Chapter 1: Two Lunatics in the Confines of Prison

Eugene woke up his first day in prison to hear voices in his head. He had been thinking, “why does life have to be this way?”

He was surprised to hear the clear response; “Anchovies.”

“What do you know about anchovies?” He snapped aloud, annoyed to hear that word again after the letter he had received last night.

“Not as much as you think you do.”

“Oh, wonderful. Now I’m not only going crazy, but my madness has a sense of humor.”

“Would it be better to hear nothing but dull reproaches in your mind?”

“Cut it out!” Eugene rolled to his feet, shaking the sleep out of his head and looking around. A blank gray wall of cement. A barred door leading onto a dismal passage way. His own gray and dirty-white clothes, the replacement for the beautiful ones he had possessed only the night before.

There was no one else in the room; He had been given a cell with no bunk-mate. The voices in his head must have only been his imagination.

Stalking over to the barred door, he peered out. The hall was empty and most of the other inmates in the cells across from him seemed to be asleep. Either that, or ignoring him. He might have felt affronted, except for that it fit his wishes perfectly.

Now was a good time to do a little scouting, to see what sort of place he had landed himself in and what its weaknesses were. The more he knew about this prison, the sooner he could escape it. The lock was of the simple sort usually found on jail cell doors. Not as archaic as a twirl lock, but no better than a normal padlock for sure. The thing which usually made them effective was the fact that all prisoners were forced to change clothes and go through a metal detector before being placed in the cell.

Reaching up to run his fingers through his long, wavy hair, Eugene came out with a pair of slim items no longer than his longest finger. A rake and a tension wrench. The two objects which were known together as lock picks. But these ones were made of a special high-tension plastic, newly put to this specific use. In fact, Eugene had ordered them custom made. That way even when he was forced to go through a metal detector in such places as an airport or a prison he could still have his lock picks with him secretly. Technology was ever a two-edged sword.

Reaching through the bars, he inserted the tools into the keyhole on the outside. With an awkward bit of jiggling, scraping and soundless cursing he was able to get the door unlocked. It swung open soundlessly, well-oiled and straightly hung on its hinges.

Looking out carefully, the young man made sure that he had caught the attention of no one. Apparently no one was paying him any mind, though he saw a cell a little ways down where the inmate was leaning lazily against the bars, head bowed and arms crossed on his chest.

Eugene walked swiftly and silently down the center of the aisle between bars, having kicked off his boxy prison shoes in the cell. His bare feet were cold against the smooth cement of the floor, but much quieter than hard soles would have been. Part of the way down he stopped, noticing the security camera fastened in the corner of the wall up above his head. Luckily he had not yet walked into its range, but only a few more steps would have taken him there. It was poorly placed, with a space right up against the wall where a slim person could slide passed unseen.

Being both thin and agile, Eugene pressed himself against the rough surface of the wall and edged along sideways for about a dozen feet. He calculated that he was out of its range by then and continued down the hall in the center. Twice more he bypassed security cameras and once dodged a guard by hiding in a broom closet. All this time he kept his eyes open and his brain working to remember the layout of the place. It imprinted itself on his mind like a map, clear and concise.

He was passing a hall marked in red words ‘Solitary Confinement’, when he suddenly got a strong urge to see what was down that way. Which was odd, as he had meant to continue toward the front offices. But he considered that perhaps his instincts were telling him something important, so he changed his course.

Here the cameras were harder to dodge, some of them swinging back and forth alertly or set on both sides of the path. He skipped those by opening a grating in the wall and following the duct behind it past the cameras, until he came out by the actual cell block. Here the doors were made of solid sheets of thin steel, with small Plexiglass windows set at head-height. Eugene looked at them with a bemused gaze, wondering why he had come this way at all.

“Open that one.”

“What?” Eugene jumped, looking around for whoever had spoken. No one was there. It was the voices in his head again. His eyes fell on the door in front of him and the command was repeated; “That one. Open it.”

“I’m really going crazy,” he breathed, pulling out his lock picks for the second time. This lock looked no more difficult than the one on his cell, though it was set in a place which could not be reached from inside. Inserting his tools from the outside, it only took a moment for him to get it undone. He swung the door open a little more stiffly than his own. The cell was occupied.

A pair of green orbs met Eugene’s gaze, burning from inside a hood with no face inside, just blackness. A man wearing a dark cloak sat on the bench at the far end of the room, one arm secured to the wall by a short length of chain attached to a manacle. The figure he cut was such an odd one that Eugene just stood staring for a long moment, before bursting out in a hiss, “what are you?”

