by David Carter
The grim-faced guard blocked his path. “No one in or out,” he said.
“What? I’m returning a prisoner,” Hampton argued.
“Sorry, can’t let you do that. We’re under lockdown.”
“Why?”
The guard looked left and right. “I’m not supposed to say this, but two prisoners are down for the count.”
“Oh, God, that’s dreadful.”
“Who?” Ciggy asked.
“Can’t say,” the guard replied sternly.
“What about his cell number or a nickname. Come on man, some of us are like family in here. I’m gonna find out anyway.”
The guard relented with a loud sigh. “I overheard some of the staff saying everyone knew one of them as Yogi Bear or something like that?”
“Yogi Bear?”
“That’s what I think I heard.”
Ciggy’s stomach churned. “What cell was he in?”
“D-block. Cell ten.”
Ciggy turned pale. Tears started welling in his eyes. “It’s Papa Bear.” He trembled.
“That’s the one,” the guard confirmed. “Papa Bear. His cellmate was the other victim. Story goes that they got into a fight and sliced each other up pretty good.”
Ciggy was overcome with emotion. “Lemon,” he sobbed quietly.
“Lemon?” Hampton asked.
“Papa Bear’s cellmate,” Ciggy replied. “They were like father and son.”
“Good Lord,” Hampton said.
“You know them?” the guard asked Ciggy.
“We’re all brothers.” He explained they were all members of the Sinners & Scarecrows MC.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the guard sympathised.
“I don’t get it. They were both happy.” Ciggy wiped the stray tears from his eyes, “and Papa Bear was respected by everyone. Prison wasn’t a burden to him. All he needed was his brothers and he was content.”
Hampton led Ciggy away from the guard. “What are you thinking? Do you think there might be foul play at hand?”
“More than fucking likely,” he replied through clenched teeth.
Hampton’s cell phone rang. “Yes?” he answered.
An electronic-sounding voice rippled in his ear. “Back off detective, or your lady-friend is next; I’ll blow her to smithereens.”
“Don’t you lay a finger on Elizabeth! You hear me! I’m coming for you!” Hampton shouted.
The sickening voice cackled through the speaker. “The choice is yours, detective.” The Jackal clicked off the call.
Hampton shook his head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, Ciggy; it appears your hunch is right.” He explained the phone call.
Ciggy was too overwhelmed to respond. Hampton called Commissioner Marshall back. “Have you heard the news?” he asked when he picked up.
“Yes, I just got off the phone with the Governor of Brighton Penitentiary. It seems the security footage of the alleged incident is missing.”
“You mean someone hacked into the system and deleted the footage?”
“It appears so. As of this moment we’ve got no leads on the perp or what truly happened in that cell. The prisoners are tight lipped, too. They’re not giving up any information.”
“Sir...”
“Yes?”
“It was the Jackal—or at least the Jackal got someone on the inside to do the dirty work for him.”
“And how could you possibly know this?”
“Because he just called me, sir; told me to back off. He even threatened Elizabeth.”
Commissioner Marshall fell silent.
“You still there, sir?”
“I’m still here, Steve. It would seem you’ve significantly ruffled the Jackal’s feathers with tonight’s events, which means we’re getting close. I’ll have the drivers of the hijacked army trucks flown to Milton City for you to interview by noon tomorrow, as requested.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And Steve?”
“Yes?”
“You make sure you find and nail that bastard.”
Chapter 47
“I’ve got a package for Sam Jenkins,” Doyle said to the plump, African-American lady working behind the security glass at The Tombs’ reception desk.
Doyle heard the rapid typing of computer keys as she punched Blaze’s alias into the system. The confused look on her face concerned Doyle.
“Sorry, sugar, Sam Jenkins is ineligible for visitation rights and packages,” she finally said.
“I beg your pardon? Why on earth is that?”
She rolled her eyes. “Sam Jenkins is in solitary confinement as punishment for the riot he caused.”
“Riot?”
“What rock have you been hiding under?” she asked. “It was all over the news: over fifty inmates stabbed to death.”
