Ficathon: Necessary Evil, R/C.
Title: Necessary Evil 1a/2
Author: Elf
Word Count: About 14,000...this part.
Rating: Brown Cortina for language.
Pairing: Ray/Chris, some Sam/Gene if you squint later but mainly plot-based fic with little pairing action.
Summary: The best laid schemes of Mice and Men
oft go awry,
And leave us nothing but grief and pain,
For promised joy!
A/N: Written for the very patient pill_so_sweet I'm terribly sorry it's late - the reasons why are long and boring. I'm also rather afraid that this is indeed part one of two. And part two will be forthcoming next week. I beg further forgiveness, but I hope you'll all read and enjoy this bit. I thought that something was better than nothing. Some of you may disagree. The prompt I worked from was thus:
Ray/Chris, Tough love, Potential.
I hope I have gone some way to satisfying it.
My fiancé demands credit for this fic too, as he did help with some historical stuff and let me plot at him and helped me out generally. So jonboy1 is my long suffering fiancé whose girlfriend should be planning their wedding instead of writing fic, or getting published so they can move to New Zealand.
And I must thank my wonderful beta, who worked under demanding conditions as I careered through deadlines with gay abandon. All mistakes that remain are mine and mine alone. nebula99, I couldn't have done it without you.
Necessary Evil
“Ray, my office,” Gene said as he walked through CID.
Ray looked up and dropped what he was doing to follow Gene. Once inside the small room Gene pulled out a bottle of scotch from his filing cabinet and two glasses from his top drawer.
“Shut the door,” he commanded.
Ray did as he was told, frowning at Gene’s mood. He knew that the Guv had been in a meeting with Rathbone for the last few hours, and something had obviously happened that had made him unhappy - but not in the usual Gene Hunt blazing temper sort of way. He looked more…defeated.
“Guv?” Ray sat opposite him and picked up the tumbler that Gene slid toward him.
Gene ran a hand over his face and took a swig from his glass before looking down at his desk. It scared Ray that Gene wouldn’t look at him.
“Just been talkin’ to Rathbone and a DCI up from the Met. They’ve had a tip off, reliable they reckon, that a gang they’ve been after is on the move. Up here.”
Ray nodded. It wasn’t good news, but it didn’t explain Gene’s current mood.
“They want someone to go undercover. Someone from here. You.”
Ray felt a small squeeze of fear and anticipation run across his chest. He swallowed, then nodded.
“Right Guv, no worries.”
Gene looked up sharply. “This ain’t a walk in the park, Ray. People round here know your face. I told Rathbone it were a shit idea, but he’s stuck on it, wants us to catch these bastards, rub the Met’s faces in it that we can get ‘em when they’ve been tryin’ months an’ failed.”
Ray nodded. The thing that was worrying him most was Gene’s obvious reluctance to go along with the plan. If his Guv didn’t think it was safe, Ray was inclined to agree with him.
“So…what’s the plan, then?” he asked, trying to sound unconcerned, ignoring the apprehension that was chewing away at his insides.
Chris watched the closed office door, waiting for Ray to come out so they could all find out what was going on. Rumours were already flying - there had been another officer in with Rathbone and the Guv. Someone said he was there because a complaint had been made, but others had disagreed saying it was because a case had gone tits up. Whatever it was, it was clear that the only people who really knew were the Guv and Ray. Sam was spending as much time staring at the shut-off room as Chris was. Chris hoped and prayed that Ray wasn’t in trouble. He knew that both Gene and Ray were guilty of being a bit heavy handed at times, but there had never been any problems before. As Sam kept saying, though, times were changing.
Eventually the door opened and Ray walked out, he looked straight at Chris, gesturing that the younger man should follow him with a flick of his head.
Chris jumped up, almost stumbling over his chair. He couldn’t read Ray’s expression, but he knew it wouldn’t be good news.
As Ray and Chris headed out of CID, Sam was already on his way into Gene’s office.
Ray walked into Lost and Found, waiting until Chris had quietly closed the door and followed him into the room, before turning and leaning back against the far wall. Chris couldn’t tell what Ray was thinking, his face was in shadow, the light streaming in through the narrow window above his head.
“What is it?” Chris finally asked, reaching out and resting his fingers against Ray’s stomach.
“They…there’s a job, an’…Rathbone ‘n the Guv’ve decided I’m gonna do it. ‘S undercover, so…”
Chris nodded slowly, knowing that he just had to wait until Ray was ready to tell him what had sent shockwaves through both him and the Guv.
“’S a gang. Armed robberies an’ that. They want someone on the inside. It could take a bit…an’…I gotta go down t’London, for a while…” Ray finally looked up into Chris’s eyes. He wanted to tell Chris the whole story, because he knew that if Chris found out some other way, there’d be trouble. But Chris’s gaze was already so filled with worry that Ray just couldn’t add to it. “It’ll only be a week or so, honest, an’ then…they’re ‘oping the gang’ll be up ‘ere, but…I dunno if I’ll be able t’get away much.”
Chris nodded again. All he wanted to do was tell Ray not to do it, but he knew he was being stupid. They were policemen, this was their job. There was no way Ray could have refused Rathbone or the Guv.
“It’ll be all right,” Ray continued, when Chris didn’t say anything.
“Yeah, yeah,” Chris plastered a smile on his face, but knew it looked as false as it felt. “It’ll be all right,” he echoed.
The office remained subdued for the rest of the day. No one else knew what was happening, but the mood had quickly filtered down from Gene. Everyone was walking on eggshells, frightened they might be the one who unleashed the simmering anger that seemed to be bubbling away inside their guv’nor.
Even in the Arms that night everyone seemed a little more quiet than usual. Sam noticed Ray sitting leaning on the bar, away from Chris and the others for a moment and stood next to him, signalling to Nelson for a refill.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
Ray looked up, startled. He hadn’t noticed Sam’s arrival.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” he answered, more harshly than he intended.
“Gene told me…about the undercover work.”
Ray nodded, turning back to his pint. “’S just a job. I done ‘em before.”
Sam nodded slowly. He glanced across to Chris, who had been particularly quiet all day. He guessed that Ray had told Chris all about it, so wasn’t surprised.
Ray glanced around and saw Sam looking at Chris.
“Do us a favour, Boss?” he said quietly.
Sam turned, eyebrows raised. He wasn’t used to Ray asking him for anything.
“Keep Chris busy, while I ain’t ‘ere? He’ll only worry hisself sick. Needs summit to keep ‘is mind busy, an’ you’ve always got stuff for him to do.”
“Of course,” Sam answered.
The small duffel bag that sat on the bed didn’t look nearly big enough to contain everything Ray needed for a full week away. It gave Chris a little bit of hope - maybe Ray didn’t expect the job to last long.
“You got everythin’ then?” he asked, standing by the door, his arms hugged around his chest.
Ray glanced around, nodding slowly. He knew he couldn’t take much - most things would be provided for him. He also knew that time was running short. He had to tell Chris the truth tonight, as he’d be going with DCI Brisley down to London early the next morning.
“Chris…” he began, but then didn’t know what to say. He was so terrified of Chris’s reaction. He hated to see the younger man’s gaze fill with pain and know he caused it. But right now he didn’t think Chris could look much more miserable.
“Chris…the job. I ain’t…quite told you all of it. The detail, like.”
Chris looked up, he already looked as if he might cry and Ray knew he was about to make things a whole lot worse.
“Y’know, ‘ow I said I was gonna meet up with the brother? Get in that way…well…thing is, he’s in Wormwood Scrubs right now…”
“Prison? Then…” Chris stopped suddenly, blanching. “You’re…they ain’t…they ain’t sendin’ you into…”
Ray could only nod as Chris looked horrified at the thought.
“You can’t…you…they can’t make you do that, not…”
Ray quickly moved to stand in front of Chris, gently laying his hands on Chris’s tense biceps.
“It’s five days, Chris - he’s due out in five days. That’s all I’ll be in there for. There’d be no other way we could get close an’ not have them suspicious. All I gotta do is keep me head down an’ make friends with him an’ we got a way in. Then it’s like I said, the London lot reckon as soon as the kid’s out of the Scrubs then they’re movin’ up here, wholesale. An’ what more could they want than someone like me to show ‘em the lay of the land, right?”
“Why di’n’t you tell me?” Chris looked into Ray’s eyes. He shook Ray’s hands off him, muscles bunched and his hands clenched. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I…I…” Ray struggled to find the right words. “I di’n’t want to upset you. Or ‘ave you worryin’ before I’d even gone.”
“Oh, but lyin’ to me an’ then leavin’ me to worry when I’m here on me own an’ you’re stuck inside with a bunch of bastard murderers is fine, is it?” Chris spat. He could feel himself shaking and he wasn’t sure if it was through fear or anger.
“No! Chris…I di’n’t know what to say, how to tell you. I knew you’d be upset, an’ I didn’t want…I’m sorry, right?” Ray tried to approach Chris again, but Chris held up his hands, warding him off.
“No, it’s not all right. You always do this, like…like I need protectin’ or summit. I’m a copper too, y’know? I don’t need…don’t need…you should tell me. I s’pose I’m last to know, like with everythin’, am I? Don’ bother tellin’ Chris, he’s just a div, he’s the sensitive sort, he don’t need to know.”
