Chapter 32
ROGERS
“Rogers.”
Rogers turns to the sound of CO Carson Miller’s booming voice. One of the shortest—if not the shortest—officers. Miller is a stocky loud guy who makes his presence known. An intimidating tornado who commands respect by his mere presence alone, even from the most unruly of inmates.
Next to him is CO Nathan Jones. A quiet shadow who is often hovering close by Miller, leaving the shorter officer to clear the way, and only stepping in if he absolutely has to. He’s well-built for his tall frame, but not in a flashy way to show off muscle.
They’re a pair of polar opposites.
Rogers can already tell whatever Miller wants it’s something he isn’t going to like. “Yeah?”
Miller stops walking in front of Rogers, arms crossing over his broad chest, bunching the radio clipped to his shoulder. He definitely lives at the gym outside of work. “Sinn'ous is carrying someone down to A-Wing. Lot of blood—”
“We think.” Jones cuts in from above Miller’s left shoulder, clearly not willing to take responsibility for it if it is blood, a dead guy, and an investigation.
“You think?” Rogers enunciated each syllable, placing stock in how unbelievable the denial sounds.
Miller shrugs, answering for Jones. “Didn’t really get a close look.”
So they’re standing by their see-nothing do-nothing.
“You handling it?” Miller’s prompts, probing for the answer to a question that even a deaf man can tell is not a question and a polite demand. A push to handle it because Miller’s won’t be caught dead touching it with a ten foot pole.
He isn’t shocked by them coming to him for this.
He’s the one they all come to when they need a mediator for Sinn'ous negotiations, because he is the one the satanic inmate tolerates. They’ve built a kind of rapport over the year—if you could take it that far, Sinn'ous isn’t the feelings sharing type.
And Rogers will guess everyone else’s reluctance to deal with Sinn'ous stems from understandable fear.
Rogers cusses under his breath, he’s really coming to hate Sinn'ous right about now. “Yeah, I’ve got it handled.”
Just like he had the last mess he cleaned up for Sinn'ous. He’d taken that box out to a secluded place to burn it.
He’d checked what was in the box, a quick open-close to make sure it wasn’t something obscene he was about to burn.
He’d breathed a sigh of relief when it was only a broken bloody broom and blood smeared gloves.
Not a head or hand or something equally unpleasant.
Unpleasantries he hopes aren’t unfolding right now.
“You need back up?” Miller’s arms are already unfolding to move on, clear as day he has no interest in helping.
“No, no it’s fine.” It’ll be messier if there’s an audience. He might have a chance by himself to talk to the psychopath and find out what’s going on.
Miller claps a hand on Rogers’s shoulder on his way past. “Radio if you do.” At least that is a promise of assistance. As much as they all avoid Sinn'ous they aren’t about to leave an officer facing off alone against him.
Rogers’s feet drag the whole way to A-Wing. Inmates gathered in bundles along the way bear him no mind, continuing their conversation or journeying elsewhere. An addict pops something in his mouth, which has Rogers rolling his eyes. They could at least try to hide it.
Not his problem right now. Nope, his problem is in the shape of the dead. He really hopes he isn’t about to walk into some chainsaw massacre scene.
A-Wing is thrumming in life. Packed full of inmates in their collective groups and the sameness of grey clothes in different levels of fade.
Loud voices carrying, too many to hear individual words.
It’s a good sign, indicating no one is dead.
Whenever there is a death everyone clears out, and hides in their cells.
No one wants to be caught anywhere near a dead body.
One of the major gangs for this Wing is by the far wall, taking over three cells.
Their presence is a show of force to deter others.
A good thirty or so men of various builds, yet all tagged in similar ink.
Including that of an aquatic animal of some unknown species, on the meaty flesh of their right thumb.
In a visible place to flash their affiliations.