|Title: The Warden
Disclaimer: HBO owns Oz.
Summary: Beecher is in big trouble. AU
Beta: This was written for a challenge at Hardtime 100.
Toby felt dead inside, just dead, but that didn’t keep a huge warning bell from going off in his whiskey-soaked brain.
“Any of the new ones have computer skills?”
Toby didn’t shout and raise his hand. This was prison. It was probably a bad idea to volunteer for anything. He slipped into his shirt and went to sit on the bench. He’d been here three hours and he was so ready to go home.
“Beecher does - the guy with the glasses.”
Toby nearly yanked them off. He put his hands in his lap and waited for the bad news. The other guys were shaking hands with their ‘sponsors,’ but he just sat.
“Good. His work detail is me. Who’s his sponsor?”
Toby clutched his elbows and told himself not to rock back and forth. He needed a drink.
“Couldn’t find any white, rich lawyers.”
Toby believed that. He wasn’t in the right prison.
“He can bunk with Keller.”
“You sure? Keller’s not, well, normal.”
“Positive. Beecher, move it!”
Toby walked past the dickhead in the baseball cap that couldn’t find any lawyers and followed along. “Couldn’t I work somewhere else?”
“You’re not fit for the factory.”
Toby lowered his head, gave up, and trailed after him through the prison. When he stepped through a large oaken door, he realized that he was following the warden. The warden. Well, how bad could it be?
“Chrissie, meet our new administrative assistant,” the warden said. “I expect you to train him right.”
The voice was petulant, and Toby tried not to look, but he did, and he cringed. It was a guy in lipstick, earrings, and a skintight see-through shirt. His name tag said - Chrissie Keller. Toby covered his mouth so he didn’t dry heave. This was his cellmate.
“No buts!” The warden gave Chrissie a sharp glare.
Chrissie pouted. “I don’t need help.”
“You’re hopeless on the computer! Maybe the two of you can get the work done!” The warden pointed. “My office, Beecher.”
Toby sidled past the glaring transvestite and stopped in front of a large desk. His eyes dropped down to read the name on the bronzed placard - Warden Schillinger. He looked up. The warden smirked, and Toby knew he was in real trouble now.
“Four years until you’re up for parole for killing that sweet, little old lady that happened to push her grocery cart in front of your car.” The warden flipped open a file and read. “Marie Reimondo - may she rest in peace.”
“It was an accident.” Toby didn’t shout it like he had when they’d arrested him.
“You were drunk. Sloshed. Hammered.” Schillinger seemed pleased about it.. “Ah well, she was Catholic anyway.”
Toby stared. “What?”
“I hate Catholics, mouthy women, and lawyers.” Schillinger grinned. It was ugly. “You work for me now. Give me four good years, and I’ll see you get paroled. Got it?”
Toby didn’t think he did, but he nodded.
Schillinger crooked his finger at him. “Come here.”
Toby walked around the side of the desk, and the warden spun in his chair. His pants were unzipped. The warden smiled and pointed at the floor. Toby nearly ran from the room. “And if I say no?”
“You’ll never get out, and I’ll see to it that you’re given to Murphy and his Irish crew. They always have room for a new bitch. It’s me or ten Irish guys who also hate lawyers.”
Toby knew when a choice wasn’t one at all. He folded down to his knees. “I hate you too.”
The warden just laughed.