by Nolon King
Fuck. They know.
He had to warn Hernandez before whoever planted the device discovered what he knew.
As Jasper was placing the bug back behind the toilet, his door buzzed and the pod unlocked behind him. He turned, feeling caught red-handed, as his cell slid open and Young Luther entered with Muscles.
Jordyn backed up on the bottom bunk, pushing herself into the corner. “Daaaaad, what are they doing? Who let them in?”
Jasper had only his hands and a prayer — a weak plea to an indifferent God against a beast like Muscles.
Young Luther looked him up and down. “Well, well, well, old man, not many people surprise me, and you have most certainly surprised me.”
How much did Young Luther know? And who else might be sharing the knowledge? Who among the guards was on his side or his payroll?
Jasper clenched his fists, preparing for a fight, surveying his enemies and searching for any obvious weaknesses or possible weapons. Empty hands meant shit inside. Prisoners hid shivs everywhere, beneath benches in the yard, buried outside, one of any dozen places inside the kitchen. Sure, the guards found them, but there were always more to be made, and no way Young Luther and Muscles were coming into Jasper’s pod unarmed.
“So, what are you? Some kinda Miss Cleo or some shit?” Young Luther asked with a sneer.
No point in lying if Young Luther had heard his messages.
“I see things sometimes.”
“What sorts of things? Like sports scores and shit?”
“Sometimes.”
“And maybe shit you’re not supposed to see?”
“Sometimes.” Jasper narrowed his eyes on the man, waiting for an attack, a threat, or hopefully, an offer.
“Like a certain guard getting got? You see who did that?”
Jasper shook his head.
“Which is why you wanted Hernandez to get somethin’ of mine, eh? So not only are you a fucking pig rat, you’re also a psychic motherfucker snoopin’ in people’s heads and shit. That ain’t right, man. I can’t have you peepin’ in on my shit, ya’ feel?”
Jasper nodded.
“So, here’s what’s gonna happen. Whatever Hernandez brings you, whatever you see, or whatever you fucking think you see, you’re gonna be keeping that shit to yourself. And you gonna tell him somethin’ else.”
“What would you like me to tell him?”
“You tell him that White Nation did that shit. It was all Kenn, and since that motherfucker’s already gone, the case is nice and closed.”
“And what do I get out of it?”
Young Luther looked thoughtful. “What do you want, old man?”
“I want out,” Jasper said.
“You want out?” Young Luther laughed. “Then why the fuck you go and give yourself up?”
“I wasn’t in my right mind.”
“Now that’s something we can both agree on. But you gettin’ out?” He shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think that’s in the cards right now. Things are kinda tight around here with you and that pig lookin’ into shit you ain’t got no business even blinking at. But I think you and me can be a great team, ya’ know? You’ve got lots of knowledge up in that nappy ass head of yours. You like the crunch berries in my cereal. And maybe, just maybe if you help me for a bit, I can get you out … when doing so makes sense for me. It’s gonna be a minute, you feel? I need to recoup my investment. How’s that sound?”
Jasper had thought he was ready to die, but losing his life to this pair of fuckers would be an insult to his memory and the man he was. He wouldn’t go down without a fight, but Jasper planned to stay smart about it. Tell them what they wanted to hear until he figured out his escape.
“You agree to help me get out, I’ll play ball.”
Young Luther nodded then turned and left the cell.
Before Muscles followed his leader, he stared Jasper down to remind him he was nothing but a punk ass bitch in their eyes.
Jasper’s door opened before lights out.
Hernandez entered and dumped another cup of his meds into the toilet. Jasper handed him a scrap of paper, torn from his book and written on with his fingernails, before the guard could utter a word.
Hernandez opened it in his palm, keeping his back to the door, and read the note.
They bugged my cell.
YL knows what you’re doing. Told me to lie and say Kenn ordered the hit.
Play along with me.
Hernandez stared at the paper, jaw clenched.
Jasper could see his wheels turning, probably wondering who bugged the cell and what other guards were part of it. If he had any sense, he was also worrying about his family. Young Luther probably had more pull outside than anyone in the prison, and it wasn’t just Hernandez in danger. Anyone he loved was a possible target, as well.
“Get anything from Young Luther’s cell?” Jasper coached him with a nod.
Hernandez reached into his pocket, pulled out a thin metal shiv, and handed it to Jasper. “Got this.”
Jasper had a flash of Young Luther crafting the shiv from a piece of fence, then followed the thread until he saw what he was looking for — Young Luther ordering the hit.
Jasper nodded. “Kenn ordered the hit on Frank.”
“Are you sure?” Hernandez asked.
“Luther knew about it, but he didn’t have anything to do with it. I’d drop it if I were you.”
“Yeah?” Anger brewed in the officer’s eyes.
“Yeah, dude is dead. No point in making a thing of it.”
“Thanks,” Hernandez said, wadding up the paper and tossing it into the toilet.
Jasper mouthed the words, Be careful.
Hernandez nodded then left.
“Lights out!” bellowed a voice over the speakers in the hall.
The lights died, but Jasper wasn’t anywhere near ready for sleep.