“Chris…you…only me an’ the Guv know. An’ maybe the Boss, if the Guv’s told ‘im, I dunno, you know what they’re like.”
Chris fiercely blinked away tears that began to blur his vision. Ray looked utterly beaten, worn down. And Chris knew he couldn’t stay angry - he couldn’t let Ray’s last night in the flat be blighted by a stupid argument.
Ray could read Chris easily, and the moment his expression changed Ray stepped forward and pulled him into a gentle hug.
“Five days, Chris. There’ll be guards, nothin’ll happen to me. He ain’t got form for violence - he jus’ follows his brothers around and were too stupid not to get caught. Then I’ll be out, and it’ll jus’ be like any other job. I’ll be back up ‘ere, if it works like the Met reckon it will, and you lot’ll be keepin’ an eye on me - least, you better be.”
Chris nodded, gripping Ray’s shirt in his fists. “We will. Jus’…jus’ make sure you get back up ‘ere as soon as you can. Don’t fuckin’ trust them southern ponces.” He tried to inject humour into his voice, but Ray could hear the barely-held back tears.
They stood, wrapped in each other’s arms, for long minutes.
The next morning Chris said his goodbyes to Ray in the flat. There were a lot of things he wanted to say - but all of them would suggest that he feared the worst, and he couldn’t deal with that. Nor could he let Ray know just how scared he was for him. Ray was quiet too, and Chris couldn’t think of anything to cheer him up that wouldn’t sound ridiculous or false.
When he stood on the steps outside the station and watched Ray climb into the unmarked car with DCI Brisley he was silent. He knew he had to hold himself together and not let any emotion show. And he almost managed it, until the car pulled away and both Gene and Sam turned to look at him, compassion in their expressions.
Ray had been inside plenty of prisons during his career, but always on the right side of the heavy steel doors. He was given the blue prison-issue clothes by Brisley at the station and put in a transfer van, fully briefed on everything he was supposed to achieve. Then he was on his own, cuffed and bouncing around in the back of an uncomfortable van. As far as the two guards were concerned he was no different from the other scum they moved around. The only person who knew who he really was now was the prison governor. Brisley had decided it would be too dangerous to let any of the guards know - there was no way of telling if any of them were bent, and the timescale of the operation meant they simply didn’t have time to check everyone out. Ray was glad - he knew he couldn’t risk anyone letting slip who he really was. If anyone found out and tried something in the jail there would be literally no escape for him.
Brisley had assured Ray that the Met team had looked over the records of everyone in the wing he’d be incarcerated in and could find no-one who had links with Manchester or have any reason to recognise him.
He was marched to the intake desk and stood sullenly in front of it. The officer on duty looked up at him.
“Name, date of birth, number,” he demanded.
“Raymond Miller, August sixth, Nineteen thirty-three, four two one nine six,” Ray repeated with the sound of one bored with life in general.
The man nodded, ticking things off his list. “Got anything you want to bring in with you?”
Ray nodded, jerking his head to the guard who was carrying the small paper bag that contained his essentials.
The man took the bag and turned it out onto the counter. There were a few pairs of prison-issue underwear, some socks, his toothbrush and toothpaste, a half-used block of shaving soap and a brush, a packet of tobacco and rolling papers and a half-eaten bar of Dairy Milk.
“Nothing else?”
Ray shook his head.
“You’ll be issued another set of blues, after you’ve been searched. Those one’s will go back to Wandsworth. Now, you better fucking behave - record says you’ve got five days left to serve. Don’t think that just cos you’ve moved down to a cat. B it’s an opportunity to take the piss, right?”
Ray nodded.
His belongings were shoved back into the paper sack and he was dragged through the next doorway, then into a bare white room. His escort removed the handcuffs and left him. A large guard stood holding a sheet of paper in gloved hands.
“Name, date of birth and prisoner number.”
Ray rolled his eyes.
“Raymond Miller, August sixth, Nineteen thirty-three, four two one nine six.”
“Right. Strip.”
Ray had known this would happen, but it didn’t stop it being a humiliating experience - especially knowing that he really was innocent of any crime. He unbuttoned his jacket and handed it to the guard. The same routine was followed with his shirt, trousers and underwear - which the guard checked over, feeling along all the seams and waistband - until he was standing naked in the too-cold room. The guard stepped forward and roughly dragged Ray’s head forward, running his fingers through Ray’s hair and looking in and behind his ears.
“Open your mouth.”
Ray did as he was told, then stood against the wall as he was subjected to the rest of the search. He felt violated, and was glad that Chris had never mentioned anything about this part of the plan.
“Right, stay there, don’t move.” The guard threw the underwear back at Ray, then left the room, taking everything else with him. Ray pulled the underwear back on, then stood in the corner, his arms wrapped around himself and a scowl on his face.
A few minutes later the guard returned, a stack of fabric in his hand. He dropped the blanket and bedding on the floor and handed Ray one set of the clothes.
“Dress, then you’ll be put in your cell.”
Ray pulled on the new clothes. The smelt of harsh washing powder and starch and were rough on his skin. The guard shoved the bedding toward him and picked up the bag that had been left outside the room, shoving that into Ray’s arms too.
The cell held two bunks, a small desk with one chair, a small unit with two drawers and a tiny sink. Ray dumped his things down on the bottom bunk and looked around. There were a few signs of life - a toothbrush on the basin and a book on the top bunk, but the cell was tidy and nothing told him anything about his new cellmate.
“Enjoy your stay,” the guard smirked as he left.
Ray sat heavily on the hard bed. Obviously his new cell mate wasn’t at home right now, so he had a little bit of time to have a look around. He tipped his things out onto the bare stained mattress and leant over to the chest of drawers. He pulled open the top drawer and saw it was full of the same drab blue clothing as he now wore. He quickly looked under it, but there was nothing obvious so he replaced it all as he had found it. The bottom drawer was empty, so he dumped his spare shirt, trousers and underwear into it.
He stood up and read the spine of the book on the bed. It was some sort of fiction book, so he didn’t touch it. He placed his wash things by the sink, then began making up his bunk. As he pulled the pillowcase on he realised someone was standing in the doorway and turned quickly, on the defensive immediately.
He recognised the man he’d seen in all of the pictures.
The two of them stood in silence, assessing each other. Ray knew he had to get on the man’s good side, so he held out a hand.
“Ray Miller. Jus’ got ‘ere from Wandsworth,” he said.
His hand was taken and given a firm shake. “Martin Jackson. Everyone calls me Marty.”
Ray nodded, turning back to his work. He knew he was being watched, but he didn’t say anything. Word had been that Marty was timid, quiet - he’d followed in his brother’s footsteps because he couldn’t say ‘no’. But two years inside had obviously given him more bollocks than anyone had bargained on. He’d also bulked up - the pictures Ray had seen he’d been on the skinny side, but not any more.
“Why did you get transferred then?” Marty asked, showing none of the timid manner Ray had been lead to expect.
Ray looked up at him, assessing him to decide what he should say. He opted for the full cover story they’d worked out.
“Wandsworth’s fillin’ up, innit? They’re movin’ people out who ain’t high risk no more, ‘s all.”
“So you’re not high risk?” Marty asked.
Ray shrugged. “Only got five days left - ain’t worth me doin’ owt now, is it?”
“Five days?”
Ray nodded, knowing that little bit would have got Marty’s interest.
“Me too.”
Ray nodded again. He didn’t want to seem rude, but he also knew he couldn’t be too friendly straight off - it would be suspicious. Most people get themselves to themselves, especially when they were new to a wing. He realised he needed to keep his head down.
“Been ‘ere long then?” he asked.
“Two years,” Marty replied. “You?”
“Three. All in Wandsworth ‘til now.”
“What for?” Marty moved to sit on the chair, tipping it back onto two legs.
“Armed robbery,” Ray paused. “You?”
“Same.” And Ray detected the hint of a smile on Marty’s face. He felt a small victory inside. Maybe the job wouldn’t be so bad afterall.
“I was on D wing ‘til last week,” Marty admitted, and for a second some of the bravado was dropped. Ray spotted the change immediately. Obviously Marty had been keen to stamp his authority on his new cell mate - but now he could see that Ray didn’t pose a threat, he was happy to drop the act.
“Oh aye? Why’d they move you then?” Ray asked.
Marty shrugged. “They don’t have to tell you, do they? But for a couple of weeks I wasn’t going to complain.”
Ray nodded. All he wanted was the quiet life too, so he was glad that Marty saw things the same way.
He happily followed Marty around when dinner was called, following the routine as they all collected their trays and food. The meal was tasteless, but Ray ate it all down, knowing it was his lot for the time being. He’d had worse. He kept his head down, keeping himself to himself, whilst trying to keep watch, clocking various faces - the people who were popular or loud. He picked out a few who obviously thought they ruled the roost and a few who were the hard cases.
That evening he lay on the bottom bunk, wishing he’d thought to bring a book or something. He also wished there was a way he could tell Chris that the only risk of death was going to come from boredom.
