If you missed out on the previous chapter you can find it here.
It was finally recreational time and everyone poured out to the outdoors. Everything had an unsaid order and you just knew where you did or didn’t fit in. They were the fitness freaks, who utilised disused metal bars and tins filled with concrete as weights. Then they were the gardners who looked after wilting vegetables in an attempt to improve the prison menu but as usual with everything in prison the project received little to no funding.
They was the sports crew too, they played basketball on a concrete half court and it was usually no blood no foul. Fights erupted quite often. The sports crew also had a table tennis table. There they used their slopes and that roling ball from disused roll on containers. The equipment was below substandard but the passion of the players was unbridled.
I wasn’t invested in all this scenery today, as soon as we were outside I was headed to the corner. This was the spot were all contraband was exchanged and things less than legal were done. It was out of the guards view but if you weren’t paying homage to them and they spotted you here that would end in solitary confinement.
As soon as I got out of view I pulled out the small phone Trevor had passed to me. Trevor was one of my favourite guards, the first week I got to prison we were already friends. We bonded over our roots. You see we originated from the same place and I actually knew one of his uncles so it was easy to bond. Pretty soon I was one with the guards and as much as other prisoners hated me as a cop, I was as untouchable as the mafia.
Most prisoners had to pay for favours. It was a system where your relatives on the outside would transfer money to the guards and then you were granted favours. These ranged from cellphone rights to cigarettes, alcohol and if you had enough in the bank you could spend a night out on the town.
So with the phone in my hands I immediately dialed the number for the prosecutor on my case. It was a risk but if it worked then it would be a worthy risk. My call was answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello!” I heard from a familiar voice.
“Hello Mr Kampira,” I replied.
“Hello who am I speaking too?”
“It’s Nicholas Mambo.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No and you need to listen to me because you’re going to want to know this.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be in prison?”
“I am but I know who killed the Moyana’s and you should pay me a visit.”
I considered extending the conversation but then I cut the call. Immediately switching off the phone and taking out my line. That was the usual operating procedure and you could never allow anyone to call back. The next thing on the agenda was reconnecting with Layla. Legally we were still married and it was going to be an uphill task to convince her to help me.
Everything had me as a bundle of nerves and a slight paranoia kicked in. It was going to be a long couple of weeks. But at least I kept everything to myself. I’ve been told the only secrets that are safe are the ones that only you know.
I anticipated both the prosecutor on my case coming through any minute or just disregarding my call. No matter what happened I had to have my ducks in a row. A secondary plan had to be put in place and my words had to be together for the meeting with the prosecutor if that meeting happened. So the waiting game began.