Dei Dreamer by Bethlehem Steele (reading an ebook .TXT) 📖

can’t stay here…” his eyes grew curious, “…sir?” The captain lie still on his crisp beige shirt. For you see the captain was a stickler for appearance and wore a crisp new shirt daily. It was even said during his eulogy that the creases were so sharp in his shirt that they cut his perspiration in-half as it dripped from his body.
“99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer! Shot one down he’s on the ground-98 botles of beer on the wall!” He finished his verse with robust laughter and a few more pulls on the trigger.
“He’s a lunatic!” One of the guards said scrunched down.
“Bloody mad he is!” Said another guard.
The captains’ eyes lock in on Teasdale and he scurries to his captains’ side-crawling like a new born baby at his mothers call. He propped the captains’ head on his forearm. His mouth opened but barely anything came out except shallow breaths.
“Don’t try and speak,” a teary eyed Teasdale said softly, “I have you! Help is coming! Get me some help!” He screamed into the monsoon.
Another foray of automatic fire raced through the door leaving a debris lateen trail of dust and damage on the wall above the guards.
“Tommy Gun!” A guard shouts.
“We don’t have a shot as long as he’s inside!” A guard shouted from a watchtower.
“Well I’m not flushing him out that’s for sure!” A guard shouted back.
The officers’ faces were pallid. The searchlight had picked up the fears etched into the hardened lines of their faces and revealed their worry. Teasdale’s face grew distraught. Time seemed to have slowed down for him and the men he now controlled. Who were now wondering what the hell to do? “Fall back,” Teasdale shouted. “Take cover!”
Another round of gunfire smashed into the chilled brick followed by another verse as a guard fell to the wet earth while trying to escape. “97 bottles of beer!” He laughed.
Officer Side laid his captain back to the ground and with his hand securely on his hat ran with the rest of the guards to the nearest cover.
The gatehouse door busted open and out ran a man popping off random shots as he disappeared into the night towards A Ward.
“Would you look at this bugger?” One of the guards replied peering over the stone barrier, “Where ‘d you suppose he got that from inside here?”
Teasdale Side stood up from his hiding spot more confused than concerned. “Why is he running the wrong way? The front gate is in the opposite direction!” The question left him taken aback for the slightest of seconds. Suddenly he took off after the prisoner disappearing into the night after him.

-Chapter 3-

One of the steel doors in A Ward opened with a violent bang. Walking inside along with the chill of night is an abomination of a man with an unforgettable scowl. The ground aches beneath him as he scans the tiers. He is on a mission. You can tell by the focus in his eyes. It would be hard to imagine the sort of person who can make a man such as this do their bidding. But there he stood, all three hundred sixty pounds of him itching for a fight.
The dried tobacco leaves in his cigar brighten with an orange intensity as a fresh rush of air, or as fresh as air can be inside a prison, fill his lungs. He snaps the lid of his Zippo closed extinguishing the flame. He reaches out with one hand grabbing the edge of the steel door and with remarkable ease slams it shut again. The nearly seven foot brute slides the drum shaped magazine, which looks like a donut in his hand, out from beneath the gun and checks inside. He has more than enough ammo to complete the task given him. With a click the drum locks back into place. He begins to move laterally peering into each cell-his cigar glowing bright with oxygen as he squints through the sweet smoke. Men who are usually never unnerved are unnerved, and scurry like rodents to the backs of their cells. This freakish monstrosity is so huge he has to hunch over to peer inside the cells.
The tiers and its inhabitants literally shake with his every step.

A man with a past straight from a Robert Ludlum novel. Tommy Gun’s past had to be laid out like a cop investigating-a Rico Case just to get the jest of it. Every door you opened led to three more, and almost none led to a dead end. Most criminals had a file associated to their name. The Bursa authorities however, were working on his second storage space. What has become clear from out of the muck is that he spent most of his child hood in orphanages throughout the Moroccan city of Fe’s. His first police record has the tender age of 6 on it. Were he was associated with a ring of low level criminals that dealt mostly in shop-lifting and protection “taxes”. The police arrested him believing he was thirteen, the gang thought he was 9. Until a smoke damaged birth certificate surfaced from the ashes of a burned down orphanage just outside of Rabat, which he was also suspected of doing, that clearly listed his date of birth at 1936. Which in 1942 would have made him six. From there on he has made an appearance in police jails and prisons throughout the Mediterranean. At his arraignment a Bursa Inspector stated, “It’s like we (the police) are throwing daily parties and he is always on the guest list!”

