Post by Alistair "Stainless" Steele on Jul 30, 2007 19:21:56 GMT -5
October 2001
“No!” she screamed, tears pouring down her face. “You can’t let that happen! There’s gotta be another way!”
“Vicki, please,” her mother pleaded. She placed a consoling hand on her daughter’s shoulder and sighed, close to tears herself.
The two women sat beside each other in an interrogation room at the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary police station in St. John’s. Across the large wooden table sat Police Chief Leonard Smith. He placed his forearms on the table and leaned forward, running a hand through his short brown hair.
“Look, Mrs. McCarthy,” he started, clearing his throat. “I understand how you and your daughter must feel, but unless we can find a witness who is willing to testify in court, he’ll walk. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do.”
Vicki wiped the tears from her eyes and glared at Smith. “You don’t know shit about how I feel,” she said coldly.
The hurt in her mother’s eyes was evident as she turned toward Vicki. She looked across at Smith, who seemed deep in thought, and apologized. “I’m sorry, Mr. Smith. Vicki has been very irritable and paranoid ever since the incident.”
Police Chief Smith nodded. “It’s all right, Mrs. McCarthy,” he replied. Smith rose from his chair and walked over to the window, staring out into the overcast skies. He could feel the women’s eyes on him as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
What can I do? he thought to himself. There has to be some way to put this son of a bitch behind bars. But what? Think, Smith, Think!
Suddenly, an idea hit him like a slap to the face. How could he have been so blind? The plan was perfect! Smith smiled victoriously as he spun around on his heel to face Vicki and her mother, who looked stunned to see him smiling at such a time as this.
“I have a plan,” he started to explain.
###
Constable Ira Dorey was enjoying his week off. It was moose hunting season, and he be damned if he was going home empty handed. He trudged through the woods on the outskirts of Lewisporte—he felt more comfortable hunting close to home—and hefted his rifle across his broad back, inhaling on what was most likely his forth cigarette that hour.
Dark clouds plastered the afternoon sky, but Ira could tell that rain wouldn’t arrive just yet. His boots made a great sucking sound as he made his way across a bog, and his camouflage pants and jacket were stained with mud from an earlier encounter with a slippery slope at the mouth of a deep puddle. He didn’t mind, though; to him it was all part of the adventure through the great outdoors.
He had spent most of the afternoon tracking one moose in particular. Judging by the size of its hoof prints, Ira determined it was definitely a bull, and he was getting closer. Many large piles of droppings lined the path like breadcrumbs. Ira became increasingly excited with every step he took, and his chestnut brown eyes twinkled with delight at the thought of catching his prey.
Finally he saw it. As he approached a small clearing, Ira caught a glimpse of a magnificent bull moose munching on some twigs up ahead. His heart raced as he retrieved his rifle, and he tried desperately to stay as quiet as possible. Ira crouched beside a birch stump and shouldered the gun, waiting for the perfect shot.
He saw that the moose was still feeding on the leafy foliage, completely oblivious to everything and everyone around it. Ira couldn’t wait any longer, he decided that this was the best chance he would ever get. His palms were sweaty as they grasped the gun, his finger itching to take the shot.
Come to Daddy, he thought as he tightened his finger on the trigger.
A sudden vibration in his jacket pocket startled him, and he fell back against the bushes, and the rifle made a loud clanking sound as it struck the birch stump. The moose perked up its antlered head and took off into the forest before Ira even knew what was happening.
Ira couldn’t believe it. He thought he turned off his cell phone, and he made no attempt to disguise his anger and frustration as he answered.
“Goddammit, d’ya realize wut you just did!?” he cried. “Ya juss made me scare off a 20-point bull! Lord Jesus Christ!”
“Sorry, Ira,” the voice on the other line replied. “Smith needs you to come in right away. He says it’s really important.”
Ira sighed with frustration. Can’t even git a fuckin week to meself widdout the boss bein’ up me fuckin’ ass, he thought. “Tell ‘im I’ll be in tonight,” he said, defeated. He hung up the phone and pressed the power button hard, making sure it was off this time.
