Bird Page 9

  Monk sat back in his chair and clasped his fat fingers over his very round stomach like ten fat sausages covering a beach ball, a smug grin slowly developed on his bloated face. He noisily swopped the sweet from one side of his mouth to the other.

  At this point a man using a photocopier in the corner of the office lifted his head. He wasn't dressed like the rest of the screws but was wearing a white lab coat.

  ''Did someone mention computers?" He asked.

  "Yes Mike." Laughed Monk. "It was this odious creature here.” He answered while stabbing his pudgy finger in my direction.

  “He wants to spend time on one of your computer courses, shame about the six month waiting list though. You’d be better off waiting for the bog cleaning job.” Monk laughed again at his own wit.

  “Yes it can be quite a wait.” Mike continued. “The courses are very popular."

  “I wouldn't bother if I were you though London." Interrupted Monk. “I doubt you'd get past the interview stage."

  “Interview!” I was a bit shocked by that. “You’re having a laugh”

  “Oh yes London,” the smugger than ever Monk continued, “only suitable candidates can get on the course. I wouldn’t even bother if I were you, bog cleanings much more your level.” Again he laughed at his own wit and his massive belly wobbled in the process. He did seem to have an unusually keen interest in toilets.

  “You’re lucky you caught me,” Mike continued, “if it weren’t for the fact my photocopier was broken yet again I wouldn’t be here. Take one of these forms and hand it back into this office.”

  He handed me a single sheet of A4 paper and peered over the top of his black framed national health glasses.

  "I can see you quite quickly for the interview," he continued, "then it's a case of waiting for a space I’m afraid.”

  "Thanks." I smiled at him and he returned to his photocopying, he appeared to be a straight enough bloke.

  "It's not quite as good as the bog roll you are used to dealing with London." said Monk nodding at the sheet of paper in my hand.

  Monk's midriff was producing lardy ripples where he chuckled at his own joke. In fact he was starting to wheeze with all the laughing at his own witty cabaret act.

  Then, suddenly and without warning, he caught his breath. A coughing fit shortly followed. The slugs which formed Monk’s lips and had been dancing so rhythmically were now going into overdrive. They paused for a moment as the whale of a man sucked in large volumes of air with a loud whooshing sound before starting to dance hysterically with the spluttering coughing fit of the exhale.

  While this was going on he was also going an increasingly impressive colour, from a pale red to a dark beetroot. No smug look on his face now, oh no. It was deadly serious, obviously concentrating on the matter in hand and trying to get behind his cough. Poor bloke, he was having a real battle on his hand trying to regain some sort of control. Finally with an almighty draw of breath, a breath which seemed to suck in the entire contents of the room, he braced himself for a huge cough. There was a pregnant pause at the top of the inhale which seemed to last an age but was in fact probably only about one second long.

  Everyone in the room had been watching this strange phenomenon unfold before them and not really knowing what to do or even what to expect. It was one of those moments that stayed with you, the stuff of nightmares. Finally the exhale came in the form of a huge cough. Something shot out of Monk's mouth at lightning speed and flew across the room. It was traveling much too fast to see what it was hurtling the length of the office.

  All eyes in the room watched in disbelief as this strange spectacle unfolded, those same eyes following the trajectory of the unidentified object. About halfway across the room it started to separate. A smaller piece of something detached itself, falling to the ground. The main body of the UFO continued its journey across the room.

  Whatever it was it landed with a loud plinking sound in computer Mikes mug of tea which was sitting on the desk next to the photocopier. All eyes were now on the mug, waiting for Mike’s reaction. They didn't have to wait long.

  "I'm not drinking that now.'' He exclaimed and picked it up and walked it over to the sink in the corner of the room.

  He paused briefly at the blob on the floor which turned out to be a half chewed toffee before tipping his contaminated cup of tea down the sink. Without batting an eyelid Mike spoke to Monk over his shoulder as he emptied and rinsed his cup.

  "Where do you want your teeth Mr. Monk?” What a calm, collected guy he was. He would make a great Blagger.

