Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

As long as he was in suspension in the cellblock, Luke decided that he might as well keep his eyes and ears open for more conclusive evidence of the drug operation. At the same time he had to stay alive. With Big Mike gone, he now was on the market again within the cellblock—and now there also were the guards to worry about. He remembered what Mrs. Taylor had said about finding a protector. It certainly wouldn't be Horace, but despite having sold him to Big Mike, Horace seemed to like Luke just fine and might help him.

"You want someone like Hakeem," Horace said. "A big black bull, but he has a soft spot."

"Will you help me?" Luke asked. He was holding a carton of cigarettes in his hand. He didn't smoke, but he'd bought his share of the cigarette rations the last shopping day—to use in an instance such as this.

"How do you want me to help you?"

"If I can get him in here during an open cell block period, will you stand watch to see that we're not disturbed?"

That deal set, Luke went wooing Hakeem. This didn't turn out to be hard. The big lunk wasn't all that bright, but he had a soft spot—and a hard on—for small, blond pretty boys.

Luke got up close to Hakeem whenever he could manage it, smiled for him, engaged him in small conversation, and showed interest in the man and his hobbies, which included making figures out of used straws, which he was really good at despite having big mitts, and memorizing the lyrics to rap songs he heard on the radio, which he wasn't that good at because his mind worked slower than the mouths of the rappers did. Luke made himself valuable to Hakeem by memorizing the raps himself and coaching the big black in them. He also was quick to admire Hakeem's straw sculptures.

Luke had to move pretty fast, so almost immediately he was touching Hakeem intimately and making the black bull shudder at the attention and was giving him "come on" looks.

While Horace stood watch during an open cell block period, Luke backed Hakeem up against the wall at the side of the open door, knelt in front of him, and gave him a blow job. Before Hakeem came, though, Luke maneuvered himself between the big black and the wall of the cell, hugged Hakeem's hips with his legs, and made sounds of being taken by the biggest cock he'd ever had—which might have been close to the truth—while Hakeem fucked him against the wall.

Word went around that Hakeem had taken over from Big Mike in Luke's life, and the threat even by the guards died down. It was only a stopgap arrangement, though, because Hakeem was set to leave prison in another week. That was fine with Luke, as he was sure Mrs. Taylor would be back by then. But he'd made a mistake of telling Hakeem that a deal had been done that would get him out of prison soon too.

"That's great," Hakeem said. "Then I'll be there to pick you up at the gate and we can be together."

The big lug had fallen for Luke, and Luke had let slip that he didn't plan on serving out a two-year stretch. Hakeem hadn't been bright enough to ask how Luke could get out that fast.

"Uh, we'll see," Luke said. "But, yeah, wouldn't that be great? I don't know how you'd know, though—"

"Oh, the grapevine extends outside the prison walls," Hakeem said. "Those on the outside always know when someone's being released."

Just great, Luke thought. It was getting a bit complicated.

But this was when real complication set in. Gomez, the fingered drug dealer, who led a gang of Hispanics, decided he was interested in Luke's services and interested enough to dispute that with Hakeem.

The essential problem was that, when Luke learned that Gomez was interested in him, he regretted he had attached himself to Hakeem. If Luke could gain more direct evidence that Gomez was the inside receiver of the drugs, that would pin this all down. If he could play Gomez like he did Bib Mike, this would be a slam dunk—he could make sure of the connection between the guard, Clyde, and the inmate, Gomez.

Gomez had been nosing around Luke for a couple of days, and Luke did what he could to signal interest. They were about to settle the arrangement in that shadowed corner of the exercise yard one afternoon when Hakeem came upon them. Before Luke—or Gomez—knew what was happening, Hakeem had decked Gomez, had him down on the ground, and was choking him—with every evidence that he wasn't going to stop until Gomez was dead.

"Hakeem. Stop. Please," Luke cried out throwing himself on Hakeem's back.

"He was going to fuck you," Hakeem declared. "Everyone knows I'm your man."

"Yes, Hakeem, but let him loose, and let's talk about this."

Hakeem left Gomez on the ground, still stunned and fighting for breath. Hakeem stood, placed a foot on Gomez' sternum, and turned to listen to Luke's insistent whispers.

