. D block do not share cells. You better watch your back just the same. The earliest I can schedule a fight is this coming Sunday. That gives you just today and tomorrow to prepare."
They open the cell door and shackle Barett's ankles and wrists. They shuffle him off to D Block were he is greeted with howls and taunts. "New fish! New fish!" is shouted from all directions.
Barett has finally made it into the heavily secured D Block. It is just as Marcus had warned.
Barett could smell the change, it was the smell of fear and ego, testoserone and sweat. He had been here before, because of his birth position the Alpha male syndrome shadowed his youth. Admittedly he enjoyed some of the competition and brotherhood of the macho life. But here, it was not diluted down, here it ran full strengh in all its terror and studidity. The warden was right, he was going to need to watch his back. Hopefully his reputation and lastest stunt would hold some weight. Of this he could only hope.
Barett does hold an advantage. D block knows he is a fighter. Furthermore, he is the only one that could possibly match the Cowboy. A reputation can be a benefit. It can also burden. Anyone wanting to make a name for himself could shiv him or what have you. They could even come in groups.
Luckily time in the yard was limited by groups. One particular group was one of the largest and oldest continuous gangs. They were white supremist humans. These guys even hated humans of color. Barett caught a glimpse of them on the floor below as they set off for the yard. Many had tattoos of swastikas or lightning bolt like SS insignias.
Most were more solitary, like the Cowboy. Barett was uncertain of his location. It was likely they were well separated. The Cowboy could have been relocated to another building. Barett didn't know. He doubted he could make friends here. Information flowed far less freely than back with Marcus and the guys.
It didn't matter. He knew everything he needed to know. The location of the fight would be revealed in time. He just had to wait. In the meantime he would keep his mind clear, his senses sharp, and his body honed. He was not a ringtail, he was a weapon.
God save the fool that got in his way.
He thinks back to the start of all this as he goes through a round of resistence exercises. It all started with a loose dog, and listening to a crazy escaped cons story. Well he had better be careful about following his brothers and thier stories around or he may end up in some south american jungle or in some land war in asian. He will never let that happen, going to stay on the west coast, just like the yankee he was. Perhaps pick up surfing a little more, grow his hair out live on the beach....well it could happen.
He was going to stick to himself as much as possible here in D block, keep his back to the wall. It was strange that they would keep the Neo-nazi group together, best to keep out of their sights.
Where was donny when you needed him ?
It seemed odd at first that the warden would allow a dangerous gang like the Nationalists to associate in such a close circle. However, it would prove more difficult to keep them separated. The logistics of running a prison were a nightmare. One had to give even the worst criminals some yard time. There was only so much yard and so much time to give, though. Managing each groups of cons presented several difficulties. Who do you keep separated? Who do you group together?
The Nazi gang together meant that no one member would associate with the other cons. This kept both parties safe, but why? Why even allow such a violent group to persist?
The warden had many layers. Why want the Cowboy dead and let the Nazi's live? Did the white power group have information?
Barett had to let it go. He could not get let such thoughts distract him now. He, too, was given yard time, even access to the gym (though under heavy guard). Soon he would fight for his freedom.
Barett could see from the yard that the warden had been making improvements to security. Perhaps that is why Donny had not showed. A chameleon's powers of blending are impressive. It is likely human's genetically engineered the hybrids' abilities and improve their effectiveness. However, they were not invisible. If the guards were watching closely, they could spot him.
That brought up another question. If the warden knew about Barett, did he also know about Mel and Don? If so, he was keeping it to himself. The warden was too slippery a character to pin down.
Barett spends what little time he has left working out and practicing some wrestling moves. His only chance of making it out of here alive was to concentrate on kill moves that would save his life, and not leave him to wounded. So he does those in the cell out of view of others.
In no time the day comes. Barett is shackled and has a hood placed over his head. He is led, surprisingly, outdoors. It is late afternoon and the Texas sun beats down on his furry chest. He is shuffled along until he is finally brought to a halt. This must be it. There is a crowd gathered. There is no expectant chatter or excited cheers, just hushed whispers.
Barett's shackles and hood are removed and he is pushed forward. There is a ten foot drop before him, what appears to be the foundation to a new annex. His expert reflexes land him safely to the cement floor. No mat. Any fall is going to hurt.
The crowd is not seated. They stand around either side of the pit, each ensuring a good view of the fight. Already more onlookers fill in the gap Barett left behind. Before him another ringtail stands at the edge of the pit. his shackles are removed as is his hood.
"Well, looky here!" whoops the Cowboy. "What's shakin' there cuz? So, you the one they say has it in for me? What the Hello Dolly did I ever do to you, boy. Don't matter none. Sure gonna be one hellova ruckus, I tell you what."