  "Um, er, just leave them there please Mike, I'll clean them up. Thanks.'' Came Monk's stuttering reply. He looked such a state, a ragged heap slumped back in his chair, mop of hair hanging over his face. His sucked in cheeks totally drained of colour now, his lips drawn in, filling the larger than normal hole of a mouth.

  "You might want to pick that up too Mr. Monk?" It was Mike again, stepping over the sludge brown excuse of a toffee, before nodding his head to the room and making a calm, dignified exit.

  Everyone in the room turned to Monk now. He sheepishly shrugged his shoulders and made his way to the sink. I decided it was time to exit, as I turned round I bumped into another con... It was Muzzleflash.

  FIFTEEN

  Muzzleflash, that's what everyone called him. A skinny, ginger haired unassuming man. We'd bumped into each other, apologized and continued about our business. No dramas, no fuss, just like two normal human beings. It could have quite easily turned into a punch up or worse still a knife fight. This was prison after all and full of caged men with pent up anger, aggression, bitterness.

  A simple everyday accident could be that one last thing that made you snap. Some of the blokes in here were like that in that outside world, I know I was at times. I wasn’t afraid of a fight, I did like the occasional punch up but not over silly little things, it could really put a downer on your day!

  I'd seen Muzzleflash around the wing, he worked on the servery and was usually perched on the end of the line, hunched over a huge metal pot. He dumped a cold lumpy mess in the cons bowls of a morning, he said it was porridge but I didn't believe him.

  There was something about Muzzleflash that was definitely different but I just couldn't put my finger on it. I'd always taken pride in the fact I could read people but what was it with him? It irritated me not being able to pin it down. He looked quite an odd sight. Bent over the huge pot, ladle in hand. He didn't look happy but he wasn't sad either. Most people had a very vacant look in here, probably down to the drugs. Others had that 'mad dog' look about them, but what was Muzzleflash?

  It was only a day or two later the opportunity arose to find a little bit more about him. It happened in the games room, each wing had a room at one end with a ping pong table and a dartboard in it. I'd just been totally thrashed by Harry or 'H' as he insisted on being called. H had done a lot of bird so he told me and I had two very good reasons to believe this.

  Firstly he was a world class ping pong player. I mean how could anyone be that good at the game unless they'd had a lot of time on their hands to practice. The second reason to believe him was the fact that he was so thick. He was inside this time for burglary. He got drunk and then decided it would be a good idea to rob a house to get some money to pay for some drugs. He was so hammered and out of it and had made a right racket breaking in that the neighbours heard him and called the filth.

  Plod turned up to find him curled up and fast asleep in one of the upstairs bedrooms. He’d found a supply of booze in the kitchen and helped himself. On top of what he had already consumed before starting the break in it didn’t take long before he started to feel sleepy. He thought he would feel better after a little lie down. What a berk. Anyway, as big a berk as he was, he beat me at ping pong. Which wasn't too difficult really as I am probably the world’s worst ping pong player.

  "I'll play the winner." Announced Muzzleflash.

  "That'll be H then.'' I nodded towards the champ.
>
  "Sorry people, I'm done here." He replied.

  ''Got things to do." He nodded at me in a slow knowing way. I had no idea what he was on about.

  "Oh ok." Replied Muzzleflash, keeping his tone level, ''I'll play the loser then.'' He went on, looking at me, a faint flicker of a smile on his face.

  "Sure," I answered, ''I've got some spare time, three years of it in fact."

  "That's enough time to become reasonably good at it." Again he had the faint flicker of a smile as he replied.

  Needless to say, he annihilated me. I was starting to get the hang of it by the end and found myself enjoying it. How odd. Muzzleflash was actually coming across as quite a normal bloke, which was a pleasant surprise.

  "I could do with a drink after that." I announced after he'd beaten me.

  “Mmm.” Muzzleflash replied, watching me steadily. “I need a smoke. I'm due on the servery soon, serving up another fantastic meal.”

