Death Before Dishonor

By Louis Porter

Lightfoots rusty prison handcuffs sliced deep into flesh and caused him to hang from the meat hook like a limp chunk of bloody beef... The red bearded monster sensuously caressed the leather thongs before driving them deep into his preys bleeding rump and savored the power of instilling fear in a defenseless man... The sadistic Wardens face went from a crimson red to a purple grape color due to the silence of the stoic Indian... , Im gonna find out if this bastard is a federal spy or ...

Hes dead, Billy Joe... this Indian aint faking it... hes dead as a door-nail. Now theres only one man left that can tell us what the Feds are up to... Damn it to hell and why they would send two federal prisoners to an Oklahoma State Penal Institution.... Billy Joe, I heard that Colonel Garrison was a real live hero before he led some crazy CIA raid into South America... Apparently, he was the only one who lived through it... That bugger got three years in prison for breaking his superior officers jaw over it... Maybe its just possible that he isnt a spy... ?

Damn it, Doc. Wayne Garrison has escaped. He jumped over the seventy foot railing at Keystone Lake Dam and disappeared forever into that turbulent black water below... Makes one wonder if he tried to commit suicide or got killed trying to escape this hell hole... In Arkansas things moved fast... Honey Wassermann jumped out the cake and became naked once again... They always said she was too damn sexy for her own good.... Sensuous and slick as any Playboy Centerfold.... built like the proverbial brick... She wistfully thought, who will it be... Garrison orJimbo Swager.. ?

...The seductive image of Angelica in the mirror conveyed an exotic picture of a sensuous cat ready to pounce on an easy victim. Wayne watched her in the mirror as she applied fresh make-up and noticed that her dancing ebony eyes scanned him ravenously.... she didnt make a move to cover her lush body for the moment and suddenly the nimble she cat exploded into a daring move... Garrison was never sure if she was friendly to the cause or just an unsatisfied sexy bitch on the make.... No matter, Im going to use her to the maximum... every which way I can...

She expects to die any minute, Jimbo... thats why she gets her sex this way because.... The sexy feline thought, hes a bad guy... so Ill show him my most sensuous dance and punctuate it with a kick in the face... send him flying over the side of the ship. The impromptu dance ended and the real fun began... Jimbo simmered as he watched her perform and knew that he too could be the next victim of her lust and.... Dancing is one thing, but this broads action is above the call of duty.... Its obvious that she loves to dance almost as much as making love....

Sure as hell they will try to board the ship at the coral reefs in the Panama Canal zone... we must be ready... Listen guys, the punishment for Billy Joe will be carried out swiftly and cruelly like he lived... Strip the miserable bastard, stick him on a coral reef with his killer whip, hand him an overdose of heroin, old fish guts and let him choose his own manner of death as the tide covers the reef. The sharks will come circling in ... Warden Billy Joe stood knee deep watching the fins slicing the turbulent sea and coming closer and closer as the tide rose... this was worse than.....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479796212

Louis Porter

Louis Porter born in Bangor Maine, back when the economic conditions were such that both parents were forced to work to survive as a family. The entire family moved to Skowhegan, Maine where I could finish high school. At an early age of seventeen, I joined the Merchant Marines and sailed on cargo ships to many European and South America ports over a two year period, married and enlisted in the U.S. Navy Air Force based in Corpus Christi Texas. Completed college work at Texas A&M with honor's in Petroleum Engineering. Went to work with ARCO as a petroleum engineer and handled sales of the company's oil and gas products. Later, I formed Daleo Petroleum and began building underground storages to handle sales, storage facilities and set up pipeline distribution of all liquid gases like ethane & propane for Mid-America Pipeline. We were first to put propane on the Chicago Cotton Exchange as a commodity. I became Bch & CEO of three separate public companies dealing in Rare Earth, Gold Mining, Drilling for oil in Canada and the United States. Brought President Ford to Canada for company meetings and traveled all over North & South America & Europe for business, hunting and fishing. Beat President Ford out of $14 playing gin and made him sign the bills. I bagged a grizzly bear in British Columbia and caught many sail fish off Baja. Wrote & sold 5 novels over the internet as E-Books twenty five yrs. ago.

