Klein

"Move."

       Reminding myself of good behavior I smiled, "sure anything for you big guy."
Gladly complying, I grabbed the lunch tray and moved a bit.

Slow, sluggish, ugly, and stupid, he twisted his face,"you trying to call me fat?"

      "Haha! Oh, no. Big guy is a form of endearment, I'm not calling you fat, well unless you want me to?" At first I was irritated, but now, I'm entertained with the dumb little fuck.

I don't understand how people hate prison? So many new people to meet, to befriend, to make enemies with.

   Everyone is anxious to see who will make it to the top! Haha, and this. This excites me.

      "Why would I let you call me fat?"

"Because sometimes the first way to heal, is to accept the situation for what it is, and how we can change it, or cannot.

    You are fat. You can change that, you choose not to. So me being the muscle packer that I am, I am genuinely encouraging you, that instead of eating that mystery bar, they call cake. That you start lifting some weights.

   I know you've been sneaking oatmeal pies into your cell, I smell it all over you.

   You sir, tsk tsk tsk. You're guilty,"

Ultimately confused, he wobbled about to clear a walking path for me, showing my gratitude I smiled. "Would you like to sit with me? I've got enough room for your fat, and the both of us."

    The thrill of pushing someone's buttons is the first sign of a confrontational addict.

If that even exists, probably doesn't, but no ones clocking each other's intelligence in a place like this, now are they?

  Hmm, maybe they are, they're just doing a pretty shity job of doing so.

    "I ain't. Fat." Smiling I set the lunch tray down on a bench, and met the man halfway, I could feel the eyes, awaiting to finally get some action. I would too, everyone in this place is boring.

      "Denial isn't healthy Thomas, you need to come to terms with, that you've lost your waistline to bad habits a long time ago. But there is a chance you can still get it back.

  So let's just have a seat, and come up with a plausible game plan, to get you back on track," putting out my best hand, I attempted to call it truce.

   "Inmates, quit talking dirty to one another and eat your damn lunch." Grunting, he husked himself away.

     And here I was thinking I made myself a new friend.

     "You." Rolling my eyes and sighing exhaustingly, I ignored the demand for my presence. Instead I took my seat...alone.

      "I'm talking to you."

"And it's sad you cannot take the hint, that I am obviously ignoring you. Go away."

      There was a loud noise nearly an inch away from my face, now truly annoyed with whoever this idiot thought he was, I lost my appetite.

Not like I was going to eat this shit anyway.

       "I know who you are." Taking a seat in front of me, was a man.

   Bald, scarred, and pale. He looked a bit dirty, wasn't that ugly, I just still didn't want my eyes to lay on him. "A lot of people know me, you got a pen? I already used my napkin, I can give you an autograph. Where's the best place you want me to sign.

   And above the waist only, no funny business."

"I don't want your fucking autograph, I want to talk."

     "So messenger boy, who are you shooting the shit for today? Because I know you're not the cat shoving orders."

    Getting under tough man's skin a little bit, he cracked his neck and widened his blue eyes.

      "His name is Lyle. Lyle Fitzgerald."

"Hmm, doesn't ring a bell, tell Lyle, I'm just really not interested,"

        His anger was beginning to show, curious as to how intense his boil over was I crossed my arms and stared. "I'll tell you what, what's your name?"

"Igny."

       "Okay, Igny, I'll tell you what. You go tell this Lyle Fitzgerald, that I am a businessman. And when we are talking business I don't talk to the runner men.

    Dialogue gets lost in the receiving, causes for a lot more drama to fall on our part, that could've been nipped in the butt in the beginning. So you go tell Lyle, if he's got some things to discuss with dear ole me, he's got forty eight hours to come through with the details.

   Other than that, those forty eight hours are gone, I wish to be left alone. Got it?"

    "I-"

"Repeat to me what I just said."

"Well what part?" I wanted to laugh, I didn't know if he was completely serious or not, but I was too lazy to put the effort in.

      "The last thirty seconds of my statement. Repeat it."

      "Forty eight hours to come through with the details, after forty eight you're unavailable."

"No. I want to be left alone for the entire time I'm in this shit hole. And this is why I always shoot the messenger, you people never get things done correctly.

   Where is your boss Igny?"

Pointing to the left behind him, I stood up.

    Walking by a bit angry, I pinched his ear as hard as I could and dragged him along the concrete floor.

    You'd think in a place like this they'd at least put down carpet, because that only burns, it doesn't crack skulls.

        In a crowd of Asian men, I dropped him.

"You should really clean up your men, they're sloppy. And I don't like sloppy, it's unprofessional, and just dauntingly disappointing Lyle."

     Their heads were shaved, and covered in tattoos, hmm, well that's not cliche prison men at all.

     And Lyle I just guessed, that's something I like to do, he has a heart on the right side of his face, a few inches under his eyelid.

      How cute.

"What Japanese woman, names her son Klein?"

        "What grown ass man tattoos a red heart on his face?"

     "Haha, touché. Leave us." Shooing his filth away, he motioned for me to sit.

"I'll stand."

