Free Deadlock (Ryan Lock 2) by Sean Black

filtered out to work within the prison or to attend class. Lock and Reaper were left to last, which was fine by Lock.
    Together, they stepped out on to an empty tier and walked down the stairs. Waiting for them at the bottom was Lieutenant Williams, who motioned them to follow him out on to the yard.
    ‘You see that?’ Williams said, pointing to the chain-link fence that encircled the yard area.
    Lock noticed that every piece of metal on the fence, every attaching link, was slashed with a dash of purple paint. The colour was starting to fade though, ravaged no doubt by the sea air and wind.
    Lieutenant Williams nodded towards a tin of paint and two brushes sitting next to the fence. ‘I want you to paint over every slash of purple that’s already there,’ he said.
    Reaper shrugged. ‘Want us to count the bricks in the unit when we’re done?’
    ‘Watch your mouth, Hays,’ Williams said, marching back towards the unit.
    Lock stared at the fence for a moment.
    ‘They mark all the pieces that someone might break off and use as a shank,’ Reaper explained. ‘If there’s no paint where there should be, it’s easier to see.’
    Of course, thought Lock, a piece of metal from the fence provided the basic material for a very deadly weapon. It took a lot less energy to drive metal into someone’s body than plastic.
    By the time lunch was called, dark patches of sweat had formed under Lock’s prison blues, and the inmates from the unit were starting to filter back from their work details and classes. First back were some of the white inmates. Phileas led this group, with Eichmann next to his boss. Behind them came a group of black inmates, Ty among them. Ty split from them, and nodded for Lock to join him. Lock rested his paintbrush on the edge of the can of purple paint and got up.
    Reaper shot him a look that was loaded with anger. ‘Where the hell are you going, Lock?’ he hissed.
    Lock noticed that Reaper wasn’t the only one looking at him as he joined Ty. The other white inmates were openly staring as Lock caught up with Ty next to the wall.
    ‘What’s up?’ Lock asked Ty.
    ‘The Aryan Brotherhood have given the contract to the Mexican Mafia, and they’ve kicked it down to the Nortenos,’ Ty whispered.
    ‘Thanks. You hear anything else, you let me know.’

15
    ‘The Nortenos have taken over the contract on you,’ Lock said, digging his fork into a piece of mystery meat on his lunch tray.
    Reaper shrugged. ‘Figures. But we’ve got bigger problems than that.’ He slammed down his tray. ‘What were you doing back there talking to that toad on the yard? I damn told you the rules, soldier boy.’
    Lock eyed Reaper coolly. ‘Those are your rules, not mine.’
    ‘Wrong, they’re the yard’s rules,’ Reaper said. ‘To us, someone who associates with the blacks is worse than a snitch, worse than a child molester. Now, I warned you, but you had to do it your way, and now you’re going to have to deal with the fall-out.’
    ‘Your concern’s touching, but I can handle myself.’
    ‘We’ll see,’ said Reaper.
    An hour later, he and Reaper were out on the basketball court. Lock looked around at his companions. With their low brows, dumb-muscle bulk and yellowing, crank-rotten dentistry, Lock wasn’t sure this was what people meant by the term ‘master race’.
    Behind them, the black inmates, Ty among them, had taken the benches in an orderly handover. Distance was maintained between the two groups as they did so. It occurred to Lock that every group on the yard operated as its own personal escort section. If these guys hadn’t been such lousy criminals, they might have made halfway decent close-protection operatives.
    The whites had divided into two teams, Lock finding himself on the same team as Reaper but up against Phileas. Not ideal. It would have been easier to keep an eye on Reaper if he’d been up against him. The court, mid-game, would be a good place for a hit too. Lots of movement