Chapter 10: Jailhouse Rock
A darker side of the human psyche was on display at the women’s unit of the
County Corrections Center.
There, warden Hilda Heftig ran the show. She stood just over six feet tall and
weighed 315 pounds. She could bench-press 280 — or break a man’s back, or a
woman’s, with a single blow. Thirteen lawsuits had been filed against the
corrections center because of her violent temper, but the county had managed to
shell out less than half a million. The county commissioners considered this a
bargain. “She makes sure the worst of them never land back on the streets,”
Commissioner O’Riley boasted. “It’s rough justice, but goddamit, it works.”
Hilda was delighted to have MA and Flag Girl in her charge. At their first
meeting, she was all smiles.
“I’ve heard so much about you over the years,” she said, sitting behind a desk
of polished blond wood. “I never expected to meet you, especially not under
these circumstances. We’ll try to make your stay here as comfortable as
possible. After all, you’re being held here pending trial. It’s not as if you’ve
been convicted.”
She got up with surprising agility for someone so big and put her huge arms
around the women’s shoulders. “If you behave yourselves, we can all be friends,”
she said. Then her face darkened, and her embrace got painfully right. “But if
you fuck with me, you’ll never walk out of here. You’ll be carried out on a
slab.”
“We’ll behave,” Flag Girl said in a small, frightened voice.
“Good,” Hilda said, releasing her. She turned to MA. “Do I have your word on it,
too?” she asked.
“Go fuck yourself, lard-ass,” MA hissed.
Hilda’s face was expressionless, as if she were calculating a proper response.
“Sam said you were a dummkopf,” she said quietly.
“Sam?”
“Yeah, my nephew, Sam Stern. He’s a cop. I think you’ve met him. He said you
were a pretty good fuck.
“Yeah, I guess I am,” said MA. “At least there’s no need to wade through twenty
inches of fat to get to my good parts.
Without a word, Hilda grabbed MA’s throat with one hand and her crotch with the
other, raised her over her head and sent her sailing into a bookcase at the far
wall of the office.
MA bounced off and collapsed on the floor, and a shower of books and plaques
fell on top of her.
Hilda slammed her fist down on a buzzer on her desk. “Come get these schlampen,”
she barked. The door opened and four jail matrons, all of them bigger than MA
and Flag Girl, entered. “Soften them up for me,” Hilda said, as they dragged MA
across the floor. “I’ll come by for a visit this evening.”
# # #
Sam was Hilda’s favorite nephew. They shared a taste for the sadistic. Hilda’s
was more or less the meat-and-potatoes approach: violent outbursts, beating,
kicking, banging heads against walls. Sam was more refined. He could bash in a
face or kick a groin, if that’s what the situation called for. But he preferred
an element of psychological abuse, as well. With MA now under Hilda’s thumb, he
saw an opportunity for exquisitely cruel mischief.
# # #
After three nights of beating up the two super heroines in their cells, Hilda
decided it was time for the rest of the jail staff, and a select group of
inmates, to enjoy the show. Sam encouraged her. “You’ve shown the cunts who’s
boss,” he said. “Now you can show everyone at the jail how you can kick the
asses of two sluts who were supposed to be real tough gals. When you humiliate
them in front of a crowd, everyone in that audience is going to say, ‘I will
never, ever mess with Hilda Heftig. She is the baddest of the bad.’ ”
The venue for this humiliation was the gym in the women’s detention center. It
wasn’t as big and well equipped as the gym in the men’s jail, and this irritated
Hilda, who considered filing a federal lawsuit over the issue. In the end, she
was persuaded that getting the feds involved in the operation of this
corrections center could backfire.
A square wrestling mat had been placed on the concrete floor, and three inmates
crouched along each side. Their job would be to grab whoever was thrown off the
mat and push them back in. The rest of the audience, about 75 strong, sat in
bleachers.
Hilda entered the gym wearing a silk kimono Sam had bought from a Sumo wrestler
in Japan. There were scattered cheers. Then a door at the opposite end of the
gym opened, and MA and Flag Girl entered, accompanied by four jail matrons. The
two superheroines wore the costumes they had made famous, but the cockiness they
always displayed on TV and in newspaper photos was gone. Their faces were red
and puffy, and they seemed scared. The loud chorus of boos that greeted them did
nothing to lift their spirits.
The matrons escorted them to the edge of the mat, then retreated.
Hilda, who had been waving to friends in the crowd, turned to face her victims.
Flag Girl, thoroughly dispirited, looked down. MA tried to match the giant
woman’s glare, but she, too, finally lowered her eyes.
Hilda laughed, then said, “I hope you like my outfit.”
She slowly removed her kimono. Beneath it, she wore black leather shorts and a
matching leather halter.