“I am Leaflow,” the cloaked man returned in perfectly good English. He looked so much like a giant bug or an outer space alien that Eugene had almost expected him to answer in clicks, or unintelligible gurgling sounds.

When the young man said nothing, just continued to stare, Leaflow added dryly, “if you’re wondering about the cloak, they only became reluctant to take it from me once I had killed a guard and sent the warden to his room with a headache. Which is also why I’m waiting for my trial like this.”

He rattled the chain connected to the wall, showing how tightly it was clamped to his arm. Eugene turned suddenly to shut the door part of the way behind him, before stepping forward to ask in a whisper, “killed a guard? What did you do to get here in the first place, murder the president?”

“No, I only told his scientists that they could stick their needles in their eyes, for all I cared, and fall down a deep well to boot. Then I pushed one to show him the way. Though that wasn’t actually what got me caught in the first place. What are you in, or out, for?”

Not entirely believing the other man’s story, Eugene was more amused than annoyed, saying glibly, “I stole the president’s limo, and his favorite jacket. But I’m only out for a few minutes right now, scouting.”

“Trying to find a way out of jail?” Leaflow’s strange eyes became thoughtful, “if you discover one, I’ll make it worth your while to help me out as well.”

“A murderer in solitary?” Eugene raised an eyebrow, “that’s quite a steep order.”

“All orders will be paid for, now or in the afterlife.” Leaflow shrugged, chains clanking again as he moved, “besides, there’s always anchovies.”

“Anchovies?” the young man suddenly found his interest caught and sharpened, “what do you know about anchovies?”

Leaflow’s gaze was mocking now.

“Only that the come pickled in a can and are far too salty. Personally, I don’t think they have much of an afterlife. Who ever heard of having a ‘spirit like an anchovy,’ or ‘the soul of an anchovy?’ No one, that’s who.”

Backing away, Eugene decided that this cloaked man must be at least a little cracked. Trying to smile soothingly, he shook his head, “well, you’re right there. I think I had better leave now, the guards might come any minute.”

“But in a prison, men are treated like pickled fish.” Leaflow finished as if he had not spoken, words abruptly becoming serious.

Turning away with haste, Eugene fled, but not so fast that he showed his disgust too openly or tripped up in the cameras.

“At least it’s only my hand that’s crippled and not my mind,” he muttered, squeezing back through the ducts in the wall. He continued back along the corridors without any important incidents until he reached the cell where the inmate was leaning against the bars. Eugene thought that he was going to get past again without any trouble, but just as he was almost on the other side of the cell its occupant spoke, “you! What are you doing out wandering the halls?”

He lifted his head up, displaying an ugly face with metal piercings down the nose and a wild mane of pale hair. His voice was pitched quietly now, but it sounded like it could easily be used to shout across the whole place.

“Just looking around,” Eugene shrugged, grinning uneasily, “I have to be getting back now.”

“Wait,” the inmate beckoned him a little closer, “you must have quite a mind to be able to move around this place freely. I could use a man like you. Come back to talk to me after they turn off the lights, savvy? I might have something useful to tell you. Oh, and they call me Maniac.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Eugene only had time to nod once, hearing the sounds of footsteps headed their way. He ran lightly back to his cell and got it locked just before a pair of guards strolled by on their rounds. Grasping the bars in both hands, he worked up some tears in his eyes and called after them, “wait! When are you going to bring us to our lunch? I’m starving in here!”

“Later, kid,” one of the guards called back, but his voice was not as harsh as it usually was when talking to prisoners. Eugene sank back on to his bed, snickering softly. People who lived with him for very long knew better than to trust his tears. As he lay back he thought about what the man down a few cells had said to him. Another person promising something in return for his skills, this one with the name of Maniac. Two insane people wanting to talk to him. And he was starting to hear voices in his head, himself.

“What sort of prison is this? At least if my trial comes before I escape I’ll probably be relocated,” he said to himself with a yawn. Pillowing his head on the stub of arm where his hook or hand should have been, he made himself at ease. Might as well be comfortable until it was time to go out for food. He hadn’t eaten breakfast earlier in the morning; they come to bring the prisoners to the mess room while he was still trying to sleep and he had told them to go away. They had complied with a nasty laugh.

Eugene couldn’t help wondering what sort of food they brought Leaflow and if he ate it, or just threw it in their faces. Despite the fact that he talked like a loony, he must have some spirit in him to hold off the whole prison on account of his cloak…if that story had been true.

The one about the scientists seemed extravagant as well, though Eugene had cut things pretty close with calculated risks himself, in the past. This wasn’t the first prison he had been put in, either on purpose or through an accident.

