Chapter Text
The plan was to keep his head down and his nose clean. Serve the time, obey the rules, don't fuck around and get the fuck out. Obviously where Frank's limits were pushed he'd break his bulletproof plan for a second, just to punch the odd joker who didn't quite get the rules of incarceration. In Frank's opinion, he was doing pretty well. Not many scuffs or battles. Plus when it came to social segregation he had the Mafia on his side due to his Italian background, so he was pretty much okay. Not that prison was much of a joyride, you can't expect much from a high security prison in mid-New Jersey though, can you?
The cells of New Jersey held the lowest of the low. The scum that had been tweezed out as too dangerous to belong in a regular prison. Westwood prison was where the borderline clinically insane were hoarded-who were just too ghastly to earn any sympathy from doctors and lawyers. Pedophiles, rapists, murders, drug lords, crime lords, psychopaths, torturers. Frank didn't really belong there, however getting involved in the high end of a drug and human trafficking industry and getting caught was not exactly his brightest idea. Selling methylphenidate to Ritalin rats, cocaine to crack-heads, crack to crack whores. Ecstasy, heroin, LSD, magic mushrooms, methadone, crystal meth, amphetamines, barbiturates, codeine, ketamine, synthetic cannabinoids, diazepam- Frank just knew where to get it, how to move it and how to sell it. Who the fuck wouldn't take an opportunity like that? It was a genius plan and the only spanner in the works was that Frank got caught. And was serving seven years for it.
He was on his fourth year and Frank was used to the get up of the prison, don't stand on other people feet and they won't stand on yours. Don't mess with the Italians- they're probably Mafia. Don't mess with the blacks- they're probably lifting weights on every break. Don't mess with the whites- they're probably perverts. Don't mess with anyone- because they'll probably fucking kill you. The good thing, however, about this prison was cell mates were shipped in from God knows where, so most people could decorate their back stories with a little more intimidation, or hide them if required. And although Frank felt pretty comfortable with his position in the hell he called home, he could never truly relax. There was always the ever present risk that someone would mistake him for a defenceless prison bitch and that quite honestly scared the living shit out of him. Frank routinely thanked his holy hosts and moons and stars that thank god he didn't have doey eyes or soft lips or a perk ass- because he wouldn't survive in here. He'd notice the kids held up in this hell hole for petty crimes in comparison to the creatures here and he'd see them get destroyed. Pretty boys can't survive in prison. Pretty boys won't survive in prison. And that's why the red haired pixie that just got dragged through the doors was well and truly fucked.