He stared at the spot where the moose had escaped into the forest, and he swore under his breath. “I’ll git ya next time, ya bastard.”
Grabbing the rifle from the ground, Constable Ira Dorey turned and began the long trek back through the woods, cursing and swearing the entire way.
It looked like he’d be going home empty handed after all.
###
Alistair Steele sat alone in a cramped prison cell in Her Majesty’s Penitentiary. The cell was barely big enough to accommodate the old, rusty bunk bed and the sad excuse for a toilet that was situated in the far corner. The walls were chipped and cracked in hundreds of places, and the light from the setting sun cast an eerie glow about the place. Steele sat on the bottom bunk, his back against the wall and legs hanging far out over the side of the bed.
Steele sat alone, and he was smiling.
He had only been in the cell for a couple days, but he knew he wouldn’t be in there much longer. The cops had no solid evidence to the rape charge they had arrested him for. Of course Steele had done it, but he wasn’t going to admit it to them. Even though it had been over a year, he could still remember the scent of her flowing red hair. The rush he felt when he touched her soft, pale skin sent shivers through his body...
But most of all, it was the way she looked at him that got him off. The fear in her eyes as he claimed her for his own made the encounter all the more exciting. She was more than just another notch under his belt. To him, she was his greatest achievement.
Steele lay down on the hard lumpy mattress. The paper thin pillow did nothing for the kinks in his neck, and his feet dangled from the edge, but he didn’t care. Only one more night and he’d be out of this dump...
...and back on the prowl.
He had just closed his eyes to relax when he heard the other inmates shouting.
“New blood!”
“Fresh meat! We’re gonna have fun with you, sweetheart!”
Steele got up and headed to the cell door to see who the next unlucky victim was to enter into Hell. Through the iron bars, he saw a couple of guards escort a tall, burly man down the corridor. The man was dressed in camouflage pants and a matching jacket, both covered with mud. His weathered face sported a hefty beard, and his black hair was matted under the baseball cap he wore. Steele smiled; he could tell the man wouldn’t become jail bait without a fight.
The guards stopped when they got to Steele’s cell and unlocked the door. They uncuffed the burly man and shoved him inside, closing and locking the door behind them.
“Here you go, Steele, you fucking scumbag. Enjoy your new roommate.”
Steele chuckled as he heard the guards walk away, the other inmates mocking them with snorts and other pig sounds. He turned to his new cell mate, who was now leaning up against the far wall of the tiny cell. They eyed each other for a short time, until Steele finally spoke.
“Don’t even think about trying anything with me, mate. I’ll fuckin’ rip your nuts off.”
The camouflage man laughed. “Don’t ya worry,” he said. “I don’t plan on makin’ too many friends ‘ere.”
Steele nodded in agreement. “First time in here?” he asked.
The man shook his head. “No b’y, I got put away fer ‘bout a year when I wuz eighteen or so. I broke into some missus’ house and robbed ‘er blind. In ‘ere now fer the same reason.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Ya smoke?” he asked, offering one to Steele.
“No,” replied Steele.
His cell mate extended the cigarette pack toward him. “Fuck that, dey’re good fer ya.”
Steele pushed his arm away. “I said no,” he repeated, glaring at the man. Steele didn’t want to get in a fight tonight, but he was prepared to kick someone’s ass if he had to.
The man got the hint and backed off. “All right, fine,” he said. He put the cigarettes back in his pocket and pulled out a shiny Zippo lighter. As he flicked it open, Steele’s eyes flashed. He had never seen that kind of lighter before, and he found the way the flame danced across the end of the cigarette intriguing. He didn’t take his eyes off the man’s lighter until it was back in the jacket pocket.
Steele took his place back on the bottom bunk and put his arm behind his head. His cell mate sat on the floor and leaned against the wall, inhaling deeply on his cancer stick. They stayed silent for a moment, and after another long drag, the man finally asked.
“So, wut are ya in 'ere for?”
Steele glanced outside his cell to make sure there were no prison guards near by. When he decided it was safe, he related to the man the story—in great detail—of the incident that happened a year ago.
