RIOT WORLDBiggs was desperately trying not to hear the inmate beside him jerking off when the alarm sounded. He chewed with his mouth open, napkins wadded in his ears.
"Jesus Christ," Biggs said, "can't you wait twenty fucking minutes?"
The string of an inmate moaned. He pushed bony fingers toward Biggs' mouth. "Bite me, baby, make it hurt."
Biggs didn't hear the alarm. He wrestled the hand from his mouth. The inmate only moaned louder.
"Ungh. You got me so close. Fight harder."
Biggs twisted the con's wrist, wrenched until he heard a snap. Fight Harder? He'd been fighting for his life since the cops first drug him away. Badges and blues beat the shit out of him, drug him from his wife and kids. Fight harder? Mother fucker, you don't know the meaning of fight.
SWITCHING TARGETS
Pop! Pop! Pop! Each shot jolted Alex's neck down into her shoulders. Pop! Pop! Pop! They wrenched her heart like 10,000 volts. Chief Hardcastle stood firm over his feet, arms easy and straight before him. He squeezed off round after round, painting the downrange target like VanGogh daubing cerulean over a starry night. There wasn't ever going to be a good time for this conversation. There isn't exactly a Hallmark card for 'Hey, I want to defend the people who maybe tried to murder your girlfriend.' But among the bad times for broaching the topic, approaching an armed and angry Hardcastle at the gun range seemed among the worst of the worst.
UNSAFE AT ANY SPEED
Kavi marched through a dark hallway. The thick, round smell of earth punched her nose. A guard shuffled behind her, gun drawn. Her chains clinked and echoed loudly through cramped hall. "What are you doing?" The breath wouldn't come to her chest. "Where are we going?" "Shut up." Kavi saw images her own body. She saw blood, sticky and shining and wet, oozing from her side. She saw Gwyn and Grace standing beside a ragged hole in the ground, their black clothes, their tear-streaked faces. "You don't have to do this." Kavi spoke through little sobs. "You can take me back to my cell."