And, around her right thigh, MA’s belt.
MA gasped. The only means of her deliverance was now attached to her
executioner. It was a cruel joke. She scanned the bleachers. Yes, he was sitting
there, a sadistic smile on his face. The bastard!
The clang of a bell brought her back to the situation at hand. Hilda came
forward with arms spread, as if ready to scoop both MA and Flag Girl into a
fatal hug. MA moved to the left, expecting Flag Girl to move in the opposite
direction. But Flag Girl was frozen with fear. Hilda wrapped her arms around
her, pinning her arms to her side. Then she squeezed. Flag Girl looked up at
Hilda’s face, inches from hers. “Please, no,” she said as the breath was forced
out of her. But Hilda kept up the pressure. Flag Girl’s face turned bright red,
and her eyes rolled back. Hilda released her, but only to lift her over her head
like a trophy of war, then slam her to the mat.
MA chose this moment to lunge for the belt. Hilda was expecting the move and
stepped aside. The superheroine landed on the floor, the impact cushioned by her
magnificent tits. But nothing cushioned Hilda’s knee, which landed in the small
of MA’s back. MA gave something between a grunt and a yelp as most of Hilda’s
315 pounds smashed into her.
The huge woman grabbed two handfuls of MA’s thick black hair and pulled her head
up and back. MA was bent in a way humans weren’t meant to bend, her lower body
lying flat on the mat, her upper body perpendicular to the floor. The crowd
loved it, and one inmate instantly tried to organize a betting pool on which
would give first: MA’s hair or her spine.
Luckily for MA, her hair was the weak link. Two fistfuls of it were ripped out,
causing Hilda to topple over backward. MA grabbed her head and sobbed from the
pain, but she recognized that this might be her one and only opportunity to get
the upper hand. She scrambled over to Hilda and grabbed the belt with one hand,
while slipping the other behind Hilda’s thigh to release the buckle. Hilda
struggled to sit up, but MA was too quick. The belt was hers. She rolled away
from Hilda and snapped it around her waist.
When she leaped to her feet to face her mountainous foe, she did so with energy
and confidence she hadn’t felt in months. Hilda reached for her, but MA stepped
aside and landed a karate chop to her kidneys. Hilda staggered. A kick to the
back of her right knee sent her toppling onto the mat.
The crowd was confused. There were scattered boos, but also some cheers. Hilda
struggled to her feet, enraged. She charged, but MA jumped aside, and Hilda’s
momentum carried her into the crowd. Inmates and matrons scrambled to get out of
the way. MA was enjoying herself. After the long ordeal she had been through
since losing her belt, this was a moment to be savored. She turned to scan the
bleachers, looking for Sam. He was there, glaring at her. She smiled and gave
him the bird.
But when she faced Hilda again, her smile disappeared.
Hilda had Flag Girl in her grip. Her left forearm across the little blonde’s
throat. Her right hand was behind her head.
“If you take one step closer, I’ll break the little slut’s neck,” Hilda said.
“Let her go,” MA said. “You’re finished. The best you can do now is quit before
you face a charge of Murder One.”
Hilda began pushing Flag Girl’s head forward, bending it down over her forearm.
The gym fell silent.
“You’ll hear the crack,” Hilda said. “I’ve heard it many times. It’s not
something you’ll ever forget — especially since it’s your friend’s neck.”
“What do you want?” MA asked.
“The belt, take if off.”
“Never. If I took it off, you’d kill her anyway, then me.”
“Perhaps. But if you don’t take it off, I will kill the little slut for sure.”
Flag Girl’s body began shaking. Even if Hilda didn’t break her neck, the grip on
her was choking her to death.
MA slid her hands behind her back. “Put her down, and I’ll remove the belt,” she
said.
“No,” said Hilda, “remove the belt and I’ll put her down.”
MA looked at Flag Girl, and her eyes filled with tears. She pressed the tiny
button that released the buckle and let the belt fall to the floor. An inmate
quickly scooped it up.
“A deal’s a deal,” Hilda said with a smile. She let Flag Girl fall to the floor
and moved toward MA.
Two matrons grabbed MA from behind.
“Let her go,” Hilda ordered. “I don’t need any help. I’m going to finish off
this troublesome bitch once and for all.”
MA closed her eyes and prayed. Let death come quickly, she implored. A face
appeared to her, a woman’s face, radiant and beautiful. It is not yet time for
you to die, the woman said. Be brave. Go and do battle with evil.
MA’s communion with this heavenly protectress was interrupted by a terrific blow
to her gut. She groaned and fell to her knees. Hilda followed up with a blow to
the back of MA’s neck, sending her face-forward onto the mat.
