CHERUB: Maximum Security (17 page)

John took her to a shopping mall and even let her drive part of the way, so she could get used to handling the car in traffic. Unfortunately, the pair had radically different ideas on shopping.

Lauren would have happily cruised the mall all day: nosing around, maybe buying clothes and some things for her new room on campus, before stopping off at the food court for lunch. John’s idea of shopping was to write a list and take the place by storm: finding the quickest route between shops you had to visit on the map by the entrance and then charging from one to the next. When Lauren suggested that they
have a look around
before leaving, John scowled at her like she was a three-headed alien and steamed towards the car park.

The latex swimming sock was the one good thing to come out of the trip. Lauren could pull it over the small dressing on her foot and it would keep dry while she was in the pool. It was the hottest part of the day when they got back to the house and she put it to immediate use. She swam a few gentle lengths, but mostly just floated on a blow-up lounger and laughed at the rude bits in a teen magazine she’d got at the mall.

John had threatened lunch, but after an hour Lauren dripped into the kitchen, only to find him yelling at a telephone.

‘As far as I’m concerned … Well … I don’t know if he can do it … Sure James has his head screwed on. But we
are
talking about a thirteen-year-old boy … So what does Scott Warren say?…OK, OK…If he can get me in I’ll drive up there straight away.’

‘Was that Marvin?’ Lauren asked. ‘Are the boys OK?’

John had been so involved in the call he hadn’t noticed Lauren standing behind him.

‘James is fine,’ John said. ‘But there was a fight and Dave ended up in the hole. He’s had a bad night in there and … Listen, everything’s up in the air and I don’t know all the details myself. Can I leave you here on your own for a couple of hours? Don’t spend any more time in the pool, you’ve got fair skin and it’s not used to that kind of sun.’

‘What if anyone calls?’

‘I’m on my mobile,’ John said, snatching his keys and a false FBI badge off the kitchen cabinet. ‘Don’t wander off from the house. I’ll pick up something for dinner on the way back.’

*

James’ hot lunch was watery mash, peas and a rectangular slab of mincemeat that everyone, including the servers, referred to as baked turd. Dessert was a comparatively edible fruit sponge, washed down with the inevitable government-surplus milk.

‘Not bad, compared to the filth you get in Omaha,’ James said. ‘Practically gourmet.’

‘You want another dessert?’ Kirch asked.

‘Mmm, sure,’ James said. ‘Can I go up to the counter and get one?’

The five skinheads around the table laughed.

‘Just tax one,’ Curtis said.

James looked over his shoulder at the table behind him. He realised he’d look weak in front of his new friends if he didn’t rip off someone’s pudding, but fate had twisted the knife: out of the four kids at the next table, Abe was the only one who hadn’t started eating his sponge.

James stood up. ‘Abe man,’ he said awkwardly. ‘You eating that pudding? Only …’

‘I’m eating it,’ Abe said guardedly.

The skinheads roared with outrage.

‘You cannot say that, man,’ Elwood gasped, shaking his head and pounding on the table. ‘
Serious
disrespect.’

Abe realised the error of his ways and pushed the plastic bowl towards James. But it wasn’t fast enough for Kirch, who reached over and dragged Abe off his chair by the scruff of his shirt.

‘You got no manners, boy,’ Kirch shouted.

He banged his fist against Abe’s mouth, then dropped him to the floor, before spitting a mouthful of milk and chewed-up food in his hair. James looked anxiously at the hack standing behind the serving counter, but it was exactly like Scott Warren said: hacks didn’t interfere as long as nobody was getting killed.

‘You’d better start learning,’ Kirch growled.

Elwood and the others were laughing as Abe crawled back to his seat with milk streaking down his face. James joined the laughter as he took Abe’s pudding and sat back down, but he really felt terrible. Abe had saved his life by waking Dave up a few hours earlier. Now he had to sacrifice their friendship for the good of the mission.

It was the middle of the day when they trawled back out on to the exercise yard. With the temperature touching the forties, Kirch led the gang to the cell. With no air conditioning, it was no cooler indoors than out, but at least you were shielded from the blinding sunlight.

James’ status as an associate of Elwood and Kirch meant a bed nearer the door. Kirch took five seconds to bust open the combination locker on the bed opposite his own. He threw out Stanley Duff’s belongings, while James collected his things from his old bed in the middle.

Stanley had some decent stuff. James grabbed his deodorant and shampoo, as well as a bunch of snack foods and a radio. What James didn’t want got thrown out for the weaker guys to fight over. Abe grudgingly accepted first pick of an electric razor, some rice crackers and a half used toilet roll.

‘That was messed up in the canteen,’ James whispered guiltily.

Abe had a fat lip from the punch. ‘A guy like you and a guy like me were never gonna move with the same crew for long,’ he said casually.

James found Abe’s acceptance of his low status depressing. Abe was doing twenty years, and looked like spending most of it getting slapped around and bullied. James wanted to think up some desperately clever scheme that would make everything fair, but he knew the world didn’t work that way; least of all inside a place like Arizona Max.

James’ new bunk was comfortable. The bed had three thin mattresses laid on top of one another. Extras were only supposed to be issued to inmates with bad backs, but inevitably it was the bullies who gained the extra comfort.

Elwood’s connection in the prison laundry had already delivered James a spare set of sheets and an extra pillow, plus a towel and some underwear. It looked years newer than the rags he’d received in reception and his black Nikes were supposed to be on their way.

James laid back on his bed reading a book about the Mafia that had belonged to Raymond Duff. It wasn’t as exciting as the cover suggested, but it was all James had to take his mind off the heat, until a hack leaned over the gantry above his head and shouted his name.

‘Rose, you got an EA.’

‘A what?’

