The Jailbird

The sweetest music he has ever heard is the creaking sounds of the twenty-foot metallic gates of the prison sliding open. The tall well-built man steps outside, leaving the four heavily armed and muscled prison officials who have accompanied him at the gate. He stops just outside as the gates slide shut behind him again, this time with less dramatic sound, as if they have a life of their own, and are reluctant to see him leave the prison. He looks around him with hard bitter eyes from a very handsome face. He is wearing a pair of black jeans, an old pair of loafers, and a blue cotton shirt which has seen better days, and looks a bit tight on his muscled frame. He breathes deeply for a moment, his face still grim, and then he begins to walk slowly away from the James Fort Maximum Prison. His name is Chris Bawa, and he is thirty years old. He has been in prison for five years, and he has just been released. There are some cars parked at the lot, but he knows no one will be waiting for him. He will have to walk the long distance to the main road and hitch a ride to town. He held his head high, his shoulders proud as he takes his first steps to freedom away from the prison where he has spent five hard years of his life, abandoned in the hands of vindictive lawmen hell-bent on breaking him, but he has survived. That life, finally, is a piece of history now. What lies ahead is an uncertain future filled with more pain. That is okay, though; he expects nothing less. Bridges have been burnt behind him, and there are still more to cross, fires to walk through and be tested, but he will take them all one at a time, one painful step after the next. He has gone about a hundred meters from the imposing walls of the prison when a black police jeep suddenly appears down the road, climbing the slight incline at almost reckless speed. It suddenly veers and covers the width of the road as the driver spins the wheel hard, blocking Chris' path.  A stout, barrel-chested, bald-headed man wearing a police Chief Inspector's insignia and rank braids emerges from the jeep. He is wearing a black eye-patch across his left eye, and he is holding a revolver which he promptly points at Chris with a nasty expression on his face. He is Chief Inspector Dan Curtis. "And where the hell do you think you're going, you little piece of s**t?" he hisses with latent fury and keeps the gun fixed unwaveringly on Chris. "Trying to escape? Get down on the ground right now before I fill your lousy body with bullets!" Chris looks calmly at the policeman but his eyes are very dark with fury. He makes no attempt to obey the cop's command. Instead, he takes a deliberate step toward the policeman. "On the ground, Chris!" the cop repeats with mounting fury, his finger tightening for a moment around the trigger. "On your damn face! This is your final warning! I'll shoot you dead, motherfucker! Down on the ground, hands behind your back! Now!" Chris speaks softly, and his voice is icy calm. "Go ahead, Curtis." His calm voice infuriates Curtis, and his thumb pulls back the hammer of his revolver, ignoring two prison officers who are running hard toward them from behind Chris. One is a beautiful prison warder, thirty-year-old Barbara Brooks. She is tall and exudes a dark, sultry allure. Her dark hair is cut short under her cap, and her eyes are dark orbs of fury as she glares at Curtis. The other officer is the portly bespectacled fifty-five-year-old prison chaplain, Chief Superintendent Jon Fii. His lips are framed with a round growth of grey hair, and he looks absolutely flummoxed as he glares at Dan Curtis. "Put down your gun, sir!" Barbara says with a trace of fear in her voice as her hand hovers above her holstered gun. "Good heavens, Curtis! What do you think you're doing?" Jon Fii grates out stiffly. "Why is the prisoner out, sir?" Curtis asks, still holding his gun firmly. "To the best of my knowledge, he still has five years of his sentence to serve." Jon Fii is indignant as he takes a step toward the seething Curtis. "Really, Chief Inspector? Remember you're just a resident Police Officer and not part of the top-level decision-makers. You've been off on your annual leave, and a few things have changed since you've been away! Mr. Chris Bawa has been released!" Curtis' face darkens with a mixture of incomprehension, shock and hatred.  "Released? He's been released? Why? What happened?" "Holster your gun, Dan!" the chaplain says in a harder voice. "Yes, he's been released! His case has been under review for some time now, and whilst you were away, he was part of the prisoners who received full presidential pardons!" Curtis shoves his gun angrily into its holster and regards the chaplain with furious eyes. "I hope you're sure about this, sir!" Curtis says, barely able to hold his temper. "This man was imprisoned for using cocaine and being drunk driving, and for causing a terrible road accident! He was further convicted of aggravated assault against his uncle. He was also convicted for assaulting me, a man of the law, during his arrest! He made me blind in my left eye, sir, in case you've forgotten. Goodness me, cases involving hard drugs do not receive presidential pardons, and you know that!" "Don't be silly, it was never proved that he was a drug dealer, and the committee took all that into consideration. He's been released! If you have any difficulties with that you can go to the Commander to verify and peruse the release documents yourself!" Curtis regards Chris darkly for a