Anatomy
of a Shanking
(Notes: Written for Hard Time 100
Flash Fiction Challenge #5, "The Plot Thickens." Thanks to
Maverick and Rowan for encouragement and suggestions.)
Oswald State
Correctional Facility burns through
paper at a rate that
might surprise those unfamiliar with government bureaucracy. Even the
most insignificant procedure requires the filing of a multitude of
forms, each xeroxed in triplicate. Increased dependence on computers
hasn't yet eliminated the need for paper forms; it simply has ensured
that much of the information on those forms is available in an
additional place—a place that even an inmate might be able to reach,
given sufficient access to the prison's intranet server.
An
example of the type of information stored in the prison intranet is the
inventory log. There's been talk of centralizing such records on a
statewide basis; at present, however, the system for recording
inventory is a simple matter of writing the information on a form and
then inputting it into a computer spreadsheet, (theoretically) to be
compared monthly with the items actually stored on the prison's
shelves, to avoid any scandal involving employees taking advantage of
prison supplies for their personal use.
Among those
items
ordered frequently are, as one might expect, boxes of multipurpose copy
paper. A standing order for ten boxes of it and other office supplies
arrives early each month, usually on the first Monday, when (most often
sometime in the early afternoon) it's unloaded from the truck and left
in the loading-bay area until the next prison work shift begins.
In Oz, there are
three inmates whose primary job is to deal with the
inventorying and distribution of nonfood supplies:
Prisoner
number 95B461, Stanley Bishop. Pushing the upper bounds of middle age,
intelligent and generally cooperative with the prison authorities,
likely to receive early parole for good behavior. Has a bad back that's
been giving him trouble for years, ever since a cab hit him as he fled
the scene of the robbery that resulted in his incarceration. Handles
some of the lighter lifting but primarily takes care of the recording
of inventory.
Prisoner number
98W258, Joe Bob Warner. Was
recently involved in a serious altercation with two Latinos and a 10-lb
dumbbell in the gym. Currently under observation at Benchley Memorial
Hospital with potentially life-threatening head injuries.
Prisoner
number 98K514, Christopher Keller. Since prison authorities apparently
weren't inclined to give him a job that involved lying, maiming, and
destroying people's lives, Keller was instead employed in a way that
makes use of his other primary talent: lifting heavy things. Unless
someone is assigned to replace Joe Bob within the next few days, Keller
should be spending most of Tuesday morning in the storage room,
unpacking and shelving, among other things, copy paper.
Sister
Peter Marie takes a coffee break every morning at precisely 10:00. This
break generally lasts between 20 and 30 minutes, an amount of time that
could conceivably allow you to leave, complete your task, and make it
back before she returns. It is important that you not rely on that,
however. Leave a brief note on her desk blotter that reads as follows:
"Gone to pick up files from Dr. N—back in a minute. T." This wording is
vague enough to leave her with the impression that you have been
notified, in her absence, of files that require retrieval from the
infirmary, something that is far from an uncommon occurrence. No one
who sees you en route is likely to assume that anything is out of the
ordinary, since you are routinely entrusted with such responsibilities.
The
basement storage complex has several means of entrance but only two
that are both convenient and accessible from parts of the prison that
aren't off-limits to inmates. There are also several air ducts that
lead into the room—but this is, of course, real life and not Mission:
Impossible.
One
of the entrances is particularly convenient for someone who works in
Sister Pete's office during the day; door to door, the duration of the
walk is ~4 minutes if you're able to maintain a leisurely pace that is
unlikely to draw attention. Note that the door to the room clicks once,
loudly, as it is opened. Inside, however, the size of the room, as well
as the labyrinthine distribution of tall shelves and stacks of boxes,
makes sound carry deceptively, and it's difficult to discern the origin
of any of the various noises one hears. An additional advantage of this
particular door is that it is blocked completely from the view of
anyone in the part of the room in which office supplies are stored.
