The Greatest Game episode: The Prison missiondevelopment/2013/07/the-prison/ Continued from Random Luck… Palmer glanced over at the bulky young guard. “Looks good, Rocky.” Constantine “Rocky” Demetrios looked back at Palmer. He’d been posing in front of a mirror, flexing. He grinned, said, “Thanks, man” and wiped his face. In the overheated guard quarters, he’d worked up a sweat. Looking up at the clock, he said, “Twenty-five minutes.” The ten-to-six shift was the most grueling. No matter how hard Rocky pounded his body or what he ate, sleeping from eleven in the morning until seven at night just wasn’t normal. He was dog-tired from the previous four nights. “I’ll sure be glad to see Friday morning.” “You and me both, bro’. Better get your gear on.” While donning his uniform, boots, gunbelt and cap, he thought about the past. Growing up in Seligman had been boring. Born with the name Constantine to the only Greek family in town, he’d felt alone. Body building became a passion. By the time he was sixteen, the other kids were calling him Rocky. It beat Stan, that’s for sure. “Let’s go,” Palmer said. They trudged out to the warm night. Rocky flexed his shoulders to settle the gear. In a break room, it was five minutes to curfew. Four inmates were playing cards at a table shoved near a corner. Shielded by the table, two inmates were lying on the ground, working a piece of baseboard. “Got it,” Larson whispered to Joyner. “Loose?” Joyner whispered back. Larson nodded. One of the card players looked over. Larson smiled at him. They were united in the venture. Even if nothing came of it, the boredom was alleviated for a few days. John Christian said, “Call.” “Fold,” said Eduardo. Bingham glanced at the clock and said, “Three kings, girls. Read ‘em and weep.” Christian laid down his cards and smiled. He didn’t care. The two men got up from the corner and started toward the door. A guard walked in and said, “Let’s go.” The quartet got to their feet, a couple of pieces of paper traded hands and the playing cards were scooped up. On the way down the hall, Christian gave Larson an inquiring glance. Larson nodded. Moving down the block, the men returned to their cells. The locks slid shut in unison. Lights dimmed and the inmates settled in. The noise level fell a bit. Never quiet, it became tolerable after curfew. Lying on the bunk, Larson whispered to Christian, “We set?” “Yepper,” he whispered back. “Couple hours, we’ll hear the lock.” He faded into waking dreams. Remembering how had reached there, he smiled. When he was apprehended in Marina Del Rey on a sailboat leaving the country, he was incarcerated in a maximum security Federal lockdown in Los Angeles. Transfers had moved him to a temporary holding facility, and there, his luck turned. Another prisoner in the same facility had the same name with different middle initial. An administrative error was made, possibly by an unmotivated worker whose opportunity to double-dip on a pension had been clipped—who knew? The two prisoners were confused, just long enough for him to enter the State system. Even though his case was being tracked correctly, his physical location, path and destination changed. The Supreme Court’s decision in 2011 put the State of California in a bind. Prisons were overcrowded and solutions were few. To comply with the decision, California rented prison space from Arizona for certain non-violent offenders. Christian was classified as non-violent and ended up on the bus. The Secret Service and FBI had moved on to other police matters—it wasn’t their job to check on prisoners awaiting trial. His attorney knew what was happening, but he told his attorney to say nothing. It was one of dozens of privately-run prisons in Arizona, thrown up quickly to meet the needs of the exploding population. The construction was not top-notch and escapes had occurred before. Because of the prior escapes, the prison had been singled out for a new, ultra-high-tech control system. Excellent in design, the only flaw was that it relied on one System Administrator at a time. The SysAdmins rotated, so no one had to work more than an eight-hour shift. But there was never more than one of them present. Continued…
Posted on: Wed, 03 Jul 2013 09:02:39 +0000
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