When Steele had finished, the man was already half way through another cigarette. “Quite the ‘ccomplishment,” he said. “So, no one seen ya do it, huh? Yer one lucky sonuvabitch, y’know dat? You’ll be outta here t’morra night and those fuckin’ pigs will have no idea that you got away with it.” He flicked the butt of his cigarette into the toilet and stood up. “Well I s’pose I muss be headin’ t’bed. Might see ya around someday, b’y.” And with that he climbed onto the top bunk and called it a night.
Steele smiled to himself and closed his eyes. He really was a lucky son of a bitch. He didn’t know what time it was, but he knew that the night was getting old. He turned on his side and let sleep overtake him, dreaming of the freedom he would have the next day.
The loud clanging of night sticks striking the iron bars woke Steele up early. One of the guards who had brought his cell mate opened the door and hit the man on the top bunk to wake him.
“Come on, you bastard. We got another cell for you.”
Steele’s cell mate dragged himself down from the top bunk and was handcuffed once again. The guards yanked on the chains bounding his hands and forced him out of the cell, and they locked the cell door again. They shoved the man forward and walked back up the corridor, leaving Steele alone to fall back to sleep. He repeated his cell mate’s words in his head as he drifted off.
“Lucky son of a bitch...”
###
It had worked out perfectly.
Constable Dorey stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, razor in hand. It had been a week since he had shaven, and he desperately needed it. Dressed in his police uniform, hair neatly combed under his hat, Ira looked like a completely different man than what his “cell mate” had seen the night before.
He had to give Smith some credit. The man was a genius. He planned it all, down to the very last detail. He even gave Ira a back story to why he was incarcerated, and it went off without a hitch.
And best of all, he got the confession much easier than he expected. It was almost like the sick fucker was proud of raping a sweet innocent girl. It took everything in him to hide his disgust as the grey-haired bastard told his story in much more detail than he would’ve liked to hear.
It was all worth it, though. Because of his own stupidity, the rapist known as Alistair Steele would be locked away for a long time. Ira chuckled to himself. Steele had no idea that the only person he had confessed to would be the one to finally put him behind bars.
Ira looked at his watch. 10:13 a.m.; the trial was going to start soon. He finished shaving and rinsed the razor in the sink. Pulling the plug, he watched the water wash the dark clumps of facial hair down the drain. He checked his face to see if he missed any spots, and was satisfied with the moustache he decided to keep. He readjusted his hat and sighed.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said to himself, and walked out of the bathroom and toward the courtroom.
Ira didn’t really pay attention to the beginning of the trial, he was only focused on the shocked expression on Steele’s face when the prosecution announced they had a witness.
“The prosecution would like to call to the stand, Constable Ira Dorey.”
This was his moment to shine. Ira rose from his chair and walked past Steele on his way to the witness stand. They locked eyes for a brief moment, and he saw Steele’s hand clamp around the side of the table, his knuckles turning white.
Taking a seat, the bailiff brought forth a Bible for Ira to lay his right hand on. He asked Ira the standard question for witnesses at any trial. “Constable Dorey, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
Ira looked past the bailiff at the rapist sitting at the table, and replied, “I do, Yer Honor.”
The prosecution took a few steps toward Constable Dorey, and winked at him, clearing his throat. “Constable Dorey,” he started. “Do you know the defendant?”
Ira nodded. “Yes, I knows ‘im.” He saw that Steele never looked away from him, as if he was trying to figure out why Ira looked so familiar to him.
The prosecution continued. “How do you know Mr. Steele?”
Without looking away from Steele, Ira smirked as he explained, “I spent a night wid ‘im in ‘Er Majesty’s Penitentiary.”
Ira’s response hit the mark. Every bit of color instantly drained from Steele’s face as he realized that Constable Dorey was the man he had confessed to the previous night. Ira watched with immense pride and satisfaction as Steele lowered his head and spoke to his lawyer. The lawyer nodded and rose from his chair.
“Your Honor,” he started. “My defendant would like to plead guilty to all charges.”
Constable Ira Dorey smiled. Steele couldn’t even bring himself to look him in the face, and as the guards escorted Steele from the courtroom, Ira leaned back in the witness chair, chuckling as he thought of the irony of the whole situation.
