Intelligence led

Satiricus was in a quandary. Should he, or shouldn’t he? Go to the Back Street Bar, that is. It wasn’t as if he was considering abandoning beer-drinking or anything like that. Beer, Satiricus knew, was created by the Gods – well, the Norse Gods, at least – and far be it from him to mess with Divine orders. No, after that Camp St breakout, he knew he was in for it from the fellas, since his leader, Rum Jhaat, was supposed to be in charge. He decided to man up and face the music.
“Suh wha’ dis me hear fram yuh fearless leadah, Rum Jhaat?” asked Bungi without even giving Satiricus a chance to down his first beer.
“OK,” said Satiricus, rolling his eyes. “Tell me what you heard.”
“Dat ‘e bin done ready fuh buil’ wan new jail a Mazaruni,” said Bungi, as Hari listened attentively. “An’ only time ketch up wid he!”
“Well, that’s true,” insisted Satiricus. “You can’t build a jail overnight, you know.”
“Sato me fr’en’, da jus’ prove dem shoulda fyaah Rum Jhaat laang now!” said Bungi with some heat. “He t’ink de problem a space in de jail?”
“Isn’t it?” asked Satiricus.
“Well, me excuse you,” said Bungi. “But wha’ Rum Jhaat excuse?”
“OK, smart ass, tell me the problem!” Satiricus by now had stopped with the beers, and so had Hari.
“Bai, pick sense fram nansense, na,” said Bungi. “Abee know dis escape bin plan fuh three month now.”
“Yes?” asked Satiricus snidely.
“Well, dem bais only set de fyaah fuh leh dem escape,” said Bungi. “If dem bin in wan new jail, da woulda bun down too!”
“That’s right, Sato,” said Hari at last. “Rum Jhaat’s problem is he still isn’t looking to prevent contraband getting into prison.”
“And Rum Jhaat’s  talking about ‘intelligence-led policing’ to catch the escapees!” said Satiricus slowly. How could he defend a dead man walking?