Aside from all the other steps new prisoners were best to learn if they wanted to keep their ass safe in Oz the most important was, you don’t fuck with the king of the night.
It didn’t take long for some of the more observant new arrivals to notice that people who had the misfortune of getting on Torquemada’s bad side had a nasty habit of meeting unpleasant endings involving razor blades, broken bones and other horrible, bloody misfortunes, and, as such, they wisely did their best to avoid him.
Unfortunately, Jonathan McKinley wasn’t what anyone would refer to as wise.
“Hey, faggot!” shouted the young thug from across the quad, accompanied by the snickers and jeers of his new posse.
Torquemada paused at the top of the stairs, glancing briefly back at the snickering punk, then proceeded into his pod.
---------------------------------------------------
Miguel stirred groggily, eyes blurry and head still swimming with D. Shifting achily towards the center of the pod he was jolted awake by the image before him.
Alonzo stood naked, surrounded by flickering candles, small piles of wild herbs around him as well as iron charms, grass dolls and other strange, assorted gewgaws.
Alonzo turned suddenly towards Miguel, a small glass vile of ruby liquid clutched in his hand. Eyes glowing in the candlelight Alonzo looked calmly at Miguel.
“Go back to sleep, gatito, you’re having a bad trip,” Alonzo said and crushed the glass vile over a pile of smouldering herbs.
And, at the same moment that Miguel dropped back to sleep, Johnny McKinley dropped dead in his pod.
You don’t fuck with the king of the night.