  “Ok,” I said as he made his exit, “thanks for the game, see you later.”

  The food looked awful as expected. It was some sort of pie, filled with what at some point must have been meat. Now it just looked brown and chewy.

  It was accompanied by dead chips and the obligatory chopped and overcooked white cabbage. I'd never seen dead chips before. Something about prison obviously bought out the best in the cooks. Fat, lifeless, dead chips. I've never thought of a chip as being alive but it seemed by far the best description.

  With no priest around to give the starchy frites the last rites, I attempted to eat them. They didn't taste of much, which was a bonus, warmish and tasteless. Good result! Muzzleflash was dishing out the chips and had tried to put an extra spoonful on my plate but I wasn’t having any of it and moved it quickly out of the way before he had a chance. I polished off the chips with the pie.

  I couldn't face the cabbage, every meal apart from breakfast came with white cabbage and I just couldn’t face it. The duff and custard dessert were equally tasteless but I knew it would keep the hunger pains away. I also had my bread and jam of course, the same as Borough. I was just finishing my last piece of jam sandwich when Muzzleflash and the rest of the servery mob came and sat at the same table as me with their dinners.

  "How come your dinner looks so much better than mine did?'' I quizzed Muzzleflash after he’d settled himself in.

  "It’s one of the perks of working on the servery." Was his flat reply.

  "That's not strictly true..." he carried on after a moment’s thought.

  "Oh?" I encouraged.

  "No,'' he went on, ''it's the only perk I can think of."

  "Is it worth it?" I asked.

  "It'll do for now,” he replied, “until something better comes along. There are worse jobs in here. I could be cleaning the bogs. Besides, I have to do something I'd go bonkers otherwise.

  What about you?" He asked.

  "Oh, I'm going to do some computer courses.” I replied. “I'm going to learn what I can about them. I can see them catching on. It’s not my normal way of making a living but you have to keep your options open.''

  "Waste of time if you ask me, they're just a fad.” Muzzleflash laughed. “What you in here for anyway London?''

  “Bank job went wrong” I replied. “It all got a bit messy in the end. I was working with a new team of blokes. It was a short notice job and I hired some cheap labour, one of which turned out to be unreliable."

  "Unfortunately you get what you pay for in life." Muzzleflash stepped in.

  "Yeah, I normally work with reliable guys, people I can count on. I learnt some valuable lessons on that one. Guess I got greedy, I wanted a better car, another boat, you know the deal, there was nothing wrong with the ones I had. I just wanted better.''

  "No, I don’t know really'' Muzzleflash pulled a funny face. “I was a regular law abiding bloke not so long ago. I didn't want better, just different.”

  "In what way?" I quizzed him.

  "I was a family man, regular job, wife, couple of kids. Hated every minute of it though."

  "Why did you do it then?'' I frowned.

  Now I was really interested in this bloke. Why would he trudge through a life he didn’t want? What changed, what made him throw it all away? He thought about it for a moment before answering, searching his feelings. I got the impression he was doing this for the first time, putting his thoughts into words.

  "Just got sucked up into it.'' He finally confessed. I met a girl, got into a routine I suppose. Got married, got a mortgage, had kids. That's what everyone does. I didn't enjoy it I just did it because it was the done thing."

  "So what changed then?" I ventured.

  "I discovered something I did enjoy and became obsessed with it. Something that made me feel alive again. Something I couldn't live without."

  "Oh?" What kind of bombshell was he about to drop. “What got you?" I asked.

  "Art." He simply said, then smiled. ''I still can't really believe it myself," he went on, "I worked for a building company, I’m a surveyor by trade but my boss always talked about his Japanese art collection. I never took any notice but one day I had to drop some paperwork off at his huge house and I saw it. It was beautiful and I wanted it.''

  “So you took it?" I put in.

  "Huh.'' He laughed. "I tried to. I went back that night thinking he was out. I was so pissed on Dutch courage I didn't even realize my boss was at home. We ended up having a tug of war with a netsuke.''