The likeness to Utah is uncanny. The voice is off. His country boy smile borders on the one Dave wears around. He is slightly taller than Utah, and not quite as lean. Still, the square jaw, the intense eyes, even the short, dark mullet. He, too, is shirtless. He doesn't have nearly as much chest fur as UB.
Instead of waiting to be pushed in, the cowboy suddenly leaps forward into an aerial attack of some kind. The foundation is about 15 by twenty feet. The cowboy soars towards Barett, closing the distance in moments.
Barett goes into the horse stance, and is going to parry/block and do a throw into the cement wall, grabbing and tossing the cowboy using his energy and speed againest him. Then rushing him to do a volley of forenuckle punches in close to the kidneys.
" Hey cousin, you are shorter than I remember..."
Yells Barett.
Barett sets into a horse stance, his arms up in a ready position. He anticipates the kick that will surely come. He visualizes the block, then seizing the leg, then the throw and pin against the wall.
The Cowboy takes his time. He gets closer and closer and still his the kick does not come. The knee is up. A quick, powerful kick can come at any time. By the time Barett realizes the attack is not a kick, it is too late.
The Cowboy comes down hard with a downward elbow to the top of Barett's crown. The blow is devastatingly powerful. Barett buckles under the blow, partly from the sheer power, but mostly from training. He sinks to a knee, striking it against the hard surface. He compresses his neck, his spine, his hips, doing what he can to absorb the attack.
It works. What could have been a knock-out blow or worse just leaves him a little dazed. He anticipates the follow up, but is less prepared than he should be. However, the next attack does not come. Instead of a grapple, a tackle, or a volley of punches and kicks, the Cowboy showboats.
He whoops and hollers. If he had a hat he would have waved it in the air. "Hot damn!" he shouts. "How'd you like them apples, cuz? That's what I call the hammer."
His overconfidence is his greatest flaw. Barett is left with an opportunity to counter at his discretion. As he considers his options, a dollop of blood drips from the top of his head to the bare, cement floor. It is quickly followed by several others. His head had been split open. Being a head wound, it bleeds profusely.
Barett does a fore-knuckle fist strike to the kidneys of the "Cowboy", then pushs forward more doing a series of snap kicks to the knees.
"You think to much of yourself, here let me remind you of your mother."
Keeping his guard up, looking for an oppertunity to do combo grab/kick knee to the groin.
Barett lunges forward, adding upward momentum to his kidney punch. The Cowboy quickly recovers, defending with his elbows and forearms. As Barett taunts him, the Cowboy just laughs.
Finally, Barett seizes the opportunity. He gets the cowboy in a clutch and delivers a knee to the groin. The Cowboy slips free and pushes Barett off. He's walking a little funny.
"Shouldn't have done that, cuz." The Cowboy puts up his arms, the fists held overhand. His back leg supports most of his weight while the front leg is at the ready. Just the toes touch the ground. he is prepared to throw a kick or punch should Barett close in. It is the unmistakable stance of a Muay Thai kick boxer.
Barett can see "The Cowboy" is a talented fighter. Using his breathing to center himself and concentrate on the fight at hand, Barett " Sees the Elephant" That old combat term Papa Rick used to describe gaining clarity and insight in the middle of a battle.
Faking a mid section round house kick, knowing that Kick boxers would use this as a oppertunity to do a trap or hold. Barett is going to go for a grapple/Take down wrestling move. With a death blow shot to the head, or a choke out.
Making sure to block or dodge the shins and elbows especially, the preferred hard surfaces of the Kick boxer.
Barett feigns a kick. Instead of going for the leg trap, the Cowboy moves as if to block and then counter inside with knees and elbows. Barett is prepared for this. He meets the cowboy inside, hooking a foot behind the Cowboy's leading foot. As the cowboy comes in with an elbow strike, Barett evades it. Placing one hand behind the elbow and another at the shoulder, Barett sinks his weight. He pushes his hip into the Cowboy's waist. Unbalanced, the Cowboy is easily forced to the ground. Barett quickly follows up with a phoenix eye punch to the temple.
He adds downward force by kneeling with the force of the blow. Barett's hardened fist strikes the side of the Cowboy's head and not only impacts with the skull, but delivers force into the brain. Body mechanics, physics, kinetic energy, chi, whatever you wish to call it, Barett's blow severely damages the dense tissues of Cowboy's brain. He suffers an aneurism, convulsing violently.
There are no cheers. Stunned silence is interrupted only by a woman's scream and the sound of someone retching. They came to see death not knowing what true violence was. This was not the violence of the movies. This was not romanticized, dramatized, stylized. This was brutal reality.