Dozing while still mentally alert, the thief lay still until lunch time and roll-call was announced. The doors were all unlocked in his cell block and the prisoners herded out to stand in a hot, dry courtyard.

There were tall, gray brick walls around it with razor wire at the top and no trees growing on the inside. A locked shed ran along one side, full of the equipment the convicts used for cleaning the courtyard or working in the city outside when they were sentenced to labor. The jail itself reared up in front of them with more razor wire ringing its rooftops, security cameras facing into the courtyard and sad, barred windows peering out at them like blind eyes.

On the opposite side of the yard from the tool shed was the barracks for the guards and the offices for the rest of the staff. Behind Eugene’s back, as he stood facing the jail, was the large main gates, which were made of metal plating and iron bars latched on the inside with a lift-bar which was locked on the end, guarded constantly by at least two men and protected on the outside by a series of cement baffles to prevent speed bombings.

It was all an impressive array of holding force, though Eugene could already spot a few small chinks in the armor. The tool shed, for one, had wooden doors with regular padlocks on them. The offices probably had an outside exit in their rear rooms and the wall behind them had a huge oak tree which was leaning over the wall top just a little. So far he could not combine these into a meaningful plan, but it would come to him. Something always did.

“Eugene Attoli!” The sergeant who was calling the roll shouted out, to which the young man replied sarcastically, “here, comrade!”

There was a suppressed snicker through the crowd. The sergeant glared at him, stalking over to grab his shirt with a meaty fist, “listen up, squirt, when I call a name you just answer with ‘here,’ got it?”

“Our community must appreciate your endeavors to realign my behavior!” Eugene returned with mock enthusiasm, adding meekly when he saw the look in the officer’s eye, “Yes, sergeant.”

The big man shook him before letting go and moving off to continue the roll-call. Eugene stuck his tongue out at the sergeant’s retreating back, straightening his shirt with a jerk at the same time.

“Don’t worry, his temper’s always this sweet,” a voice said beside him, speaking in a sarcastic undertone. Turning, Eugene saw Maniac standing there, strong arms crossed on his chest.

“Don’t forget to drop by tonight,” Maniac added even quieter, as the roll-call was finished and the prisoners began to be herded back into the main prison building. They were led in like sheep to a shearing, lined up along the three sets of trestle tables and given the signal to begin eating. Sitting down, Eugene found a plate of baked beans and dry bread in front of him, lukewarm.

“At least there’s no meat,” he muttered, getting a frown from the inmate next to him for it. But with only one hand, cutting slabs of meat was a problem.

Resting his right arm on the table with the stub partially covered by his sleeve, he began to eat with his left. As he chased bits of bean around the plate with the bread he looked around him, taking in the faces of the crowd. There was Maniac a few tables away, eating the simple food as if it had been a roast leg of mutton.

Beside him a slim, dour man picked at the beans with his fingers while staring up at the ceiling. Not far away one little rat of a person was already licking his plate clean. Despite the variety of faces, forms and hair color, there was a stamp which marked almost all of the men alike. The gray blandness of prison, of staring a cement walls and following routines, of being someone who had no say in the larger aspects of their life. Eugene shivered internally, hoping that he was not in this place long enough to look like that.

It had been so stupid to get caught with a rich man’s limo and clothes. They weren’t really the president’s, but they had still belonged to a powerful family. The Rillcoes, owners of a huge manufacturing empire which mostly made car tires and toothpaste. They were rich, had a son running for governor and were not the sort of person you wanted to get on the bad side of. Eugene had wanted to yank their chain by taking the family car for a spin, but now he would have to face their lawyer in one week’s time.

If only his hired agent had not been late at the meeting, or rather far too early, Eugene would not be here now. Thinking about it, his hand automatically slid down and clenched the envelope crammed in his jail clothes pocket. It had been given back to him as ‘harmless,’ though it was part of what had got him in trouble.

Wondering what address it had been sent to originally, in case he could find out a phone number from it and call his agent to find out what had gone wrong, Eugene pulled the paper from his pocket. As he had noticed before, the ‘to’ address was out of town and, in fact, way across the country. That was where the agent must live most of the time. But the ‘from’ address caught his eye for the first time. It was one in the city, one which looked vaguely familiar to him. It had no name attached, just a number and street. Eugene stared at it for a long moment before letting out a groan. The address the envelope had been shipped from was this very prison.

“Not going to finish your lunch, pal?” the man next to him leaned over, hand snaking toward the plate. Eugene flicked it away with his stub, snapping, “leave it alone.”

