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JAILBIRD Part 1
Jailbird by Reid Laurence
"I don't know 'bout you...," said Wild Bill - a nickname the other convicts had thought of which stuck and seemed to suit Bill Tyson's rowdy nature. "But I'm sick an tired a lookin' at these four walls."
"Don't start complainin' again," answered Bill's cell mate - called Penguin for the way he preached his thoughts to his fellow prisoners. "Ya know it never gets ya anywhere. Besides, the Man's on his way - I can hear 'im comin'."
"Big deal," replied Wild Bill, just as disgruntled as ever. "Elvis Presley his self could walk through that door for all I care. Ain't ya sick an tired a the same old routine, day in an day out? Don't it make ya wanna get up an get the hell outta here? I never could understand why you're so content ta just sit there on your ass an eat that crap they dish out? There's a whole world out there just waitin' for us, an you couldn't give a damn, could ya?"
"Hey," said Penguin, in the same cool, calm tone he used whenever his good common sense predicted outburst or disorder in the crowd around him. "You find a good way outta here, an I'm with ya all the way. Until then, ya know what?"
"What?"
"I don't wanna hear no more," replied Penguin. "Besides, you remember what happened ta the last poor bastard who wanted out? Even the cons wanted a piece of 'im for makin' all that trouble for the rest of us."
"Yeah, I remember the guy. He made a lotta waves didn't he. What the hell was his name anyway, I forget?"
"Just plain Bird I think. That's con talk for prison time. Never knew his real name. But anyway, you keep makin' waves like Bird, an they'll do the same thing ta you as they done ta him.""What'id they do to 'im?" asked Bill, whose curiosity had by now, gotten the better of him.
"They fried 'im early. Whaddaya think they done? They sure didn't pat 'im on the back."
"What difference does it make," replied Wild Bill. "We're all on death row here anyway. If ya ask me, he didn't lose much."
"Well, if yer askin' me," answered Bill's cell mate. "He took a gamble an lost. If ya want my advice Bill, don't play against odds like that..., you'll lose every time."
Just as Penguin's words began to sink through Bill's callous exterior - making him realize what might happen if he caused dissension within the prison walls - the guards showed up with lunchtime meal trays and began handing them out, one by one to the great population of hungry, waiting prisoners. But when the guard slid Bill's tray into his cell, Bill's reaction was only to ignore it. Even as the other prisoners around him contentedly ate, he very willfully turned away from the food, as he'd done many times before. In fact, by now, Bill's stomach had gotten used to being empty and the urge to eat that normally accompanies the very thought of food, had all but completely disappeared in Bill, leaving in its place only the stubborn, determined attitude that was so characteristic of Wild Bill - a prisoner of great moral conviction.
"Ain'tcha gonna eat taday Bill?" asked Penguin. "It's been days. You must be starved ta death."
"Mind yer own business," replied the thin but wiry Bill. "I'll eat when I'm good an ready."
"Oh yeah?" came Penguin's reply. "Well I'm good an ready," he said, frantically digging in to the food on his tray, as if someone were going to take it away. "You just starve yerself then," continued Penguin. "See what I care. In the meantime, I'm gettin' bigger an bigger an yer just as small as ever. Besides, there's nuth'in wrong with this chow," said Penguin, sucking up the last tiny morsels of food from his dish with his mouth. "You're just too damn fussy, that's all. Ya know, this ain't no restaurant here. Whaddaya expect anyway?"
"A life, that's what I expect. That's all anyone expects ain't it? They took it away from me, an I'm gonna get it back, you'll see."
"Fine," answered Penguin, as he finished the food from his own tray and at the same time, kept a carefully trained eye on Bill's untouched meal. "But don't say I didn't warn ya when ya wind-up like Bird. By the way," he continued. "You ain't gonna eat your lunch, are ya?"
"Nope, I ain't gonna eat my damn lunch. Here," said Bill, about to become facetious, pushing his lunch tray within Penguin's reach. "Here ya go, It looks better on you. As far as your advice goes, for all the good it'll do, I'll try an remember."
The next morning the prisoners awoke to a dreary, cold, rainy day but to many, the weather on the outside world meant very little. It was only something to observe every now and then through the tiny opening in each cell Bill called, 'a sorry-ass excuse for a window'. What then could be the cause for the disquiet mood in Bill's cell block? If not the weather, what then? No one knew exactly, but a sixth sense told the prisoners something was up. Something was about to happen that would alter their daily routine of waking, eating, exercising and sleeping but what it was exactly, no one could say. That is, until one of the big cell block doors opened and four big guards came rushing in... "What the hell is this!?" asked Penguin. "A raid? I ain't hid'in nuth'in, they got nuthin' on me."
"No stupid, it ain't no raid. Look," answered Bill, as he watched one of the prison trucks backing up into position to a side door. "There transferin us some-wheres."
"Like where? Another prison?"
"How should I know? We'll hav'ta wait an find out."
"Well," replied Penguin, doing his best to recover some of his composure. "It couldn't be any worse then this place here."
"I don't know about that," said Wild Bill, with even more pessimism in his voice than usual. "I got a bad feelin' about this. A very bad feelin'."
Two by two, the prisoners were ushered into the back of the truck, but it wasn't long before the small, old prison vehicle filled to capacity, leaving Bill and his cell mate standing outside in the cold rain as it drove off into the fog. Wondering to themselves - as two remaining guards stood vigil over them - the pair stood side by side and waited as the chilled, falling rainwater cascaded down over their faces. Then, overhearing two of the guards talking to each other, the pair soon realized what the very near future held in store for them. "Whaddaya wanna do with 'em now Hank? You gonna leave these two standin' in the rain like this?"
