Free Without Consent by Kathryn Fox

a couple of pieces of fruit in their cells. Geoff didn’t get it. He’d never really liked the taste of beer, wine or spirits. And then there was having to go and take a piss every time he drank the stuff. It just went right through him. He’d already fought his way to the men’s toilet three times and they’d only been here for one hour and three minutes.
    This floor was sticky and covered in spills from the drinkers standing around, waving their arms as they crapped on about something they thought sounded smart. He didn’t like the smell, either. Stale beer smelt worse than piddle, he reckoned.
    Nick returned with a cappuccino and a small glass with a brown and white drink.
    “Thought I’d have a cock-sucking cowboy to get things moving. Pat says hello,” he said. “She’s at the bar if you want to—”
    “I’m hungry,” Geoff grunted.
    “Mate, food’s on its way. They’ll bring it when it’s ready. Pat’s organized a double-size feed for you.”
    It was past dinnertime and Geoff didn’t like it. He was only here because Nick had brought him to meet some of the old gang from Fisherman’s Bay.
    “Do you like being out? I mean, it must be kinda strange being free after all this time.”
    “I like Gilligan’s Island , Hogan’s Heroes , and all the good shows.”
    “That’s great, mate, but how about the other stuff, like meeting people?”
    With the cap firmly over his eyes, Geoff confided about the girl and the flowers.
    “So that’s why you looked so down when I picked you up. You don’t need a bitch like that. She’s probably so far up herself she’d disappear if she sneezed.”
    Geoff snickered. The thought of someone being blown out her own nose made him laugh. Just like that guy from the Cat in the Hat movie.
    “Mate, I need to ask. Is there someone special you’ve been keeping a secret?”
    “Nuh.” Geoff sneaked a look at the women around the bar. “I’m not good at talking to girls.”
    “Well, who’s this?” Nick pulled a photo from his wallet. “You left it in one of your pockets. I found it in the laundry basket.”
    Geoff studied it. So that’s where it had gone. “She is special. She wrote me a letter and put it in my pants when I got out. When all those people were yelling at me. I didn’t even see her.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “I thought you’d take her away.”
    “Man, if she approached you, that’s different. What did the letter say?”
    “Dunno, stuff about how she liked me. And how she liked to play rough.”
    “Jesus, mate!” Nick grabbed the photo. “Her address is on the back.” He gulped the cocktail. “If you don’t call, I sure will.”
    “Who you harassing now?” A stranger in a black T-shirt and jeans sidled up, beer in one hand, other hand anchored in his coin pocket. He looked like the bad guy in a spaghetti western waiting to draw his six-shooter.
    Following him were three other guys who stood around the table.
    Geoff didn’t like being crowded. He put his head down, grabbed the photo back from Nick and put it in his pocket, not wanting any trouble.
    “Luke. Great to see you.” Nick stood up and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Hey, Badger, Gazza, Carrot, remember my cousin?”
    They all sat down, cramping the small table.
    “Geoff, remember Luke Platt? Used to live up the coast. Thought we could have a bit of a reunion, like the good old days back in Fisherman’s Bay.”
    Geoff refused to acknowledge them, but had already sized up the visitors. Prison had taught him to check men out to see how dangerous they were. Luke—average height, weight, athletic. Pigeon-toed, too. Could be a good runner. Barry Lerner—Badger—had a head like a busted toilet, looked like a boxer with his cauliflower ears and had the build for it, too. At least that’s what his cellmate would have said about the “new boys.”
    They both looked familiar, but neither had ever been a friend.
    Gazza used to work in the mines and he was the