Homecoming by Simon King

Author:Simon King [King, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-22T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

1.

The cell I was assigned to, sat on the opposite wall to Jasper’s and if I left my door open, could just make out his door from my bunk. I know that not being there to protect him should have been at the forefront of my mind, but if I’m going to spend the time writing this for you, then I may as well be as honest as I can.

Being in a single cell was like winning the lottery, or so I thought that first night. I could do anything I wanted whenever I chose, from taking a shit to having a pull. Like I said, honesty. I watched what I chose on the television and turned it off when I was tired. It was the best in a worst situation kind of thing.

The first morning after receiving my new room, I went to get breakfast as soon as my door was unlocked. I must have had a bit more of a spring in my step because Dobbie called out something that made the rest of his table laugh when I walked past, carrying a plate loaded with toast. I decided to join them and grabbed the only remaining seat, in-between a large man I didn’t know and an Asian called Duk.

After the usual introductions and greetings, their conversation returned to the previous topic of which screws were the worst. Being mostly distracted by the unit’s “other” bad boys, I’d completely forgotten about the other powerhouse in here, the one’s running the show.

Turns out that quite a few names came up, names which didn’t mean much to me at the time, but ones I took a mental note of to ensure my readiness in case I came across one. Names like Paul Hanson, Jason Williams and Rawiri Wassi made the rounds with stories of arrogance and contempt for any breathing man in green. But one name created the biggest reaction, everyone in agreeance once he made his appearance.

A screw by the name of Richard Dhurrin was touted as being the worst of the lot. He was the grandson of Arthur Dhurrin, a screw down at Cider Hill in the 20’s and 30’s, who carried around a baton called Mr Knuckles. The lads told me that the baton had been handed down from father to son and father to son, eventually finding its way into the hands of Richard who brought it proudly to work.

“Mr Knuckles?” I asked. Dobbie looked at me with a grin.

“Yup, you don’t want to meet that prick on a good day, let alone a bad one. That baton of his has broken more fingers in this joint than spirits, and that’s saying something.” The others all agreed, nodding in joint unison.

“Put your hand where it don’t belong and BAM! Old Mr Knuckles swings down and takes a bite out of ‘em,” Dickie said, the large man sitting opposite me. He was another crook I liked from the get-go, a jovial soul with a laugh that could light up an entire unit.

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