Barett finished the cowboy off with another fatal blow to the head. He lay dead. It was strange to see another of their kind laying dead by his own hand. However, Barett was not sentimental. What was done was done.
"Animal!" spat some woman spectator. A cloud of shame and disgust befell the crowd. They looked upon him as one would a savage and feral creature. To kill with one's bare hands so readily, so efficiently. It disturbed them. Were they sickened by his actions, or of the potential within them to do the same?
Barett stood above the body of his fallen foe. Blood dripped from Barett's head. It streamed down his face. He was that much closer to freedom.
Barett Rips a length of cloth from the edge of his shorts, tying it around his head. Breathing slower now he tries to slow down his heart rate, to ease the bleeding. Wrapping the makeshift bandage around his head.
" You came to see what man is my fellow brothers."
Yells Barett in his most senatorian voice.
" This is what we all are, you, me, HIM..."
Pointing to The Cowboy.
" I did not kill him... YOU DID.....I'm sure that you have killed more than just him, I'm sure there are others who will die."
"But what is that to us.....Now we are all guilty......And now at the same time we are all innocent......Is not this the great conflict of life...."
He bows his head low for the drama.
" God recieve the soul of this victim into your heaven, and forgive those here who are complicit in his death....to those that have wagered on the life of a man...AMEN."
Barett folds The Cowboys arms over his chest, and closes his eyes. He does not care for The Cowboy in this way, but he does want the audience to pay, pay with guilt, pay with nightmares, pay with knowledge that they are the true animals. To him it is all a show....if they will not cheer him as thier champion, then he would have them fear him as a destroyer.
Sitting down he examines his head to find out how bad the wound is, and waits.
The crowd gapes stupidly. Little by little they disperse. There is no fanfare, no celebration. It is as somber as a funeral.
The guards toss down a rope ladder up which Barett can climb out of the pit. The warden is there looking just as mollified and conflicted as the members of the crowd.
"Come," he says, having reclaimed his fatherly tone. "Let's get you stitched up. We'll find you some street clothes so you can be on your way."
No one ever knew what to expect from the brothers. That remained one of their greatest strengths.
Barett remained at the bottom of the pit for now. He would have to leave by and by, but now was not the time. He had the warden's attention. He had the guards ear as well. Even a few spectators remained, standing sheepishly at the side of the pit as if hoping to hear the words of a prophet. Barett would not disappoint.
"Are you familiar with Plato?" asked Barett, knowing the answer was likely.
"Of course. Any self-respecting soldier would be remiss in not educating himself on the classics."
"Then you have read 'The Republic?'"
The warden nodded. "Surely."
"Then you must know the story of the sailer and the carnage boat. I'll refresh your memory." Barett looks off into the distance as he tells the tale. "A sailer has returned from the sea to a port town in order to resupply his vessel. There is a war on, and a nearby vessel carries the bodies of the fallen. There are missing limbs, beheadings, all manner of death in its many forms. The sailer knows that if he looks he will be sickened. He will be saddened. Yet, a part of him yearns to see the blood and the gore. He is at odds at himself. Finally, he gives in. He gazes at the bodies all the while shouting at himself, 'there! Feast your eyes on that!'"
He lets the story sink in. Surprisingly, the warden does not interrupt the reverent silence. "We are at war with ourselves," says Barett. "Id, ego, superego. Appetite versus reason. The animal in us rages against the men we want ourselves to be. Even you, warden, are held victim by an angry and vengeful demon. This man man, this fellow of mine is dead not because of a crowd demanding it, but because of you. His blood is on your hands. You consider yourself some warrior poet, some philosopher king. You are no better than the despots you deign to protect us from."
Barett is surprised by his own words. They flow readily, fluidly from his lips. Normally he made an awkward speaker, preferring to let his actions speak for him. Dave and Utah were the talkers. Nevertheless, Barett finished what he had to say. He had made his point. He reached for the ladder and climbed his way out.
Barett climbs his way out of the pit.
" IT is far better that one man should perish, than that a nation or people, dwindle and die"
He says to the Warden.
" I think that is time that we end this now. I came here to free my brother and unite my family....I have greatly appreciated what you have offered me, in another time, another place. I would have jumped at the offer. I can see that the two of us are much alike. But now I must continue my search, to find my missing brother. I have upheld my end of the bargain....What say you?"
"Fine. As you wish. Word of what you and your brothers have achieved has spread far in the right circles. To hand you over to the Pacific government now would be counter-productive to my cause, or that is, our cause. A long sleeping dragon awakes in the Southeast. It stirs and stretches it's wings."
"The Southeast? The Empire?"
