Lockett - Crime Scenes

CRIME SCENES

AMY LOCKETT

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Hed spent five years in that hellhole before he made an informed decision: prison fucking sucks. He spent the majority of his day locked in a cell with some psychopath that claimed to hear voices in his head telling him to do crazy shit like wear his underwear on his head or punch that big guy, Stone, in the yard. Stone had nearly killed the poor bastard, but Joe Sullivan, aka Sully here, didnt give two shits about him. Not when he ate something gray that might have once been meat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and drank water with a yellowish tint to it. Not when he slept on mattresses lumpier than the alley floors he used to sleep on as a kid, when his mother was jobless and they had no place to call home. Not when he had these assholes who call themselves correctional officers screaming in his ear like theyre talking to some old deaf guy and shoving him around like its some kind of game.

So many times hes wanted to retaliate, to bash their heads in, to slit their throats with a handmade shank, to slap their own cuffs onto their wrists and beat them mercilessly with their own nightsticks. But he was smarter than that; he knew that were he to so much as pluck a single hair from any guards head, there would be consequences. Namely, more time added on to his sentence and even harsher punishment from the dickheads within the prison itself; the very same ones that were supposed to be protecting him from his other cell mates.

But the very worst part about all of this shit was the fact that he hadnt even done anything wrong to deserve itwell, at least not what they thought hed done.

Hes not going to lie; hes wasted a few traitors to the gang. More than one man is buried six feet under with his trademark cigarette burn on the back of the neck, but he swears on his mothers grave that he never even went near that chick theyre saying he offed. He didnt even recognize her name, but apparently she was some rich bitch daughter of a senator or something. Raped and killed and dumped in an alley about a mile away from his house, a cigarette burn on the back of her neck and a threatening lettersupposedly from himfound in the pocket of her designer coat.

The police had barely even had to prove his guilt. He was so well-known in this city, by all the jurors and the deliberation had taken less than a minute before he was found Guilty of all crimes. He was sentenced to 20-Life and sent upstream. His girl, Pat, visited him sometimes and they used Morse taps to communicate as they chatted about mundane subjects like the weather and sports games he couldnt give two shits about.

Through their taps, he found out about the man who framed him, Rick Silas, whod once been his friend, but was now a bitter rival. Rick and Joe had had a falling out years ago over something as absurd as splitting their shares from a lifted purse. There was only about a hundred dollars in the damn thing and Ricks argument was that, since hes the one who distracted the old lady in the first place, he should get a bigger split. Joe fought that it should be equal, since they both did their part in the theft. Theyd fought like animals afterwards and one sock in the jaw had Rick backing off.

Keep it, you greedy fuck! he roared. Ill find my own! It had been a year until he saw Rick again and by that time he already had his own operation going. And Rick was never one to let go of grudges easily.

Cops starting inexplicably hanging around Joes house, where he, Pat, and their own group of outlaws lived. They sold drugs, stole drugs, used persuasive tacticssuch as wielding a knife or a gunto get their own way, and sold knockoffs. With the cops watching their place, Joe had to be ten times as careful, warding off the fuzz with his natural charm and power of persuasion. He fucked more than one female cop while Pat gave blowjobs to the majority of the males. They werent bothered at all until the rich bitch turned up dead.

When the cops came to his door then, they didnt even ask questions before shoving a warrant in his face and slapping cuffs on him. At the time, Joe had no idea what hed done or who had accused him but he already swore revenge as they shoved him into the back of a police car. Nobody wanted to listen to him plead his innocence and his trial was set for the following month, at the senators insistence.

To find out that it was Rick was no big surprise, but he cursed out loud nonetheless, causing two of the guards to look his way.

Its supposed to rain tomorrow, he lied and they looked away, uncaring.

It was then that he started to plan his revenge, meeting with Pat every few weeks to tap it out. She informed them that half of their guys had gone over to Ricks side when Joe went away, that they were now loyal to him and they were missing half of their manpower. Nobody had discovered the drug ring, but people were wary about buying from them now that their leader was away. Rick had done all of this, the prick. He would pay.

Now it was five years later and still there was no way to put their plan into action without Joe there to guide them. Pat was persuasive, but she was no gang leader, that was for damn sure. She was just his right hand; the person who echoed his orders and pointed a gun at whoever wavered. She was loyal and tough, but not tough enough for what he had in mind.

He was being driven insane every single day as he listened to his roommate mutter to himself, his head banging a rhythm against the wall. The only thing that kept him going anymore was the thirst for revenge. And Anns letters.

Ann was another rich bitch. But she hadnt known the victim too well, except for the rumors she heard about the girls tryst with some gang member. She was the first to write to him and tell him that she believed he was innocent. She wrote, in her first letter, that the gang member the girl was associated with was black, not white like Joe, and lived on the other side of the cityat least according to the rumors shed heard. Shed tried to tell the cops that but none of them had listened. As far as they were concerned, she was just another little heiress looking for attention.

But the fact that somebody outside his own group thought he was innocent was enough to make Joe respond to that first letterand then every letter thereafter. Their correspondence lasted for the entirety of his time in prison and he kept every single letter in his pillowcase, smiled when they crinkled at night as he rolled over. He didnt tell Pat about the letters.

He received one on the day his plans would be set into motion.

Dear Joe,

Since receiving your last letter, Ive been thinking a lot about what I would like to do for the rest of my life and Ive decided that Im going to go for it. Im going to tell my father about my art, show him my paintings. Maybe hell understand, you know? Maybe he wont be mad at all. I mean, Im his daughter and he loves me, doesnt he? Wont he just be happy that Im happy? Im sure he will and so Im going to tell him. Better late than never, after all. Right?

And Joe, I dont think Ive ever asked you want you want to be. As in your career? I know itll be a while before you can even consider it, but what is it that youve always wanted to do with your life? Something besides a life of crime, I mean, though to each his own I guess. Let me know in your next letter. Ill be looking forward to it.

Sincerely, Ann Martin

It was shorter than most of his letters but he tucked it away into the inner coat of his jacket anyway. He would answer no more letters but he wouldnt leave them here, where psycho could get his hands on them. And, besides, having them closer to him made him feel safer as he made his way into the yard, where hundreds of other inmates stood, talking and just taking in the short amount of fresh air they were allotted each day.