Going Down

Jack Burke had never been to prison before and the prospect terrified him. Part of him had known this would happen from the moment, two and half years ago, when he had started dealing in stolen cars. The money had really come in handy, and while he’d always felt a little uneasy about breaking the law, the thrill of his illegal activities actually excited him. He was about as law-abiding as everyone he knew. He wasn’t completely legit, but who was? The law was there to keep the rich in their mansions, and ordinary people like him in their place. 

Why shouldn’t he move a few stolen cars? The owners of these high-end flash cars were insured and would no doubt end up with a better car, once they had fiddled their claim. Everybody was on the fiddle, one way or another, from the top execs who creamed money from the firm, to his mates who were shop-workers, who regularly pinched items from the store. His friends saw it was a perk, an unofficial bonus. 

When the police had caught him behind the wheel of the stolen Jaguar, Jack had known he was done for. 

The next days and weeks went by in a blur, and before he knew it, he was sentenced and heading for prison for twelve months. 

On trembling legs, and struggling to accept that this was actually happening, Jack followed the prison guard along the landing. The prison-issue grey tracksuit itched but that was the least of his concerns. While he was technically guilty of the crime, he was hardly a criminal mastermind. Surely someone like him didn’t belong in prison. He had been given details of recreation meal times as he was being checked in. Jack had simply nodded. 

The guard stopped by an open cell door and jerked a thumb. 

‘You’re in here.’ He said. 

Jack managed a nod, and entered the small prison cell. He was surprised to hear the guard’s footsteps as he left him to it. Jack hadn’t been expecting a guided tour and a complimentary glass of Prosecco but he had expected more than three words. He looked around the tiny cell, his home for the next twelve months. There were two bunks attached to the cell wall. Two beds. A wave of panic went through him. Was he sharing with another inmate? He could be sharing with a proper hard nut, a real head-case, in prison for some horrific crime. But there was no signs that anybody was already inhabiting the cell, no photos on the wall, no tooth-brush by the small metal sink, nothing. He nodded to himself. Okay, he had the cell to himself. That was something. Maybe the prison had a policy of putting new inmates on their own. 

At dinner-time, he headed out onto the landing, and followed the other men, down the metal steps and into the large dining room. He closed his hands to stop his fingers from trembling and crossed the room and joined the line waiting to be served. He glanced around the room. Everyone else seemed to be settled in and knew what they were doing. The men moved with such confidence and some with outright menace. They walked like boxers on the way to the ring. Jack tried not to panic, feeling more self-conscious than ever.

A guy across the room caught his eye. He grinned and drew his finger across his throat. Jack had no doubt what the gesture meant. Jack half-turned and grabbed a plastic tray. 

When he had his plate full of food, and beaker of water, he found a free spot at the end of a long table. He ate his meat and potatoes, trying not to show his nerves and keep his head down at the same time. As soon as he had eaten, he headed back to his cell. As he was walking down the landing, a prisoner coming the other way caught him with a shoulder barge, slamming into Jack hard. Jack lost his balance and fell back against the wall. 

The guy growled that Jack should watch where he was going, before marching away down the landing. Jack hurried to his cell, trying to hold back the tears. 

The next week or so followed the same way. When Jack left his cell he would be berated and pushed around. Even in the library, a place that should have been something of a sanctuary, he would often have the book he had chosen snatched out of his hands by another inmate. He quickly grew to hate the prison and everyone in it, himself included. The ordinary guy, the tearaway, the lad that he had been had been replaced by a nervous, anxious person who barely slept at night because of all the prison noise, and for fear, fear that someone would get into his cell and hurt him, and terror of what the next day would bring. 

One day, around a week later, he returned to his cell, after vising the library, to find an inmate in his cell. The guy sitting on the top bunk had cropped dark hair and a smile on his face. Jack raised his hands, insisting he didn’t want any trouble. The guy laughed.

‘Relax, man. I’m not here to beat you up and pinch your cigarettes. I’m your new cell-mate.’

He jumped lightly down from the bunk and held out his hand.

‘I’m Ben Archer.’ 

Jack introduced himself. He was tempted to ask what Ben had been charged with, but he knew better. At best the prisoner would lie, at worst, take offense and kick off with him. His new cell-mate had a sense of humour but there was an edge there, a sense of threat, of danger, just under the surface. But, there was also a charm there, and Jack couldn’t help liking the guy. 

At dinner time, Ben rubbed his hands together, declaring that he was starving. As he walked down the landing with his new cell-mate at his side, Jack felt more confident than he had been. He was no longer on his own in this awful place. This Ben Archer character had more of a tough, no-nonsense way about him, than Jack had. A prisoner walked towards them, normally Jack would shirk and try and brace himself for the abuse that would inevitably follow, but with Jack beside him, he wasn’t quite the cowering wreck of previous days. The guy looked at them as he passed. Here we go, thought Jack. At least Ben would be on-hand to help when the abuse started. Rather than picking a fight, the guy simply bid them good afternoon. Ben replied alright, mate? Jack said the same. 

