[i [font courier [center [b “Jack Everett, twenty-eight, 210 pounds, six foot two; two counts of burglary, one count assault. Prisoner 2521 – transferring to Heimlich County Facility.”]]]]
[font times At least, that’s where I was supposed to be heading, though as always I managed to find my way out of trouble. While I sat in the back of the van, making its way from the local jail to the upstate prison, I spent time shaving the ends of a cheap pair of scissors into a tool to which I could manage to undo the bolts of the handcuffs that shackled me. Greasy strands of dirty blonde hair fell in front of my face, making it even more difficult for me to keep focus on what I was doing without sending the pointed edge straight into my palm. I could feel the sweat starting drip along the side of my face, only temporarily stopped by my mustache before salty drops landed on my lips. It had been four hours and I knew that by the end of this seven hour ride, I would be in more trouble if I couldn’t get these bastards off me in time.
I had always been in and out of the system, a bit of a man with a terrible habit of getting into trouble. My mother used to think that I had something to do with the crowd I surrounded myself with, the lowest of the lows who crowded in grimy alleyways gambling, split between buildings where bodies were crammed wall to wall, liquor flowed freely in a glass from one hand to another, and you couldn’t tell if someone has having sex or fist fighting, in some cases one followed the other. The women were loose, the men were crass and through it all, I found nothing but excitement in fast cash. That said, I had found myself in a bit of trouble I couldn’t necessarily get out of, but I had heard the stories of Masset and I had no intentions of spending the next twenty years in a three by three cell.
I paused when I felt the van coming to a slow, scooting closer to the back compartment separating me from the officers. At one point in time there used to be a window, always open in case you happened to have a question worth asking. After three officers were strangled, they soon learned their lesson. With reinforced steel, it was difficult to catch what the mumblings were about. Though, when the car came to a full sight and the engine finally stopped, I was able to catch a few words: food, not too long, best catfish. My stomach clenched at the thought, I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and I didn’t necessarily consider what was on my tray as edible.
With fervor my hands began to scratch the edge against the metal bench I sat on even more, finally out of anxiety I figured it was good enough.. As long as I could get my feet unhooked, I would be fine.
“Come on you sonofabitch,” I grumbled, my fingers trembling as I lifted and turned the amateur screwdriver in the small screw that connected the chain to the ground. A loud sigh of satisfaction came out as I watched the small screw drop to the floor. After some time I managed to get the other one undone, eagerly kicking my legs to shake the now loosened cuffs off. I couldn’t help but grin, but I knew that was as far as I could get. With how tight my arms were cuffed, I’d need help or something much stronger to cut straight through the chains.
Free, I came to a hunched standing position, the top of my head shy away from touching the roof of the van. I fiddled with the lock of the back door, disappointed to find that it locked from the outside. Gripping the tool in my hand I wedged it in far enough, just to weaken the latch and create enough of an edge between it and the door itself. I laid back then, my foot slamming against the door violently. I could only hope there wasn’t anyone else outside to witness what I suspected was a rattling black police van.
I could feel it giving out: one, two, THREE.
I squinted against the bright light of the early morning, quickly hopping out of the van and looking around. There was only two other vehicles currently in the parking lot but it seemed, we were just a little short of the town. I didn’t know where I was going, but id dint want to waste time figuring it out. Crossing the street, I made my way up clumsily over the dirt hill, speedily running through the tall trees, my hands still bound and in front of me. I could feel the joy as freedom reached its arms out, almost inviting me in, but I wasn’t in the clear yet.
Eventually exhaustion overtook me after what felt like hours, I trudged still, hoping maybe I would across a campsite of some sorts. That’s when I heard barking and quickly followed the sound. My grey eyes darted around, at first seeing nothing, but as I inched closer I saw before me slight iridescent flickering. I stayed only momentarily entranced though, quickly turning to look over my shoulder at the voice that called out: low, but not deep enough to be a man and still I knew to be cautious. Dare I stay quiet or should I speak? It was a risk, and yet in a slightly raspy tone I responded.
“I don’t mean any harm.” I couldn’t help but find humor in the situation. While I had managed to keep my original clothing during transfer: a thick forest green parka, over a grey long sleeve paired with dark black pants and brown boots that had seen better days; I knew that my commanding height and the fact I was in chains certainly suggested I was in no means not a threat.