“Alright, alright, no need to be a jerk,” the inmate slid back into place, eyeing him warily. Eugene finished his lunch hurriedly and stuck the paper into his pocket, wondering if there was a way of finding out who had sent it from here. Someone who knew his hired agent and yet was an inmate. Who here would the agent be in contact with? It could be anyone, perhaps even a fellow thief. But if Eugene could find out who it was, he might be able to get in contact with the agent through that sender. It was really too bad that there was no names on the envelope.

Later that day in his cell the thought struck Eugene that the person who had sent the envelope might even be his agent’s mysterious partner, who had supposedly run off before the agent even funked it. If so, there was someone in this very prison who might know what had gone wrong with the burglary.

As soon as the electric lights went off that night and the prison was in darkness, Eugene took the lock picks from his hair to unlock the door again. Somewhere he heard a whispered conversation between cells and the sound of someone snoring loudly. Other than that the dark halls were mostly quiet. Moving like a wraith, he passed the security camera safely and made his way down to the cell door where Maniac had been leaning before. Now a face was pressed against the bars and a sharp voice whispered, “that you, Attoli?”

“Just call me Eugene,” the thief slipped over to undo the doors lock, pulling it open with a flourish.

“Heh, you can call me Walter if you like, but I usually prefer Maniac,” the other man moved out of the way, letting him in. Once the door was closed behind them they made themselves comfortable, Maniac leaning back on a chair against a small table and Eugene sitting with legs crossed on he bed. He was wary of the other man, knowing that prisoners sometimes got beat up by their fellows for things as small as a matchstick or a candy bar. But the prisoner seemed to have no inclination to hurt him, though he looked much stronger than Eugene. He was actually being quite the host.

“Have a cigar? I make them out of old tobacco and strips of my blanket, but they aren’t too bad.” Maniac offered, holding something out in the half-gloom of the starlight which came through the barred window. Eugene saw it as a fat, grub-shaped shadow hovering in the man’s finger tips.

“No thanks.”

“You’re right,” the other man flicked the thing away, “I should probably stop the habit. By the way, how do you manage to get around so well in this place?”

“Hidden tools made of special plastic,” Eugene returned, unwilling to tell him exactly where they were hidden. He still wasn’t sure how much he was going to trust Maniac so soon.

“And what were you doing down the hall earlier? I don’t mean to pry, but I saw you going both ways and you didn’t have anything new with you when you came back. Did you find anything useful, an exit or some such?” Maniac leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. He seemed to be trying to diplomatically lever information out of the younger man, though he was not very good at it. With a short laugh, Eugene replied, “All I found down that way was the solitary confinement block. I opened one door to see what was inside and discovered the strangest sort of madman. He was dressed all in black, had glowing eyes (Or contacts maybe) and wanted to talk about the spirit of anchovies.”

“Hah, sometimes solitary can do that to a man. I know, I was in there for a week once myself. But sometimes the person who seems craziest is the one who has the most brains. What else did he say?”

Having nothing to hide concerning it, Eugene told him about the whole incident, adding as much amusing embellishment as he feasibly could. By the time he was done Maniac was up on his feet, pacing up and down the room.

“Hmm…a strange fellow. But he said he could make it worth your while to save him.” He stopped for a moment, hand to chin, staring down at Eugene in the darkness for a long moment. Then he spoke rapidly, “look here. I’ve had a plan to get out of this place for a long time, but it has two problems. The first is that it takes more than one man to accomplish, the second is that once out, I would be as poor as yesterday’s drunkard. But if this person you were talking to is rich…you see where I’m heading with this?”

“Yes,” Eugene leaned back, closing his eyes in thought, “if we get this guy out of solitary, he can help us with your plan of escape and perhaps pay us for it when we all get out. Even if he is a real lunatic.”

“Exactly!” Maniac slammed one fist into the open palm of his other hand.

Eugene wished he wouldn’t; it emphasized the fact that he had two.

“So, now the question is, do you think that you could get this crazy fellow here tonight so that we could discussed our plans with him?”

“Tonight?” Eugene opened his eyes wide.

“Yes,” Maniac reached down to pull him to his feet, picking him easily off the bed, “tonight. Right now.”

Slipping out of his grasp, Eugene shook out his shirt with a glare, “no need to get rough. I’m going. Just one thing–”

He turned to start opening the door, slipping out and locking it before finishing;

“–remember who has the lock picks around here. And if Leaflow goes wild on the way, we’ll both lose them.”

He was gone down the corridor before the other man could answer.