As they shuffled along the dinner queue, Ben chatted away, with an easy confidence. You would have thought he was at the buffet station in a five-star hotel, rather than in a prison canteen. Jack couldn’t help feel more confident with his cell-mate beside him. Maybe things would be okay. Maybe, with Ben’s support, he would make it through his prison sentence. 

The next morning, Ben stretched on his bunk and asked Jack what his plans were for the day. 

‘My plans?’ Jack laughed at the question. ‘I was thinking of spending the afternoon by the pool, what do you think my plans are? Just the usual really, keeping out of bother, and returning my book to the library. Why? What were you thinking?’

‘I was thinking of hitting the gym, fancy it?’ 

Jack agreed to go along. With Ben, he would be okay, would cope in the prison gym. As they went through the doors, Ben nodded, let’s do this. Rather than hiding in the library and his cell, Jack now spent his days weight training with his cell-mate. After a few days, Jack knew most of the lads at the gym to say hello to. They were tough prison inmates, but over time, Jack actually felt quite relaxed and at home in their company. Ben would weight-train with him and point him in the right direction. 

Back in their cell, Ben would give Jack advice on surviving prison, and life in general. They would lie on their bunks and discuss life in general. Ben insisted that the trick to making it in this place, was to always hold your own, stand your ground, don’t stare anyone out, but don’t look away either.

One morning, someone barged into Jack, hitting him hard with his shoulder. Without thinking, Jack turned, shoving the man hard, asking who he thought he was pushing around. The guy simply muttered, sorry, mate, before walking quickly away. Ben didn’t say anything to Jack about the incident. He didn’t have to. There was nothing to say. If anyone messed around with Jack, they got told, it was that simple. The nervous inmate who had arrived at the prison, all those weeks ago, seemed like a different person, to the bulked up prison guy who stared back at him in the mirror. When he wasn’t in the gym, he would play pool and cards with the other inmates. They were a tough crowd, and there was a certain alpha-male vibe, but if the lads knew you weren’t to be messed with, you got on alright. 

Back in the privacy of their prison cell, Ben’s chatter changed. The advice and survival talk no longer necessary, Ben’s chat changed to his plans for when he was released. He detailed how the criminal empire of Manchester was controlled by one family, the Cooneys, and how Ben wanted to take the firm over. Jack knew the name of the crime family. The Cooneys were notorious across the North West. Ben had all these grand plans for criminal enterprises, using what he had learned in prison. 

‘Just wait until I get out, Jack. This city won’t know what’s hit it. It’ll be like a one-man crime wave has rocked Manchester.’ Ben would insist. 

Jack would nod humouring his cell-mate. In this place, he had learned that it was best to go along with what his fellow inmates said. If they proclaimed their innocence, you would nod in agreement. If they declared they had contacts in the New York mob, same response, really, is that right? So, if Ben thought he was going to be some Mr Big when he was released, then fair enough. 

As the months went on Ben’s plans became more elaborate, he would buy a gun from some dodgy bloke he knew. Jack knew the guy’s name. He knew of the dodgy feller. He would detail how he would take down Manchester’s biggest crime family, and take control. 

‘Is it not dangerous to talk like this? Shouldn’t you be a bit careful about saying all this? There could be Cooney family associates on our wing.’ Jack said.

‘I’m only telling you, Jack. You’ve not told anyone, have you?’ Ben replied.

‘Rule number one, keep your mouth shut. You taught me that.’ Jack said.

‘Wise words, mate.’ Ben laughed. 

Finally, Jack’s release date came around. He was excited to get out and start his new life. He would keep his nose clean and go straight. He wouldn’t even get so much as a parking ticket. Not that he said as much to his cell-mate. While Jack was determined to clean his act up, Ben was dedicating himself to the life of crime and his gang life when he got out. On the morning of his release, he shook Ben’s hand. Jack thanked him for everything, for looking after him in the early days, and for being his mate ever since. Ben grinned and congratulated him on his release.

‘See you around, Jack.’ Ben said.

Leaving Ben in the cell, Jack headed to the office to be discharged. He was given back his own clothing, gladly returning the prison-issue tracksuit. As he was being shown to the large doors, and to the freedom that lay beyond, Jack turned to the guard.

‘At least tonight I’ll have a room to myself.’ Jack said, laughing.

‘How do you mean?’ The guard asked.

‘Well, I’ve been sharing a cell for the last twelve months.’ Jack replied.

‘No you haven’t. You’ve been on your own.’

‘You’ve got that wrong, I was sharing with Benny Archer. The guy who thinks he’s Ronnie Kray.’

‘Archer? There’s nobody on the wing by that name.’

Still confused, Jack stepped out through the metal doors and into the harsh daylight. Had Jack imagined his cell-mate? Had he spent the last twelve months talking to someone who didn’t exist? Had his distraught mind fabricated him as a way of coping with the harsh realities of prison life? Maybe he would never know the answer. 

As he crossed the carpark, heading for the taxi rank, a figure appeared by his side, walking in step with him. Jack knew instantly who it was. Ben, now dressed in a smart dark suit and long overcoat. He threw an arm around Jack’s shoulders. 

‘Come on, Jack. This is our fresh start. I’ve got big plans for us.’ Ben said.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom