Author's note: - This is a follow on to the previous chapter of Becca XXX Hard Time. Please read it before reading this or you will not understand the plot or characters
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Becca XXX. Hard Time. Ch 08.
I waited in line outside the visitor's room. I was apprehensive and nervous about smuggling drugs into a category A prison for The Crow, but it was a means to an end.
I treated this like any other assignment and I'd spent the night planning it as best I could with what little information I had. There wasn't a great deal to plan, but I ran through the 'What ifs' just the same. Being prepared for any situation always made it easier and quicker to react.
What if I got caught?
What if the girl didn't have the drugs?
What if I got searched on my way back into the prison?
What if this was just a set up by The Crow to get me out of the way?
The last one was the most worrying. If The Crow had decided to tip off the guards to catch me in the act, she'd have free reign to take Naomi and Melody out while I was banged up in solitary. After what I'd done to her crew, it wouldn't have come as a surprise.
I'd been awake half the night going through the different scenarios in my head. I'd come to the conclusion that it wouldn't be worth her while to rat me out to the screws. She was short staffed thanks to me and she needed me to get the drugs into the prison. Her clients needed to be satisfied and The Crow had a reputation to uphold.
The crazy bitch was practically running the prison so why would she endanger that by forgoing a shipment of drugs just to get me out of the way.
The simple answer was - she wouldn't.
She could have killed me in her cell yesterday, when I'd been in a vulnerable position. She'd had more than one opportunity to kill me, but she hadn't taken it. Instead, we'd fucked the life out of each other in a blood-bath of sexual energy. I couldn't see any reason why she'd try and go back on our deal now.
I'd also spent the night going through my escape plan while Naomi was fast asleep on the bunk below me. I was pretty sure that I was going to need The Crow's help if we were going to escape from the rape room and I was slowly piecing together a package of persuasion to get her on my side.
If she really had killed fifteen men by burning them alive, she'd never get out of prison. The governor's rapey game in the basement was just to keep her sweet and give her some sort of hope and purpose. There was no way he'd have the authority to reduce her sentence. If I could prove to The Crow that that was the case, she'd be more than willing to help us escape. It would up her credibility in Bronzefield and she'd reaffirm her waning respect from her fellow inmates.
That was my theory anyway. Either way, I had a job to do and there was no point in worrying about what she was up to; I couldn't change it.
Visiting time was ten o'clock and the military-style discipline of the prison system wouldn't allow us into the room until the clock said it was time. It was just another way of controlling the inmates and letting them know that nothing they did was down to them. They were under the control of the screws with everything they did, whether they liked it or not.
Buzzzzzzzzzzz.
The clock struck ten and the magnetic door lock buzzed to allow us into the room. The screws on duty that morning included Wright and King and they were their usual perverted selves.
"Ok girls. You know the rules. No heavy petting in the visiting room," laughed King. "Keep it in your panties if you please."
"Yeah, we don't want it smelling like a fish market in there," added Wright.
"My brother's here to see me," protested one girl. "Don't be sick, Mr King."
"Whatever floats your boat, honey. I'm not here to judge," he held his hands up as though his comment wasn't meant to offend. "What you get up to at your family gatherings is nothing to do with me."
The girl just gave him a sarcastic smile and walked past him into the visitor's room. The line slowly filed in one by one. I was about to cross the threshold when King stopped me as I got to the doorway.
"Morning, Sloan," he said, blocking my path with his arm.
"Morning, Mr King."
"Who's your visitor? She's a sexy little thing," he leered.
"She's just a friend," I replied.
"A 'special' friend?" he made air quotes around the word 'special' as he showed off to Wright.
"No," I snapped. "She's just a friend. Are you going to let me past?"
I glared at him and he glared back.
"I think you've touched a nerve there," said Wright, making a V-shape with his first two fingers and licking in between them as a rude gesture.
"I think you're right," laughed King. "Girls will be girls. Off you go, Sloan. Keep it clean."
He moved his arm out of the way and I barged past him without saying another word.
The visiting room was nothing like they portrayed in the movies. It wasn't a room separated by a glass screen where inmates spoke to loved ones through a telephone. Things had moved on since then but security was still tight. Visitors would have been screened before being accepted and then they'd have to pass through a metal detector before being allowed into the room.
