Definitely Dead by Kate Bendelow (howl and other poems TXT) 📕

his solicitor, Redford had put across a compelling case, stating that if the two men were imprisoned together, it would allow them the opportunity to continue their criminal collusion.

As a result, Nowak had been shipped out of the North West to HM Prison Nottingham. He was away from his best friend, Donnelly, and at a distance too inconvenient for his girlfriend, Markita Milani, to travel to see him. That’s what Markita had told him anyway. She had been acting very strange of late and he had decided he could no longer trust a word that came out of her overly lip-glossed mouth. He had sent one of his minions around to her address following his arrest, to make sure she was okay and to see if she needed anything, but the response had apparently been lukewarm at best.

Nowak had access to a mobile phone and had contacted Markita on several occasions, but she remained stand-offish. When he had challenged her, she claimed it was the upset of him being arrested and that, of course, she still missed him and loved him. He had phoned her last night and made it clear in no uncertain terms that he was expecting her to visit him by the end of the week. Distance or no distance.

Nowak was no fool. He wasn’t going to be played by anyone, least of all by Markita. It was time for her to step up and prove that she was his woman; otherwise, he would have to arrange for a little visit to be paid to her. He knew enough people who would be happy to remind her how difficult her life could get if she didn’t keep him happy. If Markita wanted to stay healthy and to continue living the life to which she was accustomed, then she needed to make more of an effort to keep him happy while he was inside.

One saving grace was his cellmate, Marcus Naylor, who was decent enough company. He had originally been sentenced for the possession and supply of drugs, and a Section 18 assault. This sentence was further extended after Naylor had battered several inmates while serving his initial sentence at HM Prison Frankland in County Durham. He had also napalmed a prison officer. This is the term given to pouring boiling water and sugar over someone, which intensifies the burns.

Naylor was evil. He had a sick mind and a love of violence. The prison guards had sighed with relief when they realised the two men were going to get on. The thought of the two man-mountains crossing swords would have been too much for the already overstretched staff to cope with. Nowak might be missing Donnelly, but his new cellmate was quickly becoming his new best friend.

Naylor was one of the few people Nowak had ever met who was as big as him. The years he had spent in prison had been whiled away in the gym. As a result, he was a wall of sheer muscle. It wasn’t so much his shaved head which added to his appearance as a thug, but the map of old scars which ran across the back of his head and face. Naylor referred to them as his war wounds and had a tale to tell about each one. Each story usually ended with the violent comeuppance of whoever had administered the blows.

The two men were lounging on their bunks, smoking and sharing a companionable silence, waiting for the lunchtime news bulletin to start. Nowak thought Naylor a funny sort, the way he insisted on watching the news, regardless of what else might be on. Still, he didn’t mind. Naylor was a decent bloke and if it kept the older man happy to stick to his daily ritual, then he wasn’t going to rock the boat. He’d been inside so long with no visitors that Nowak knew of, so the news was clearly his only link with the outside world.

Nowak was only half listening as the television droned on. He was too preoccupied thinking about Markita and what was going on with her, when he became aware of a news bulletin coming from near home. He sat up so he could read the news banner announcing the death of an old madam called Celeste Warren. Nowak knew the name from years back, having had the pleasure of popping his cherry at one of Celeste’s brothels at the tender age of fourteen, back when he had first started running around with Donnelly.

The news report quickly switched to an earlier live recording of a local journalist interviewing a crime-scene investigator who had attended the address. Nowak recognised her from being the SOCO who had examined him in the custody suite at Beech Field police station. The journalist was bombarding the startled-looking woman with a barrage of questions and Nowak laughed out loud as he asked her, ‘Have you scraped her up and shipped her to the corpse-cooler like you said you were going to?’

‘What a quote, stupid bitch.’

‘Shhhhh,’ hissed Naylor. He was perched like a meerkat, soaking up every detail of the news report.

‘All right, keep yer fucking hair on,’ Nowak grumbled. God forbid he should interrupt the precious news.

They watched in silence until the report was over and Naylor deflated like a burst balloon. His attention was no longer fixed on the television and he seemed oblivious to the fact that his cigarette had burnt down to his fingers, a long stem of ash dangling precariously over his leg.

‘You okay, my friend?’ Nowak asked as he leaned over his bunk. His cellmate normally had the typical pale, unhealthy pallor of an inmate, but now, two bright-red pinpricks of colour were glowing on his cheeks. His expression frozen like a death mask.

‘Her. On the television. I think I know her.’

‘She’s a SOCO based near me at Beech Field nick. She’s called Maya… something.’

‘Maya…’ Naylor sighed. ‘What else do you know about her?’

‘Not much, wasn’t with her long and I wasn’t in the best of