The tiers are narrow. So narrow in fact inmates have to walk single file. Like school children at the elementary level, they must always walk against the wall equal to their right shoulder. The boy was apart of one of this line several times. The guards always placed him at the back because his stride was far shorter then most, and he always threw off the lines cadence like timing. These incident, amazingly, were very vague in his mind.
Dei Dreamers two body lengths measurement minus half his second body, which is a modest estimate to say the least. Was definitely not sufficient for most of Peel Castles prestigious guests. Who easily towered far beyond his four foot frame. When they sat up against the wall they only need to angle their feet forward, in most cases, to reach their beds. This only accounted for inside the cell of course.
Officer Teasdale stood at a steel door and looked to the ground at droplets of fresh blood which appeared black under the intense stare of the search light. Dropping to a knee he collects a drop on his finger then smears it between his thumb and fore finger. ‘Oily,’ he thought, ‘definitely blood.’ If this was sometime ago officer Teasdale Side would have called in an entire team to run analysts, look for evidence, and deduct a theory. But none of this was necessary now. The man he is searching for has already been caught and his name catalogued. He wipes his hands across his thigh and stands back up. He rested a hand on the door knob and worked up the nerve to continue inside. The steel door closed again with a restless whine. A Ward was once again rushed by the chill of night.
Dei Dreamers’ neck hurt along the sides and back from staring up at a man who could barely see inside his cell. The thought of asking him what he wanted had entered his mind before he saw the weapon. Which stuck out from his grubby fingers looking like a Popsicle stick. But fear of the Tommy Gun-well the giant, kept him from speaking what was on his mind.
The tobacco in the large mans cigar lit up with an intense heat, and sweet smells clouded the cell. The smell was heavenly indeed. It was a smell a woman would want to wear. And would travel quite some distance to obtain. “Like Saks and 5th…”
“What?”
“Nothing,” Dreamer quickly apologized. “I was simply thinking of something totally unrelated to you kind sir!” His feat barely kept up with his back tracking. ‘Kind sir?’ He thought to himself.
The giant let out a huge sigh and grabbed a hold of the guard rail to his back. Taking careful measures he eased himself to the ground like an old man into bathwater. Once settled his legs were bowed dramatically at the knee and his back pushed the guard rail back a good two to three feet. He looked like an over grown kid in a kiddy ride at the amusement park. But the boy dare not laugh in such confined quarters. Especially when the man just outside could rip open the bars like a candy wrapper.
“Is it dinner time?” The child replied with a slight nervous smirk on his face. It was in fact six on the dot.
“No!” The large man replied laying the Tommy Gun across his lap. “I thought I was coming to kill a man, but here you are, a boy! Damn the Devil to hell,” he shouts, slamming his fist into the guard rail.
“The Devil? The Devil is here?” The words shot from his mouth.
“He’s every where child. You will come to find that out one day.”
“Well,” the boy paused. Surprised at how easy communication leapt from his lips. “Why does he want me dead? I just got here!”
The giant looked at the boy with a stern face and after a short period replied, “One doesn’t ask questions of the Devil. They just do as he says.”
Just below Officer Side hears the boy and giant conversing and quietly slides his baton from its holder. He walks up the stairs along the wall taking soft gentle steps. He walks along the side of the step were the support will make them less likely to wine then if he were to step in the middle. An old police trick.
“What have you done child to infuriate him so. I was just going to come and kill you, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me so I must ask.”
Dreamer shrugs, “I don’t know. I don’t even believe I’ve met him actually.” He paces his cell, “A big red fiery guy with horns and a tail. I would remember meeting someone like that!”
The giant lets out a great humph! “He’s not fiery at all! Or red! He is the most ordinary person you probably will ever meet! All that being red and fire nonsense is complete rubbish!”
“Really?” The boy eases closer to the bars and takes hold. He is so intrigued with the giants story he forgets the ordeal he is in.
“Hell! I almost whacked him a good one when I first saw him.”
“So why didn’t you? Then maybe I could stay alive.”
The beast points to his head, “He puts terrible thoughts up here! Simply terrible!”
“Well…if you guys did tussle around for a bit. Who do you think would have won?”
“Me for sure! The Devil is a scrawny bloke. He couldn’t weigh more then eight stones!”
Officer Side stood at the top of the steps. Peering around white-painted rusted railings, he sees Tommy Gun sitting like a child being told a story. A line of guards creep up the stairwell; Teasdale waves his hand telling them to keep quiet. The two convicts pay them no mind. They are steep in conversation.
The huge goliath rests his hand on the gun in his lap and lets out a discouraging sigh, “Well it’s that time my friend…”
‘My friend?’ The boy thinks to himself. ‘I’ve had friends steal toys from me, and