"Please, Hakeem. It's you I want to be with. But you are getting out in a couple of days and I'll be longer. Think. I have to have a protector. First it was Big Mike. And then you. But I need one for the short time I'm still in prison. You want me alive to come out of the prison to you, don't you? It's just for a short time. I need someone like Gomez to protect me. He needn't know it's just for a week or so."

"Well, OK, I see that," Hakeem said reluctantly. "But you'll come with me now."

"Yes, but leave me to talk to Gomez for a moment."

When Hakeem was released from the prison, the pledge was made to Gomez. Servicing him expertly twice a day when Hakeem was out of prison pulled Luke as closely into Gomez' gang and comfort zone as easily and quickly as he had merged into Big Mike's world. The connection between Gomez and Clyde was made, but there was another elusive person in the chain that Luke couldn't reach.

On his last night in Gomez' cell, after Luke had knelt between the Colombian's thighs and worked the man's cock hard with his mouth and then pressed on Gomez' chest to make him lay back on the bed, Luke turned and sat in Gomez' lap, skewering himself on Gomez' cock, and rising and falling as Gomez held his slim waist between his beefy hands and made guttural sounds of deep pleasure.

Afterward, as they lay stretched out against each other, Luke whispered, "I'm worried about you."

"How so?" Gomez asked.

"I know you're receiving drugs through the guards to supply the inmates. That's cool; that's not what's bothering me. I'm worried you're not protected enough. And if you're not protected, I'm not either. There is someone. Someone higher than the guards, I know." Luke was too smart to reveal to Gomez that he knew the specific guard who supplied Gomez. "I don't think it's safe for you not to know who it is. You do know who it is, don't you and are just keeping that to yourself?"

"No, Chickee, I don't know. I think if I knew I'd be a dead man. It's best that I do not know."

Gomez was all South American macho. To acknowledge that he feared anyone—especially an unknown someone—convinced Luke that the Hispanic didn't know the missing link.

So, who did? Luke wondered. Most likely Clyde. Luke had to find a way to be alone with Clyde—to give Clyde the time of his life and somehow to wheedle a name out of him.

But that wasn't to be. The next morning Luke was summoned to the warden's office.

* * * *

"I was surprised you hadn't asked to see me," Warden Wilson said when Luke was brought to him. "I suppose you haven't been able to find anything useful."

"Other than one missing link," Luke answered, "I think I have the information you need. The drugs are coming in through seven of the guards, under the direction of a guard named Clyde—I don't know his last name. And they are going to a Colombian-national inmate named Gomez for distribution in the cellblocks. I think, though, that there is a connection higher than the guards. But, what do you mean I hadn't asked to see you? Mrs. Taylor wasn't here for regular contact. I finally got into see her replacement and asked to see you but you were off in Phoenix?"

"In Phoenix? What do you mean?"

"The temporary psychologist. He said you were at a conference in Phoenix and so I couldn't see you. He wanted me to tell him what I wanted to see you about, but I had been told not to talk about it to anyone but Mrs. Taylor."

"Dr. Crawford? He told you I wasn't here?"

The warden and Luke looked into each other's faces for the longest moment before the warden spoke again. "And not telling him what you wanted to see me about was probably what has saved your life," the warden said. Both of them now knew who the missing link in the chain was.

Later that day, as Luke—now Logan again—walked out of the prison and saw the two cars waiting for him, he knew that what Hakeem told him about news of releases traveling quickly beyond the prison walls had been true.

He tried his best not to make eye contact with Jan, his newspaper compatriot and his lover before he had started his abbreviated two-year stretch, as he walked by the first car. When he reached the second car, he opened the passenger door and slid into the passenger seat. The driver pulled Logan into his chest for a possessive kiss.

When they came up for air, Logan said in a low, guttural voice, "I was afraid that Hakeem would be here for me too, and there'd be trouble."

"I took care of Hakeem," the occupant of the second car said. "He won't be bothering you." A mean look from him was also keeping a frustrated Jan from leaving his car.

"I've missed you big time, Big Mike," Logan whispered. "Take me someplace nearby and fuck the stuffing out of me just like you did in prison."

Big Mike laughed and put the car in gear.