Book preview

DEATH BEFORE

DISHONOR©

By

Louis Porter

Ex-Colonel Wayne Garrison rolled over and slowly wiped away the sweaty moisture that had accumulated on his forehead caused from his earlier visit to the Oklahoma State Prison’s punishment room a few hours earlier. His blood stained sleeve on the orange coveralls only partially covered the back of his once powerful tennis backhand and he struggled desperately to clear the cobwebs. The one time army hero stubbornly tried to pry open the dark brown scorpio eyes and stand up long enough to think things out. It was vitally important to clear his mind quickly and know the whys and wherefores of the coming situation. Wayne Garrison slowly scrambled to find that upright position on shaky underpinnings. He knew that the flow of blood in his body would soon go pounding through his body and make him feel a little more alive.

This pubically disgraced Colonel was once a national hero and now he was just another lowly felon in a dirty prison cell under fire. He couldn’t quite clear all the stubburn cobwebs as yet from his own session in the punishment room. But the old Wayne Garrison was slowly getting back to reasonability. Ex Colonel Wayne Garrison had struggled very hard to get back on his feet so he could look out the steel door of his cage as the pinkish tinted gray haze was slowly clear his normally agile mind ever so slightly.

The federal prisoner felt he must try to see all things clearly as the newly liberated salt laden tear drops cascaded into grotesque patterns on the cold and dirty prison floor. In his semi-consciousness condition he became more and more aware of the steamy moist stench of four day old human sweat that was still over powering on their side of cell block 11. Yesterday’s foul smell stayed stingingly deep in his nose and throat and made the act of just breathing was still an arduous chore. The ex-colonel just stared into space incongruously, not understanding things, yet absently seeing while not really seeing, all the blotched patterns emulating faded Psychiatrist ink blots splashing on the dirty cell floor.

His normally agile mind wandered as if it was but a prelude to an omen of some sort for other diabolical things yet to come for his Indian friend. Wayne’s face was a deep crimson color with just a slight purplish cast that flushed upward toward the gaunt cheeks barely hidden under the brown scraggly two day beard of the federal prisoner.

A moment later his heart clicked in and let him and a few of his reflections seemed to be coming back as the blood had begun flowing more briskly in his veins again. A once heavy heart skipped another tiny beat as his mind began to grasp the situation confronting his former partner’s up coming spectacle in the so called punishment room.

The sometimes stoic Indian and he were much more than just federal prisoners of a corrupt Oklahoma State Prison. They had worked together through much tougher twisted-up deals than this ordeal many times and were always able to survive and overwhelm. Unending pride filled his chest as he struggled to stand straighter, but he was still forced to wince repeatedly from the stabbing shots of pain as he moved. Every shot made his normally taut stomach muscles cramp into even tighter knots.

As Wayne Garrison’s mind cleared slightly for a peek out the cage it was like the opening of a rusty iron door as he thought about the punishment room. Damn, it’s only been two hours ago since I was in there. Standing tall now was clearly out of the question and all he could manage to do was keep the cold egg and spam-like breakfast sandwich quietly down as he watched the eerie procession inching along the way to his cage.

He felt totally helpless as the three Neanderthals approached his cage with their three-foot nightsticks drawn from the sweat and blood stained leather thong like carrying cases. The hired apes flashed crazy eyes in all directions at the same time and acted as though they were completely drugged and ready to explode if they couldn’t seriously hurt someone. Slightly behind the motley looking crew loomed the huge red bearded sadistic warden trailing the other two purposely so all could see his sweat and blood covered riding crop whip. The red headed freak carried it barely exposed for all the frightened prisoners to see and closely watched their reactions. It was obvious that the ugly group expected to inflict violence on any kind of oppositional forces as they neared the huge steel door to fetch Sir Gordon Lightfoot for his umpteenth session in the so called punishment room.

Garrison noted that his Cherokee Indian cell mate and close friend was still moaning softly in that same strange Indian dialect. As Garrison stood another lightening sliver of intense pain traversed through the entire length of his friends limp and badly dissipated body. Wayne knew that his long time cohort had alternated between body wracking chills and extremely high temperatures all night long as he moaned softly the jumbled Indian prayers barely aloud.