“Oh, God, I’m sorry, I was unaware. I’ve been working some long hours of late. But it’s imperative that he receives this package.” He produced a pack of Camels from his jacket pocket.
“Well unless you’re the President of the United States, you’re plain out of luck, sugar. There’s no deliveries for the prisoner until further notice.”
Ace’s plan to break Blaze out was fully-dependant on Doyle delivering the pack of cigarettes to Blaze.
Doyle glanced left, then right. No one else was present in the room. “Say, Beatrice…” He’d noted her name badge. “How much do you make working this desk?”
“Not enough to put my kids through college, that’s for damn sure.”
Doyle reached inside his jacket pocket. He retracted his hand, and said, “My name is Special Agent Doyle of the FBI. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.” He reached out to shake her hand through the small slot at the bottom of the glass wall. She cautiously reciprocated, then felt a wad of crumpled bills being transferred into her palm. “Go buy something special for your children,” he whispered.
She nervously pocketed the near-thousand dollars she’d just inherited, unsure of what to do next.
“Do you smoke?” Doyle asked.
“No,” she replied.
“Then perhaps you might know of someone who might like these?” He pushed the pack of Camels through the slot. “I’d really appreciate it if you could do that. I’m trying to give up.” He grinned as he winked. “Tell whoever you may give them to that I’m sorry.”
Beatrice felt a warm tingle inside. “Sure thing, sugar.” She smiled back. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, too.”
Doyle bade her farewell and returned outside to the car where Ryan was waiting. Doyle explained what happened while he was inside.
“Blaze started a bloody riot!” he exclaimed. “And now he’s in solitary?”
“Yes. It’s quite clever, really...”
“You think getting thrown into solitary is clever?”
“Well, yes and no. But now it makes sense as to the strange requests he made.”
“Requests?”
“Yes. Before Blaze agreed to be my asset, he asked for a list of all the coloured inmates who weren’t worth the steam off his shit—so that if he had to make a show of his loyalty to the brotherhood he could deal to them with my blessing, knowing that I’d be pulling him out of the hell hole once he’d completed his objective. And I know for a fact that the leader of the brotherhood has been in solitary for quite some time now. My guess is that he found a way to get close to him by starting the riot. I must say, he’s most resourceful.”
Ryan still thought it odd. It wasn’t like Blaze to agree to help the authorities under any circumstances. There had to be more to the puzzle. “Did you say requests? As in, more than one?”
“Yes. He asked that we take care of a lady he knew, and her son.”
“In what way?”
“Provide a home, financial security, and a first-rate education for her autistic child.”
“So he wanted nothing for himself?”
“That’s right.”
“Who is this lady?”
“Don’t really k
now, to be honest. All Blaze asked was that once she’d recovered from her injuries she was to be treated with the utmost respect.”
“Injuries?”
“Yeah, he said she was cooped up in hospital. I never personally met her, but from what my associates said, she was banged up pretty good.”
“What’s her name?”
“Hang on...” Doyle reached over to the back seat for his briefcase and retrieved his laptop computer from inside. After he’d logged on, he said, “Jane Adams, age thirty-five, mother of Benji Adams, wife of Beppo Adams.”
“Beppo? Bit of a weird name...” Ryan said.
“Yeah, it is, now that you mention it.”
“Where do you think it originates from? Germany? Ukraine?”
“Somewhere like that, I’d say. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I’m curious to know why Blaze was so keen to help this woman. Was she in a car accident? Was he a witness?”
“Look, I don’t know. All I can tell you is there were whispers she may have been the victim of spousal abuse. But no one could confirm it. She wouldn’t give a statement or press charges. But I don’t mind telling you it’s not the first time she’s showed up at the hospital sporting a black eye. Her medical records showed numerous visits.”
“Where’s her husband now?”
“Not sure.”
“Run a quick search on him. One-hundred bucks says her husband is serving time in The Tombs.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I know Blaze better than you do.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Just run the goddamn search. I think I’ve figured out Blaze’s motives.”