‘Educational Assessment,’ Curtis explained, shouting over the bed between them. ‘They must have sharpened their act up, it usually takes weeks to sort out the new inmates. I’ll show you the way if you like. I can ask if my books have arrived.’

The education area was built above the cells, but to get there you had to go outside on to the yard and walk around the edge of the building, along a path enclosed in a wire cage. It was James’ first chance to get to know Curtis, who kept to himself in the presence of the more powerful skinheads.

‘What courses do you do?’ James asked, as they walked side by side.

‘Everyone’s supposed to get three hours’ education a day,’ Curtis explained. ‘But there’s not enough teachers for normal classes, so they just give you textbooks to read. I only go because you’re allowed to buy extra books. It’s supposed to be related to what you’re learning, but the censor only stops a book if it tells you how to make explosives, or if it’s porno or something.’

‘Do they force us to go to class?’

Curtis laughed. ‘It’s compulsory; but imagine you’re a teacher and you’ve got twenty guys like Elwood in your class. How hard would you try to make them turn up?’

‘See your point,’ James grinned.

‘I’d like to do an art course,’ Curtis said. ‘All I ever did when I was a kid was paint or draw, but all they’ll let you have here are the stubby pencils like you get with your commissary forms. I did get a box of colouring pencils smuggled in, but the hacks wouldn’t stand for any big stuff.’

James tried to gently move the conversation towards the idea of escaping as they rounded a corner.

‘So, you ever getting out?’ James asked.

‘Doesn’t look like it,’ Curtis said. ‘You?’

‘Eighteen years,’ James said.

‘Not bad,’ Curtis said. ‘You’ll be in your thirties. You’ve got a shot at living some kind of life.’

‘I’m getting out
way
before eighteen years,’ James grinned.

‘Nobody escapes from here, James. This place is new-built; state of the art.’

‘Me and Dave worked out a plan when we were in Nebraska. If they’d ever let us out of solitary, we’d have pulled it too. But here’s the
weirdest
coincidence: Omaha State and this joint are exactly alike. They must have been built by the same people.’

James knew that Omaha State and Arizona Max were twins: designed by the same architect, built by the same construction company and opened within six months of each other. It was an essential detail in the background story that explained how James and Dave could know how to escape from Arizona Max within days of arriving.

‘The
exact
same?’ Curtis said.

‘More or less. Same security systems, same kind of cellblocks, even the same fixtures and fittings. When me and Dave were in solitary, we had this hack on our landing who used to talk to us all the time. He’d come over to my cell door for a chat. I think he felt sorry for me because I was young, but he was one of those guys who loved his own voice. He moaned non-stop. I mean, I’m the one locked in solitary twenty-three hours a day, but he’d be whinging about
his
life. His wife, his kids, his house and about the superintendent busting his balls and keeping him on night shift.

‘Whenever he moaned about work, I started asking subtle questions. Like, how many staff there were on duty at night and what kind of security passes they used. Dave’s cell wasn’t far away and he started doing the same. By the time we’d been in solitary for a few weeks, this big-mouth had told us
way
more than he should have.’

‘You really believe you could escape?’

‘I reckon I’d make it out the gate. The tricky part is what to do after that. You need money, and connections to pay for a false identity and set up a new life. There’s no point going on the run for a few weeks, getting caught and ending up buried in solitary with ten years added to your sentence. You’ve got to find a way of avoiding the cops for the whole rest of your life.’

‘How would you break out?’ Curtis asked. ‘You’ve got to get out of a locked cell for starters.’

‘No offence,’ James said, ‘but the only people who’ll ever know that are the ones going out with me.’

Curtis seemed to understand the need for secrecy and they were nearly at the metal door of the education unit anyway. A hack padded the boys down, before they passed through another metal detector. It was two flights of stairs up, then past three small classrooms to a door with
Education Officer
written on it.

‘You mind if I go in quickly first?’ Curtis asked. ‘I want to ask Mr Haines if my books have arrived.’

Curtis knocked on the door and got hailed in by a voice James recognised as Scott Warren.

‘Isn’t Haines here?’ Curtis asked, looking surprised as he pushed the door open.

Scott, who was sitting at a desk, shook his head. ‘I’m covering for him today.’

James spotted John Jones standing behind the desk.

Curtis pointed at James. ‘I came to show him the way and see if my books were in.’

‘Yeah … Umm, sorry,’ Scott stuttered. ‘What’s your name, son?’

‘Curtis Oxford.’

‘Curtis … It’s probably best if you wait until the education officer is back … Tomorrow. I’m not familiar with the procedure for handing out books.’

Curtis backed out of the office, looking at James. ‘Do you know the way back on your own?’

James nodded. ‘I’ll see you out there.’

He stepped into the office and shut the door behind Curtis. John and Scott were both in a state of shock. They stared at a black and white CCTV monitor, until it showed Curtis reaching the end of the corridor and starting down the stairs.

‘Sheesh!’ Scott said, putting both hands over his heart. ‘That gave me a fright … I never expected our target to come wandering into the room with you.’

‘You might have guessed what was going on,’ John said tersely.

‘You only said we might have to meet in the
visitors’
room,’

James snapped back.

‘Well, whatever …’ John huffed.

James felt his temper rise up as he ran his hand through his sweaty hair. ‘You know what?’ he said angrily. ‘I’m boiling hot, I’ve not slept or had a decent shower, I’ve eaten nothing but crap food, I’ve seen people get beaten up, pepper-sprayed and have their skin burned off … I’ve even had some psycho come at me with a knife and try to kill me. If you don’t like the job I’m doing here, you can take this mission and shove it
right
up your arse.’

John looked startled by the outburst.

‘We appreciate that you’re working under a lot of stress,’ Scott said gently, trying to calm James down.