Connor
From the moment the judge denied me bail, two thoughts kept me going: holding Lily in my arms again… and getting revenge on Miranda.
Both were excellent ways to keep my mind off the nightmare my life had become.
My reference points for prison were Hollywood movies, so I can’t say that I was totally prepared for what came next – but there were a bunch of moments that felt vaguely familiar.
First there was the transfer from the jail in Manhattan to Rikers. They put me in an armored van for the trip.
Let that sink in for a second.
An armored van. Like a Brinks truck, the kind they transport millions of dollars in.
Why? In case I’d hired a bunch of mercenaries with rocket launchers to break me out?
I think the New York judicial system had seen one too many bad action flicks.
There was the check-in, where my belongings were inventoried in front of me and put into storage. Then there was the shower and de-lousing powder. (That was an unpleasant first for me.) Then a new orange jumpsuit, several changes of clothes, and assignment to a jail cell. My new roommate was a scrawny bald guy missing most of his teeth.
At least the prison guard who gave me the tour was respectful. He didn’t put on an attitude, didn’t try to lord his power over me. He gave me a few tips – stay away from deserted hallways, don’t cop an attitude with the guards, don’t pick up the soap – and at the end said, “Good luck, Mr. Templeton.”
He knew who I was.
In fact, I had a feeling a lot of them knew who I was. There were a lot of catcalls, some insults, a lot of people yelling out if I could loan them a couple million.
But I also got a lot of challenging stares from the other inmates.
I returned each and every one with a calm, confident, but non-aggressive gaze.
And nobody fucked with me.
One thing I have to say is, there are a couple of parallels between the world of business and prison. One is, you’ve got to be able to size up a guy the minute he walks into the room. In prison, he might try to shiv you. In the boardroom, he’s just going to try to rip your company out from under you.
If it’s me they’re after, either one of them is going to get their ass handed to them.
I don’t say that with false bravado. I’d trained with Johnny for a year. Not only that, but I was one of the tallest guys in there. I had 20-30 pounds of muscle on all but the biggest inmates. And I was in the best shape physically. I was fairly confident I could handle any threats.
Situational awareness. Identify the threat. Disarm, then disable.
Another parallel was there was a hierarchy here, just like the business world. There were the weak guys, the quiet guys, and the ones who wanted to fade into the background. The delusional braggarts without anything to back it up. Wannabes who put up a front so you wouldn’t fuck with them, but who were secretly afraid you would.
And then there were the true tough guys, the alpha males establishing their territory. Lots of displays of dominance. That’s what the stares were about.
When a guy in the boardroom challenges you, you have to immediately let him know not to fuck with you. Idiots will attack if provoked, so you don’t necessarily escalate – unless you want him to attack, so you can stomp him and move on.
But there are plenty of times where a man is just establishing his territory. In that case, the most important thing to let a rival know is that if he throws a punch at you, he’s going to pull back a bloody stump.
Same general principle in prison. The weak get preyed on, and the strong rarely need to fight. Usually just once, to establish their street cred. That’s the fight I was waiting to happen.
I didn’t have to wait long.
I was walking in the prison yard amongst the inmates. Some lifted weights; some played basketball; most just stood around and talked.
I wanted to think about Lily – of getting out and seeing her again – but now wasn’t the time. I didn’t really believe anything was going to happen, but Johnny’s first rule was ‘situational awareness,’ so I kept my guard up.
It’s a good thing I did.
I noticed first that the crowd was thinning out around me, until there was nobody around for twenty feet. What was weird was, they were watching. Waiting. Like they were expecting something.
Next, three giants walked through the inmates and into the open space. All of them white dudes, all of them at least 6’2”, all of them weightlifters with massive biceps. And all of them neo-Nazis, with shaved heads and a ton of swastikas displayed prominently amongst their tattoos.
“I heard you’re a rich motherfucker,” the leader said, an especially ugly asshole with a black beard.
I just stood there, relaxed but alert, as the other two slowly walked around to flank me on either side.
Three against one.
Great.
“I said, I heard you’re a rich motherfucker,” Ugly repeated, this time pissed off. “What, you don’t hear so good?”
“No, I just don’t speak ‘asshole,’” I said.
Ugly turned red. He was getting angry, which was good – it would make him sloppy.
“You fuckin’ idiot – do you know who I am?”
As he continued to yell at me, my mind raced.
Was this a legitimate fight?
Or had ‘somebody’ paid them to do this?
My eyes scanned the periphery of the prison yard, looking for the guards.
I couldn’t see a single one closer than three hundred feet – and all of them were looking away.
This was definitely a set-up. She’d paid off multiple parties for this to happen.
Miranda, I thought, if I get out of this, I am going to kill you with my bare hands.
“You’re fuckin’ NOTHIN’ in here, you understand me?” the lead guy yelled.
I kept the other two skinheads in my peripheral vision. None of them had shivs… or at least weren’t showing them yet.
The odds were against me. They knew it, I knew it.
Time to negotiate.
“Let’s make a deal,” I said. “Somebody paid you to come after me. Don’t deny it, we both know it’s true.”
I could see it in his eyes I was right. Bad poker player.
“Whatever she offered,” I continued, “I’ll pay you triple.”
“‘She’?” the guy laughed. “You think a bitch put me up to this?”
Good point. If Miranda was dealing with the Aryan Nation, she wasn’t doing it directly. She was doing it through five intermediaries and she would probably kill two of them, so she could never get caught.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’ll still pay triple.”
The two guys on either side of me looked to their leader. They were obviously distracted by what I was saying – which was good. Their minds weren’t in the game.
Ugly sneered at me. “Bullshit.”
“You know who I am. So you know I’m good for it.”
“I got my orders.”
Fuck.
Another business principle that apparently holds true for prison: don’t bother negotiating with foot soldiers. They don’t have the authority to cut a deal.
But I kept talking, just in case. I kept my voice calm – I didn’t betray an ounce of fear or weakness – but I let them know they were idiots if they went through with it.
“Kick it up the pipeline,” I said. “Your superiors would want to know they can cut a better deal.”
I stopped short of offering the three of them money to go away. That would make me look weak and open me up to a thousand future attacks. Every asshole in Rikers would be demanding 50 grand to leave me alone.
If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right.
The first fight was going to be the last.
You punch at me, you draw back a bloody stump.
Ugly actually considered for a long moment, then finally shook his head. “No deals.”
He nodded to the other guys, giving them the go-ahead.
My mind raced through what Johnny had taught me:
Go for the eyes and throat.
Use one guy as a shield against the others.
Knees and elbows only bend one way, so make them bend the wrong way.
Disarm, then disable.
And one more piece of information he’d repeated only rarely:
Kill if necessary.
The last thing I thought of, though, was Lily – and prayed I’d get to hold her again.
Ugly smirked as all three of them stepped forward. “Nothin’ personal.”
“Yeah,” I said, and smiled back. “Nothing personal.”