  “Oh.” I said rather blankly, I had no idea what a netsuke was. “I can't understand that, you know, art.”

  “No.” He continued. “Neither did I. Perhaps I'm having a mid-life crisis or something. Can you have one of those at 30? Anyway, that dinner was awful. What's the duff like?” He said pulling the custard covered suet forwards.

  “Not much taste.” I said, turning my nose up at it.

  “Result!” He beamed.

  “This is Gibby, by the way.” Muzzleflash motioned to the bloke sitting next to him and then each of the servery blokes at the table with us. “Johnny Briggs, Peso and Crusher at the end there.”

  The last one, Crusher looked just as scary as his name. I imagined he ate babies for breakfast. I nodded to each of them as Muzzleflash introduced them. They all gave an empty nod back, apart from Crusher. He just stared back. It felt like he was looking straight through me, he looked a nasty piece of work.

  "What nick did you come from?" Gibby chirped up.

  "Borough" I answered.

  "Oh, what's that like?'' He asked, between mouthfuls of food.

  "Boring, only spent 3 weeks there but it really did my nut in.''

  Oh god, I was starting to sound like a seasoned con already.

  "Not been there." Gibby managed to say between mouthfuls again.

  "How come you've all got china plates and metal cutlery?" I asked, changing the subject from prisons.

  "That's because we're special." Gibby put in. How right he was but there were a lot of special people here. Most of them were special needs though.

  "It depends on who you know and how long you've been here." Muzzleflash carried on, "Then there’s people leaving, they leave a lot of stuff behind."

  "What job you got?'' Johnny Briggs cut in.

  "I’ve put myself down for some computer courses." I answered. He looked at me distastefully. Of the servery workers he was by far the smartest turned out.

  ''Mmm." he answered. "Computers, can't see them catching on. Don't see what all the fuss is about them."

  "I think they will you know." I said.

  "I think you want to get yourself a proper job in here." He came back with. I don't think he was trying to be argumentative or confrontational, it wasn't the right tone. It seemed more like advice, however misguided it might be.

  "You can't trade anything if you go and play on computers all day." He went on, and now I was sure he was actually trying to help. He sat, staring at me. I stared back, studying him. His immaculate starched whites matched his hair colou
r and skin. All as white as driven snow.

  "Have you done bird before?" He asked bluntly.

  "First time." I replied honestly.

  "Thought as much," he went on "I work on the servery, what that means to me is that I get first choice of the food that comes out and as much as I want. I can give some people an extra scoop of chips..."

  I openly smiled at this point and it didn't go down to well.

  "What's the joke smart arse?" He wasn't amused.

  "An extra scoop of chips, is that going to make so much difference? Really?" I grinned.

  Johnny Briggs stared at me for a few seconds, sighed and said.

  "You've still got a lot to learn about doing time London." He then put his head down and carried on with his dinner in silence.

  "So what are you doing tonight then London." It was Muzzleflash breaking the silence now.

  "I'll need to check my diary but I think I'm free. Why's that?" I replied.

  "I've got a brew ready if you fancy a drink."

  "You're talking hooch now and not tea, right?" I grinned.

  "He's not totally ignorant then." Johnny Briggs sighed.

  "I am." Muzzleflash continued, smiling. "It's a bit young but it should be ok."

  Alcohol was something I could really do with. I hadn't managed to sort out a scotch supplier yet and Muzzleflash was, well he seemed alright.

  "Why not," I said "seems like a good idea. Anyway it's Saturday so I should be going out for a drink"

  "Good." Muzzleflash continued, ''My cells number eight. See you there in about half an hour. I just need to get finished up here. Bring a cup."

  SIXTEEN

  So about half an hour later I was wandering down the corridor, looking for number eight. The lino floor on this part of the wing was so highly polished and shiny it looked as if it had a layer of water on it. At the far end were some chairs and a man was sitting back on one of them. He didn't take his eyes off me.

  "You alright there?" His broad Irish accent called out.