Chapter 31 - Mallory Black
Mal drove away from the crime scene, boiling mad at being forced to abandon her mission, suddenly impotent with no way of taking this fucker down.
She was on administrative leave — her punishment for not shutting up and being a good girl. For doing what the corrupt fucking sheriff was too incapable of doing.
The anger reminded her of being a kid and struggling to get picked in flag football games at the park. Mal was one of the only girls who liked to play and none of the boys wanted her on their teams. Short, scrawny, and, worst of all, a girl, she was always the last one picked. Mal had to play ten times better than anyone else just to prove her equality.
She remembered playing running back when she was nine when this asshole, Troy Baumgartner, had missed a tag on her as she ran right past him to score a touchdown. He tackled her the next time she got the ball. Sent her hard to the ground.
Mal spent more than a minute gasping for air. It was the first time in her life when she thought death might be coming. But she couldn’t let any of the boys see her fear. So as a mass of people rushed over to check on her and Troy clutched his stomach in uncontrollable laughter, Mal had to battle the tears and force herself to stand.
She did, still refusing to cry.
A few plays later, Mal got back in the game. Another kid, Robby Meade, was running the ball. Troy ran to tackle him, but Mal came out of nowhere, lowered her shoulders and slammed into him hard enough to send Troy flying backwards.
He was more stunned and embarrassed than actually injured, but none of the other players ever questioned her ability again. Some even cheered.
But still, for the rest of her childhood and all these years later, whenever Mal went somewhere new, whether that meant playing with children or working a job, she had to prove herself all over again. It required her emotional overtime to earn the respect that was simply given to men.
Mal had proven herself as a detective under Barry’s first administration, then again under Bell’s. Now she was having to do it all over again with Barry and his cronies now that he was back in power. She was exhausted
by this tired game and of having to prove herself repeatedly.
Sure, she had made plenty of mistakes. But so had plenty of other officers. Men with much more egregious errors in judgment. They never had to pay penance, kiss the ring, or beg forgiveness.
Fuck that.
Mal was done with the bullshit and jumping through hoops. She was an excellent cop and a good person. She shouldn’t have to tolerate this crooked sheriff’s agenda. She had the resources to start over and knew what she was capable of.
Mal could become a P.I. — or maybe just move the hell out of Florida and enjoy life somewhere else. Anywhere had to be better than Creek Fucking County, the breeding ground for most of her misery. She had a fortune, so why not live in some little hamlet in Ireland, maybe go to Canada and learn to like hockey.
She called Katie and left her a voicemail. “Hey, Katie. Was hoping you were in the mood for pizza when you get out of school. Let me know, ’cause I’m starving.”
Mal got gas. Then, coming down off her pill, decided she wanted the Xanax on her person, so back to the hotel it was. An overwhelming wave of exhaustion slammed her on the other side of the door, so she succumbed to the allure of her cozy bed, a plush pillow, and that down comforter she thought of too often.
I just need to rest my eyes for a few minutes.
Just a few—
The phone rang, dragging Mal out a heavy sleep and into the darkness.
What time is it?
9:10 PM, according to the clock on her nightstand.
Shit!
“Hello?”
“It’s Katie,” said the crying voice on the other end of the line. “Can we still get that dinner?”
“You okay?” Mal asked.
“I told him.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“Yeah. Well, whatever he was. I told him.”
“And?”
Katie burst into tears.
“Where are you?”
“I left.”
“Left where?” Mal didn’t like the sound of that at all.
“Ben and Sarah’s. I should never have told him. He … he was horrible. Said something about laying down with dogs and getting ticks or something. I’ll sleep on the street before I go back there.”
“Where are you?”
“Sitting at the bus stop in front of Target.”
“Which Target? Never mind. Text me the address and don’t move. I’ll be over in about ten or fifteen minutes, okay?”
“Okay,” Katie said, sniffling as she hung up.
Neither of them felt like pizza, despite the earlier offer. So Mal drove to Sancho’s Seaside Bar & Grille. They found a seat in the back, away from the crowds. Katie had been quiet throughout the ride, save for some small talk.
They ordered drinks and food as Katie stared at her paper mat. She’d flipped it over and was sketching on the back, drawing something that loosely resembled a fairy.
“That’s great,” Mal said into another long silence. “How long have you been drawing?”
“I dunno,” Katie told her.
The server brought their drinks. Mal thanked her, then gave her full attention to Katie. “So, what happened?”
“Boys suck. That’s what happened.”
“What did he say?”
“That it’s not his fault.”
“Not his fault? Did you use protection? Were you on the pill?”
“Yeah, we used protection. And no, taking the pill is ‘going against God.’” Katie shook her head. “How did I go from one religious nut father to another insanely pious foster family?”
Mal looked at her with sympathy but gave Katie the space to continue.
“James said it’s not his fault if the condom didn’t work. That I should’ve been on the pill. He also asked how I even know it’s his. I told him he’s the only person I’ve slept with. He laughed and said, ‘Yeah, right.’”
“What a dick.”
