SEATED AT HER DESK WHILE THE OTHERS were standing in the top floor modish office — on the Warden's left was Ramirez, the leader of the Hispanic — and on the right side was Hajja the leader of the BGF...

Both the Intersexuals were cuffed behind their back. Capt. Olsen and three other guards stood behind them.

The two gangbanger leaders — who in their past, had their fair share of notorious street drug war rampages, stretching to various cities in the West Coast before as children-soldiers — but, were brought to their knees by the DEA and were sent to Tombscradle some years ago.

"Look here both of you, I am not running a goddamn religious camp here, and the reason I had allowed the monks to homily preach was that the crime rate has significantly dropped among you Blacks — but lately, all this talk of mutiny and treachery, is what I am hearing now at the prison yard!

"Hey, I will not tolerate that anymore — and none of that shit that the fucking Preacher has promised is going to happen here in my prison — is that totally clear, (especially you) Hajja?

Ramirez the adversary to the Blacks, interpolated on the warden's behalf...

"That is what that Preacher is doing, he is planting poisonous seeds into these slow thinking Niggers — so, it will grow soon into false hopes of freedom within them — and creating their riot soon to take over Tombscradle!"

"You got me 'down bad' you lying, spic! We the Blacks, do not wish to cause any trouble here," Hajja retorted...

Ramirez was not convinced — he had seen the imperil Blacks were now more organized and disciplined with more of Doran's sermons and influences every year.

"Warden, my Latinos brothers here are also Christians but we don't acknowledge those filthy monks — nor follow, their extreme radical Abrahamic teachings."

The Hispanic detractor appended more blames...

"The biggest mistake here in Tombscradle was to bring in the Whites orphans in here — and build a fence for them in the yard — and now years later, the White monks have influenced these jungle-mookies to liberate themselves over here — and soon, there will be riots because that is what these Niggers are good for — taking cheap shots and backstabbing — because they cannot fight face to face like a real-man!

"That ding-headed Preacher should have been left to bleed to death in the solitary when he had cut off his damn nuts!"

Hajja turned to the warden...

"This ain't right! These are all just 'crossed out' accusations, Warden — it is his 'dirty dog' people who are 'hemming-up' to provoke us always — and that is why there are fights going on here!"

Hajja knew that Warden Graves always favoured the Latinos, and she gave them better trial decisions and privileges than the rest in the gen-pop. It was useless to make her see the truth — when her interest was just to find a scapegoat — she had already predetermined whom to blame with her questioning...

"Then, why the hell (as the leader of the Blacks) — do you allow your people to attend the Preacher's sermons?"

Warden Erica Gates sternly made her gainsay. Ramirez repugnant heedlessly...

"It is because he thinks..."

"Shut up, Ramirez! I want to hear him speak for once!"

Graves hollered back after seeing the Latino who was emotionally incensed — and he was making her look like a fool — for not being in control to deem the cross-examination.

Hajja warily answered her...

"I may be the leader of my race, of the Black BGF — but I don't control their rights of their religious belief. I am a practising Muslim myself — but 2/3 of my people are not of my faith — and that is why I allow them to practice their respective Christianity belief if they wish to."

Ramirez made an awry omniscient comeback...

"You liar, you're just wanting to rule by the numbers — now, after you have the Asians-Chinos in your back pocket, and next you wanna get these Whites on your side too — I know you too well, you cunning monkey — once you have the majority, then you and that hideous-faced Preacher — both you, fanatic Abrahamic conspirators will soon create the revolution — and you both will take over this prison — killing all the Warden's guards — and next, my Latino people too!"

The guards restrained both the leaders, who were at each other's throat, despite in handcuffs. Hajja was enraged too — and retorted back at him...

"Yes Ramirez, when that day comes, I will be happy to hang your head on your soccer goalpost — and play the piñata till your brains spill out — for all your spics to see it!"

"Enough! Both of you!"

Warden Erica Graves snapped, to see them both bickering aloud; and she did not get to the bottom of her investigation on the possible uprising — that might occur after the stealthy exploits that Doran the Preacher had endeavoured among his followers...