Doyle entered his password into the criminal database and typed in Beppo’s full name. After a few seconds he said, “It appears I owe you one-hundred bucks: Beppo’s a member of the Aryan Brotherhood! And while out on parole, he was witnessed by an unknown white male to have physically assaulted his wife, causing grievous bodily harm with intent to injure. And while the wife is said to have been unable to make a statement because of the extent of her injuries, the unknown witness called in the assault after subduing Beppo and rendering him unconscious after beating his head repeatedly on a set of piano keys with the piano’s lid.”
“I knew it!” Ryan said. “That’s why he agreed to go inside for you.”
“Why?”
“If there’s one thing I know about Blaze, it’s his need for revenge. The injustice of Jane’s assault and how defenceless she was would’ve hit home for Blaze.”
Again, Doyle found himself asking, “Why?”
Ryan lowered his voice. “You can’t tell Blaze I told you this, but he was sexually assaulted as a child. And only a matter of months ago, he returned to his hometown and tracked down the sorry bastard who abused him.”
“Shit. What did he do to him?”
“Let’s just say I had to bury his ashes along with the cross he was nailed to.”
Doyle cringed at the horrid image in his mind. “So you think he changed his mind and went inside The Tombs for me so he could get to Beppo?”
“It makes sense.”
“So he might not even be trying to get the information I need?”
“No, I’m not saying that. He’ll come through for you. I’m certain of it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Well, despite his rough exterior and thirst for destruction, he is loyal to the bone. His word is good. You’ll just have to trust me on that.”
“I hope you’re right. Because even though we know what the brotherhood are up to, we desperately need the location of their operation.”
“We could try a grid search of the Adirondacks?”
“Are you insane? That’s almost fifty-thousand square miles of mountain ranges. We’d be looking for a needle in a bloody haystack!”
Ryan sighed. “All right, all right. I agree: without Blaze your case is a bust.”
Doyle paused a moment, then asked, “So you’re sure he’s as loyal as you say he is?”
Ryan took a moment to answer. “I may regret saying this,” he paused, “but Blaze is the most loyal person I know.”
They sat in silence, until Ryan said, “Where’s Jane Adams now?”
Doyle shrugged. “I’m not sure. Probably sipping a margarita in her brand new luxury apartment. Why do you ask?”
“Wouldn’t hurt to see if she knows anything?”
“Worth a shot, I suppose.” Doyle started his car and pulled out of the parking lot.
“Do you think she’ll go through with it?” Ryan asked.
“Who will go through with what?” Doyle replied.
“Will the receptionist pass the cigarettes on to Blaze?”
“She bloody well better!” Doyle spluttered. “It cost me an arm and a leg!”
Ryan chuckled. “So what now?”
“We figure out the next part of the plan. We need to do some scouting if this is going to work.”
“Agreed. We’ll split up. I’ll go meet Jane and see if she knows anything about the brotherhood that might help. You take the boys and go over the plan with them.”
Doyle replied with a curt nod. He felt that their daring rescue might just work. His admiration for Ryan had grown exponentially since their meeting. He finally had the right tools to bring down the brotherhood. He only hoped Blaze was the man Ryan said he was.
Chapter 48
Blaze spied through the food slot as Sick Mick was given a small package by the guard doing his morning rounds. The moment the guard left, Blaze pressed his lips to the slit. “Hey, Mickey-baby, I’m ready for more pudding,” he cooed.
Within seconds the hole was filled with Mickey’s hideous set of teeth and red moustache. “Ooh, yeah, baby. Mickey’s gonna show you a good time,” he husked. He slipped his set of cuffs through the slot. “You know what to do, baby.”
Blaze acted hurt. “You’re gonna want both my hands free for what I’ve got in store for you: I’m gonna make you squirm.”
Mickey’s mind warped at the possibilities. “You must want something extra special, don’t you, baby?” he asked.
“Oh, you fucking know it,” Blaze tantalised him, licking his lips. “I need ten minutes alone with Beppo Adams. Seeing my brothers means everything. In return, you can do anything you like with me.”
