Chapter 26 A Break From The Norm

Problems somehow always have a way of finding you, no matter how hard you try to avoid them.

For Johnson, this was a splitting headache, after the king's impromptu screening.

Before his changeover. Johnson's eyes warily eyed the tick of the security control room clock.

It ticked its way like a ticking time bomb to 5:00 PM association Time.

Gunner and Brummie had been brought in as a spare pair hands for the understaffed graveyard shift - with Johnson considering the option of a 24-hour lockdown.

While doubting a full lockdown would quell tensions for long. Johnson felt it was best to limit movement until tempers cooled, as McBride had anticipated.

Throughout the afternoon, McBride and the Ox tore the elastic cords from their boxer shorts and crudely tied them together.

Forming a makeshift communication string stretching over 20 feet long.

McBride then scribbled notes and passed them down the line, inmate to inmate - soon everybody was in the know of Mcbride's intentions for the evening.

Johnson monitored the large monitor wall, displaying the CCTV images from around the prison.

"We're going to have to implement a 24-hour lockdown boys," he explained, his voice filled with urgency.

"There's going to be a security breach. I can just feel it, we can't take any chances."

"A full lockdown Johnson?" Gunner asked.

Gunner and Brummie were considering the difficulties ahead in their respective shifts.

"The Muslim lot are in prayer at the moment in Mosque," Brummie pointed out.

"And how are we supposed to ferry out 150 Muslims back to their cells?

Oh by the way you're going to be locked up for 24 hours boys? It's going to kick off."

"And what about Bible studies in the Chapel?" Gunner inquired.

Johnson hovered over the many screens of the computer system.

As head of security for HMP Liverpool, it allowed him full control over the CCTV and other locks.

His eyes darted between camera feeds, assessing the prison.

In the Chapel, rows of wooden pews held a congregation of around thirty souls.

Johnson switched to the mosque feed. There, he saw the Muslim Brotherhood rise as one from their kneeled prayers, palms pressed together.

Their robes flowed behind them in the incense-scented air.

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Then, Johnson turned his attention to the whiteboard, where he saw the words 'Welding Vocational Training, 5 PM. Attendance 34' written in bold black letters.

From the workshop, fiery sparks of welding rods burned through one of the cameras.

"Lads, this is what we're going to do," Johnson ordered.

"All high-risk prisoners. We will stick em on full lockdown for the night.

The class C prisoners, education, and the others on leave for religious grounds.

They will have their normal association time.

I think that is a better course of action."

"That sounds more reasonable," said Gunner.

Brummie had other concerns weighing on his mind.

"The cat A's are going to be right pissed off tomorrow.

You can't expect us to come in and clear up your lockups, while you fuck off home at 5 PM."

"It is just until things cool down. The prison service is trying to get a new batch of prison officers in as we speak," Johnson said impatiently.

"And besides both of you are getting double-bubble in your pay packets this month."

"Not as much as you. Hey Johnson?" Gunner said cuttingly.

"While your both, driving around in your prison van, think of me stuck in this shit hole all day!"

Johnson surveyed his facilities through the bulletproof glass, like a sea captain overlooking the waters of a troubled sea.

Johnson's mouth clasped around the radio of the intercom system with an authoritative boom.

"Attention all staff," he ordered.

"We are going to implement a 24-hour lockdown.

All high-risk prisoners are to be kept in their cells.

Class C prisoners, education, and prisoners on leave for religious grounds will have normal association time."

Gunner and Brummie nodded in understanding as they perused through the worn worksheet on the desk in front of them.

It was a well-rehearsed list of all the known high-risk inmates, highlighted in pink aluminous marker, with their cell numbers and landing assignments.

Gunner's fingers tapped across the keyboard of the computer system control desk as he initiated the lockdown sequence.

One by one, the automatic locks on the cell doors clicked into place.

The locking mechanisms pranged, sealing the high-risk prisoners and the notorious criminals away.

The guards shuffled along the corridors, checking each cell door, Then, the banging started.

Demented dented kicks, like the beating of a thousand drums.

It was the sound of rage and frustration, the sound of the darkest of shades of humanity - the sound of men who had lost their association time.

Johnson picked up his parker jacket from a work hanger and threw it over his shoulder.

He then read the sheet in his hands, checking the information for tonight's prison meals.

"Gunner, Brummie don't serve the low-life scum, the tasteless canned corned beef with boiled potatoes and cabbage."

"What should we give them then?" Gunner asked.

"Double cheeseburgers, with extra helpings of french fries. And don't serve them the watery flavorless rice pudding, whatever you do."

"What should we give them for dessert then?" Gunner asked again.

"Get out the quality sticky toffee pudding from the Christmas day stash. They can have one beer each delivered to their cells as well."

"What's with all the generosity, you're usually a real tight bastard?" Brummie said confusingly.

Johnson buttoned up his jacket and swiped his car keys from the desk.

"When you approach a dangerous animal, you have to tranquilize it first and dull its senses.

For my sanity as well as yours.

Work it out for yourselves gentleman. Have a good shift goodnight."