“Where you from, then? Your accent?” Marty called down from his bed.
“Manchester,” Ray said quietly.
“How did you end up down here then?”
“Job,” Ray answered. “I’m gonna go back up though, reckon. Soon as.”
“Got family up there?” Marty asked.
Ray thought immediately of Chris. Then shook his head. “Nah. Got no family nowhere.”
His first night was long and sleepless. The noises of the old building slowly gave way to an uneasy silence. Ray listened to Marty moving around on the top bunk. He’d actually felt safer when the door was slammed shut and he heard the key turn in the lock. He would have thought he’d feel claustrophobic, but there had been plenty of times when he’d been stuck in various places and he’d never found it a particularly uncomfortable feeling.
When morning finally came and the doors were unlocked, the rattle of keys in the locks and shouts of the guards moving ever closer along the landing, Ray felt the slight unease begin again. After all, he was a copper surrounded by hundreds of criminals. He made his way to the toilets, wrinkling his nose at the line of prisoners who queued to slop out the cell buckets. Marty had picked the bucket up that morning without a word. Ray assumed he’d get the pleasure the next day.
Being new he didn’t have any employment or anything to fill his days, and no one seemed bothered about sorting him out with any sort of activity, so he lounged around, borrowing someone’s paper and chatting to the few people who bothered to introduce themselves. He tried to treat everyone as if they were on some sort of equal footing, despite feeling like some of the people he met were the scum of the earth. He made a point of not asking what anyone was inside for - he didn’t want to know. Then finally salvation from boredom came with the arrival of the small book cart from the prison library. Ray jumped to look through the battered and dog-eared titles. He found two books and checked them out, being told firmly that he had better make sure he left them behind when he was released.
He went back to his cell and put the books under his pillow, glancing around and deciding to take some time out, lying back on his bunk and rolling himself another slim cigarette. He knew he had to go easy on the tobacco, and was feeling the effects of halving his daily intake - probably more than halving it, he decided, looking at the tiny fag. It was nothing like a proper Marlboro. He wanted to have a sleep, but didn’t dare to whilst his cell door was open.
Just before lunch Marty returned to the cell after spending a morning working in the grounds of the prison. Ray nodded a silent welcome to him.
The bell went for lunchtime and the landings were suddenly noisy with the clatter of feet on the steel platings. Ray moved slowly, not wanting to get too caught up in the throng and wanting to stay close to Marty.
He was pretty sure that the curry they were served was yesterday’s stew - now with added sauce and curry powder - but he ate it down anyway. There was a nasty moment where a fight broke out at the far end of the hall. Ray was on his feet and moving in seconds - along with most other people. A few headed toward the fray, getting stuck in, but most moved away.
After the fight they were all confined to cells - foregoing afternoon association in case of retaliation from whichever gang felt wronged.
Ray sat on his bunk, his back against the wall and rolled a cigarette. He gave a low whistle to attract Marty’s attention and held out the packet of baccy to him. Marty smiled and took it.
“What’re you gonna do when you’re out?” Ray asked, hoping he wasn’t being too pushy.
Marty shrugged. “Dunno. My brother’ll see me right, he says.”
“Got a big family?” Ray asked.
Marty shrugged. “Three brothers. All older.”
Ray nodded. Of course, he knew all about the entire Jackson family already.
Keys rattled in the cell door and it swung open. One of the warders walked in, holding out some paper. “Letters,” he said by way of explanation as Ray took the offered supplies.
Once the guard had moved on Ray gave one sheet of paper and an envelope to Marty and kept one himself.
Marty shoved his magazine aside and put the sheet of paper down on the desk, picking up a pen. Ray sat down on the bed again, staring at the blank sheet of paper. He spotted another pen on the table and gestured to it. “Mind if I?”
Marty shook his head, already writing.
Ray settled back onto his bunk, the sheet of paper resting on one of the books he had borrowed. He began to write.
There was silence in the cell until Marty finished writing. Then he turned to Ray. “Who’re you writing to?” he asked.
Ray paused, not entirely knowing what to say. “Just a friend,” he finally said. “Tryin’ to find someplace to stay, up in Manchester, gettin’ back in touch with old faces.” He folded the sheet of paper in half. The letter to Chris was deliberately vague, mainly saying that the prison wasn’t too bad and that he was fine. It had never occurred to him that he’d have the opportunity to write, but he knew the letter may well be read, so he’d had to pretend he really had just transferred. It put a smile on his face, knowing that he’d at least been able to send some sort of reassurance to Chris though.
Marty nodded.
“You?” Ray asked.
“My brother, Charlie,” Marty smiled.
Ray nodded. “Plannin’ what you’re goin’ to do when you’re free?” he smiled.
Marty nodded. “Something like that.”
“First place I’m going is the pub,” Ray smiled. “Drink the place dry.”
Marty grinned widely. “Yeah - a long cool beer.”
“And some proper food,” Ray continued. “Full English, all the trimmings.”
“Oh yeah.”
Ray nodded, watching Marty closely. He found that he actually quite liked the younger man, despite knowing he was a blagger. Now he’d dropped the act with Ray it was clear that he was going to be very much the kid brother on the outside. Ray had read all the files - Charlie was the eldest, the driving force behind the crimes the gang got involved in. It was him that had been seen talking to people about moving north. Next was Eddie - he usually played the getaway driver for the robberies. Charlie trusted him completely, but Eddie didn’t have the brains to be involved with the planning beyond the basics. Then there was Danny - he was a bit of a wildcard. It seemed as if he was the one with the temper, the one who did stupid things on the spur of the moment. He was the one Ray was worried about.
The next few days passed uneventfully - Ray was put on the workteam who cleaned the wing. At first he hadn’t been happy, but at least it made the days pass a little more quickly. One of the guards seemed to take a dislike to him, but Ray ignored it as best he could. He found it hard to take orders off the jumped-up little prick though.
He made his way back towards his cell on the fourth day at lunchbreak, still fuming over the latest round of insults from his new tormentor. When he reached the door it had been pushed closed and he could hear voices inside. He stopped and touched the door, wondering whether to barge in or listen. The tone of the voices inside told him everything he needed to know.
He pushed the door, glad when it swung open silently on well-oiled hinges.
Three men had Marty pushed against the far wall, one of them holding something to his face - obviously a weapon of some sort.
Ray pushed the door closed again behind him, wary of any guards sticking their noses in before he was ready for them.
“You just let Danny know this is ‘cos of what he done,” one of the men was saying, his face right up close to Marty’s.
“Gents,” Ray said in a low voice, keeping his tone hard and menacing.
The three men turned as one.
“Keep outta this,” one of them said. “It ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.”
Ray looked around him in an exaggerated manner. “You’re in my cell,” he said, jabbing a finger at the man who’d spoken. “You’re boyfriend’s got ‘is hands on my friend. I suggest you leave, boys, before I take offence.”
The one with the weapon took a step forward, holding up the shiv. Ray could see it was a razor blade stuck into a toothbrush handle, and he could only imagine the damage they’d have done to Marty if he hadn’t have returned.
Ray knew that unarmed and outnumbered he’d have to gamble on the guards turning up pretty fast. He decided the best defence was attack so stepped forward, hoping that one of the sidekicks would do the predictable thing. He was in luck.
The one who’d spoken first swung a meaty fist at Ray’s face, he ducked and moved, grabbing the man and swinging him headfirst toward the heavy metal door. His skull hit it and slammed it with a resounding clang - the sort of noise that guaranteed the screws would be heading their way fast.
Ray turned back to the fight, throwing up his arm just in time to ward off another blow. He could hear the grunts of Marty and the other man throwing punches and just hoped the guy who he’d brained on the door didn’t come round anytime soon.
Then the distinctive sound of running feet on the metal landings was audible and the door to the cell was thrown open, smacking against the first attacker’s head again and ensuring he wouldn’t be taking any further part in anything.
The screws waded in, adding more fists to the fray and the occasional nightstick. Finally Ray gave up, knowing that both he and Marty were safe from their original attackers now. He covered his head as a few more blows rained down on him, the confines of the cell meaning that you couldn’t raise a fist without smacking someone else on the back-swing - then everyone seemed to calm down a bit.
“You two - against the wall, now!” one of the screws shouted at Ray and Marty, pointing his wooden baton at them both.
Ray reluctantly followed the order.
“Put your hands on your head - where I can see ‘em,” the warder commanded.
The other three men were pushed or dragged from the small cell, leaving Ray and Marty facing the two officers.
“Right, you two, don’t fuckin’ move.” One of the men pointed his baton at them in turn. “Once we got ‘cuffs for you you’ll go down the infirmary.”
Ray scowled, then looked to his arm, which was still stinging from the first blow he’d received. His light blue shirt was purple with blood from the long gash on his forearm. For the first time he realised that the man had been going for his face with the razor. He shook his head slowly, glad that a lifetime of dirty street-fighting had given him such fast reactions to trouble.
Marty had blood pouring from his nose and a bleeding cut on his chest, but Ray figured they’d got off lightly. He gave Marty a small smile, which was returned. He wondered if the fight hadn’t actually helped his cause.