"Ya want I should give 'em umbrellas?" replied the other guard, mockingly. "Besides, where they're goin', they might as well catch pneumonia now an get it over with." Laughing at his own cruel jest, the guard slapped his friend on the back for emphasis and reached into an inside pocket of his coat for the pack of cigarettes he normally kept handy. "Damn," he muttered. "I'm outta smokes. Can you watch these mugs for two minutes while I run in an buy a pack outta the machine? I'll be right back."
"Sure Hank," answered the new and far less confident guard. "I'll do it, but don't take too long, okay. Gives me the creeps standin' out here watchin' the poor birds get rained on, know what I mean?"
"One thing ya gotta learn out here Tommy, before one more day goes by," replied the other, more experienced man as he turned to walk inside. "Ya gotta learn ta detach yerself from any kinda feelin's for these poor turkeys. You and I both know where they're goin', an there ain't nuthin' either of us can do about it, even if we wanted to. Ya read me?"
"Yeah sure Hank, I read you."
"Good, I'll be right back. Keep an eye on 'em."
Even before the prison guard could make it to the door, Bill could feel the fear and dread welling up inside him, and turning to face his friend, he could tell Penguin felt the same way. "Our number's up buddy boy," said Bill, as the guard left in charge momentarily turned to look out in a different direction. "Looks like judgment day arrived a little sooner then expected."
"Whaddaya mean judgment day?"
"I mean they're gonna snuff us out, as in k-i-l-l," replied Bill, spelling out the letters of the word to emphasize its meaning. "You heard 'em as well as I did, didn'tcha?"
"I heard 'em, but I just can't believe it."
"What's not ta believe?" answered Bill. "Ya knew we was on death row all along didn'tcha?"
"I wanna talk ta the Governer," said Penguin.
"You argue with 'em if ya want," muttered Wild Bill under his breath. "But me, I got a plan."
"What plan?" replied Penguin, who's body was beginning to shake at the thought of his own execution.
"I say, the next time the guard turns around, we rush 'im, try an toss 'im down. That outta buy us enough time ta run away inta the fog. Whaddaya say? It's now or never, while the other guard ain't here. Are ya with me?"
"Yeah," said Penguin, nervously. "I'm with ya."
"Okay then," said Wild Bill. "You hit 'im high, I'll hit 'im low, on the count a three. Ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
"Alright, here we go," said Wild Bill. "On my count. One..., two..., three!"
Living up to his name, Bill's wild, straight forward plan of action seemed to be working, as the two renegade prisoners ran into the guard, knocking him off balance and sending him to the ground. Hitting the back of his head on the hard, wet pavement as he fell, the guard temporarily lost consciousness and in the moments that followed, completely lost track of Bill and his scared, but determined friend, Penguin. Running hard now, from fear and the adrenalin that coursed through their veins, the pair had put at least a mile between them and the prison they fled. The thick, grey fog they ran into also helped to conceal them, as they ran and made their way through quiet cattle pastures, and areas of dense vegetation and forest. But the frantic pace of their escape was catching up with Penguin, who was beginning to tire from all the weight he'd gained and the many extra servings he'd eaten off Bill's meal trays.
"When can we stop?" asked Penguin, huffing and puffing, too heavy and out of shape to keep pace with his much thinner companion.
"When I say so," replied Bill. "Unless a course, you're anxious ta get dragged back ta the 'Big House'..., or worse."
"I'm just too tired ta go on Bill, I gotta stop or I'll toss up lunch."
"We can't stop yet. Lets run at least till we get ta them trees," answered Bill, referring to a thin strip of forest ahead, with a clearing beyond. Running between the trees on wobbly legs with his head pointed down to the ground, Penguin missed seeing a large oak in his path and ran right into it, crying out in pain as he sailed backward, landing on the ground with a thud.
"Shit," said Bill, "That had ta hurt." Resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath from their long run, Bill peered out into the clearing. Reaching out to Penguin, he offered him a helping hand to get him up off the wet ground. "C'mere an look at this," he continued. "Looks like another jail don't it? Damn, is the world just one big prison or what?"
"That's one way a lookin' at it," said Penguin, rubbing his head as he got to his feet. "If you're one a those pessimistic types. But if yer askin' me, it's just one a those things - a coincidence or somethin'."
"Look at the size of it will ya," exclaimed Bill. "Must be a few thousand jailbirds down there. I never seen a prison that big in my life."
"So whaddaya wanna do now Bill. If we hang around here too long, we could end up back in the pen. Besides," continued Penguin. "I'm gettin' hungry. We ain't eaten in hours. Boy, I sure miss all that good grub we left behind."
"Sure," answered Bill. "Why don'tcha just go back for dinner like we never left. We'll just pick up where we left off, no problem. I'm all for it. I might even get a ringside seat when they fry ya..., dope! Don'tcha know if ya go back there, you'll end up like Bird!"
"Yeah," admitted Penguin. "I guess it was a bad idea. But whadda we do for food? You don't care cause you never get hungry."
"Well, I'm gettin' there. All that runnin' took a lot outta me. Why don't we head for one a those fast food joints an raid the dumpster."
"Yuck," replied Penguin. "That disgusting."
"Got a better idea?"
"Whatchya got there?" asked Penguin, forever interested in what others were eating, even though he was very much absorbed in the day old cheeseburger he found.
Continued
JAILBIRD Part 2
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