Rattling Snakes Cage 2 Ch. 03byshandal©
Patrick and Rachel love each other and want to be together, but are things conspiring to keep them apart, or will the lovers be able to be together. Jerry and the men plot an escape plan to get Patrick out of jail.
This is a character driven romantic crime thriller telling the story of Patrick and Rachel, Jerry and Megan, and their enemy Snake.
A couple of nights later Nash sat in the cell that prisoners were sent to as part of his ten day solitary confinement as punishment for attacking Patrick in the machine shop. He paced back and forth in the small space fuming. The past forty-eight hours by himself had wound him up further and all he could hear in his head was that all his troubles were Patrick Curtis's fault, that the man had been laughing at him when he had come back into the machine shop that day and that he, Nash, was going to get his revenge against Curtis one way or another.
Listening to the loop of unreasonable thoughts playing in his head he sat there alone, no distractions to stop the insane internal chatter and plans from forming inside his skull.
He was now a man with a mission.
Patrick had spent the last couple of days excited at the prospects of the visit. Torn in two at both the prospect of Rachel seeing him in such circumstances, dressed in prison clothes, under supervision, in his own eyes half a man, and yet to be able to see her and be able to talk to her kept him to himself, quiet and introspective, slightly apart from the swirling mass of men. He watched from his position leaning against the wall as Roger Hartwell walked around the exercise yard, strutting and intimidating some of the new arrivals, amongst them one young man of about nineteen, slim, scared and tearful, and Patrick guessed this was the kids first time in the nick.
Hartwell was a bully, enjoying himself as he menaced others, barely held in check by the warning given out by the three brothers on Patrick's orders and the often shaking of his head at the big man when he could see he was up to something. Patrick knew it wouldn't be long before the big beefy man blew, the pressure on men inside waiting for release so intense, and that he couldn't stop it from happening for much longer.
Sitting down and leaning against the exercise area wall he looked up at the small expanse of blue sky above him. Fluffy white clouds hung in a clear bright sky and a bird flew overhead, making him feel depressed at the thought that for the next twenty years this was all he would ever see of the outside world. In the distance he could hear the noise of traffic as it made its way up Trinity Road to Wandsworth Bridge or down towards Tooting, a road he had often driven up when going out in the West End of London, and now so close, and yet so far, whilst other people outside went on with their busy lives, a painful reminder of his own circumstances.
He would be fifty five by the time he got out. Too old to start again, the best part of his life stolen away by the law, and that thought brought him down.
Seeing Rachel would be such a double edged sword, the need to see her burning inside him, the thought that he was not the man he wanted her to see, hurting and twisting his gut.
Rachel had gotten up that Sunday morning nervous but excited at the prospect of seeing Patrick. Later that day looking at herself in the mirror she stood wearing only a lacy white set of bra and pants, her hair now slightly longer hung down past her shoulders, curling slightly, shining and freshly washed. Turning sideways, she inspected her body, the gentle swell of her belly, the pert bottom half hidden by the white briefs, the slim long legs.
Walking over to her wardrobe she moved clothes back and forth looking for something that would show off her body without looking too tarty or obvious. Pulling out a capped sleeved black figure hugging tee shirt with a V neck and short black skirt she then sat down at her dressing table and looking in the mirror proceeded to carefully apply her make up and brush her hair.
After dressing she slipped on a pair of strappy high heeled shoes and put in her pierced ears a large pair of silver hooped earrings and on her wrist a matching silver bangle completing the outfit.
Grabbing her keys and her bag she left the small house in Biggin Hill and started the drive up to London and Wandsworth not wanting to be late and not sure of the parking around the prison.
He looked at himself in the small hand mirror and then at the plastic razor that another prisoner had lent him. It was an illegal mirror and razor and it had cost him a packet of tobacco to borrow them, the usual currency inside. He had shaved yesterday and a slight dark shadow of stubble made him look a little roguish, unfortunately here inside he was only able to shave every other day when he was handed the plastic bic razor during showering, before it was taken back by the screws, so he proceeded to make his face clean of the days growth with the illegal blade. His hair, cut by the prison barber was now slightly longer than before, the brown hair thick and slicked back, his pallor pale due to the only sunlight over the last eight months to touch his skin from the hour's recreation in the yard each day.