He had his hands cuffed tightly in front of him and was led by them through the many doors and gates that led to the prison’s infirmary. He was made to sit on a bed and glanced around at the few other lags who were patients in the small room. They all looked depressed, but a few had perked up at the sight of Ray and Marty and obviously wanted to know what had happened.
Marty began speaking to one of them - a man he obviously knew - until their guards told him to shut up.
The doctor quickly assessed both the men and provided some rough and ready first-aid. Ray would have thought his own injury warranted a few stitches, but the doctor was happy to use sticking plaster to bring the edges of the cut together and then a bandage far tighter than Ray would have liked to stem the blood, which still oozed from the gaps. He used the same technique on Marty and then pronounced them both fit to return to their cells. He struck Ray as the sort of person who got by doing as little work as possible, and whilst Ray couldn’t always claim to give one hundred per cent himself, he still felt sorry for the prisoners who found themselves under the doctor’s scant care.
“You’re to go in front of the governor now,” one of their guards smiled a cold smile. “An’ don’t expect a warm welcome.”
Marty looked terrified, and Ray noted the reaction. They were led through more gates and doors until they came to a far nicer, more hospitable part of the prison. Here the walls were painted neatly and unmarked and there was carpet on the floor.
“It’ll be all right,” Ray muttered under his breath to Marty, who turned a terrified gaze on him.
“It won’t! We’ll get extra days - I can’t…I promised my brother I’d be out - I promised!”
Ray nodded, hoping that this latest bit of information was linked to what CID had told him and the gang really were ust waiting for Marty before they moved up North, wholesale.
One of the screws knocked on the large wooden door of the Governor’s office and stepped inside. He was back a minute later and jerked his head at the two men. “In.” he ordered.
Ray led the way, his head held high, and stood in front of the large wooden desk.
A man slightly older than him sat, patiently waiting until Marty had come to a halt beside him and both the guards had stepped back out of the room.
“Miller, Jackson.” He stood up and looked them both up and down. “You’ve been here four days, Miller - is the sort of behaviour they let you get away with in Wandsworth?”
Ray felt a little tension slip away which he hadn’t even realised was there when he was addressed by his new identity. The governor was the only man inside the prison who knew about the job, and Ray hoped he had the sense to let everything run smoothly and not try to flex his authoritative muscle over the case.
“No, Sir,” Ray answered.
“And Jackson - you’ve hardly been in any trouble since you first joined us - why now? When you’re so close to leaving?”
Marty didn’t answer, just dropped his head forward and shuffled his feet.
“It weren’t ‘is fault,” Ray put in. “They came to our cell - armed an’ all. He didn’t do nowt to ask for it. It were some sort of squabble they ‘ad with his brother, not ‘im.”
The governor nodded slowly. “Is this right, Miller?”
Marty shot a glance at Ray and then nodded. “They said they were going to scar me - so Danny’d see what he’d done to me…I mean…I don’t know why…they must know him, and now I’m in this wing…” Marty trailed off.
“Mr Nicholson tells me all five of you were fighting when they entered the cell - and the weapon was found on the floor. Who’s to say that it wasn’t one of yours?”
Ray felt his jaw drop open, but he realised that the man had to be seen to be doing his job.
“Take a look at us, then at them. You’ll not find any scars on them,” he held his still-bloodied arm up to emphasise the point. “They come to our cell lookin’ for trouble. They jus’ didn’t bank on me turnin’ up before the three of ‘em had hurt ‘im,” he gestured to Marty.
The governor nodded slowly.
“I shall be looking into this matter further, gentleman, once I’ve heard the other side of the story, but for now, go back to your cell for the afternoon, tidy up and I shall let you know the outcome.” He walked around the desk and opened the door, signalling to the two officers who stood outside. “Take these two back to their cell, then tell Mr Penfold I will see the other three.”
Ray sank onto his bunk once they were back in the cell, squeezing his arm in the hope that he could lessen the stinging pain and rubbing the red marks the handcuffs had left on his wrists.
“You all right?” he asked Marty, who was standing against the wall at the end of the cell, his head resting on his arms.
“I don’t know what I’ll do if they give me extra,” Marty said, turning to Ray. “Danny’ll go beserk - and Charlie. I promised them all I’d be out.”
Ray almost felt sorry for the younger man. He looked devastated at the thought of letting his brothers down - or possibly just terrified of the repercussions he’d face.
“We told our side of what ‘appened. That’s all we can do,” he answered. “No use worryn’ over owt else, is there?”
Marty nodded and slumped into the chair.
Ray stood and took his shirt off, keeping a close eye on the younger man. He pulled on a clean shirt - his only spare - and shoved the bloodied one in the washbasin, trying to wash some of the staining out of it. The water ran pink as he worked at the fabric.
The next day Ray joined his work party as usual, watching as Marty joined the line of men waiting to go outside for their own jobs. He found himself envying Marty and the others who were allowed out in the fresh air. He’d only been out for the two hours per day that they were allowed into the yard. He’d stayed out even in the pouring rain, never having taken such pleasure in feeling the raindrops on his face.
“Miller - toilets,” one of the guards called.
Ray pulled a face. Cleaning up the toilets after everyone had been through them in the morning was one of the worst jobs he could imagine.
The guard who’d been trying to provoke him all along walked up to him. “Got a problem, Miller?” he asked.
Ray looked him in the eye and shook his head.
“Come on then,” the man gripped his forearm and dragged him, digging his fingers as deeply as he could into Ray’s wound. Ray gritted his teeth but refused to let the other man know how much he was hurting.
He was issued with cleaning fluid and a mop and bucket as well as some scrubbers and sponges and, along with another three men, got to cleaning everything. The only thought that kept him going was that it was his last day of incarceration.
That evening he sat in the cell with Marty, who was obviously still worrying that they hadn’t heard any news regarding the fight the day before.
“They would ‘ave told us by now,” Ray said confidently. “You wait, this time tomorrow we’ll be suppin’ a pint an’ a whiskey chaser, free men.”
Marty gave him a small smile. “I wish I could be as confident as you,” he answered.
Ray just gave him a wide grin. But in the back of his mind was the tiniest tinge of worry.
Sam had taken over Ray’s normal place in Gene’s office - leaning up against the filing cabinet. Chris wondered if anyone else had noticed this, or if he was being overly sensitive. He found it hard that everyone else in the department were just getting on with the day-to-day running of the place when Ray was missing. The office was quiet without him, but not as quiet as the flat. Chris had been spending longer and longer each evening in the Arms, rather than go home to their empty home.
Chris was trying to concentrate on what the Guv was saying, but his mind kept wandering. He’d met the postman as he ran out of the building that morning, and had been given a letter with Ray’s scrawling handwriting on the front. He’d already been late, so drove to work with the precious message stuffed to his pocket, intending to read it as soon as he got into the office - but Sam had grabbed him in the corridor and dragged him straight in to see the Guv.
“Are you listening to a word I’m saying, Constable?” Gene suddenly barked, making Chris jump.
“Guv?” He glanced to Sam to try and get a hint of what had been said.
Sam was smiling, so Chris guessed he wasn’t in too much trouble.
“Sorry, Guv, ‘s just…I got a letter this mornin’, from Ray, like. And I ain’t ‘ad chance to look at it yet…so…”
“Read it then - then I want your full attention on this case, right?”
Chris nodded, eagerly pulling the paper from his pocket and ripping the envelope open. He scanned down the lines, smiling as it became apparent that Ray was bored, but fine. There was a small amount of information on their mark, but nothing else. He held it out to Gene.
“Says it’s goin’ well. He’s getting’ on okay with Jackson an’ all.”
Gene took the paper and read it, grunting and nodding. “Good lad. Told you, Sammy-boy, our Raymond’s a dab ‘and at this stuff.”
“Well he would fit right in,” Sam replied dryly, but was secretly glad that the plan was going smoothly and that their department would have a hand in busting such a prolific gang.
The telephone rang loudly so Gene dropped the letter onto his desk and answered it, tipping back in his chair.
“Hunt.”
Sam watched as Gene’s normal impassive expression turned to stone.
“And?” There was a pause. “Of course I bloody do! You should ‘ave told me soon as you knew!”
Another, longer pause, and both Sam and Chris were itching to know what was going on.
“Right. You better, yeah. Yeah.” Gene replaced the handset onto the cradle with a crash.
“Well maybe Ray spoke too soon,” he said, gesturing to the letter. “’Parently the two of ‘em got into trouble. Some sort of barney in their cell with some other nonces. Not too much ‘arm done, but there’s obviously someone with a grudge against Jackson. Might play into our ‘ands though. Ray ‘elped fight ‘em off.”
“Is he okay?” Chris blurted out before he could stop himself.
“Cuts an’ bruises - nothing worse than he does to hisself fallin’ over drunk, I don’t ‘spect,” Gene answered confidently.
“And they’re still out this morning?” Sam asked.
Gene nodded. “Luckily the governor was in on it, so yeah, they got away with it.”
Chris could feel himself shaking so dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands. Of course Ray was all right - they would have been told the moment anything happened to him otherwise. It brought back all of the worries he’d had before the letter though - and then added some more.