Another job well done.
“No!” she screamed, tears pouring down her face. “You can’t let that happen! There’s gotta be another way!”
“Vicki, please,” her mother pleaded. She placed a consoling hand on her daughter’s shoulder and sighed, close to tears herself.
The two women sat beside each other in an interrogation room at the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary police station in St. John’s. Across the large wooden table sat Police Chief Leonard Smith. He placed his forearms on the table and leaned forward, running a hand through his short brown hair.
“Look, Mrs. McCarthy,” he started, clearing his throat. “I understand how you and your daughter must feel, but unless we can find a witness who is willing to testify in court, he’ll walk. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do.”
Vicki wiped the tears from her eyes and glared at Smith. “You don’t know shit about how I feel,” she said coldly.
The hurt in her mother’s eyes was evident as she turned toward Vicki. She looked across at Smith, who seemed deep in thought, and apologized. “I’m sorry, Mr. Smith. Vicki has been very irritable and paranoid ever since the incident.”
Police Chief Smith nodded. “It’s all right, Mrs. McCarthy,” he replied. Smith rose from his chair and walked over to the window, staring out into the overcast skies. He could feel the women’s eyes on him as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
What can I do? he thought to himself. There has to be some way to put this son of a bitch behind bars. But what? Think, Smith, Think!
Suddenly, an idea hit him like a slap to the face. How could he have been so blind? The plan was perfect! Smith smiled victoriously as he spun around on his heel to face Vicki and her mother, who looked stunned to see him smiling at such a time as this.
“I have a plan,” he started to explain.
###
Constable Ira Dorey was enjoying his week off. It was moose hunting season, and he be damned if he was going home empty handed. He trudged through the woods on the outskirts of Lewisporte—he felt more comfortable hunting close to home—and hefted his rifle across his broad back, inhaling on what was most likely his forth cigarette that hour.
Dark clouds plastered the afternoon sky, but Ira could tell that rain wouldn’t arrive just yet. His boots made a great sucking sound as he made his way across a bog, and his camouflage pants and jacket were stained with mud from an earlier encounter with a slippery slope at the mouth of a deep puddle. He didn’t mind, though; to him it was all part of the adventure through the great outdoors.
He had spent most of the afternoon tracking one moose in particular. Judging by the size of its hoof prints, Ira determined it was definitely a bull, and he was getting closer. Many large piles of droppings lined the path like breadcrumbs. Ira became increasingly excited with every step he took, and his chestnut brown eyes twinkled with delight at the thought of catching his prey.
Finally he saw it. As he approached a small clearing, Ira caught a glimpse of a magnificent bull moose munching on some twigs up ahead. His heart raced as he retrieved his rifle, and he tried desperately to stay as quiet as possible. Ira crouched beside a birch stump and shouldered the gun, waiting for the perfect shot.
He saw that the moose was still feeding on the leafy foliage, completely oblivious to everything and everyone around it. Ira couldn’t wait any longer, he decided that this was the best chance he would ever get. His palms were sweaty as they grasped the gun, his finger itching to take the shot.
Come to Daddy, he thought as he tightened his finger on the trigger.
A sudden vibration in his jacket pocket startled him, and he fell back against the bushes, and the rifle made a loud clanking sound as it struck the birch stump. The moose perked up its antlered head and took off into the forest before Ira even knew what was happening.
Ira couldn’t believe it. He thought he turned off his cell phone, and he made no attempt to disguise his anger and frustration as he answered.
“Goddammit, d’ya realize wut you just did!?” he cried. “Ya juss made me scare off a 20-point bull! Lord Jesus Christ!”
“Sorry, Ira,” the voice on the other line replied. “Smith needs you to come in right away. He says it’s really important.”
Ira sighed with frustration. Can’t even git a fuckin week to meself widdout the boss bein’ up me fuckin’ ass, he thought. “Tell ‘im I’ll be in tonight,” he said, defeated. He hung up the phone and pressed the power button hard, making sure it was off this time.
He stared at the spot where the moose had escaped into the forest, and he swore under his breath. “I’ll git ya next time, ya bastard.”
