Chapter 2 - The Janitor Who Wouldn’t Kneel
Warden Harold Bennett arrived minutes later.
“What happened?”
Marcus pushed himself up.
“That old bastard attacked me!”
Bennett pointed toward the security cameras.
“Then the footage will prove it.”
Marcus looked at Walter.
Walter was already picking up his mop.
“My glasses are broken,” he said.
Bennett sighed.
“I'll replace them.”
“Thank you.”
Marcus stared at them.
“What the hell is going on?”
Bennett turned.
“What do you mean?”
“Who is he?”
“Walter Hayes.”
“I know his damn name!”
Marcus pointed toward Walter.
“A seventy-year-old janitor doesn't throw me across a cafeteria like that.”
Bennett looked around.
Hundreds of prisoners were listening.
Perhaps it was time.
“Walter Hayes was a national-level judo and sambo champion.”
Nobody laughed.
“He served in the Army. Later, he spent more than twenty years teaching defensive tactics to a specialized police unit.”
Marcus stared at Walter.
Bennett continued.
“He trained police officers, rescue teams, tactical units, and men who later became instructors themselves.”
Briggs whispered:
“You've got to be kidding me.”
Marcus looked at Walter.
“And now you're cleaning floors?”
Walter picked up his mop.
“Floors don't clean themselves.”
Nobody laughed.
Bennett stepped closer to Marcus.
“You were lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“He didn't want to hurt you.”
Walter started walking away.
Humiliation burned through Marcus.
“This isn't over!”
Walter stopped.
He didn't turn around.
“For your sake, it should be.”
Then he left.
By dinner, everyone knew.
By breakfast the next morning, the story had changed twenty times.
Walter had supposedly broken six men's arms.
Walter had supposedly been a government assassin.
Walter had supposedly killed somebody using a spoon.
Marcus hated every version.
But one thought bothered him more.
Walter really could have hurt him.
And hadn't.
Three days later, Marcus returned from isolation.
Briggs approached immediately.
“We can get him.”
Marcus kept walking.
“Get who?”
“The old man.”
Marcus stopped.
Briggs smiled.
“Maintenance room. No cameras.”
Marcus grabbed Briggs and slammed him against the wall.
“Listen carefully.”
Briggs's smile vanished.
“You don't touch him.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Since when are you protecting janitors?”
Marcus released him.
“This is between him and me.”
That afternoon Marcus found Walter near the laundry room.
Walter was replacing a mop head.
No guards.
No witnesses.
Perfect.
Marcus approached.
Walter didn't look up.
“You're blocking my light.”
Marcus stared at him.
“Why didn't you hit me?”
Walter continued working.
“It wasn't necessary.”
“You could've broken my arm.”
“Yes.”
Marcus frowned.
“You admit that?”
“You asked.”
“Then why stop?”
Walter finally looked at him.
“Because having the power to destroy someone doesn't mean you should.”
Marcus laughed bitterly.
“Everybody here fears me.”
“That isn't respect.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Walter returned to the mop.
“And until you understand the difference, you'll remain a slave to your own violence.”
Marcus punched a metal locker.
BANG.
Walter didn't flinch.
That irritated Marcus.
“Why do you work here?”
“My wife died four years ago.”
Marcus's expression changed slightly.
Walter continued.
“The house became too quiet. Warden Bennett was once my student. He thought being around people might help.”
“So you chose prison toilets?”
Walter smiled faintly.
“People reveal their true character when they believe the person standing in front of them has no power.”
Marcus remembered the spilled drinks.
The insults.
The laughter.
His shove.
“You were testing us.”
“No.”
Walter shook his head.
“I was cleaning.”
“Then why tolerate it?”
“Because not every insult deserves a response.”
Marcus stared at him.
“Until I pushed you.”
“Until you turned humiliation into violence.”
Marcus started walking away.
Then Walter spoke.
“Your father had that same look when he lost control.”
Marcus froze.
Slowly, he turned.
“What did you say?”
Walter's face changed.
“David Kane.”
Marcus crossed the distance instantly and grabbed Walter's shirt.
“Don't ever say that name.”
Walter didn't resist.
“I trained him.”
Marcus's fingers loosened.
“What?”
“For six years.”
“My father worked in a factory.”
“After leaving the police.”
Marcus stepped back.
“You're lying.”
Walter reached inside his jacket.
And pulled out an old photograph.
Marcus looked down.
A younger Walter stood beside another man.
A man with Marcus's eyes.
On the back were four words that destroyed thirty years of hatred.
DAVID KANE — BEST RECRUIT.
Marcus's hands began trembling.
“Where did you get this?”
Walter answered quietly.
“I was there.”
Marcus looked up.
“When he died?”
May you like
Walter hesitated.
“Yes.”