TBC…
Part B http://elfbert.livejournal.com/366352.html
Author: Elf
Word Count: About 14,000...this part.
Rating: Brown Cortina for language.
Pairing: Ray/Chris, some Sam/Gene if you squint later but mainly plot-based fic with little pairing action.
Summary: The best laid schemes of Mice and Men
oft go awry,
And leave us nothing but grief and pain,
For promised joy!
A/N: Written for the very patient pill_so_sweet I'm terribly sorry it's late - the reasons why are long and boring. I'm also rather afraid that this is indeed part one of two. And part two will be forthcoming next week. I beg further forgiveness, but I hope you'll all read and enjoy this bit. I thought that something was better than nothing. Some of you may disagree. The prompt I worked from was thus:
Ray/Chris, Tough love, Potential.
I hope I have gone some way to satisfying it.
My fiancé demands credit for this fic too, as he did help with some historical stuff and let me plot at him and helped me out generally. So jonboy1 is my long suffering fiancé whose girlfriend should be planning their wedding instead of writing fic, or getting published so they can move to New Zealand.
And I must thank my wonderful beta, who worked under demanding conditions as I careered through deadlines with gay abandon. All mistakes that remain are mine and mine alone. nebula99, I couldn't have done it without you.
Necessary Evil
“Ray, my office,” Gene said as he walked through CID.
Ray looked up and dropped what he was doing to follow Gene. Once inside the small room Gene pulled out a bottle of scotch from his filing cabinet and two glasses from his top drawer.
“Shut the door,” he commanded.
Ray did as he was told, frowning at Gene’s mood. He knew that the Guv had been in a meeting with Rathbone for the last few hours, and something had obviously happened that had made him unhappy - but not in the usual Gene Hunt blazing temper sort of way. He looked more…defeated.
“Guv?” Ray sat opposite him and picked up the tumbler that Gene slid toward him.
Gene ran a hand over his face and took a swig from his glass before looking down at his desk. It scared Ray that Gene wouldn’t look at him.
“Just been talkin’ to Rathbone and a DCI up from the Met. They’ve had a tip off, reliable they reckon, that a gang they’ve been after is on the move. Up here.”
Ray nodded. It wasn’t good news, but it didn’t explain Gene’s current mood.
“They want someone to go undercover. Someone from here. You.”
Ray felt a small squeeze of fear and anticipation run across his chest. He swallowed, then nodded.
“Right Guv, no worries.”
Gene looked up sharply. “This ain’t a walk in the park, Ray. People round here know your face. I told Rathbone it were a shit idea, but he’s stuck on it, wants us to catch these bastards, rub the Met’s faces in it that we can get ‘em when they’ve been tryin’ months an’ failed.”
Ray nodded. The thing that was worrying him most was Gene’s obvious reluctance to go along with the plan. If his Guv didn’t think it was safe, Ray was inclined to agree with him.
“So…what’s the plan, then?” he asked, trying to sound unconcerned, ignoring the apprehension that was chewing away at his insides.
Chris watched the closed office door, waiting for Ray to come out so they could all find out what was going on. Rumours were already flying - there had been another officer in with Rathbone and the Guv. Someone said he was there because a complaint had been made, but others had disagreed saying it was because a case had gone tits up. Whatever it was, it was clear that the only people who really knew were the Guv and Ray. Sam was spending as much time staring at the shut-off room as Chris was. Chris hoped and prayed that Ray wasn’t in trouble. He knew that both Gene and Ray were guilty of being a bit heavy handed at times, but there had never been any problems before. As Sam kept saying, though, times were changing.
Eventually the door opened and Ray walked out, he looked straight at Chris, gesturing that the younger man should follow him with a flick of his head.
Chris jumped up, almost stumbling over his chair. He couldn’t read Ray’s expression, but he knew it wouldn’t be good news.
As Ray and Chris headed out of CID, Sam was already on his way into Gene’s office.
Ray walked into Lost and Found, waiting until Chris had quietly closed the door and followed him into the room, before turning and leaning back against the far wall. Chris couldn’t tell what Ray was thinking, his face was in shadow, the light streaming in through the narrow window above his head.
“What is it?” Chris finally asked, reaching out and resting his fingers against Ray’s stomach.
“They…there’s a job, an’…Rathbone ‘n the Guv’ve decided I’m gonna do it. ‘S undercover, so…”
Chris nodded slowly, knowing that he just had to wait until Ray was ready to tell him what had sent shockwaves through both him and the Guv.
“’S a gang. Armed robberies an’ that. They want someone on the inside. It could take a bit…an’…I gotta go down t’London, for a while…” Ray finally looked up into Chris’s eyes. He wanted to tell Chris the whole story, because he knew that if Chris found out some other way, there’d be trouble. But Chris’s gaze was already so filled with worry that Ray just couldn’t add to it. “It’ll only be a week or so, honest, an’ then…they’re ‘oping the gang’ll be up ‘ere, but…I dunno if I’ll be able t’get away much.”
Chris nodded again. All he wanted to do was tell Ray not to do it, but he knew he was being stupid. They were policemen, this was their job. There was no way Ray could have refused Rathbone or the Guv.
“It’ll be all right,” Ray continued, when Chris didn’t say anything.
“Yeah, yeah,” Chris plastered a smile on his face, but knew it looked as false as it felt. “It’ll be all right,” he echoed.
The office remained subdued for the rest of the day. No one else knew what was happening, but the mood had quickly filtered down from Gene. Everyone was walking on eggshells, frightened they might be the one who unleashed the simmering anger that seemed to be bubbling away inside their guv’nor.
Even in the Arms that night everyone seemed a little more quiet than usual. Sam noticed Ray sitting leaning on the bar, away from Chris and the others for a moment and stood next to him, signalling to Nelson for a refill.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
Ray looked up, startled. He hadn’t noticed Sam’s arrival.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” he answered, more harshly than he intended.
“Gene told me…about the undercover work.”
Ray nodded, turning back to his pint. “’S just a job. I done ‘em before.”
Sam nodded slowly. He glanced across to Chris, who had been particularly quiet all day. He guessed that Ray had told Chris all about it, so wasn’t surprised.
Ray glanced around and saw Sam looking at Chris.
“Do us a favour, Boss?” he said quietly.
Sam turned, eyebrows raised. He wasn’t used to Ray asking him for anything.
“Keep Chris busy, while I ain’t ‘ere? He’ll only worry hisself sick. Needs summit to keep ‘is mind busy, an’ you’ve always got stuff for him to do.”
“Of course,” Sam answered.
The small duffel bag that sat on the bed didn’t look nearly big enough to contain everything Ray needed for a full week away. It gave Chris a little bit of hope - maybe Ray didn’t expect the job to last long.
“You got everythin’ then?” he asked, standing by the door, his arms hugged around his chest.
Ray glanced around, nodding slowly. He knew he couldn’t take much - most things would be provided for him. He also knew that time was running short. He had to tell Chris the truth tonight, as he’d be going with DCI Brisley down to London early the next morning.
“Chris…” he began, but then didn’t know what to say. He was so terrified of Chris’s reaction. He hated to see the younger man’s gaze fill with pain and know he caused it. But right now he didn’t think Chris could look much more miserable.
“Chris…the job. I ain’t…quite told you all of it. The detail, like.”
Chris looked up, he already looked as if he might cry and Ray knew he was about to make things a whole lot worse.
“Y’know, ‘ow I said I was gonna meet up with the brother? Get in that way…well…thing is, he’s in Wormwood Scrubs right now…”
“Prison? Then…” Chris stopped suddenly, blanching. “You’re…they ain’t…they ain’t sendin’ you into…”
Ray could only nod as Chris looked horrified at the thought.
“You can’t…you…they can’t make you do that, not…”
Ray quickly moved to stand in front of Chris, gently laying his hands on Chris’s tense biceps.
“It’s five days, Chris - he’s due out in five days. That’s all I’ll be in there for. There’d be no other way we could get close an’ not have them suspicious. All I gotta do is keep me head down an’ make friends with him an’ we got a way in. Then it’s like I said, the London lot reckon as soon as the kid’s out of the Scrubs then they’re movin’ up here, wholesale. An’ what more could they want than someone like me to show ‘em the lay of the land, right?”
“Why di’n’t you tell me?” Chris looked into Ray’s eyes. He shook Ray’s hands off him, muscles bunched and his hands clenched. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I…I…” Ray struggled to find the right words. “I di’n’t want to upset you. Or ‘ave you worryin’ before I’d even gone.”
“Oh, but lyin’ to me an’ then leavin’ me to worry when I’m here on me own an’ you’re stuck inside with a bunch of bastard murderers is fine, is it?” Chris spat. He could feel himself shaking and he wasn’t sure if it was through fear or anger.
“No! Chris…I di’n’t know what to say, how to tell you. I knew you’d be upset, an’ I didn’t want…I’m sorry, right?” Ray tried to approach Chris again, but Chris held up his hands, warding him off.
“No, it’s not all right. You always do this, like…like I need protectin’ or summit. I’m a copper too, y’know? I don’t need…don’t need…you should tell me. I s’pose I’m last to know, like with everythin’, am I? Don’ bother tellin’ Chris, he’s just a div, he’s the sensitive sort, he don’t need to know.”