At least, that’s where I was supposed to be heading, though as always I managed to find my way out of trouble. While I sat in the back of the van, making its way from the local jail to the upstate prison, I spent time shaving the ends of a cheap pair of scissors into a tool to which I could manage to undo the bolts of the handcuffs that shackled me. Greasy strands of dirty blonde hair fell in front of my face, making it even more difficult for me to keep focus on what I was doing without sending the pointed edge straight into my palm. I could feel the sweat starting drip along the side of my face, only temporarily stopped by my mustache before salty drops landed on my lips. It had been four hours and I knew that by the end of this seven hour ride, I would be in more trouble if I couldn’t get these bastards off me in time.
I had always been in and out of the system, a bit of a man with a terrible habit of getting into trouble. My mother used to think that I had something to do with the crowd I surrounded myself with, the lowest of the lows who crowded in grimy alleyways gambling, split between buildings where bodies were crammed wall to wall, liquor flowed freely in a glass from one hand to another, and you couldn’t tell if someone has having sex or fist fighting, in some cases one followed the other. The women were loose, the men were crass and through it all, I found nothing but excitement in fast cash. That said, I had found myself in a bit of trouble I couldn’t necessarily get out of, but I had heard the stories of Masset and I had no intentions of spending the next twenty years in a three by three cell.
I paused when I felt the van coming to a slow, scooting closer to the back compartment separating me from the officers. At one point in time there used to be a window, always open in case you happened to have a question worth asking. After three officers were strangled, they soon learned their lesson. With reinforced steel, it was difficult to catch what the mumblings were about. Though, when the car came to a full sight and the engine finally stopped, I was able to catch a few words: food, not too long, best catfish. My stomach clenched at the thought, I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and I didn’t necessarily consider what was on my tray as edible.
With fervor my hands began to scratch the edge against the metal bench I sat on even more, finally out of anxiety I figured it was good enough.. As long as I could get my feet unhooked, I would be fine.
“Come on you sonofabitch,” I grumbled, my fingers trembling as I lifted and turned the amateur screwdriver in the small screw that connected the chain to the ground. A loud sigh of satisfaction came out as I watched the small screw drop to the floor. After some time I managed to get the other one undone, eagerly kicking my legs to shake the now loosened cuffs off. I couldn’t help but grin, but I knew that was as far as I could get. With how tight my arms were cuffed, I’d need help or something much stronger to cut straight through the chains.
Free, I came to a hunched standing position, the top of my head shy away from touching the roof of the van. I fiddled with the lock of the back door, disappointed to find that it locked from the outside. Gripping the tool in my hand I wedged it in far enough, just to weaken the latch and create enough of an edge between it and the door itself. I laid back then, my foot slamming against the door violently. I could only hope there wasn’t anyone else outside to witness what I suspected was a rattling black police van.
I could feel it giving out: one, two, THREE.
I squinted against the bright light of the early morning, quickly hopping out of the van and looking around. There was only two other vehicles currently in the parking lot but it seemed, we were just a little short of the town. I didn’t know where I was going, but id dint want to waste time figuring it out. Crossing the street, I made my way up clumsily over the dirt hill, speedily running through the tall trees, my hands still bound and in front of me. I could feel the joy as freedom reached its arms out, almost inviting me in, but I wasn’t in the clear yet.
Eventually exhaustion overtook me after what felt like hours, I trudged still, hoping maybe I would across a campsite of some sorts. That’s when I heard barking and quickly followed the sound. My grey eyes darted around, at first seeing nothing, but as I inched closer I saw before me slight iridescent flickering. I stayed only momentarily entranced though, quickly turning to look over my shoulder at the voice that called out: low, but not deep enough to be a man and still I knew to be cautious. Dare I stay quiet or should I speak? It was a risk, and yet in a slightly raspy tone I responded.
“I don’t mean any harm.” I couldn’t help but find humor in the situation. While I had managed to keep my original clothing during transfer: a thick forest green parka, over a grey long sleeve paired with dark black pants and brown boots that had seen better days; I knew that my commanding height and the fact I was in chains certainly suggested I was in no means not a threat.