Ken Bruen - The Max

He’d paid all of their savings to a slimy lawyer who promised, “Probation, no problem, first offense, no problema.”

He got five years and change. No problema?

The lawyer shrugged, said, “You got any more of that there green, I’ll lodge an appeal.”

Maria had taken off with the few remaining dollars and Carlito got to ride the bus.

Scared, chained, out of it. A guy sitting beside him asked, “First time, chiquito?”

He nodded in total misery.

The guy, covered in prison tats, said, “You’re a real pretty boy, they gonna ream you good, compadre.”

The guy was staring at Carlito’s solid gold Miraculous Medal. Carlito, with difficulty, using his manacled hands, tried to button the prison-issue shirt and the guy laughed, a laugh born of pure nastiness and worse, deep malevolent knowing, said, “First day in the joint, it’s like, every worst nightmare you ever had and bro, it’s worse, ’cause it’s true and it ain’t gonna git no better, so you do what you can, you get wasted, you hear me, fish, you gotta get some serious dope going in your system – then it don’t, like, hurt. Me, I got my main running buddy up there, he’ll hook me up right after orientation, and you wanna, you want some of that good stuff, help you get focused, you come see me, I fix you right up but it costs, you know what I’m sayin’?”

He shut up for a bit then said, “Speed. The ol’ reliable, amphetamines, they set you right up and Bennies, ain’t nuttin on God’s good earth like those beauties.”

He laughed, obviously feeling the effect of some of the above, began to sing, “Benny and the Jets.” Was it horrible, man, or what? Even worse than having to hear Elt himself do it.

The guy added, “That there medal, always wanted me one of those babes. You want some recreational drugs? That there is the freight, muchacho.”

Carlito snapped himself out of his reverie, tried to pay attention to the guy holding onto his hand. Leader of the Crips. His mouth went dry and he smiled like some wetback fresh from the border.

Sino swept his arm round the yard, said, “Who you with?” Then in a mocking tone, continued. “I tell you, fish, you with nobody. You got, like, de nada, you hear me, fish?’

Carlito did.

Sino said, “See those hombres over there? Yeah, the ones lookin’ at you, like you a big juicy empanada. They gonna run a line through yo skinny ass, you don’t be with somebody.”

Carlito was already crying, bawling like a damn baby.

Sino moved in close, said, “Yo, you join my crew, you be safe, know what I’m talkin’ about?”

Carlito nodded. He’d have joined the army at this stage. Anything. Sino palmed him a toothbrush, handmade blade embedded on the top, said, “Yo, you wanna make some bones, you show yo’ got cojones. Know what I talkin’ about, jefe?”

Carlito wanted to run, but where?

Sino looked at his watch, a shiny TAG Heuer knock-off, said, “Twelve noon, fat middle-aged white dude, takes his shower on C… you go rip him a new one, comprende?”

Sino sauntered off and Carlito began a whole new set of tremors.

At twelve noon Carlito headed to the showers. He’d managed to score some bennies from the guy he’d rode the bus up with. Cost him his gold Miraculous Medal he’d always worn. In a haze of drug-induced adrenaline and outright fear, he saw the fat white dude and launched himself. The phrase It got away from him might be appropriate here. He was still slashing and chopping when the guards clubbed him senseless. One of them, who’d seen most all a prison could offer, muttered, “Holy Mother of Christ.”

And too bad for Sino, what remained of the fat dude on the shower floor was the armaments guy for the Aryan Brotherhood.

Carlito heard another guard say, “ Hombre, you just fucked yourself good,” and everything faded out.

When they brought Angela to the prison in Lesbos her first thought was, Jaysus, this place lives up to its name. She was brought to a holding cell with eight other women. Each was hotter than the last and most of them were in micro-minis, skimpy tube tops, a couple even in bikinis. Most were talking in Greek, and a couple of blondes were talking in some other language, maybe Swedish.

Angela went up to one of the blondes and asked for a smoke. Jaysus, with the day she’d had, she could’ve used a whole carton.

The woman’s friend, the other Swede, slid one out of a pack.

Angela took it, held it out for a light, said, “I’m Angela.”

“Inga,” the woman with the cigarettes said. “This is Katina.”

Angela asked, “So is this a prison or a nightclub?”

Thought she was making a joke, but Katina said, “Both.”

“There was a raid at Niko’s last night,” Inga explained. “Heroin or something.”

“But we have nothing to do with it,” Katina said.

She sounded a little too defensive. Angela glanced down, noticed the track marks on her skinny arms.

“Yes, we were just there, you know, partying, when the police come,” Inga said. “How do you say, the wrong places at the wrong times?”

Thinking, The story of me life, Angela asked, “So what did they charge you with?”

“We do not know what’s going on,” Inga said. “They told us nothing. They just bring us here, that’s it.”

“We are, how do you say,” Katina said, “in the dark.”

“What about you?” Inga asked. “What did you do?”

“Oh, nothing,” Angela said. “I was just having a drink, minding my own business, and next thing I knew two cops were taking me away.”

“It’s crazy in Greece,” Katina said. “They arrest everybody, no?”

The prison wasn’t like any prison Angela had ever heard of. The officers who’d arrested Angela hadn’t notified her of any charges, or at least she didn’t think they had. During the ride over they were talking in Greek and the only parts Angela picked up were when they were commenting on her oreo megala vizia – big, beautiful tits – no surprise there. But, of course, Angela knew why she was being taken away. The cab driver on Santorini must’ve told the authorities that she’d boarded a boat for Lesbos and then the Lesbos police – Lesbian police? Jaysus, it sounded like something out of Greenwich Village, but that was probably what they called themselves – had been notified. They were probably just waiting now to coordinate with the Santorini cops. She didn’t know if they’d found some evidence that could hang her or if she was just a suspect by default. Not that it mattered. She’d heard enough stories over the years from her father about the Greek justice system. It was your classic, old-world, eye-for-an-eye, guilty-until-proven-innocent mentality. She figured she’d never be formally charged with anything. She’d be handed over to Georgios’ relatives and quietly killed, case closed.

Fookin’ Sebastian. If he hadn’t run off like the coward he was, she never would’ve had to take that cab to the other end of Santorini. They would’ve ridden together on the moped and she wouldn’t be in this shithole right now. They hadn’t even let her make a phone call. Not that there was anyone to call. A lawyer would be useless and her family was even more so. Her mother’s side was all ex-IRA and her father’s side was as backward as Georgios’ family.

“Do any of the guards here speak English?” Angela asked.

“There was a young guy here last night,” Inga said, “maybe nineteen years old. He was hitting on all the women.”

“He told one girl, if she give him blowjob she can get out,” Katina said as she casually reached out and held Inga’s hand. “He is like a teenage boy, his eyes jumping out of his head with so many beautiful women. He even offered to pay, fifty euro, keeps showing it, pulls money out of this belt tied round his waist. Keeps zipping and unzipping the belt, saying ‘Want what’s in here?’ Pig.”