“Chris…you…only me an’ the Guv know. An’ maybe the Boss, if the Guv’s told ‘im, I dunno, you know what they’re like.”
Chris fiercely blinked away tears that began to blur his vision. Ray looked utterly beaten, worn down. And Chris knew he couldn’t stay angry - he couldn’t let Ray’s last night in the flat be blighted by a stupid argument.
Ray could read Chris easily, and the moment his expression changed Ray stepped forward and pulled him into a gentle hug.
“Five days, Chris. There’ll be guards, nothin’ll happen to me. He ain’t got form for violence - he jus’ follows his brothers around and were too stupid not to get caught. Then I’ll be out, and it’ll jus’ be like any other job. I’ll be back up ‘ere, if it works like the Met reckon it will, and you lot’ll be keepin’ an eye on me - least, you better be.”
Chris nodded, gripping Ray’s shirt in his fists. “We will. Jus’…jus’ make sure you get back up ‘ere as soon as you can. Don’t fuckin’ trust them southern ponces.” He tried to inject humour into his voice, but Ray could hear the barely-held back tears.
They stood, wrapped in each other’s arms, for long minutes.
The next morning Chris said his goodbyes to Ray in the flat. There were a lot of things he wanted to say - but all of them would suggest that he feared the worst, and he couldn’t deal with that. Nor could he let Ray know just how scared he was for him. Ray was quiet too, and Chris couldn’t think of anything to cheer him up that wouldn’t sound ridiculous or false.
When he stood on the steps outside the station and watched Ray climb into the unmarked car with DCI Brisley he was silent. He knew he had to hold himself together and not let any emotion show. And he almost managed it, until the car pulled away and both Gene and Sam turned to look at him, compassion in their expressions.
Ray had been inside plenty of prisons during his career, but always on the right side of the heavy steel doors. He was given the blue prison-issue clothes by Brisley at the station and put in a transfer van, fully briefed on everything he was supposed to achieve. Then he was on his own, cuffed and bouncing around in the back of an uncomfortable van. As far as the two guards were concerned he was no different from the other scum they moved around. The only person who knew who he really was now was the prison governor. Brisley had decided it would be too dangerous to let any of the guards know - there was no way of telling if any of them were bent, and the timescale of the operation meant they simply didn’t have time to check everyone out. Ray was glad - he knew he couldn’t risk anyone letting slip who he really was. If anyone found out and tried something in the jail there would be literally no escape for him.
Brisley had assured Ray that the Met team had looked over the records of everyone in the wing he’d be incarcerated in and could find no-one who had links with Manchester or have any reason to recognise him.
He was marched to the intake desk and stood sullenly in front of it. The officer on duty looked up at him.
“Name, date of birth, number,” he demanded.
“Raymond Miller, August sixth, Nineteen thirty-three, four two one nine six,” Ray repeated with the sound of one bored with life in general.
The man nodded, ticking things off his list. “Got anything you want to bring in with you?”
Ray nodded, jerking his head to the guard who was carrying the small paper bag that contained his essentials.
The man took the bag and turned it out onto the counter. There were a few pairs of prison-issue underwear, some socks, his toothbrush and toothpaste, a half-used block of shaving soap and a brush, a packet of tobacco and rolling papers and a half-eaten bar of Dairy Milk.
“Nothing else?”
Ray shook his head.
“You’ll be issued another set of blues, after you’ve been searched. Those one’s will go back to Wandsworth. Now, you better fucking behave - record says you’ve got five days left to serve. Don’t think that just cos you’ve moved down to a cat. B it’s an opportunity to take the piss, right?”
Ray nodded.
His belongings were shoved back into the paper sack and he was dragged through the next doorway, then into a bare white room. His escort removed the handcuffs and left him. A large guard stood holding a sheet of paper in gloved hands.
“Name, date of birth and prisoner number.”
Ray rolled his eyes.
“Raymond Miller, August sixth, Nineteen thirty-three, four two one nine six.”
“Right. Strip.”
Ray had known this would happen, but it didn’t stop it being a humiliating experience - especially knowing that he really was innocent of any crime. He unbuttoned his jacket and handed it to the guard. The same routine was followed with his shirt, trousers and underwear - which the guard checked over, feeling along all the seams and waistband - until he was standing naked in the too-cold room. The guard stepped forward and roughly dragged Ray’s head forward, running his fingers through Ray’s hair and looking in and behind his ears.
“Open your mouth.”
Ray did as he was told, then stood against the wall as he was subjected to the rest of the search. He felt violated, and was glad that Chris had never mentioned anything about this part of the plan.
“Right, stay there, don’t move.” The guard threw the underwear back at Ray, then left the room, taking everything else with him. Ray pulled the underwear back on, then stood in the corner, his arms wrapped around himself and a scowl on his face.
A few minutes later the guard returned, a stack of fabric in his hand. He dropped the blanket and bedding on the floor and handed Ray one set of the clothes.
“Dress, then you’ll be put in your cell.”
Ray pulled on the new clothes. The smelt of harsh washing powder and starch and were rough on his skin. The guard shoved the bedding toward him and picked up the bag that had been left outside the room, shoving that into Ray’s arms too.
The cell held two bunks, a small desk with one chair, a small unit with two drawers and a tiny sink. Ray dumped his things down on the bottom bunk and looked around. There were a few signs of life - a toothbrush on the basin and a book on the top bunk, but the cell was tidy and nothing told him anything about his new cellmate.
“Enjoy your stay,” the guard smirked as he left.
Ray sat heavily on the hard bed. Obviously his new cell mate wasn’t at home right now, so he had a little bit of time to have a look around. He tipped his things out onto the bare stained mattress and leant over to the chest of drawers. He pulled open the top drawer and saw it was full of the same drab blue clothing as he now wore. He quickly looked under it, but there was nothing obvious so he replaced it all as he had found it. The bottom drawer was empty, so he dumped his spare shirt, trousers and underwear into it.
He stood up and read the spine of the book on the bed. It was some sort of fiction book, so he didn’t touch it. He placed his wash things by the sink, then began making up his bunk. As he pulled the pillowcase on he realised someone was standing in the doorway and turned quickly, on the defensive immediately.
He recognised the man he’d seen in all of the pictures.
The two of them stood in silence, assessing each other. Ray knew he had to get on the man’s good side, so he held out a hand.
“Ray Miller. Jus’ got ‘ere from Wandsworth,” he said.
His hand was taken and given a firm shake. “Martin Jackson. Everyone calls me Marty.”
Ray nodded, turning back to his work. He knew he was being watched, but he didn’t say anything. Word had been that Marty was timid, quiet - he’d followed in his brother’s footsteps because he couldn’t say ‘no’. But two years inside had obviously given him more bollocks than anyone had bargained on. He’d also bulked up - the pictures Ray had seen he’d been on the skinny side, but not any more.
“Why did you get transferred then?” Marty asked, showing none of the timid manner Ray had been lead to expect.
Ray looked up at him, assessing him to decide what he should say. He opted for the full cover story they’d worked out.
“Wandsworth’s fillin’ up, innit? They’re movin’ people out who ain’t high risk no more, ‘s all.”
“So you’re not high risk?” Marty asked.
Ray shrugged. “Only got five days left - ain’t worth me doin’ owt now, is it?”
“Five days?”
Ray nodded, knowing that little bit would have got Marty’s interest.
“Me too.”
Ray nodded again. He didn’t want to seem rude, but he also knew he couldn’t be too friendly straight off - it would be suspicious. Most people get themselves to themselves, especially when they were new to a wing. He realised he needed to keep his head down.
“Been ‘ere long then?” he asked.
“Two years,” Marty replied. “You?”
“Three. All in Wandsworth ‘til now.”
“What for?” Marty moved to sit on the chair, tipping it back onto two legs.
“Armed robbery,” Ray paused. “You?”
“Same.” And Ray detected the hint of a smile on Marty’s face. He felt a small victory inside. Maybe the job wouldn’t be so bad afterall.
“I was on D wing ‘til last week,” Marty admitted, and for a second some of the bravado was dropped. Ray spotted the change immediately. Obviously Marty had been keen to stamp his authority on his new cell mate - but now he could see that Ray didn’t pose a threat, he was happy to drop the act.
“Oh aye? Why’d they move you then?” Ray asked.
Marty shrugged. “They don’t have to tell you, do they? But for a couple of weeks I wasn’t going to complain.”
Ray nodded. All he wanted was the quiet life too, so he was glad that Marty saw things the same way.
He happily followed Marty around when dinner was called, following the routine as they all collected their trays and food. The meal was tasteless, but Ray ate it all down, knowing it was his lot for the time being. He’d had worse. He kept his head down, keeping himself to himself, whilst trying to keep watch, clocking various faces - the people who were popular or loud. He picked out a few who obviously thought they ruled the roost and a few who were the hard cases.
That evening he lay on the bottom bunk, wishing he’d thought to bring a book or something. He also wished there was a way he could tell Chris that the only risk of death was going to come from boredom.
“Where you from, then? Your accent?” Marty called down from his bed.