moment, and then he deliberately rips off the eye patch covering his left eye. The eye is busted, and it is covered with the eyelid which looks very black and disfigured. He stands very close to Chris and speaks through clenched teeth. "It's not over, you damn piece of menstrual clot! You'll never be reformed, boy. You are, and always will be, a criminal, a rotten apple. You don't belong to society, Chris Bawa. You cost me an eye, and I'll make sure you pay for it. An eye for an eye, buddy. I'll be behind you from today. Every step you take I'll be there, more intimately than your own vile shadow. If you sneeze, I'll be there. If you s**t I'll be there! I'll bring you back to prison, motherfucker, if it's the last thing I ever do!" "Chief Inspector!" Jon Fii cries with indignation. "That's an awful thing to say! That's quite inappropriate! I'll make sure the Commander hears about this!" Curtis gives the Chaplain a very dirty look. "Do your worst, sir," he says icily. He gets into his jeep, starts up and speeds away angrily, leaving the Chaplain and Barbara in absolute shock. The chaplain shakes his head sadly. "I'm flabbergasted! I'm perplexed! Such hatred all bottled up inside that man, eating him up like corrosive acid!" "He never forgave Chris for making him lose his eye, sir," Barbara says with barely repressed fury. "That's what has made his anger and hatred fester for so many years." Chris begins to walk away again and the chaplain immediately puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Chris halts, and as he looks at the man of God his harsh expression softens a little. He is breathing a little bit faster as he tries to push down the devastating fury that almost made him swing at Curtis. "Hold on, son. I want you to have this," the chaplain says and proffers a white envelope to Chris, who looks at the envelope with a slight frown. "What is it, sir?" Chris asks carefully. "Just a little money, son. Some cedis to see you through the day," the Chaplain says with a sad smile. Chris reaches out and takes the envelope, and sticks it into his back pocket. He knows he will need it. That is all the money he will have in a little while, and out there he will need money for the day. "Thanks, sir. That's very much appreciated," he says softly. The two men shake hands and share a brief hug. "Gotta push off now, if you don't mind, sir," Chris says. Barbara reaches out and takes his arm. He looks at her without expression. "Chris, my shift has ended. I'm headed for Achimota. I can give you a lift if you're going in that direction," she says, her eyes going soft as she looks intently at him. Her lips are parted slightly and her eyes are soft as a different set of emotions replace her fractious temper a few minutes ago. "I would appreciate that very much, Miss Brooks. I'm going to Madina, so I can drop off on the way," he replies carefully. "Alright, then. Wait for me and let me get my car," she says with a pleasant smile and, turning away from him, begins to walk briskly towards the officers' parking lot. The Chaplain speaks earnestly to Chris. "You have been through hell, Chris, during these years you've been here as a prisoner. I saw how Curtis and his friends tried to break your back, but you remained strong, and today the dear Lord has seen it fit to listen to our prayers, and you have your freedom back. It is a new beginning, my boy. I heard terrible things about you, prior to your imprisonment, and I tried my best to make you a good man. Don't disappoint me, son. Go out there and live a clean life. Make me proud. If I see you coming back to this prison, let it be because you're visiting me, and not because you're coming back as a convict again. May the good Lord be your helper!" Chris nods once. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate all that you did for me in there." The Chaplain squeezes Chris' arm in a fond gesture, and then he turns and quickly walks back into the prison yard. Barbara's Toyota Corolla pulls up shortly, and Chris opens the passenger door and slides into the air-conditioned interior, a vast relief from the humid African weather around that time of year. The rainy season will set in soon enough, but before that happens the heat blasts that reigns, as the dry weather died off in Africa, is really abysmal. As she drives out of the prison compound, neither of them sees Curtis emerging from the shadows of the visitors' lounge and glaring after the car angrily. He takes out his phone and dials. The phone is answered on the third ring. "McBaiden, where are you?" Curtis asks, and his voice still brims with the acute fury and frustration he is feeling. The voice at the other end belongs to Sergeant Harry McBaiden, another police attachment at the James Fort prison, and Curtis' best friend. "On the bus shift, Dan, coming to the yard with new prisoners," McBaiden answers and yawns in the background. "You were right, man. The bastards released Chris. He just left!" "Told you, didn't I?" McBaiden says with a curse. "For f*****g real, man! Took me completely by surprise. This s**t irks me so f*****g bad, man!" There is a long pause at the other end, and when McBaiden speaks again his voice is low and dangerous. "You think he's gonna be a problem?" "That's a fool-headed question, man! Chris Bawa will always be a problem. I want you here ASAP, man. I think we must do some planning. That boy took my f*****g eye, and I'm going to make him pay for it!" "Keep your hat on, mate," McBaiden says softly. "Gonna see you soon."