Washing his face in the small sink in the cell and running the comb through his hair he studied himself in the reflective surface in the glass in his hand. 'At least' he thought to himself, 'this time he wouldn't have the split lip and bruised face when she saw him during visit', like she had during that wonderful five days they spent together hiding out.'
Changing his top from the light blue shirt to the grey sweatshirt he pushed up the sleeves and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He felt like an innocent teenager again going on his first date, and laughed out loud to himself. He was never that innocent and this was hardly a date.
Putting the contraband mirror inside the pages of a magazine that had been lent to him from one of the three brothers. he placed the glossy men's publication under his pillow and sat waiting on the lower bunk for the screw to come and collect him.
Snake sat at the bar of the club nursing a Scotch, feeling maudlin.
His drug empire was running smoothly, money coming in, dealers working for him too scared to skim money or do a dirty for fear of what would happen to them. His reputation as a ruthless man was well known, and he was aware of the gossip about the missing Johnny 'the slice' and others in conjunction with himself, but wasn't scared of the talk, as he believed he was untouchable by the cops. His slice of payment and protection money by people that pulled jobs in his area was pulling in more money than he could spend, and he knew he could have any woman he fancied, whether she wanted him or not due to his standing in the area.
People were scared of him, he saw it in their eyes.
But he was restless with something missing. And in his blacker moments he could admit to himself it was that he missed the company of Patrick.
For ten years they had been friends. People gravitated towards Patrick, his happy go lucky and friendly nature, and he had enjoyed being part of Patrick's social swirl, even though they had been scared and wary of him whilst partying with the two men, but now even that was gone as people held themselves apart, no Patrick to make him and others laugh, to pull him out of his mercurial moods, to come up with perfect plans and ideas.
And most of all there was that burning anger that his friend had wanted to get away from him and had stolen from him to do it.
All his life he had felt an outsider. Until he had met Patrick ten years ago when they were both inside and shared a cell. After they had gotten out they had planned and worked together, Patrick the brains, Snake the chilling and disturbing top man, as they had built his firm and territory in the South East of London, and for the first time he had felt a part of something, and he loved the feeling. But now he felt cut adrift, the boss isolated amongst his own employees.
And he wanted revenge so much he could taste it.
The chance to hit back at Patrick was burning him up, but how to do it?
He could have him cut up whilst in prison. He could have him beaten up on a regular basis. He could have a contract put out on him and have him killed. But he wanted to really put the pressure on Patrick and make him suffer mentally and the beginning of a plan was forming in the twisted mind of the man who sat by himself drinking. His two enforcer henchmen sitting across the room left him to wallow in his introspective thoughts knowing it was best to leave him to his own company when he was like this.
Sitting in the waiting room along with the other inmate's visitors, Rachel looked around at the other people in the room. Children sat with weary faced woman, elderly woman, probably prisoners mothers, sat with creviced faced men that had seen too much of life, younger men sat hunched over reading newspapers, young women dressed up, much like her, watched expectantly as prison officers took groups of people through the door ahead.
The ambiance in the waiting room was not exactly bright and cheerful, but nor was it dark and intimidating like she imagined it would be. Suddenly her name was called and with a beating heart Rachel rose from the plastic padded bench and with the other people in her group walked through the door and into the next room where she and her bag was thoroughly searched after she had first walked through a metal detector. The woman officer explained to her that her bag must be placed along with any other of her effects into a locker, as nothing could be taken into the visiting room.
It was also explained that there was a small café in the visitor room and any food or drink could be signed for and paid for on exit as no money was allowed in the visiting room.
After a second body search once everything was in the locker she followed the others into a brightly lit room, small Formica tables with chairs, much like a cheap café filled the large room, and visitors sat expectantly at the tables waiting for the men who would soon arrive. Sitting at a table near a wall, Rachel sat and waited, straightening her top, subconsciously smoothing her hair into place, biting her lip.