Grabbing the rifle from the ground, Constable Ira Dorey turned and began the long trek back through the woods, cursing and swearing the entire way.
It looked like he’d be going home empty handed after all.
###
Alistair Steele sat alone in a cramped prison cell in Her Majesty’s Penitentiary. The cell was barely big enough to accommodate the old, rusty bunk bed and the sad excuse for a toilet that was situated in the far corner. The walls were chipped and cracked in hundreds of places, and the light from the setting sun cast an eerie glow about the place. Steele sat on the bottom bunk, his back against the wall and legs hanging far out over the side of the bed.
Steele sat alone, and he was smiling.
He had only been in the cell for a couple days, but he knew he wouldn’t be in there much longer. The cops had no solid evidence to the rape charge they had arrested him for. Of course Steele had done it, but he wasn’t going to admit it to them. Even though it had been over a year, he could still remember the scent of her flowing red hair. The rush he felt when he touched her soft, pale skin sent shivers through his body...
But most of all, it was the way she looked at him that got him off. The fear in her eyes as he claimed her for his own made the encounter all the more exciting. She was more than just another notch under his belt. To him, she was his greatest achievement.
Steele lay down on the hard lumpy mattress. The paper thin pillow did nothing for the kinks in his neck, and his feet dangled from the edge, but he didn’t care. Only one more night and he’d be out of this dump...
...and back on the prowl.
He had just closed his eyes to relax when he heard the other inmates shouting.
“New blood!”
“Fresh meat! We’re gonna have fun with you, sweetheart!”
Steele got up and headed to the cell door to see who the next unlucky victim was to enter into Hell. Through the iron bars, he saw a couple of guards escort a tall, burly man down the corridor. The man was dressed in camouflage pants and a matching jacket, both covered with mud. His weathered face sported a hefty beard, and his black hair was matted under the baseball cap he wore. Steele smiled; he could tell the man wouldn’t become jail bait without a fight.
The guards stopped when they got to Steele’s cell and unlocked the door. They uncuffed the burly man and shoved him inside, closing and locking the door behind them.
“Here you go, Steele, you fucking scumbag. Enjoy your new roommate.”
Steele chuckled as he heard the guards walk away, the other inmates mocking them with snorts and other pig sounds. He turned to his new cell mate, who was now leaning up against the far wall of the tiny cell. They eyed each other for a short time, until Steele finally spoke.
“Don’t even think about trying anything with me, mate. I’ll fuckin’ rip your nuts off.”
The camouflage man laughed. “Don’t ya worry,” he said. “I don’t plan on makin’ too many friends ‘ere.”
Steele nodded in agreement. “First time in here?” he asked.
The man shook his head. “No b’y, I got put away fer ‘bout a year when I wuz eighteen or so. I broke into some missus’ house and robbed ‘er blind. In ‘ere now fer the same reason.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Ya smoke?” he asked, offering one to Steele.
“No,” replied Steele.
His cell mate extended the cigarette pack toward him. “Fuck that, dey’re good fer ya.”
Steele pushed his arm away. “I said no,” he repeated, glaring at the man. Steele didn’t want to get in a fight tonight, but he was prepared to kick someone’s ass if he had to.
The man got the hint and backed off. “All right, fine,” he said. He put the cigarettes back in his pocket and pulled out a shiny Zippo lighter. As he flicked it open, Steele’s eyes flashed. He had never seen that kind of lighter before, and he found the way the flame danced across the end of the cigarette intriguing. He didn’t take his eyes off the man’s lighter until it was back in the jacket pocket.
Steele took his place back on the bottom bunk and put his arm behind his head. His cell mate sat on the floor and leaned against the wall, inhaling deeply on his cancer stick. They stayed silent for a moment, and after another long drag, the man finally asked.
“So, wut are ya in 'ere for?”
Steele glanced outside his cell to make sure there were no prison guards near by. When he decided it was safe, he related to the man the story—in great detail—of the incident that happened a year ago.