Every prisoner in section 11 on the same level gripped firmly on their cold steel doors so they could easily see that the much abused prisoner could never withstand another session in the dreaded punishment room. They all knew that the likeable indian had arrived at the prison under mysterious circumstances along with former Colonel Wayne Garrison. The exotic rumors flowed like water from every unscrubbed fountain at the facility.

Sir Gordon Lightfoot had the dubious distinction of being the only other federal prisoner in the six hundred-man medium security institution and was fervently suspected by some in top management of being a spy for some unknown higher-up government agency. The red neck Warden’s governmental sources had determined that Lightfoot was quietly and mysteriously transferred to Helena State Prison to spy on their illegal operations and report back a bunch of malicious lies covertly to some curious Federal Interlopers.

Wayne knew from previous experiences of his own that the red bearded freak’s idea of grilling a prisoner was to hang him up by handcuffs on a hook like a side of beef and whip him until he cried for help or mercifully fell into unconsciousness. Warden Red Beard and his motley crew were well known to be as sadistically minded as a bunch of ruthless and extremely undisciplined modern day pirates.

As the grimly silent procession passed each steel cage, nosy prisoners sidled quietly back again to their cell doors and indirectly watched as the massive steel gates of the dingy cell block slid noisily back. They watched closely as the three determined officials marched the length of the long corridor up to the second tier cage of Garrison and Lightfoot. The gorilla like warden stood ready with a sawed-off shotgun that seemed to come from thin air and pointed it inside the cell as the biggest two of the guards moved extremely fast to the rusty bottom bunk to grab their intended victim.

Stale air smelled eerily of death as the guards reached for the Indian’s limp body and crudely shoved nightsticks under his weary arms to make him try to stand up between them. Got him, guys? Don’t hurt him, fellas. The warden laughed aloud through his tobacco stained red beard as the guards looked anxiously around the prison tier before starting out the steel doors half dragging the indian’s lifeless body.

You don’t have to worry about interference from the other prisoners, boss. We can handle any would be Indian Chief along with his friends if any. However they made a slow and sticky point to look down the long corridor for misfits or other opposition that might be standing in their way before slipping out of the cell and into the walkway with their load.

Wayne stepped between them to make a plea of mercy for his friend, but his emotionally charged appeal to the two guards fell on stone-deaf ears, Can’t you guys see that he is sick and dying? He can’t possibly stand another session in the punishment room. Please give him a day’s rest guys. Give him a br… rea… k.

Wayne Garrison’s knees buckled when the blow from the butt of the shotgun blasted into the back of his head. The would be hero fell heavily to the cement slab and lay there quietly in a semi-unconscious coma as the guards alternately carried and half dragged the inert Indian from the desolate cell down toward the dreaded punishment room to God knows what.

Wayne Garrison slowly lapsed into a semi-dreamland world and felt his body getting lighter and lighter until he could feel the sensation of floating effortlessly in the pinkish gray mist. He scanned the familiar ground by the family home from his lofty perch and felt his anxious eyes desperately searching for his much beloved father and mother.

The federal prisoner felt his body soaring higher and higher until it seemingly came to rest and he lovingly faced them again through the thick pinkish gray mist. They had always been his rock during the earlier days before joining the military.

Mom and Dad… I made it. I made it, Dad. I’m an Eagle Scout and all grown up. I can wear my long pants at last can’t I? They leaned forward as if to kiss him, but couldn’t quite reach far enough for their intended target. The misty haze started thickening until he could barely see his house in the distance and just as quickly it thinned again for an entirely different view. Now, as suddenly as before he was standing with a huge gold winner’s trophy in front of his father at the National Junior Tennis Championships for singles. Wayne Garrison heard his father saying how his mother would have been so proud of him to win it all. Reflections from the parting cloudy mist allowed him to see how well tanned a body he had. Wayne Garrison had always been wiry, strong and wore a healthy brown tan like George Hamilton of movie fame, but somehow he also captured the amiable good looks of a Robert Redford . . . 

His hair was a sunburned brown from too much time on the courts during his college days at Texas A&M. Even he could see the darker roots which barely revealed themselves under the carefully perched lucky white hat he always wore during tougher tournaments. Wayne’s searching brown eyes caught sight of the trophy case in the storage shed where he finally placed it after his Dad passed away. The strangely colored ever changing mist closed again and all visions became shapeless forms that he couldn’t identify clearly. When the mist parted once more he found himself standing stiffly straight at the United States Military Academy on its never-ending parade ground.