The door at the end of the room opened and a stream of men entered, one after the other, all wearing red security body bibs, eyes darting around the room looking for their visitors, wide smiles on their faces. The soft murmur that had been in the room became a loud noise of people as they hugged, greetings made, and the sound of chairs scrapping.
And then she saw him, a red cloth body bib over his light grey sweatshirt like all the other prisoners, his eyes searching the room until they lit upon her, his face just like she remembered, the smile warming her as he moved towards her.
Unaware that she had risen as he approached, she stared at him as he stood unsure before her, and then without realising what she was doing she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, crying into his chest and murmuring "I'm sorry.....I'm so, so sorry."
Feeling his arms around her she heard his deep voice rumble in her ear, "Shhh...its okay.....shhhhh."
A prison officer came over and told them to let go and sit down opposite each other.
Taking their places, hands holding hands across the scratched Formica table they stared at each other. Patrick reached up and with the pad of his thumb wiped away the tears on her cheeks. "You look so beautiful.....I've dream of you every night.....and you look more beautiful here in real life than my mind could ever conjure up."
"How are you?
"I'm alright.....how are you?"
Shyly she smiled, "Ok...I like your hair longer....."
And for the next hour they talked, Patrick's thumb stroking the sensitive skin of the inside of her wrist, their eyes drinking in each other, his eyes sometimes moving down to look at the gentle cleavage showing in the V of her top. Towards the end of the hour she asked him if he wanted anything from the small serving hatch, maybe a drink or something. He asked for some chocolate and she went over and bought a couple of bars.
Popping a piece into his mouth he sighed and told her that this was the first bit of chocolate he had tasted in over eight months, grinning as he said it. "The small amount of money I earn in here goes on necessities."
"Are you allowed to receive stuff if I sent it in for you.....I could send in chocolate for you if you want...or anything else you want."
"Not without clearance....you can send in money or some stuff but it has to be cleared, and then checked......things can be sent in."
"But I can buy you a bar each time I visit?"
"Are you going to visit me again....?"
"Do you want me to?"
"Does man have to breathe?...of course I do!....."
"Then I'll come next week."
"Sorry has to be the following week, I'm only allowed two visits from you a month.....but I'll count the days until you come."
"Can I write to you?"
Kissing the inside of her palm, his teeth biting gently on the soft pad at the base of her thumb he told her. "Put some of your perfume on them so I can put them under my pillow at night and pretend you're there."
Tony had met up with the Bulgarian that sold guns in the Rising Star pub, doing a deal to buy a small automatic hand gun and ammunition, The black curly haired man of about forty with the strong Eastern European accent told him to be at the car park behind the pub tomorrow night with the money to do the exchange.
Nodding, Tony got up and with the sour taste of fear in his mouth walked over to the bar and ordered a pint. Hands shaking he paid for it and surveyed the rest of the patrons in the room, noticing a slightly drunk John, a scowl of his face leaning against the other end of the bar. He knew John vaguely from the area and from local clubs at night, and he nodded towards him. The angry and drunk John walked over to Tony and together they started to drink, both men unaware at first that each were worried about the same person.
The redheaded girl held down in the basement of Snakes lab for sex, John's cousin and Tony's obsession.
But fairly soon the drink and the worry that both young men held inside them loosened their mouths and John found out where Maria was being held and Tony heard all about the missing Johnny 'the slice' who was Johns dad, and his need for revenge against Snake.
Together they started to make plans.
Reporting back to Snake the men that were following Rachel told him where she had been visiting that Sunday afternoon.
Raising his fist in a punch in the air an exulted Snake shouted, "Yesssss got him." Smiling a cruel smile Snake told the men, "Tomorrow night we pick her up on her way home from work, and bring her back to my place, and I don't want her hurt so we'll do it like this........"