      "You're only making it easier for my men to slit your throat that way, at least if you're sitting down, you have a fighting chance. Correct?"

     Smiling, I remained.

"I'll stand."

"I've heard you are quite the determined one Klein Masthers," Rising to his feet, I wasn't really surprised to see he was short, and fat.

     Wobbling as he circled around the table to get to me, "walk with me."

  Eyeing him cautiously, I allowed him to take the lead, "I've been expecting you for quite some time. And low and behold the lord answers my prayers, and sets you on my doorstep.

    A young man like you, to cause the world a great big stir, is a man of excellence. Cunning, intelligent, vigilant, knows what he wants, sees what he wants, and not only gets it, but conquers, any and all.

   Tell me Klein, do you have boundaries?

Because there are a few types of criminals, Klein.

      You have the rookies, the ones that rob the bank to save their mother's home from being foreclosed. And even then they have potential to do more vile, and inhuman things. But in this stage they get a taste of the crime life, and if they can go unpunished, then you have thrill, thrills can be dangerous. They already crossed the line to rob a bank, the only question is, is what's next? That is when moral, mental, and emotional boundaries are dissipated.

  There are the psychopathic criminals, and then there's you.

    You're your own criminal Klein. Did you know that?

   You are defined by self, you don't fit in like the rest of us."

      "What kind of criminal am I then?"

"The kind that wasn't meant to be one. What happened to you Klein?"

There were pondering eyes, as I stared aimlessly into the thin air, he was prying, and I didn't like it.

      "What do you need from me?"

"Your alliance. That is what I need."

"Careful now, there is a difference between a need and a want.

        But no, I'm here alone. I can take care of myself."

       His intentions shined bright in the luminance, as a rusted blade laid flat against my throat.

"I told you, this would've been much more easier, had you have just took a seat," A stiff fist into my lower stomach, would've made me keel over, years ago.

   But now I just stare, the pain subsides with the thought, and I allow mine to leave immediately.

         "Klein, you're a limited liability criminal. You have known weaknesses that your enemies feast off of like a thanksgiving dinner. Which is sad, it's a part of the reason your brother was murdered, now wasn't it?

   Your limitations that make you half of the great man you are today, is love, honesty, and heroism. You can't be the hero, and the villain Klein, you have to pick a role. And keep it, perfect it, own it, which I think you play both fairly well don't get me wrong.

   But you need to choose, you can't have the best of both worlds.

   And here, I want to let you in on a little secret." Bending down, to get another word in as my insides were being kicked to knots, I searched for his eye contact.

      "I know, who you know, that you don't want other people to know, that you know.

   Did you catch what I'm pitching at ya?

Realizing who he was referencing to, I squinted evilly, finding the will to lunge after him. My body was slammed right back down. "Ahhhrgh!"

     It was a muffled growl, "Hey! HEY! You get the hell off of him!"

     Smiling as he got his confirmation he allowed his men to let up. "Do you want to get slapped up in the fucking hole Lyle? Hmm, you and your little guniea pigs, I'll slam you damn idiots in there so fast if you cause another disruption. Go, now!"

     Slowly inching away from me, I jumped back up on my feet.

       "Don't you EVER!" Clenching my jaw to calm
my nerves, I bit my tongue harshly. The blood a bitter taste of my own madness, I rolled my eyes, and dusted myself off.

      "What did you want me to do?"

Walking away and brushing passed his tall body, I balled a fist. "I wanted you to leave me. I wanted you to act like you didn't see anything, like the rest of the FUCKING guards in here Waylon. They know. They know who you are do you understand me, and they're watching, so leave. Stay away from me until it is time. Alright?"

    His hair was no longer long, and curly.

His innocence was no longer apparent, Waylon was like me.

      A bitter breath, with a blackened heart.

Deadly, and careless. He was dangerous.

   Those hazel eyes of Waylon's, were bright, you can get lost in that maze, but eventually you'll find its end.

       You just don't want to get there.

"Fine, I'll let them beat you to hell and back if that's what you want.

        EVERYBODY GET BACK TO YOUR MOTHERFUCKING CELLS."

     Slamming me onto the ground in haste, Waylon kicked his boot deeply into my stomach. So hard I even coughed repeatedly for a moment, he knocked the literal breath out of me. "Get up."

    Failing in moving as he ordered, he proceeded, "I SAID GET UP INMATE!"

Pulling me up by the collar of the white tee beneath my jumpsuit, he threw me ruthlessly into the metal tables. I could see Lyle, watch intently, whatever he wanted from me, was in on my future plans of this place.

      I couldn't let that happen, and the safety of Waylon was at risk, he had to go.

And his only way out willingly was a body bag, and that I don't mind, I can put a bastard like that down in no time.

   The problem was, finding the right time exactly.

        Yet the more my mind ponders the negative outcomes, I realized that I didn't have time.

      Wiping the blood away with my sleeve, I limped into the crowd, not once looking back at a paining Waylon, he didn't want to hurt me.

      But as long as I'm in here he's going to have to, if this is going to work, he had to comply with the order of which things must take place.

    It's just this Lyle character is complicating things tremendously.

      "Sleep tight you bitches!"