He watched as the involved ceremonies were being conducted and this time he was alone in the forefront of the distinguished group. The Commanding Officer of the point who was standing in for the President was removing his gold major’s leaf and proudly replacing it with a silver one. Wayne Garrison was being rewarded again for exceptional valor and commissioned to the rank of light Colonel in the Elite Army Corp.

There was a tremendous crowd at the shindig, but he felt all alone now during the tiring ceremonies with their elaborate rites. Sadly, his heavy heart wasn’t into the great honor, because there wasn’t any family left to see his lifetime accomplishments being achieved and all past dreams being fulfilled.without family there any more.

The bullet scar on his jaw line ached and he reached up for it as the pink misty scene changed once more. He ran his finger along the line as if to remember how he received it. His intense look gave him a deep dent in his forehead between the dark brown burning Scorpio eyes as he surveyed the bloody massacre all around him. These were his courageous men that lay dying all over the jungle clearing and he was powerless to stop it. His leg had throbbed almost uncontrollably and seemed to spatter his blood like a powerful sieve spreading the red colored liquid everywhere as if by some macabre grand design.

He had been shackled to a stake driven deeply into the ground and then moved in chains to a post outside the gross odor from the shack. The whip cracked across his back and rump making him grunt in the filth. Next there was the searing iron pressed tightly below his testicles and he felt the burning sensation once more. Then the beautiful Spanish girl came, there was heavy fighting and she half dragged him away into the deeper jungles. Slowly he began to be getting healthier again until the relentless pursuers found them once again. Helplessly, he had watched as the sexy rebel savior was lined up with the others, shot by a hastily arranged firing squad and then they began an intense search for him.

Wayne had been too weak to help, but somehow she had known they were coming for them ahead of time. She had kissed him hard across the mouth and pulled him safely into an intensely thick pile of brush. It soon became pitch dark as he staggered forward once again and headed for the safety of the river. Watch out for crocs . . . . blood in the river . . . . blood in the river. In the mist he saw a military man wearing the emblems of the Army’s Elite Strike Force One Unit, but couldn’t see him clearly enough from his position in the brush. He quickly knew the man was an enemy in a United States Army uniform and swore softly that he would find him and get retribution some day.

The thinning dark mist was suddenly gone and he looked up. All he could see was the faded steel of his present cage and wondered about his Indian comrade’s fate as he gently closed his eyes and slept. As the federal prisoner sank deeply into a more pleasant dreamland, his only thoughts were for his friend, he’s dead, my dear,dear friend and buddy has been spirited away to a much nicer place than this.

*     *     *

Warden Billy Joe McCormick watched with his gang of misfits for all of twenty minutes and then raised a huge paw and grunted to get the small group’s undivided attention, My turn guys… . damn, it’s my turn. You guys act like a bunch of pansies, Billy Joe said as he reached for his favorite correctional instrument. Y’all are just too damn easy on these born troublemakers in this hell-hole of a place. Sure as old hell this Indian bastard is some sort of a government spy, sent here to check us out. Billy Joe’s smile turned to a contemptuous sneer as he fondled the well-used sweaty leather strap.

The special whip was used to punctuate each derogatory statement as if he were being asked by the significant others to orate on a golden pedestal for all of postarity. You are probably right sir, Doc said. But you better look over here at the prisoner for a moment, sir. Better take a good look at him before you start again because he’s awful quiet, the assistant warden then piped up and said his piece as he shrunk back into the group afraid he had delivered bad news to the boss-man. Maybe we better check him over real good, huh? He’s not making any noise and his eyes are getting sorta glassy. It just don’t look too good from this position, sir. The A.W. pasted a worried look on his face, but didn’t want to protest too much.

Oh No, he’s okay, guys. He’s just playing possum to escape my wrath. I hate these God damn uncooperative bastards. These stubborn types have to be taught a painful lesson early on, don’t they? After all, they have been sent here to be punished haven’t they? He snickered out of the corners of his salivating red bearded mouth, symbolicly adjusted his ragged black eye patch and they all laughed with him nervously. The tiny little drips of chewing tobacco slid from the sides of his mouth and made him look similar to an old time buccaneer. It would have made anyone wonder where his giant cutlass and wooden peg leg were.