The room itself resembled a canteen with tables and chairs laid out in an orderly manner. Each setup had two chairs on one side of the table and one chair on the other. Each inmate was only allowed two guests at any one time. The chairs and tables were bolted to the floor in case an inmate decided to go on a rampage and started throwing the furniture around.
The whole place was like a halfway house between the reality of the outside world and the stark contrast of prison life. It gave the inmates a tiny taste of home and gave the visitors a small taste of what their loved ones had to put up with.
I scanned the room for my new best friend amongst the worried looking parents, husbands, girlfriends, boyfriends and acquaintances of my fellow criminals.
I spotted her straight away.
She stuck out like a sore thumb for all the wrong reasons. As soon as I saw her I knew I'd have my work cut out for me. She looked like a rabbit in headlights and she couldn't sit still. She was wearing a red top just like The Crow had promised, but I could tell she was just an unwilling victim in all of this.
Arrow had told me that The Crow had the power to blackmail inmates by threatening their family and friends on the outside. It was obvious that this young thing had been coerced by The Crow's people in order to get her to cooperate. She was just a drug mule who was completely out of her depth.
It was all very well intimidating normal people into a life of crime, but not if they looked like they were about to have a heart attack. Paula looked about nineteen at the most and was either about to keel over with stress or spill the beans to the screws. Her eyes darted all over the room and she was fidgeting and sweating profusely.
"Paula," I yelled in a jolly tone. "I'm over here."
She snapped out of her manic state and looked over in my direction. I gave her a playful wave to say hello and then made my way over to her table. She got up as I approached and I could tell that she was feeling uncomfortable. Having your vaginal cavity stuffed full of drugs tended to have that effect on a person.
She waved back and looked even more nervous as I got closer.
"Hi Becca," she spluttered. "Over here."
The Crow's people must have given her my name. This had to look believable from both parties. She'd have been given the bare bones of who I was and what I looked like to make it look convincing.
I made it to her table and leaned across to give her a kiss on the cheek. We were old friends after all and this was all an act. I had no idea who this girl was and she was in the same boat as me. We were just a couple of pawns in The Crow's wicked game.
"Great to see you," she said, like a timid bird. "How have you been?"
"I'm good. The food's shit, but I'm doing ok. Sit down," I tried to reassure her.
She was average looking with mousey brown hair in a bob. Her eyes were so big and scared that they made her look like a cartoon character. They filled half of her face. She was wearing a short black skirt and a red long-sleeved top. All of which would have been provided by The Crow's people so that she fitted the description I'd been given.
I also knew that she wouldn't be wearing any underwear. She was going to have to push eight drug-filled condoms from her pussy, each the size of a small plum. She wouldn't want any fabric to impede their exit. For the same reason, I was also pantyless.
We both took a seat and I watched her smooth her skirt down under the table. Her eyes glanced at the screws who were scanning the room and slowly walking around to check for any suspicious activity. She was going to give the game away before we even got started if she didn't calm down.
"Just relax," I said quietly.
"Please don't hurt my family," she begged with her wide eyes across the table. "We've done nothing wrong."
She looked as though she could burst into tears at any minute. The Crow's threats had obviously had the desired effect.
"If you've done as you were asked, there's nothing to worry about," I replied softly. "Have you got the goods?"
She shuffled uncomfortably on her plastic chair. That told me that the answer was yes before she even confirmed it.
"I have them," she nodded. "How do we do it?"
"Slowly and carefully," I replied. "But not yet. Let everyone settle in first."
The other inmates were taking their seats and greeting their loved ones with hugs and kisses. There were lots of concerned faces and smiles of elation from family members and friends alike. It reminded me of waiting at the arrivals gate of an airport. People were always pleased to see one another, but there was an underlying tone in this room.
Meeting someone you cared about in a place like this was no fun for the visiting party. They'd be worried sick about the inmate, having no clue what prison life was all about. If they'd watched too many documentaries or dramas about prison, they'd think that people got raped and shanked every day in Bronzefield. With The Crow running the place, they wouldn't be far from the truth.
It also made the inmates feel guilty and alone and made them miss home even more. The hour of catching up and putting their loved one's mind at rest would soon evaporate and make them realise what they had given up for their life of crime.
The women in prison weren't necessarily bad people - they were just people who'd done a bad thing. It might have just been one moment of weakness or misjudgement which had changed their lives forever. Naomi was a classic example.
I brought my attention back to Paula, once people had settled in to their conversations.