They walk to the infirmary. The warden stops and gives Barett a knowing look. "Most are unprepared for what is to come. You, your brothers, your destiny is out there." He points beyond the prison walls. "Mine is in here. You will go forth to slay the dragon. I stay and defend the people. They will need guidance and protection."
"Prisoners?" asks Barett.
"Yes, in part. Also the town and neighboring communities. If I had the influence I would take even more under my protection."
"You have been saying all along that a storm is coming, that some disaster is present. If you have information then share it."
"Don't you think I have tried," says the warden, desperation in his voice. "They have closed their ears to me. I haven't enough information. There is not enough intelligence. I know our enemy. They are patient and cunning. They will not declare their strike. They will build slowly, gathering forces far from prying eyes. It is coming. I am not sure what form an attack will take, but the attack will come. Enough of that. If you are to go, we best patch you up first. This way."
The warden leads Barett to the infirmary.
Barett is still on edge a little, not completly trusting the Warden and the whole situation.
" So do you get info off the 'skin head' gang about what the E.o.H is doing."
Barett says quietly to the Warden.
" I was wondering why you keep them around."
" So......what kind of info do you have that no one wants to hear ?"
Barett explains how things went bad for them trying to do good on the west coast. Now he is just looking for a place with his brothers, mostly he is looking for his brohers.
Perhaps they could share info and get the attention of officials but for now he needed to move on, and keep some promises that he had made.
"Even the Empire doesn't trust the skins enough to fill them in on the whole plan, but yes. I have heard enough to suspect an impending attack. Skinheads are brutal and uncompromising, but they make good foot soldiers. All I know is there is a lot of reorganization at the highest levels. The skins are happy with the new leader. That is not good for us."
They make it to the infirmary. The doctor cleans Barett up a bit, injects him with a local, and then stitches him up. Al the while, Barett and the warden converse.
"I have to say something," the warden begins. "You do run hot and cold, don't you. First you give me the silent treatment, then lies and deception. You then come clean, then call me a hypocrite. Finally, you act like we're in business together."
"My brother says its because I'm a Gemini," says Barett matter-of-factly.
"The twins. You're a twin born on the sign of the twins?"
"Cusp between Gemini and Taurus, but yeah. Anyhow, my brother, Dave, says that is why I can seem like a friend one moment and your sworn enemy the next. Gemini is known for being two-faced. Supposedly, since it's an air sign, Gemini is philosophical, looking at both sides of a point of view. At one time we may side with one perspective, then switch to the other later. That is, if you believe in that crap."
"I take it you don't," said the warden.
" NO, not really....I like to belive that my fate is more controled by me, than other factors."
Barett smiles.
"That is obviously not always the case...Yes...I had no idea what I was getting into. I was doing what I could to see who I could trust. I have been betrayed before, once by those very close to me, the other by the people I thought we were protecting. A general distrust of authority runs deep in my blood."
Barett remembers all the times he has risked life and limb for people that just didn't care.
"Perhaps things will change, perhaps not. My goals are much more focused these days...Less charitable perhaps...You can understand that...I'm sure."
"Indeed," says the warden. "There seems fewer and fewer people to trust these days. Money seems the only goal. Men set aside friendship, loyalty, even security for a little cash. Little they know that the paper in their hand or the numbers in their accounts mean absolutely nothing. It has happened before, throwing the world back at least twenty years. It could happen again. Go then. Fight the good fight. I hope you find your brothers. I knew from the start that we were made of the same cloth. They think men like us an anachronism. They call us barbaric. Yet, when they need us, then we are heros. It seems you and your brothers are needed soon."
"Go? Just like that? Well, one can't say you don't keep your promises," says Barett.
The warden has no response.
"What about Gordon, Marcus, and Tom?"
"They will be fine. Marcus will come around when the storm comes. Gordon, he is a skilled medic and has a good heart. Tom? Well, there must be those for more menial tasks. If he serves his masters well, then so be it."
"So, no chance of letting them go?" asked Barett. In retrospect, had he played along, he may have been able to spring his three crew members en route to the next fight. On the other hand, the warden would likely have pursued them.
"Unlikely at best," said the warden. "However, I did call off the search party looking for you and Donnie. Oregon is a long way off from here."
Barett scowls. Exactly how long did the warden know Barett's identity? Instead of asking, Barett let it go. Besides, men like the warden did not give up their secrets easily. Barett changed into the street clothes arranged for him. He headed out, the guards opening doors along the way. He exited the checkpoint at the main gate and walked off into the dusty Texas wind, the prison at his back, a reunion in his future. He would find Utah, Rick, Dave. He had paid in time and blood. He would pay even more, whatever the cost.
THE END
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