The Doctor, AW and the guards secretly hoped it wouldn’t be another fatal beating like the last prisoner he hated because the victum was too weak to fight back the tears. Hand me the Black Mariah,cause it doesn’t show the bruises so much, Billy Joe remarked. The wide thonged leather whip looked as if its strips were sliced from an old fashioned barber shop strop that barbers used for honing their straight razors. It was a favorite of Billy Joe’s for this particular brand of punishment on tough acting inmates because the welts were wider and showed less damage than it actually caused. At least that’s what excuses the red bearded freak of nature used to permit its being used in correcting the tougher savages.

Guys listen up. I want absolute obedience from all of the six hundred bastards in this correctional institution at all times. Can’t you get it through your thick heads? Life becomes very easy if they behave and we sure as hell make a hell of a lot more money. He grimly smiled and looked at the four men observing the punishment and knew that they wouldn’t lift a finger to interfere. They liked getting their share of the blood money each one received. Having a conscience is for sissies and I’m damn sure not one of them.

Want the doctor to check him first, Billy Joe? The assistant warden was getting very nervous over the Indian’s fate, but didn’t want to irritate the boss or let him think he was some sort of a sniveling wimp.

Yeah, Doc. Take a look at him will you? The red bearded wonder was saying, but continued to strop the leather whip against his well worn black leather boots impatiently. Please keep in mind guys that we have to know what the Feds are up to, if anything. This guy may be a government spy or it’s possible it may be a sheer coincidence that we can’t find out anything about his background before coming here. But either way guys, we just got to make him talk. We just gotta know everything that goes on in here.

Doc knew that it wouldn’t matter one whit what he said. Billy Joe was ready for action and wasn’t going to be denied the pleasure of physically hurting someone. I think he is okay for now. Seemed so to me when I checked him in the other day. Come to think about it, that was back three months ago when he was first admitted to the facility. He was healthy, wealthy and wise at that point. I thought at the time you first suspected him… that he was a perfect specimen for you to work on… to get the truth. You can make him spill the beans if anyone can and make him tell us what we need to know. Doc sat back on his stool and watched his boss generate the strength and courage to maim the Indian once more.

The warden immediately brought his huge arm back for a maximum-effort strike at the exposed reddish-brown flesh. Lift him back up on the wall, guys. Put his handcuffs back up and over the meat hook and we will continue with our little inquisition. Excuse me, thats punishment for disobeying the fucking rules.

Billy Joe winked at the troops and moved back into position for the next whipping sequence and mumbled barely aloud. We just gotta know if he is a federal plant or not. I’ll make him talk this time for sure. He moved slowly forward toward the unlucky victim while still holding the Black Mariah as far up in the air as a six foot seven man weighing three hundred and some odd pounds could possibly manage.

Doc noticed that the stench of sweating flesh and stagnant air was already filling the unused reefer with a sickening odor. It could make the toughest of bullies sick to their stomachs just being there watching the action. The desolate room looked more like a dungeon in a medieval castle than a rusted old abandoned reefer in the outdated former prison kitchen. It was a fitting place to hold an inquisition of the magnitude about to be held. The evil monster sneered, snorted and swore out loud as he released his massive arm to administer the next blow in a never ending sequence.

"Whap. Black Mariah found its way to the reddish black and blue puffy skin and the blueish tainted redness shot to the fore on cue. As the modified whip slapped heavily onto the Indian troublemaker’s bare skin, Billy Joe felt the surge of exhilaration rise to the very zenith of his being. He could smell the sweaty tension in the foul air of the reefer and felt the thrill of it all in his tormented soul. Billy Joe loved the thoughts of possessing the bizarre knowledge of being the ultimate force in the prison system. He fervently wished he could see the blood flow and the present cuts widen as he labored away because the sight of an enemy’s blood gave him all the strength he needed to continue. I’ll show the Son-of-a-Bitch who is boss in this joint. He joked out loud and returned to the job at hand, stop me if you think it’s needed in a few more minutes as I’ve got to go.