This allows a preliminary reconnaissance without necessarily revealing
your identity to people who might unexpectedly be in the area. As
mind-numbingly regular as the routine in Oz may be, unforeseen twists
are never outside the realm of possibility.
There are
several
effective hiding places throughout the storage room, but only one
provides almost immediate access to someone in the office supply area.
It's a place no light reaches, a narrow space between one of the taller
shelves and the wall. It can be reached, without too great a chance of
detection, even if there are people already in that part of the room,
especially if you remove your shoes to muffle the sound of your
footsteps. Once in place, all that's left is to wait for the right
moment to move in and attack.
Even if the
target hasn't detected
your presence in the room prior to the moment that you make your
presence known, the possibility still exists that he might be able to
identify you once you've closed the distance between you and are
putting a shank in his back. Keep him in a tight hold, because you
might not injure him severely enough, at least initially, to prevent
him from turning and recognizing you. A less obvious consideration is
the possibility that he will be able to identify you in some other
way—by smell, for instance. The particular person in question may have,
on several occasions, buried his face in your hair and inhaled deeply
or lovingly handled your sweat-soaked clothes, in which case it would
be prudent to mask your smell to some extent, possibly by showering
with a different brand of soap and/or smoking an illicit cigarette in a
confined space prior to entering the storage room.
It's
important not to spend too much time savoring the moment that the blade
slides home through the muscles between his ribs—treacherous muscles
though they may be, connecting ribs that support viscera that are
surely destined to be roasted slowly over a spit in Hell for eternity,
you must resist this temptation and instead exit the room as quickly as
possible. Slip your shoes back on, take off your outer t-shirt and use
it to wipe any blood off your hand. Wrap the shank in the shirt and
conceal it inside a small red biohazard bag (available from either the
infirmary or the northeast corner of the storage room), stuff it in
your pocket or down your pants, and attempt to resume a normal
breathing pattern as you head to the infirmary. Wait outside the door
until you're confident that you won't be noticed, quietly walk inside,
and slip the bag into the large medical-waste container that stands
just inside the doorway. Once the weapon has been discarded, approach
Dr. Nathan and ask for the files you had been told to pick up for
Sister Pete. When she (busy woman that she is) impatiently informs you
that she has no such files, give her a look of mild confusion, nod
agreeably, and return to Sister Pete's office. If the situation
permits, it would be wise to stop in the bathroom and wash your hands
on the way.
Act as naturally
as possible throughout the
remainder of the morning. It may take anywhere from a few minutes to an
hour or more before anything out of the ordinary is discovered in the
storage room. The first you're likely to hear of it will be through
word of mouth in the cafeteria during lunch. Appear surprised, but not
too surprised. After all, one doesn't cross the Aryans without
consequence, a fact to which so many people surely can attest.
Preserve
your customary air of mild indifference as long as there are other
people in the vicinity. There will undoubtedly be no shortage of
inmates wanting to gossip about today's "airholing" in the storage
room; it would not be wise to seem either too eager or too reluctant to
discuss it. Remember that all of Emerald City is aware of your
relationship—both past and current—with the victim, and behave
accordingly.
Remain patient
and remember: soon enough, you will
have ample opportunity to reflect on your accomplishment, beginning
with evening lockdown. The total silence in your pod will provide a
favorable atmosphere for contemplating the completion of this, the most
recent phase of your much-deserved revenge. Think of this and only
this, and clear your mind of any other (potentially bothersome)
considerations, which can only prove counterproductive. In your current
condition, you are unlikely to be considered seriously as a suspect in
any ensuing investigation. In addition, in a larger moral sense, you
have merely seen true justice done, and, as anyone of your professional
training is all too aware, the meting out of justice can be a brutal
thing. Brutal, yet necessary. In point of fact, any suffering you've
inflicted on Chris Keller is likely to be miniscule in comparison with
the suffering he has undoubtedly inflicted on others. So relax with an
entirely clear conscience, relish your success, and allow yourself to
drift into a worriless sleep, one that is certain to be more peaceful
than any you've had in recent memory.