Biding Time

Home : Stories by Catw00man : Because You’re Mine : Biding Time

Summary: It’s almost time to take what’s his.

AUTHOR: Catw00man
EMAIL: catw00man@cryptoffic.com
RATING: PG-13
SERIES/SETTING: Because You’re Mine
CHARACTERS: Hawk, Hawk POV.
PROMPT: Taming the Muse #75 (#50 for me) - Hush
COMPLETED: December 29, 2007
WORDS: 1,865
DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING and am affiliated with NO ONE mentioned here. Not the drivers, not the teams, no one. This is all fiction and fun. In other words...NOT REAL, NOT REAL, NOT REAL. ;-)
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Alright, back to the prison boys. We’ve made changed to this series and revised the first two fics. It’s all pretty minor except we’ve moved them from North Carolina to California.
AUTHOR'S NOTE2: Thanks to Zippit for the awesome beta!
AUTHOR'S NOTE3: From time to time we’ll be using some “prison slang” that might not be familiar. We will have definitions at the bottom but if you don’t want to wait until the end they will be hot linked in the fic. Also if we don’t define something you want an answer to, justgive us an email and we’d be more than happy to discuss it.
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Main Recreation Yard: Los Angeles Corrections Facility

He went untouched the entire time I was in “the hole,” just like I knew he would.  My word carries a lot of weight even though I’ve only been here close to five years.  But when you’re the one that can get things, the one who can do favors, and can kick some serious ass…you get a reputation.  And as long as no one really knows how I have all my “connections” I’ll keep my skin.

Look up as the weathered and rusted pull-up bar comes available and move closer to take my turn.  Tighten the arms of the jumpsuit tied around my waist and hop up to grab the bar and start my set, tattooed arms flexing with each rep as I cast my gaze across the yard. 

He’s there, drawing in the sandy dirt just like he has been every day since I’ve been out.  Only a few, discrete inquiries to my crew and I learned everything about him I need to know, at least, everything for now.  Word got around as soon as I was dumped in the infirmary about my claim on him and my boys looked after him just like I knew they would.  I wonder if he’s even noticed.

Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…

Pretty Tony, who’s anything but, and Big John have been looking out for his every move even out in the yard.  Dense as he might appear I can’t imagine anyone not taking notice of two hulking black guys dogging their every step. 

Once Cowboy got his whole work schedule from the laundry, one of the more shit ass jobs around here, Pretty Tony got himself transferred…for a price.  But I know exactly what his weaknesses are and there will be chocolate and a fresh deck of squares waiting in his bunk tonight.  My boys ain’t mine for nothin’.  In here there’s no such thing as “free.”

Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven…

Watch him and I can tell the instant he gets lost in the lines he draws across the sand.  His shoulder drops, head bows, and he no longer keeps his back to the fence.  Anyone could walk up on him right now and I know he wouldn’t realize it…and that’s asking for trouble.  At first I wondered if his drawings were some kind of plot or scheme to bust out.  I’d heard he was some smart guy from a bank heist gone bad.  No telling what a techie could be devising in the dirt.  But unless he has a code all his own his sketching is nothing more than scenic drawings of city skylines or mountains.

Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…

No place for that here.  Not in the yard anyway.  That’s why I’ve taken to wiping away all evidence of his creativity each time he leaves.  Let people continue to wonder what absorbs him so much.  A little mystery always tends to keep people on their toes and from what I’ve learned the past week he’s got a lot of mystery to him.

Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty.

Pull my chin up over the bar for my last rep and hold it until my guns burn from the pain.  Drop down, landing lightly on my feet then shake out the ache as I move back for Ray Ray to take his turn.  Watch as he jumps up, struggling with his first few reps before finding a rhythm, his grunts marking each one as his long black pony tail shifts side to side.  He’s still young, not much more than a fish, but he’s making headway…which is more than I can say for the prison yard Picasso.

Look across the open space and even through the orange jump suit it’s easy to tell how slight his build is.  The rumors about him being a hacker really do seem to fit.  Dude’s probably spent half his life behind a computer screen.  Rub at my arms to work out the sting and shake my head.  He’s just asking for trouble.  Big John said he’s already had to warn off Rodriguez’s boys more than once.  He’s too easy of a target.

Lean back against the fence and take a hit from the offered cigarette as I continue to study him hunched over on the ground.  Watch as the stick slides over the dirt and I wonder where he’s losing himself to this time.  Will it be another New York skyline I knock down or maybe some secluded bit of land only he knows the source of?  Either way I know he’s hiding more than I’ve probably figured.  It’s all in those ice blue eyes of his.