Whap.

The dominance over another human being was paramount to the beating itself. A tremendous hate was beginning to take precedence over the beating of the distasteful prisoner hanging there like a side of blood dripping beef. Billy Joe’s face indicated the perennial anger over the prison set-up and division of profits. After all, he was the one who generated the largest revenues for their drug cartel and obviously the power needed for these punishments as the others were only takers… not doers.

Whap.

Billy Joe enjoyed the feel of his tremendous power stimulating all the parts of his massive body except for the limpness of a fast failing male member. But just then, a well aimed practice shot sliced though the skin like a lightning bolt and made him feel invincible once more. The blood rushed through his body at a frantic rate as he got ready to deliver his next blow. My horny and promiscuous little wifey will be happy with my sexual prowess tonight. It will be worth her while to try this deal. I’m always ready for some extra-curicular sex after one of these strenuous exercises.

Amazingly enough the stupid bitch thinks that I don’t know how she is using the prisoners who are assigned to keep my house and grounds neat and clean. I’ll shove it down her throat quickly tonight.

Whap.

Billy Joe reveled enthusiastically in his element. He loved administering a beating to anyone at anytime, but the pleasure multiplied a hundred fold when their skin was a slightly different color. The cadence of the whip meeting raw flesh was coming into a perfect rhythm. He had finally settled in to last a long time on the punishment at hand.

I don’t care if he is a Fed or not; I’m going to take care of this bastard. He damn sure won’t rat us out after this session. In fact, the red skinned bastard ‘ll be very lucky if he can even talk to anyone.

Whap.

The repetitious sound made him feel stronger and stronger as he continued to bring the blood closer and closer to the surface. His prisoner’s normally bronzed skin was becoming a hideously tinted maroon and the welted portions of his powerful back were beginning to split open a little wider. Warden McCormick reset his powerful frame, tensed the main body muscles and let the whip rain much heavier on the troublemaker’s deadened chassis. A thickening dark liquid began to concentrate in the small of the Indian’s bare back and looked eerily like turbulent dark water under thin white ice in late fall and early winter in Oklahoma. He knew in his cold heart, it was very possibly the defiant prisoner couldn’t feel the blows any longer and he didn’t give a flying flip one way or another.

Whap.

Better stop soon, Billy Joe, Doc said.

Whap.

I’m having fun, don’t bug me while I’m doing my duty. The fake smile had long since deteriorated into a derisive sneer. Haven’t seen enough blood yet. He’s playing possum and there isn’t a single spot of broken skin at this point except for his back. Better pick up the tempo and break the skin on his chest somewhat. The comment didn’t require an answer as the once handsome Indian sagged further into a limp state and couldn’t feel the sting of the black Mariah any longer.

Whap.

He picked up the tempo to a sickening cadence because his victim hadn’t begged for mercy like most of his other victims. Billy Joe wanted him to squirm, grit his teeth till the blood flowed and try his damnedest to choke back the screams for mercy. Most of the others silently tried to resist the urge to scream, but in the end they were never able to overcome or outlast the unendurable pain except for Garrison. Red Beard almost knew when they would finally get to the point where a scream helped tremendously for them to stand the ordeal.

Whap.

Billy Joe, he’s not going to talk. Damn, you may kill him this way. Lay off a little, will ya guy? If he’s a Fed it could hurt us cause there’s a limit at what a body can stand… The Doc was getting seriously worried that they may have another dead prisoner on their hands. Three strange deaths to explain in the last six months was totally unacceptable from his standpoint and he knew that it was just a matter of time before they would be investigated.

Whap.

This son-of-a-bitch is going to beg for mercy before I’m through. His face reddened even more and the lashes came raining down on the prisoner’s back like large hail on a severe summer storm in Oklahoma. He is going to tell us who is doing what in this place or die. We have to know what’s going on in here. If he is a Federal Agent, we need to know that also, don’t we? It seems mighty odd to me that we would have two federal plants here in this dump. Garrison may be the next one to die on our list.

Whap.

Let me look boss, he may be dead, the assistant warden declared.

Whap.

We better check him, Doc said. He implored his sadistic boss with his fearful eyes to quit the total massacre. Things were beginning to turn extremely bloody and it could become much tougher