“Manchester,” Ray said quietly.
“How did you end up down here then?”
“Job,” Ray answered. “I’m gonna go back up though, reckon. Soon as.”
“Got family up there?” Marty asked.
Ray thought immediately of Chris. Then shook his head. “Nah. Got no family nowhere.”
His first night was long and sleepless. The noises of the old building slowly gave way to an uneasy silence. Ray listened to Marty moving around on the top bunk. He’d actually felt safer when the door was slammed shut and he heard the key turn in the lock. He would have thought he’d feel claustrophobic, but there had been plenty of times when he’d been stuck in various places and he’d never found it a particularly uncomfortable feeling.
When morning finally came and the doors were unlocked, the rattle of keys in the locks and shouts of the guards moving ever closer along the landing, Ray felt the slight unease begin again. After all, he was a copper surrounded by hundreds of criminals. He made his way to the toilets, wrinkling his nose at the line of prisoners who queued to slop out the cell buckets. Marty had picked the bucket up that morning without a word. Ray assumed he’d get the pleasure the next day.
Being new he didn’t have any employment or anything to fill his days, and no one seemed bothered about sorting him out with any sort of activity, so he lounged around, borrowing someone’s paper and chatting to the few people who bothered to introduce themselves. He tried to treat everyone as if they were on some sort of equal footing, despite feeling like some of the people he met were the scum of the earth. He made a point of not asking what anyone was inside for - he didn’t want to know. Then finally salvation from boredom came with the arrival of the small book cart from the prison library. Ray jumped to look through the battered and dog-eared titles. He found two books and checked them out, being told firmly that he had better make sure he left them behind when he was released.
He went back to his cell and put the books under his pillow, glancing around and deciding to take some time out, lying back on his bunk and rolling himself another slim cigarette. He knew he had to go easy on the tobacco, and was feeling the effects of halving his daily intake - probably more than halving it, he decided, looking at the tiny fag. It was nothing like a proper Marlboro. He wanted to have a sleep, but didn’t dare to whilst his cell door was open.
Just before lunch Marty returned to the cell after spending a morning working in the grounds of the prison. Ray nodded a silent welcome to him.
The bell went for lunchtime and the landings were suddenly noisy with the clatter of feet on the steel platings. Ray moved slowly, not wanting to get too caught up in the throng and wanting to stay close to Marty.
He was pretty sure that the curry they were served was yesterday’s stew - now with added sauce and curry powder - but he ate it down anyway. There was a nasty moment where a fight broke out at the far end of the hall. Ray was on his feet and moving in seconds - along with most other people. A few headed toward the fray, getting stuck in, but most moved away.
After the fight they were all confined to cells - foregoing afternoon association in case of retaliation from whichever gang felt wronged.
Ray sat on his bunk, his back against the wall and rolled a cigarette. He gave a low whistle to attract Marty’s attention and held out the packet of baccy to him. Marty smiled and took it.
“What’re you gonna do when you’re out?” Ray asked, hoping he wasn’t being too pushy.
Marty shrugged. “Dunno. My brother’ll see me right, he says.”
“Got a big family?” Ray asked.
Marty shrugged. “Three brothers. All older.”
Ray nodded. Of course, he knew all about the entire Jackson family already.
Keys rattled in the cell door and it swung open. One of the warders walked in, holding out some paper. “Letters,” he said by way of explanation as Ray took the offered supplies.
Once the guard had moved on Ray gave one sheet of paper and an envelope to Marty and kept one himself.
Marty shoved his magazine aside and put the sheet of paper down on the desk, picking up a pen. Ray sat down on the bed again, staring at the blank sheet of paper. He spotted another pen on the table and gestured to it. “Mind if I?”
Marty shook his head, already writing.
Ray settled back onto his bunk, the sheet of paper resting on one of the books he had borrowed. He began to write.
There was silence in the cell until Marty finished writing. Then he turned to Ray. “Who’re you writing to?” he asked.
Ray paused, not entirely knowing what to say. “Just a friend,” he finally said. “Tryin’ to find someplace to stay, up in Manchester, gettin’ back in touch with old faces.” He folded the sheet of paper in half. The letter to Chris was deliberately vague, mainly saying that the prison wasn’t too bad and that he was fine. It had never occurred to him that he’d have the opportunity to write, but he knew the letter may well be read, so he’d had to pretend he really had just transferred. It put a smile on his face, knowing that he’d at least been able to send some sort of reassurance to Chris though.
Marty nodded.
“You?” Ray asked.
“My brother, Charlie,” Marty smiled.
Ray nodded. “Plannin’ what you’re goin’ to do when you’re free?” he smiled.
Marty nodded. “Something like that.”
“First place I’m going is the pub,” Ray smiled. “Drink the place dry.”
Marty grinned widely. “Yeah - a long cool beer.”
“And some proper food,” Ray continued. “Full English, all the trimmings.”
“Oh yeah.”
Ray nodded, watching Marty closely. He found that he actually quite liked the younger man, despite knowing he was a blagger. Now he’d dropped the act with Ray it was clear that he was going to be very much the kid brother on the outside. Ray had read all the files - Charlie was the eldest, the driving force behind the crimes the gang got involved in. It was him that had been seen talking to people about moving north. Next was Eddie - he usually played the getaway driver for the robberies. Charlie trusted him completely, but Eddie didn’t have the brains to be involved with the planning beyond the basics. Then there was Danny - he was a bit of a wildcard. It seemed as if he was the one with the temper, the one who did stupid things on the spur of the moment. He was the one Ray was worried about.
The next few days passed uneventfully - Ray was put on the workteam who cleaned the wing. At first he hadn’t been happy, but at least it made the days pass a little more quickly. One of the guards seemed to take a dislike to him, but Ray ignored it as best he could. He found it hard to take orders off the jumped-up little prick though.
He made his way back towards his cell on the fourth day at lunchbreak, still fuming over the latest round of insults from his new tormentor. When he reached the door it had been pushed closed and he could hear voices inside. He stopped and touched the door, wondering whether to barge in or listen. The tone of the voices inside told him everything he needed to know.
He pushed the door, glad when it swung open silently on well-oiled hinges.
Three men had Marty pushed against the far wall, one of them holding something to his face - obviously a weapon of some sort.
Ray pushed the door closed again behind him, wary of any guards sticking their noses in before he was ready for them.
“You just let Danny know this is ‘cos of what he done,” one of the men was saying, his face right up close to Marty’s.
“Gents,” Ray said in a low voice, keeping his tone hard and menacing.
The three men turned as one.
“Keep outta this,” one of them said. “It ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.”
Ray looked around him in an exaggerated manner. “You’re in my cell,” he said, jabbing a finger at the man who’d spoken. “You’re boyfriend’s got ‘is hands on my friend. I suggest you leave, boys, before I take offence.”
The one with the weapon took a step forward, holding up the shiv. Ray could see it was a razor blade stuck into a toothbrush handle, and he could only imagine the damage they’d have done to Marty if he hadn’t have returned.
Ray knew that unarmed and outnumbered he’d have to gamble on the guards turning up pretty fast. He decided the best defence was attack so stepped forward, hoping that one of the sidekicks would do the predictable thing. He was in luck.
The one who’d spoken first swung a meaty fist at Ray’s face, he ducked and moved, grabbing the man and swinging him headfirst toward the heavy metal door. His skull hit it and slammed it with a resounding clang - the sort of noise that guaranteed the screws would be heading their way fast.
Ray turned back to the fight, throwing up his arm just in time to ward off another blow. He could hear the grunts of Marty and the other man throwing punches and just hoped the guy who he’d brained on the door didn’t come round anytime soon.
Then the distinctive sound of running feet on the metal landings was audible and the door to the cell was thrown open, smacking against the first attacker’s head again and ensuring he wouldn’t be taking any further part in anything.
The screws waded in, adding more fists to the fray and the occasional nightstick. Finally Ray gave up, knowing that both he and Marty were safe from their original attackers now. He covered his head as a few more blows rained down on him, the confines of the cell meaning that you couldn’t raise a fist without smacking someone else on the back-swing - then everyone seemed to calm down a bit.
“You two - against the wall, now!” one of the screws shouted at Ray and Marty, pointing his wooden baton at them both.
Ray reluctantly followed the order.
“Put your hands on your head - where I can see ‘em,” the warder commanded.
The other three men were pushed or dragged from the small cell, leaving Ray and Marty facing the two officers.
“Right, you two, don’t fuckin’ move.” One of the men pointed his baton at them in turn. “Once we got ‘cuffs for you you’ll go down the infirmary.”
Ray scowled, then looked to his arm, which was still stinging from the first blow he’d received. His light blue shirt was purple with blood from the long gash on his forearm. For the first time he realised that the man had been going for his face with the razor. He shook his head slowly, glad that a lifetime of dirty street-fighting had given him such fast reactions to trouble.
Marty had blood pouring from his nose and a bleeding cut on his chest, but Ray figured they’d got off lightly. He gave Marty a small smile, which was returned. He wondered if the fight hadn’t actually helped his cause.