Mickey’s desire for sexual power got the better of him. He had no reason not to trust Blaze. After all, he was such a good boy on his previous visit. Oh, the way he sucked me dry, he thought. “Lie down on the bed and take off your clothes,” he commanded. “Cuff one of your hands to the bed frame.”
Blaze did as he was told. A fair compromise, he thought.
Blaze lay face down on the bed, completely at Mickey’s Mercy. Mickey looked left and right before unlocking Blaze’s cell and closing the door behind him. “I’ve got a package for you,” he said.
“Oh, I bet you do,” Blaze replied.
“No, I actually do have a delivery for you.” He tossed the packet of Camels on Blaze’s bunk.
“Who sent them?”
“I’ll tell you after playtime is over. Now, come to daddy...” Mickey’s eyes ogled at Blaze’s muscular legs and firm buttocks. His muscular back and shoulders twisted his mind into doing backwards somersaults. His hand slowly caressed Blaze’s foot and slowly worked its way up. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be gentle,” Mickey leaned down and licked the small of Blaze’s back, leaving a wet trail of saliva all the way up to his neck. Mickey reached down and unzipped his pants, letting them fall to his ankles. His keys rattled against the floor as he stepped out of the leggings and climbed up on top of Blaze. “Ooh, baby, I’ve never been so hard,” Mickey panted as he slid his throbbing knob up and down the surface of Blaze’s butt crack, gnawing on Blaze’s earlobe at the same time. “Ooh, you’re such a good boy,” he whispered.
“Oh, no, Mickey-baby, I’m all bad,” Blaze said seductively.
Mickey sniggered. “Ooh, yes you are.”
Blaze couldn’t believe how far he’d let this go. It was time for action. “Don’t be too gentle, Mickey; I like it rough,” he said.
“Ooh, really? What a coincidence: Mickey likes it rough, too.”
“I’m so glad to hear it.” Blaze replied, then with his free hand, delivered a savage elbow to Mickey’s face. Mickey collapsed in a heap on the floor. Blaze couldn’t quite reach Mickey’s pants with his free arm to retrieve the set of keys. Instead he manoeuvred his foot to hoist them up.
Mickey stirred. “You’ll pay for that, maggot!” he growled. He attempted to drag himself up. But it was too late. Blaze had removed the cuffs and dived straight on top of him. Within seconds Blaze had his knees dug into Mickey’s back and his arm gripped around his neck, holding the shiv he’d concealed under his pillow to his throat. “Move and you die, motherfucker,” Blaze threatened him.
Mickey gasped for air as Blaze’s bulging bicep crushed his windpipe. “What do you want?” he squeaked out.
“To watch you die, slowly,” Blaze replied.
Blaze suddenly released Mickey’s head from his grasp and let fly a brutal punch to the side of his face. He lay on the floor, slightly dazed. Blaze retrieved the length of rope the warden had so kindly given him. “I guess you didn’t know about these wonderful gifts I received on arrival?” He smirked. “Must be my lucky day.”
Mickey’s eyes widened in fear. He was in shock, unable to move or speak.
Blaze quickly tied a noose and whipped it over Mickey’s head, tightening it around his neck.
Mickey tried to wriggle free. Blaze kicked the wind from his sails, crunching his jaw into the floor. “I told you I like to play rough,” Blaze sniggered.
Blaze dragged Mickey’s semi-unconscious body along the floor till he was beneath the window. He stood him up and threaded the remaining rope around the bar, till Mickey was free-standing on his tiptoes, just enough that he could still breathe. Mickey snapped awake as he realised his predicament.
Blaze tied the rope off. “How’s it hanging, you sick fuck?” He took a swing at Mickey’s stomach.
The loud gurgling noise in Mickey’s throat amused him. Blaze left him hanging and started dressing himself. He noticed the pack of cigarettes Mickey had tossed beside his bunk when he’d entered the cell. He made himself comfortable on the bunk and pulled out a smoke. He spotted a lighter in Mickey’s trouser pocket and lit up.