"Now, I have arrived at a mandatory decision that the Preacher will never be with either the monks nor will he be allowed to preach to any of the groups. He will be forever isolated!

"I want to make a lesson out of him — that nobody is above my given set of rules when they are in my damn prison! To both of you — is that clear?"

The Warden concluded loudly...

"Now Capt. Olsen, take Hajja back — and you, Ramirez, stay put — I want a word in private with you."

Graves looked at her wristwatch ...

"Hey Olsen, come back in an hour to escort Ramirez to the yard."

The three female guards escorted Hajja out, while Olsen was the last to leave — and, she gave a suspicious look at Ramirez — before she closed the office door — but, left it slightly ajar...

The Warden fished a key from her pocket and un-cuffed Ramirez — who tossed the manacle on the desk. He sauntered over to the mini-refrigerator and grabbed two cold cans of Corona beers. He sat on the chair in front of the Warden's desk and he started knocking back the brew.

Erica Graves spoke. "Listen, I want you to keep your ears on the ground for me — send out your spies to find me the 'grapes' of the Preacher's possible uprising that will take place — and I want to be kept informed all the time."

She noticed that the Hispanic was more focused in imbibing the beers — it troubled her and she reminded him again, speaking in Spanish...

"Are you listening, you fool? My head will be on the cutting board if there are to be any riots, and Governor Harris might terminate my contract — and if I am gone, the new warden will not be tenderhearted to your people as I have been now! So do your part — and I will continue approving your privileges?"

Ramirez burped loudly instead — vexing the warden even more...

"Hey you Mexi-fuck, are you listening here?" she hollered at him.

"Yea-yeah, I will send the boys out."

The Intersexual youth finally responded unenthusiastically — and he was still pissed off with Hajja.

"Another thing I want to address is that Governor Harris wants more Latino and Black semen — as it now has a miscegenation demand; so your guys will be going into the auditorium three times a week from tomorrow onwards."

This finally got his full attention — Ramirez riposted...

"What is this bullshit? We volunteered for once a week then, we obliged for twice — and now it is three fucking times?"

Graves grit her teeth and replied to the Latino...

"Yes, it is the allotted which is set now for three times, and furthermore — you did not volunteer — we tell you to shoot your load — and you do as you are instructed!"

Ramirez then wisecracked in cynicism...

"By fucking some Fifi-dolls?

"Why don't you line real 'gashley' bitches up for conjugal visits in the 'boneyard' — and we fuck, and directly knock them up instead. That will surely hit your Governor's target even faster — what say you, Warden?"

Warden Graves repartee instantly...

"Am I running a whore house here, you asshole — and what, do I look like some fucking pimp to you? Since when do you make any demands in here?"

Ramirez grabbed her arms and pulled the older woman closer to him.

"Since I became your model-pet prisoner, and yes — you are always my puta-bitch."

The furious Warden slapped him twice before he seized her tight. Ramirez started kissing her fervently — he then turned her over and threw her upper body on the desk tabletop, and soared up her skirt...

He dropped his pants and doggie her from the rear.

The Warden moaned softly — while she glanced at her family photo on the table, taken back before the coming of the Medusa. It was a vacation picture of her with her Hispanic husband and their six-year-old daughter. She turned the picture frame down from her guilt of shame for her affinity to the amoral Ramirez — who reminded her of her dead amorous husband.

Ramirez continued to pound her...

Outside the gap of the unclosed door — Capt. Olsen peeped inside, looking totally shocked.

The White Supremacy captain glowered to what she spied on before leaving. She finally understood why Ramirez was frequently summoned to her office alone by her boss.

It also jaundiced the head-guard that the warden had been frugal with the prison's budget — and had denied her overworked staff of any overtime — but yet, she allocated the expenses to grow grass on the desert ground for the Hispanic's soccer recreation. Graves had frittered the budget funds with the excuse that diminution of disorder at the Latino side of the fence would be achieved by showering them with privileges.

Olsen was now acrimonious to finally learn that her hypocrite dowager boss just wanted to get laid — with that lowlife spic — by having his brown turd-sized dick nested in-between her legs.