Her lips twitched with a smile. Then, as if accounting for her moment of levity, Katie sketched harder, scratching through the paper and ruining her drawing. She crumpled it up and slammed her pen on the table.
“I don’t want to have a kid in that place! Maybe I should abort it.”
“Would you have kept it if James wanted you to?”
“I know I’m young,” Katie shrugged, “but I would love to have a boyfriend and a son or daughter. But he never even really liked me. How could I have been so fucking stupid?”
Katie reached for the pen. Her jacket sleeve rose and showed Mal a series of fresh cuts. She didn’t try to hide them this time, either unaware they were showing or unable to care and crying for help.
She wanted to let Katie know things would be okay, maybe with a hug. But even if the girl had forgiven Mal for her mother’s death, she was still standoffish and obviously hurting.
“Look at me. How am I going to raise a kid on my own? Gonna raise it in the foster system? Give it up for adoption and have it wind up with some horrible family?”
“It wouldn’t be hard to find a good family to adopt your baby. If that’s what you wanted.”
The server returned with a tray full of food. Katie looked down, letting a curtain of hair spill over her face, crossing her arms as she leaned back in the booth.
After the server left, Mal saw Katie was crying behind her hair.
“I’m such a fuck-up. I ruin everything. Ben was right, I am a wicked person. Maybe this is my punishment.”
“No.” Mal shook her head, plucked a fry from her basket, then popped it into her mouth. Too hot and far too salty, but she was hungry and didn’t care. “This isn’t your punishment. Why would you think you deserve this? Or any punishment at all?”
“Because I make stupid choices. I slept with another guy who was clearly too old for me.”
“How old is he?”
Katie sighed. “Does it matter?”
“Well, yeah. Say the word and I’ll arrest his ass right now.”
“He’s twenty. Not some old dude like the coach. I hate him, but … I liked him, too. He was sweet for a while. I don’t want to see him in jail.”
“They’re all sweet until they’re not,” Mal said, not meaning to sound nearly as bitter as she obviously did.
She held no grudge for either her ex-husband or Tim. Things didn’t work out, but both were decent guys. Mal was bitter toward the kinds of men she saw on the job, the sort that preyed on kids like Katie or beat and murdered their wives.
What Jasper said about her having a daughter flitted through her mind. Had he meant Katie? She’d briefly considered adopting the girl in the aftermath of her mother’s murder. But that was an awful idea. Mal was a mess and an addict.
She had almost brought Maggie and Emma into her house after that.
Mal was surprised by how much she was warming to the thought of having a kid in her home again.
She looked at Katie and thought how much the girl had changed from the innocent and naive victim she had met a year ago. Gone was that sweet kid in her modest, out-of-style clothes. In her place was a hurting, moody teen with a hardened exterior, dyed hair, dark makeup, ripped jeans, and a leather jacket.
How much more pain would it take to break her completely? What would Katie look like in six months if Mal did nothing? How about six years? An addict? A prostitute further abused by a society that stayed blind to her suffering and only saw her sexuality? A society that would use, abuse, then discard her?
Mal could help.
You’ve barely got your own life together! You’re an addict.
No, I slipped one time because I didn’t have my Xanax.
I won’t take anymore.
“Would you keep the baby if you had a way to support it?”
“I dunno.” Katie grabbed an onion ring from her plate then bit into it. “You said you were going to call and see if there was somewhere I could go … did you find anyone who wants a pregnant teenager?”
“I haven’t heard back yet.”
Mal wanted to make the offer and change her life, make up for the pain she had rained upon the girl while trying to help Katie and her mother escape their abusive situation.
Don’t do it. You’ll only fuck her life up even more!
You aren’t ready! You can’t even commit to dating Tim, the nicest guy you’ve ever met!
You really think you’re ready to adopt, or … whatever you think is gonna happen here?
Mal watched Katie poke and prod her burger, saw the cuts on her wrist.
She’s fucked up. Beyond help. Pass her off to Carrie and let someone else help her. Someone more equipped than you. Face it, you need the pills, and you’ll never live your life without them. Once an addict, always an addict.
Her fears weren’t unfounded. Maybe Katie would be better off without her, but Mal also saw another path, one where the girl’s life led to an ugly parade of disappointments and abusive situations, one after another until she was either dead or wishing she was.
Mal could be the difference in her life. Katie would need help, more than she was equipped to give on her own. But she had money and knew people who could help.
“What if I adopted you?”
“What?” Katie’s mouth twisting in disbelief, an eyebrow arched.
“What if I adopted you?” Mal repeated.
“This a joke?” Katie laughed to punctuate her question. “Why would you want me?”
“Any parent would be lucky to have you.”
“You don’t even know me,” Katie challenged, taking a bite of her burger. “I don’t need your pity.”
“You’re right, I don’t know you. But this isn’t me pitying you, Katie. It’s me seeing a part of me in you. I had a rough time growing up and finding my place. I’m still fighting to find it now. Being a cop and a mother, I know all too well that sometimes life keeps throwing punches without ever giving you a break. I want you to have a chance.”
“Why?”
“I feel awful about what happened with your parents, and sometimes people need to help each other when they can.
