The New York Bandit

Chapter 1

Security locks and rust groaned simultaneously as the oldest part of the prison opened. Like a remnant of the past, white walls were all but peeled of their coats of paint, and three lead bars stood evenly spaced among a two by two foot hole in the solitary confinement chamber. Standing upright in an orange straight-jacket, the prisoner stared into the outside world, an undeserving gift in his opinion, but a gift nonetheless. Without budging at all, the convict spoke softly. "Feeding time?"

To which the guard behind him replied, "No. You have a visitor."

The prisoner continued to stare outside the window, but turned his head to the side a little. "A visitor? You're lying, I have nobody left, and no one would dare visit a monster."

A feminine cough entered the prisoner's ears, the first in a long prison sentence. Without saying a word, the prisoner turned slowly, and was surprised by what he saw.

In a dark dress cutting just above the knees was a very beautiful woman. Brown eyes, a slender figure, and a repressed expression. He had seen it all before. She was a dame all right, but what did she see of him? Did she see what he truly was? Could she sense the number of lives' he had ruined, the damage he had done, the crimes he had committed? As he thought these thoughts, he knew the answer was yes. She was educated, her polite cough had already given that away, and in a way, she was afraid. An expression the prisoner was used to seeing.

"You're a journalist," the prisoner said, rolling the syllables over his graying tongue with deliberation.

Another cough. "Why yes, I am. My name is Julie Sanders, I've come to ask you a few questions."

Silence struck through the air, and the prison guard ordered the prisoner to answer the nice new lady. Silence continued. "So you don't wanna talk?" the guard said as he extended a metal baton. "I'll make you talk." The officer's face contorted, and his face reddened as he raised the weapon, ready to punish the silent prisoner.

"Stop!" Julie stepped in front of the officer's baton with a raised hand. "Please, there is no need for violence. If he doesn't want to speak, I'm sure someone else will."

The prisoner shook his head slowly. "No, I will help you. But he has to leave."

Julie and the officer looked at each other. "I'll be fine," the pretty reporter said. "It's a security risk," the man replied gruffly. "I can't let you stay here."

While the two argued the prisoner continued to stare out the window, eyes never moving, never blinking. Eventually the officer agreed and Julie was the only other person in the room. Julie sat in a bolted down chair, and waited for a reply. In a minute, she got her wish.

"Thank you," said the prisoner.

"Thank me for what?" Julie asked.

"Thank you for caring for me. They beat me all the time, and nobody cares."

A look of sadness appeared on the young woman's face, an expression that was seen from the prisoner's peripheral vision. "That's horrible!"

The prisoner shook his head. "No, it isn't. I deserve it." The prisoner turned slowly revealing for the first time a full view of his face. Julie examined the man. He was old, very old. Wrinkles, creases in his face, all were signs of aging. White wisps of hair remained on his head, but he was otherwise bald. But Julie gasped slightly, bringing her hand to cover her mouth. She had looked into the prisoner's eyes.

A stare of complete, utter gray was returned. It was the cold stare of Evan Gregory Stone, the stare in itself was legendary, many years ago. A stare that was often accompanied by a swift death.

But it was in those colorless orbs that Julie could see his life story. A tale of sadness, anger, betrayal. An epic poem with pain and suffering as the very theme. Julie could see this, and the prisoner knew he could see. The prisoner turned his head away from her gaze.

"Do you know why I deserve it?"

Julie nodded.

"Do you know why I did what I did?"

"I can only guess," Julie confessed.

Evan Stone exhaled. "Then we are in the same boat, as they say. For many years I have sat and pondered that very question. The jury was generous, everyone knows I deserved to die. My crimes were atrocious. I turned the city upside down, and every day I pay for it. Look out this hole."

Julie crept forward, and looked through the two foot hole, surrounded by three lead bars. A clean view of the city in the distance, looking at a downwards angle.

"I have seen the city change. Forty years and they've all but forgotten of me. Winston, Duval, Johnson, Carmichael. These names have vanished in forty years, but when they go to sleep at night, they sleep without fear. They are heroes. What am I?"

Julie did not respond. Stone sighed. "I don't know either. But I've talked too much. Please, Ms. Sanders, ask what you came here to ask."

Julie took a deep breath, and clicked a pen.

"Okay, Mr. Stone. I came here to find out about your life. From the beginning, all the way to the age of fifteen when you committed your first felony. I want to know what changed you after that. I want to know what you felt, saw, smelled.

"I want to know... why they call you the New York Bandit."

A/N: This is just the preface to a story I want to write, but a story that I may never get around to writing. The story of the New York Bandit will have to wait at any rate, at least until I finish the Rise of Inferno. I am having a bit of writer's block, so maybe spring break will fix some of that. Thanks for reading!