He had his hands cuffed tightly in front of him and was led by them through the many doors and gates that led to the prison’s infirmary. He was made to sit on a bed and glanced around at the few other lags who were patients in the small room. They all looked depressed, but a few had perked up at the sight of Ray and Marty and obviously wanted to know what had happened.
Marty began speaking to one of them - a man he obviously knew - until their guards told him to shut up.
The doctor quickly assessed both the men and provided some rough and ready first-aid. Ray would have thought his own injury warranted a few stitches, but the doctor was happy to use sticking plaster to bring the edges of the cut together and then a bandage far tighter than Ray would have liked to stem the blood, which still oozed from the gaps. He used the same technique on Marty and then pronounced them both fit to return to their cells. He struck Ray as the sort of person who got by doing as little work as possible, and whilst Ray couldn’t always claim to give one hundred per cent himself, he still felt sorry for the prisoners who found themselves under the doctor’s scant care.
“You’re to go in front of the governor now,” one of their guards smiled a cold smile. “An’ don’t expect a warm welcome.”
Marty looked terrified, and Ray noted the reaction. They were led through more gates and doors until they came to a far nicer, more hospitable part of the prison. Here the walls were painted neatly and unmarked and there was carpet on the floor.
“It’ll be all right,” Ray muttered under his breath to Marty, who turned a terrified gaze on him.
“It won’t! We’ll get extra days - I can’t…I promised my brother I’d be out - I promised!”
Ray nodded, hoping that this latest bit of information was linked to what CID had told him and the gang really were ust waiting for Marty before they moved up North, wholesale.
One of the screws knocked on the large wooden door of the Governor’s office and stepped inside. He was back a minute later and jerked his head at the two men. “In.” he ordered.
Ray led the way, his head held high, and stood in front of the large wooden desk.
A man slightly older than him sat, patiently waiting until Marty had come to a halt beside him and both the guards had stepped back out of the room.
“Miller, Jackson.” He stood up and looked them both up and down. “You’ve been here four days, Miller - is the sort of behaviour they let you get away with in Wandsworth?”
Ray felt a little tension slip away which he hadn’t even realised was there when he was addressed by his new identity. The governor was the only man inside the prison who knew about the job, and Ray hoped he had the sense to let everything run smoothly and not try to flex his authoritative muscle over the case.
“No, Sir,” Ray answered.
“And Jackson - you’ve hardly been in any trouble since you first joined us - why now? When you’re so close to leaving?”
Marty didn’t answer, just dropped his head forward and shuffled his feet.
“It weren’t ‘is fault,” Ray put in. “They came to our cell - armed an’ all. He didn’t do nowt to ask for it. It were some sort of squabble they ‘ad with his brother, not ‘im.”
The governor nodded slowly. “Is this right, Miller?”
Marty shot a glance at Ray and then nodded. “They said they were going to scar me - so Danny’d see what he’d done to me…I mean…I don’t know why…they must know him, and now I’m in this wing…” Marty trailed off.
“Mr Nicholson tells me all five of you were fighting when they entered the cell - and the weapon was found on the floor. Who’s to say that it wasn’t one of yours?”
Ray felt his jaw drop open, but he realised that the man had to be seen to be doing his job.
“Take a look at us, then at them. You’ll not find any scars on them,” he held his still-bloodied arm up to emphasise the point. “They come to our cell lookin’ for trouble. They jus’ didn’t bank on me turnin’ up before the three of ‘em had hurt ‘im,” he gestured to Marty.
The governor nodded slowly.
“I shall be looking into this matter further, gentleman, once I’ve heard the other side of the story, but for now, go back to your cell for the afternoon, tidy up and I shall let you know the outcome.” He walked around the desk and opened the door, signalling to the two officers who stood outside. “Take these two back to their cell, then tell Mr Penfold I will see the other three.”
Ray sank onto his bunk once they were back in the cell, squeezing his arm in the hope that he could lessen the stinging pain and rubbing the red marks the handcuffs had left on his wrists.
“You all right?” he asked Marty, who was standing against the wall at the end of the cell, his head resting on his arms.
“I don’t know what I’ll do if they give me extra,” Marty said, turning to Ray. “Danny’ll go beserk - and Charlie. I promised them all I’d be out.”
Ray almost felt sorry for the younger man. He looked devastated at the thought of letting his brothers down - or possibly just terrified of the repercussions he’d face.
“We told our side of what ‘appened. That’s all we can do,” he answered. “No use worryn’ over owt else, is there?”
Marty nodded and slumped into the chair.
Ray stood and took his shirt off, keeping a close eye on the younger man. He pulled on a clean shirt - his only spare - and shoved the bloodied one in the washbasin, trying to wash some of the staining out of it. The water ran pink as he worked at the fabric.
The next day Ray joined his work party as usual, watching as Marty joined the line of men waiting to go outside for their own jobs. He found himself envying Marty and the others who were allowed out in the fresh air. He’d only been out for the two hours per day that they were allowed into the yard. He’d stayed out even in the pouring rain, never having taken such pleasure in feeling the raindrops on his face.
“Miller - toilets,” one of the guards called.
Ray pulled a face. Cleaning up the toilets after everyone had been through them in the morning was one of the worst jobs he could imagine.
The guard who’d been trying to provoke him all along walked up to him. “Got a problem, Miller?” he asked.
Ray looked him in the eye and shook his head.
“Come on then,” the man gripped his forearm and dragged him, digging his fingers as deeply as he could into Ray’s wound. Ray gritted his teeth but refused to let the other man know how much he was hurting.
He was issued with cleaning fluid and a mop and bucket as well as some scrubbers and sponges and, along with another three men, got to cleaning everything. The only thought that kept him going was that it was his last day of incarceration.
That evening he sat in the cell with Marty, who was obviously still worrying that they hadn’t heard any news regarding the fight the day before.
“They would ‘ave told us by now,” Ray said confidently. “You wait, this time tomorrow we’ll be suppin’ a pint an’ a whiskey chaser, free men.”
Marty gave him a small smile. “I wish I could be as confident as you,” he answered.
Ray just gave him a wide grin. But in the back of his mind was the tiniest tinge of worry.
Sam had taken over Ray’s normal place in Gene’s office - leaning up against the filing cabinet. Chris wondered if anyone else had noticed this, or if he was being overly sensitive. He found it hard that everyone else in the department were just getting on with the day-to-day running of the place when Ray was missing. The office was quiet without him, but not as quiet as the flat. Chris had been spending longer and longer each evening in the Arms, rather than go home to their empty home.
Chris was trying to concentrate on what the Guv was saying, but his mind kept wandering. He’d met the postman as he ran out of the building that morning, and had been given a letter with Ray’s scrawling handwriting on the front. He’d already been late, so drove to work with the precious message stuffed to his pocket, intending to read it as soon as he got into the office - but Sam had grabbed him in the corridor and dragged him straight in to see the Guv.
“Are you listening to a word I’m saying, Constable?” Gene suddenly barked, making Chris jump.
“Guv?” He glanced to Sam to try and get a hint of what had been said.
Sam was smiling, so Chris guessed he wasn’t in too much trouble.
“Sorry, Guv, ‘s just…I got a letter this mornin’, from Ray, like. And I ain’t ‘ad chance to look at it yet…so…”
“Read it then - then I want your full attention on this case, right?”
Chris nodded, eagerly pulling the paper from his pocket and ripping the envelope open. He scanned down the lines, smiling as it became apparent that Ray was bored, but fine. There was a small amount of information on their mark, but nothing else. He held it out to Gene.
“Says it’s goin’ well. He’s getting’ on okay with Jackson an’ all.”
Gene took the paper and read it, grunting and nodding. “Good lad. Told you, Sammy-boy, our Raymond’s a dab ‘and at this stuff.”
“Well he would fit right in,” Sam replied dryly, but was secretly glad that the plan was going smoothly and that their department would have a hand in busting such a prolific gang.
The telephone rang loudly so Gene dropped the letter onto his desk and answered it, tipping back in his chair.
“Hunt.”
Sam watched as Gene’s normal impassive expression turned to stone.
“And?” There was a pause. “Of course I bloody do! You should ‘ave told me soon as you knew!”
Another, longer pause, and both Sam and Chris were itching to know what was going on.
“Right. You better, yeah. Yeah.” Gene replaced the handset onto the cradle with a crash.
“Well maybe Ray spoke too soon,” he said, gesturing to the letter. “’Parently the two of ‘em got into trouble. Some sort of barney in their cell with some other nonces. Not too much ‘arm done, but there’s obviously someone with a grudge against Jackson. Might play into our ‘ands though. Ray ‘elped fight ‘em off.”
“Is he okay?” Chris blurted out before he could stop himself.
“Cuts an’ bruises - nothing worse than he does to hisself fallin’ over drunk, I don’t ‘spect,” Gene answered confidently.
“And they’re still out this morning?” Sam asked.
Gene nodded. “Luckily the governor was in on it, so yeah, they got away with it.”
Chris could feel himself shaking so dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands. Of course Ray was all right - they would have been told the moment anything happened to him otherwise. It brought back all of the worries he’d had before the letter though - and then added some more.
TBC…
Part B http://elfbert.livejournal.com/366352.html