“She should be at the chapel,” Pastor whispered.
“Yeah, went over that with her already. I think she’s pissed off. You might say a prayer with her at her break,” The Brit commented.
“Fine idea. A prayer could be good for all,” Pastor said.
He prepared for Grace.
The Brit took a large piece of beef and chewed it loudly. The sound resonated from the speech holes of his hardened plastic cell.
Pastor looked ruffled.
“Just her,” The Brit said.
“There is still time for your soul,” Pastor pleaded.
The Brit cut more of his meat. This was his last supper. He did not want or need this. He knew what would eventually happen if he chose the path of revenge but he had to. If everyone kept turning the other cheek with those men, they would end up facing them in the end. Did revenge bring his father back? No, but it was not about bringing him back. U877 did not want forgiveness.
Pastor lifted off the top of his food tray. The smell of a truly great meal made him close his eyes to savor. He felt The Brit’s contempt for their discussion.
“Thank you for dinner,” Pastor said.
“No one should eat a surf and turf dinner alone,” The Brit answered.
Pastor took a bite of the pre-cut steak.
“But mostly it’s to piss off the warden,” The Brit joked, “Last requests can’t be denied. That’s why you’re giving me last rites.”
Pastor made a move on his chessboard. The Brit countered his move, removing one of his pieces.
“My, we are aggressive tonight,” Pastor, commented.
“Don’t think there will be a rematch,” The Brit said with confidence.
He moved a chess piece, looking to Pastor with satisfaction. Pastor chewed his food looking at his board. He was proud. All these years teaching this man how to play this game. The improvement showed. Felt in every move. Yet, The Brit had aggression and over confidence at time. Both of these traits can be detrimental to this game. Still Pastor believed those traits were useful in his survival. They just needed focus.
“Why do you feel so comfortable around me?” asked The Brit.
Pastor surveyed his possible counters to The Brit’s attack.
“Well, the six inches of safety glass helps,” Pastor, said….
…”We are bound to come to some doors without electric locks,” The Brit stated, “With luck, we’ll find a dead guard.”
A scream rang out. The pair stopped and took cover in the shadows. Shots were fired. Somebody had a gun. Shots were returned. The Brit knew the sounds. Guess the rumors were true about the vault in Patchell’s office. Wondered if it was under that damn aquarium. Someone must’ve found his cache.
“It came from the far end,” said Pastor.
The pair ran down the catwalk toward the screams. Two guards lay lifeless. The Brit carelessly rolled them over and searched their bodies. No keys, he continued searching and no guns.
Another scream echoed. That one came from a woman.
“That’s farther down,” Pastor said.
“I don’t give a shit. We need keys,” said The Brit
Sounds of men hooting and yelling echoed.
“Someone needs help,” Pastor said.
The Brit held the old man back. Better to let this play out. They were lucky in the cafeteria. Only four and they were unarmed.
“I know you found religion and believe all life is sacred, but hold up,” The Brit said.
“You owe me, I saved you. And there may be keys down there,” Pastor said.
The Brit could not believe this old man. He had balls. You had to give him that.
“You know, you’re starting to piss me off,” The Brit said.
The Brit took each guard’s handcuffs and stood.
“The chow hall. Remember? We’re even,” The Brit responded.
Pastor blocked The Brit’s exit.
“Listen you have two choices. Get out with me,” The Brit demanded, “or get out the way.”
Pastor held the case over the rails.
“No, more pack mule,” Pastor said.
The Brit looked frustrated with Pastor. He should just kill him. Hell, let him drop the bag. He would get more shit, plenty of cells. Still, showed a lot of balls and he was useful.
The Brit pulled Pastor’s arm back, slowly. He got eye to eye with Pastor.
“Careful Pastor, no glass,” The Brit warned.
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