When Steele had finished, the man was already half way through another cigarette. “Quite the ‘ccomplishment,” he said. “So, no one seen ya do it, huh? Yer one lucky sonuvabitch, y’know dat? You’ll be outta here t’morra night and those fuckin’ pigs will have no idea that you got away with it.” He flicked the butt of his cigarette into the toilet and stood up. “Well I s’pose I muss be headin’ t’bed. Might see ya around someday, b’y.” And with that he climbed onto the top bunk and called it a night.
Steele smiled to himself and closed his eyes. He really was a lucky son of a bitch. He didn’t know what time it was, but he knew that the night was getting old. He turned on his side and let sleep overtake him, dreaming of the freedom he would have the next day.
The loud clanging of night sticks striking the iron bars woke Steele up early. One of the guards who had brought his cell mate opened the door and hit the man on the top bunk to wake him.
“Come on, you bastard. We got another cell for you.”
Steele’s cell mate dragged himself down from the top bunk and was handcuffed once again. The guards yanked on the chains bounding his hands and forced him out of the cell, and they locked the cell door again. They shoved the man forward and walked back up the corridor, leaving Steele alone to fall back to sleep. He repeated his cell mate’s words in his head as he drifted off.
“Lucky son of a bitch...”
###
It had worked out perfectly.
Constable Dorey stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, razor in hand. It had been a week since he had shaven, and he desperately needed it. Dressed in his police uniform, hair neatly combed under his hat, Ira looked like a completely different man than what his “cell mate” had seen the night before.
He had to give Smith some credit. The man was a genius. He planned it all, down to the very last detail. He even gave Ira a back story to why he was incarcerated, and it went off without a hitch.
And best of all, he got the confession much easier than he expected. It was almost like the sick fucker was proud of raping a sweet innocent girl. It took everything in him to hide his disgust as the grey-haired bastard told his story in much more detail than he would’ve liked to hear.
It was all worth it, though. Because of his own stupidity, the rapist known as Alistair Steele would be locked away for a long time. Ira chuckled to himself. Steele had no idea that the only person he had confessed to would be the one to finally put him behind bars.
Ira looked at his watch. 10:13 a.m.; the trial was going to start soon. He finished shaving and rinsed the razor in the sink. Pulling the plug, he watched the water wash the dark clumps of facial hair down the drain. He checked his face to see if he missed any spots, and was satisfied with the moustache he decided to keep. He readjusted his hat and sighed.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said to himself, and walked out of the bathroom and toward the courtroom.
Ira didn’t really pay attention to the beginning of the trial, he was only focused on the shocked expression on Steele’s face when the prosecution announced they had a witness.
“The prosecution would like to call to the stand, Constable Ira Dorey.”
This was his moment to shine. Ira rose from his chair and walked past Steele on his way to the witness stand. They locked eyes for a brief moment, and he saw Steele’s hand clamp around the side of the table, his knuckles turning white.
Taking a seat, the bailiff brought forth a Bible for Ira to lay his right hand on. He asked Ira the standard question for witnesses at any trial. “Constable Dorey, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
Ira looked past the bailiff at the rapist sitting at the table, and replied, “I do, Yer Honor.”
The prosecution took a few steps toward Constable Dorey, and winked at him, clearing his throat. “Constable Dorey,” he started. “Do you know the defendant?”
Ira nodded. “Yes, I knows ‘im.” He saw that Steele never looked away from him, as if he was trying to figure out why Ira looked so familiar to him.
The prosecution continued. “How do you know Mr. Steele?”
Without looking away from Steele, Ira smirked as he explained, “I spent a night wid ‘im in ‘Er Majesty’s Penitentiary.”
Ira’s response hit the mark. Every bit of color instantly drained from Steele’s face as he realized that Constable Dorey was the man he had confessed to the previous night. Ira watched with immense pride and satisfaction as Steele lowered his head and spoke to his lawyer. The lawyer nodded and rose from his chair.
“Your Honor,” he started. “My defendant would like to plead guilty to all charges.”
Constable Ira Dorey smiled. Steele couldn’t even bring himself to look him in the face, and as the guards escorted Steele from the courtroom, Ira leaned back in the witness chair, chuckling as he thought of the irony of the whole situation.
Another job well done.