“How much longer you gonna let him run loose, Boss?  The mojados ain’t gonna stay on the lines for long,” Big John tells me as he motions to a few of Rodriguez’s crew hovering on the other side of the yard, eyes locked on my Picasso.  Turn to answer but before I can Cowboy’s chiming in.

“Yeah, Hawk.  When are we gonna get a taste?  I can’t wait to make that hick squeal like a pig,” he says with a heavy Texas twang as he leers at Red and I snap.

Grab him by the collar and slam him against the chain link fence causing it to rattle and it probably draws too much attention.  I can already hear the clamor for a fight building around us, but that’s not what I need right now.  As soon as it looks like I’m being challenged by my own crew that would be just the opening needed to put all my claims in jeopardy.  No, this ends here.

Raise my free hand to cause a hush to settle over our small clique and narrow my eyes on the smartass Texan with a look that helped earned me my name.  Someone once said it was like “being hawked” when I hit them with this glare.  I don’t really care as long as it gets me what I want, and if I can get it without having to draw a real knife mores the better.

Words slow and hard as steel as I fist his jumpsuit in my hand, “The only one who’s gonna be gittin’ a taste is me.”  Curl my lip in distaste as I stare him down.  “Or do you want to spend a week in the infirmary to change my mind?”  I spent two days laid up before my week in the hole and no one is taking anything I’ve earned away from me, least of all this wannabe Texas redneck.

He holds my gaze for a long moment and I know he’s thinking about it, but Cowboy’s never been much of a challenge since I knocked out one of his teeth last year.  To be honest, he’s been one I could count on more times than not to run for me.  Would be a pity to lose that now. 

Tighten my grip on his collar until I can read the shift in his eyes and I realize he was testing his boundaries, wanting to see how far I’d let him go.  Everything is always such a delicate balance, even with the ones you hope might get your back.  Only problem is sometimes it’s the ones you let in the closest that end up sticking the knife in.  We’ve all learned that the hard way.

“Eaaaasy, Hawk,” he drawls at me and I let him bat my hand away before he smoothes the front of his jumpsuit.  “I was just funnin’ ya.  Picasso’s yours if you want him.”  Watch as he casts a quick glance to Red then back to me, still trying to play it off and save face.  “Besides, he’s a little scrawny for my tastes.”

“More like you don’t wanna crush him with that fugly fat ass of yours,” Ray Ray taunts and before I know it the tide turns from one of impending violence to raucous amusement which is fine with me.  There’s no question Cowboy’s been checked and everything’s all gone back to the status quo…for now.

Slip away from the round of mutual teasing and take my place at one of the lower bars.  Reach up to grab the sun soaked metal and flip myself so I’m hanging upside down, knees slung over the bar.  Then I cross my arms over my chest and start to do sit ups, casting my gaze across to my Picasso who seems to be about done for the day.  He’s sitting with his back against the fence now, twirling his makeshift pencil in his hand, forearm resting on his bent knee.  Even from here I can see that there’s more going on behind his eyes than people like Cowboy and the rest think. 

He doesn’t say much, but when he does he speaks with such a heavy accent I know it’s got a lot of the guys seeing him as a non threat, just another stupid hick to be pushed around.  But I’m not so sure. 

Hackers aren’t idiots and when I did “rescue” him his eyes told me he was more than just a scared fish.  I bet he was already planning how to make sure it never happened again, if not try for revenge.  Problem is he never would’ve accomplished either on his own.

And now he won’t have to.

Grit my teeth as I continue my sit ups until he finally pushes to his feet and heads inside.  It’s almost chow time and he hasn’t left me much time.  Reach forward on my next rep and grab the bar and use it to flip myself off and land on my feet.  I can already see the guards coming to clear the yard and I hurry across to see what Red has left me with today.

Mountains.  Mountains and trees and what could be a stream winding through the woods.  This has got to be one of my favorites.  Glance around and I know I’m being watched as I kick the dirt to obscure his latest artwork. 

Let them think he’s sending me messages of some sort, whatever it takes to keep the wolves on the sidelines.  Make sure the picture is completely erased before heading to join the rest of my boys inside but I can still feel eyes on my back.

Turn to look over my shoulder and see Oso and Chole, Rodriguez’s greasy little second, following my every move.  Time is running out.  I’m not going to be able to observe my conquest much longer without making a move.  But from what I can tell, he has to know it’s coming.  You don’t get something for nothing.

Slow smile curls my lips as I run my hand over my smooth head then shake it in their direction as if I’m trying to fling sweat at them.  They get the message.  I know they’re watching but I don’t care.  Pretty soon I’ll be taking what’s coming to me and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do about it.

Red’s mine.  And soon he’ll know exactly what that means.

PRISON SLANG:

DECK OF SQUARES: A pack of cigarettes.

GUNS: Forearms/biceps

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Catw00man - catw00man@cryptoffic.com