Hilda stood over her prostrate foe. “How should she die?” she called to the
audience. “Stomp her,” one inmate called out. “Body-slam her,” yelled another.
Sam had left the bleachers and was now at the edge of the mat. “Sit on her
face,” he shouted.
“Yes, yes, very good!” cried Hilda. She slipped one foot under MA’s belly and
rolled her over, onto her back. MA’s eyes were shut and her mouth hung open.
Clearly, she was finished, as far as this fight was concerned. The only question
was how soon her life would be finished, too.
Hilda squatted a few inches above her face, then sat down suddenly.
“She done gone,” an inmate called out merrily. And sure enough, MA’s head, neck
and upper chest had completely disappeared beneath Hilda’s huge behind.
Hilda smiled and shifted her weight several times, getting comfortable for a
long stay.
Sam started counting, “One-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three .
. . .” Others took it up. Soon everyone was counting the seconds that MA’s face
had been buried under a mass of blubber.
At “one-thousand-eighty-five,” Hilda gestured to her nephew. He walked over to
her and grabbed one hand. A matron grabbed the other, and they pulled with all
their strength. Hilda rose slowly, like a sunken ship being pulled to the
surface.
Everyone leaned forward to get the first glimpse of MA. Those who expected her
face to be contorted from her futile effort to breathe were disappointed. She
looked almost peaceful. Hilda was among the disappointed. She kicked MA’s body,
unconvinced that she was really dead. The kick produced no reaction.
Hilda shrugged and turned to accept the congratulations of her fans. Several
women stepped on MA to get to her. A matron with a digital camera decided Flag
Girl and MA together, one lifeless, the other senseless, would make a great
picture. Flag Girl was lifted up and dumped on top of MA.
“Say, Hilda,” called the woman with the camera. “How about a picture of the
conquering hero?”
Hilda walked over, planted a big foot atop the superheroines’ bodies and flexed
her biceps. She was having a wonderful time.
The celebration shifted to the far end of the gym, where refreshments were being
served. MA and Flag Girl were forgotten, except by Sam, who walked over to them,
sipping punch from a paper cup. “You really were a stupid cunt,” he said,
looking down at MA. “Your belt was your only protection, and you gave it up —
twice. And they say blondes are dumb.” He tilted the cup, poured the last of his
punch on MA’s upturned face and walked away.
So no one was there to see the shudder that ran through MA’s body. No one saw
her eyelids flutter. No one saw her tongue slip out and lick the drops of punch
from her upper lip.
And no one saw her push Flag Girl off of her.
MA reflexively blew the stale air out of her lungs and inhaled deeply. The color
returned to her cheeks. Her eyes were open now, looking up at the rafters. She
was trying to remember where she was and how she got there.
The belt. That was the key. Briefly tonight, she had had the belt, and it had
given her the power to confront and defeat someone more than twice her size. But
she had surrendered it . . . . why? She heard a moan. She raised her head and
looked to her left. Flag Girl lay next to her, hurt but alive.
That was why she had surrendered the belt. To save Flag Girl.
Slowly, painfully, MA sat up. She was weak and dizzy but determined to get up
and find her belt. And if she couldn’t find it, she would resume battle with
Hilda anyway. She would prevail — or die trying.
She got to her feet, but she began swaying and sank to the floor. She lay
quietly for a minute, then tried again. Hands and knees. Then one knee raised
and her foot planted on the floor. Then a tremendous effort to push up her body
and get the other leg under her. And again the dizziness, the swaying.
But this time she didn’t fall. She stepped over Flag Girl and looked along the
edge of the mat, searching for her belt. No luck. She scanned the floor in front
of the bleachers. Not there either. Soon, someone would notice her, and Hilda
would return to finish the job. This time the behemoth would make damned sure
she killed her.
“Ms. Americana,” a soft voice called out.
MA turned, trying to prepare herself mentally for renewed battle. A young black
inmate stood before her.
“I think this belongs to you,” she said, handing the belt to MA.
At that moment, Sam called out from across the room, “Hold it! What the hell do
you think you’re doing?” He was running toward them.
MA placed the belt around her waist, reached in back and snapped the buckle
shut, just as Sam dove at her. The energy field deflected him and he skidded
across the floor.
Now it was Hilda who noticed MA’s revival. Her attack was completely in
character — frontal and massive. MA made a move so quick and subtle that
onlookers later disagreed vehemently on precisely what she had done. The end
result, though, was clear enough. Hilda soared into the air and landed on top of
Sam with a mighty thud that shook the gym.
MA scooped up Flag Girl and carried her to an adjoining office. She picked up a
phone and punched “0.”
“Get a medical team up to the gym right away,” she said. “I’ve got a friend
who’s hurt — and your warden and her nephew aren’t in very good shape, either.”