Later, after the men left him he sat back, hands behind his head, long legs stretched out in front of him, a wide smile on his face. Patrick himself had handed him a great way for getting his revenge, and he was going to play it for all it was worth at turning the screw and settling the score.
Staggering out of the pub Tony and John made their way up the road, unrealistic plans rolling around their head, fuelled by the drink and the burning rage at the wrongs done by Snake.
"He's a complete dickfuck....."
"A fucking cunt......."
"We're going to fucking do it to him for what he's fucking done......."
"No fucking question about it.......he's dead meat....."
"We're going to hammer the bastard into the fucking ground...."
"Stomp his bleeding goolies into the fucking mud....he thinks he's a fucking hard arse....but he don't know who he's dealing with.....I'm as hard as fuck and I'm going to rip he's fucking arm off and stuff the soggy end down his fucking throat....."
Tottering up the road the lads bragged to each other on how they were going to get the better of Snake and teach him the lesson needed. Stopping at a shop doorway John unzipped his fly and getting out his prick peed a stream of golden urine, emptying his full bladder. "I'm going to piss on his fucking broken body after I've finished with him."
And the two men drunkenly giggled, picturing the vision of the dangerous powerful man broken and beaten at their feet, a stream of piss mingling with his blood.
Davy and Danny strolled along the promenade in front of the beach in Marbella, a large cigar in Davy's mouth.
"Nat's got the stuff in place inside.....mobile phone for Patrick topped up with enough credit, it will be given to him tomorrow so we can talk to him.......the cable cutters have also been smuggled in.....told me they're hidden and ready....the men know what to do and the money will be placed in the bank accounts for them as soon as the escape pulls off."
"When does Jerry leave for London?"
"Tomorrow......he's going to grab the bikes, change the plates and hide them until needed.....also he says he knows a place to pinch the van,......says he's going get some sign graphics on the side......"Wandsworth Removals....we can move anything anywhere'......nice touch."
Laughing Danny asked, "What about the marina.....Patrick can't just turn up wearing prison blues and stroll up the marina onto the boat......."
"No problem.....change of clothes for him in the van.....change of clothes all around.....we ditch the van half way down to Brighton......there's an old factory that was abandoned when the M23 was built, about half a mile from the motorway. We dump it there with the bikes and clothes.....have a car parked with the fishing gear in the boot....do the exchange....bish bosh we become four guys in a Merc going fishing."
"No prints for forensics as we're all are wearing gloves....."
"I'll get the cheapest most common tyres put on the Merc so that it's difficult to trace the car....."
"No CCTV camera's around there?"
"Nah, its rural......nearest camera is a speeding one which we need to make sure we're under the limit as we go past about a quarter of a mile before the turn off."
"When do you fly out?"
"Day after tomorrow, into Gatwick.....you?"
Wednesday night.....flying into Manchester airport and getting picked up and driven down by my daughters husband.......staying with her that night......you?"
"Visiting my old mum......"
"Just like mixing business with pleasure."
"Believe me my mum is never a pleasure....why do you think I live over here......"
And the two men strolled along laughing, holiday makers crowding the wide boulevard, the noise of people enjoying themselves swirling around them, the smell of the sea wafting and mixing with the smell of Paella and the almond smell of sunscreen oil.
Patrick looked at the screw that had cornered him in his cell, grey haired and podgy, the man seemed to be nervous, his face a pasty look coated with a sweaty sheen, his eyes shifty and carefully checking to see if they were being observed. Taking a mobile phone out of his trouser pocket he handed it to Patrick telling him.
"This is for you from a friend. It's got two numbers set in it and it's loaded with fifty quid of credit. If you get caught with it you had better not say where you got it or I'll make sure your life is a living hell in here. Phone the number labelled number one."
And the man left the cell as if there was a nasty smell in it, leaving Patrick with the small communication device in his hand and a quizzical look on his face. Climbing up on his bunk bed he pressed the send button after finding the number listed under one on the contact list.
The phone at the other end rung and at first he thought no one was going to answer it, but then a voice answered, one he recognised. "Patrick is that you?"