Duke, on the other hand, at five eight and two hundred sixty pounds, was larger and a great deal tougher. The atmosphere in the cell had been tense all evening, ever since we had been locked down. Our cellmates knew that something was up, but like me, they weren't sure exactly what. I had been in this cell only two weeks. This wasn't unusual.
Convicts are always wary of new people with whom they are housed.
This particular cell, in the northwest corner of the fifth tier of the maximum security prison on McNeil Island in Puget Sound off the coast of the state of Washington, had a reputation as housing the most dangerous and hostile inmates on the island. Duke, for example, was serving out the six year remainder of a sentence on a parole violation where, after being run down on his motorcycle during a high speed chase by a squad car and severely injured, he had cut the throat of one of the arresting officers. Yes, Duke was tough. Everyone's eyes were glued to the two of us. We were standing, toe to toe at the front of the cell, near the entrance.