The music practice ended, and Spencer finished almost at 5:00 in the afternoon so that everyone would have time to do their chores in the library and then have dinner. This routine allowed everyone to rest, and the day would restart. Mornings in the correctional facility were a general rule; every day, the young ones would wake up exactly at 6:00 am. The long days of study, sports, and student control I made them nod off around 9:00 pm. By 10:00 pm, nothing could be heard but the strong sounds of breathing.
Billy left the music class, and Pablo followed him.
-Billy, how are you? – Pablo said.
-Good, friend, and you? How's everything? – Billy said.
Pablo frowned and grabbed Billy's shoulder with force, something that did not go unnoticed by Connor, but he decided to ignore it and walked past.
-I've been waiting for three hours in that damn music room because I want to know the truth. – Pablo said, serious, a bit more serious and strangely different from his usual joviality.
Billy came to a realization, caused by the oasis that learning music every day provided. He was no longer in the world of music; now he was back in the world of the correctional facility.
-Is there something I don't know? – Billy asked.
Pablo didn't say anything, but for him, friendship was something strong, and Billy was his friend—sincere and calm.
-There's a drug problem. Rumor has it that you stole the drugs at Austin's request to join his gang, and well, things are a bit tense. – Pablo said.
-Wait, steal? I would never do something like that. – Billy said.
-Then what proof do you have? – Pablo said, still with some implicit mistrust in his demeanor. If Billy was somewhat emotional about his music system and could act like a fool by letting his emotions take over this time, fear overcame such emotionality.
-I have no idea, but I can say that I have nothing on me. You can check my bunk, my locker, and of course, what I have on me. What's the point of stealing drugs for Austin when you warned me how treacherous he is? He's tried to recruit me, but I've refused. – Billy said.
-Man, it's that scoundrel. – Pablo said.
-Come, I'll verify it, and I'll talk to Buggs. I'll explain the situation; he's a smart guy and knows what to do in these situations. – Pablo said.
They both went down to the second floor. If they had gone down fifteen minutes earlier, they would have encountered Austin, and if that had happened, everything would have been different. However, time always arranges things in its way, even with travels, and esoteric events, it cannot be influenced by just one person.
-Look, here's the locker; I have nothing. – Billy said.
Pablo took Billy's things out of the locker, from some old sneakers to some notebooks and a large photo of his mom and him on a field trip they took four years ago before they changed locations, the old forgotten sports center.
-You have nothing. – Pablo said, even feeling inside the shoes.
-I'm telling you, he's a liar. – Billy said.
They rearranged everything as best they could and went to the first floor where the rooms for the small problems were located.
Again, time was not helpful because Austin's gang, although they had not planted the drugs, narrowly escaped from Billy, who would question the motives of Austin's gang.
They arrived at Billy's bunk. There it was, the small bunk against the wall. Pablo untucked the sheets, turned the mattress, and checked the slats, even under the bed. He found nothing incriminating because Austin's gang had failed; they planted the drugs on the wrong bed. What was right for Andrew was left for Carmelo J, and they planted it in front of the bed of the young Carmelo J, a little punk who had only stolen from a convenience store to ease his hunger.
-I've got nothing.– said Billy.
-Well, everything will be sorted out. Soon. I'll talk to Buggs, and I'll tell him the truth; then, you'll have to settle things with Austin face to face.– said Pablo. Saying goodbye to Billy, his buddies should be on the field, playing the last games of the evening; in California, it got dark quite late.
Billy sighed and stayed in his room, tidying up the bed. Despite the calmness, everything was upside down. He arranged the slats, and the bedding, and made the bed again. Just as he was about to leave, Face of Dog entered.
The kid was big and had a face like that of an English bulldog, with drooping eyebrows and a thick double chin. The concentrated anger in his actions earned him the nickname Face of Dog.
-Carson. -
-Yes. – said Billy in confusion.
-We've got some accounts to settle. – said Face of Dog.
-Yes, I've already talked to someone from your gang. We'll talk to your boss and sort everything out. – said Billy, which was a mistake. The face of Dog wasn't into a hierarchy; Billy calling him the second in command was a hard blow to his pride.
This comes from his nickname since he entered the correctional facility. This nickname has stuck with him, and from there, the hatred he feels when he's called second-in-command, the dog that Buggs commands, the errand boy, is something he can't stand.
-There's nothing to fix. – said Face of Dog.
Jumping at Billy, without explanation, behind him the kid leaped and tackled Billy as he had learned in the wrestling team at his school. He lifted him; the proportion of 45 kilos, 90 pounds, to 70 kilos, 140 pounds, is abysmal. The blow came like a stampede. Once on the ground, Billy received two blows to the head and ribs, followed by successive punches to Billy's face—the eye, the cheek, the temple. The face of Dog kept hitting while Billy protected himself with his hands, but the blows kept coming one after another.
Fist by fist.
Fist by fist.
"Wa-wait—wa—wait—" Billy tried to say, but the blows kept coming.
Fist and fist, from a young man who far exceeded him in size.
When Face of Dog stood up, panting after the beating, Billy's nose was bleeding, and along with the degrading look, with a red eye, in less than an hour, the swelling would be in the eye, and it would look like a tennis ball from the successive blows.
Billy tried to think of something other than the pain. But even his vision was failing him; his brain was scrambled, and he felt like vomiting from the beating he had just received. He had never been hit so hard and brutally, as if he were a ragdoll. His arms burned from the defense he tried to use, but it failed.
Billy is beaten and battered by the Black Gang. Very hard, resulting in the infirmary. He tells them, gives reason to the Black Gang, for stealing, and because Austin knew. They don't believe him. Austin can only laugh at the situation, thinking he has broken Billy.
The shirt was red with blood, their ears were throbbing, and their head was burning, pulsating with his ears, he wanted to sit down to rest, but the slightest gesture hurt. After twenty minutes, as best as he could, he lay on his bed. Tears streamed from his eyes; he had never felt so humiliated.
…
Ding.
The music is in you. Your emotions are through the roof. Your emotions are through the roof, your emotions are through the roof.
Song provided by the system: "Like a Stone" by Audioslave.
They would only find Billy two hours later at 7:10, dinner time. A guard saw a kid sleeping and went to wake him up until he saw the boy covered in blood; the blood was on the wall, the bed, and the floor. He could see that it was drenched in blood.
We have a 2-15. Call the doctor or get the car ready for the hospital. – said the security guard over the microphone.
...