Page 83 of Player
I approach the computer that sits proudly on the desk, and the screen explodes violently under the impact of the bat when I shatter it.
Damn! It feels so good! With each item that breaks under my blows, I picture my father's face. Since I can't beat him up, I focus on destroying everything in his office.
The other two are having a blast too. Between the three of us, the premises quickly transform into a nightmare zone. The massacre continues until suddenly, a security guard appears at the entrance:
"What are you doing? Stop!"
"Shit!" Baxter shouts. "Let's get out of here!"
But even though we're fast, we can't escape the welcoming committee waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs.
33
PLAYER
Time seemsto flow differently in this hellhole, and I'm thinking that by comparison, OMU is truly paradise on Earth. I'm even longing for economics classes, if that tells you anything.
"Move it, it's time to eat!"
The guard's voice grates on my nerves, but I contain myself. The last thing I need is to be kept here longer than planned.
Meals are served in a large cafeteria where the noise level rivals that of a stadium when the Jaguars score atouchdown.
I pick up a tray under the curious stares of some inmates. I'm on high alert, because I know that newcomers get ‘special treatment’, at least that's what I gathered from the deranged ramblings of my cellmate. Everyone calls him Johnson, and he seems a bit unhinged. What's certain is that he's not playing with a full deck. I've heard him talking to himself in our cell. He was telling stories that made no sense whatsoever and only made me want to punch him just to shut him up.
"So, buddy, how's the integration going?"
The voice makes me look up, and I meet the dark gaze of a man who has sat down across from me. Two other guys take seats beside me, and I clench my teeth. Tension builds insideme, but I'm careful not to show anything. The slightest weakness would be an invitation for these guys.
After a moment, I receive a jab in the ribs. "Cat got your tongue?"
I shoot a dark look at the one who just spoke before turning my attention back to their leader. At least, that's the impression I get.
"It's going," I reply.
The guy stares at me like he's trying to read my mind, and I remain motionless. His strategy is clear: he's trying to intimidate me. Talking too much would be a sign of nervousness, so I keep quiet.
"Heard you're bunking with old Johnson."
It's not a question but a statement. Again, I don't respond.
"He's my little bitch, so you better not touch him."
I do my best not to show my surprise, but another elbow jab, from my left this time, draws my attention.
"You understand the boss's message?" the guy asks me.
"Of course," I reply. "I'm not stupid."
The leader gives me another killer look, and I sincerely pity poor Johnson who must serve as his... I can't even bring myself to think about it. No, better not to imagine the nature of their relationship.
"If you mess up, I won't miss," the man adds.
He seems to be waiting for a response from me, so I articulate, "Crystal clear."
That must be the right reaction because the three men leave my table as quickly as they sat down.
I look at the contents of my plate—some vegetables and a piece of something pretending to be meat—without much enthusiasm, but I decide to eat a little.
