by Scott Cook
The next ninety minutes or so were uneventful. Eddie watched as Hodge and the rest of the crew – made up of Billy Trinh, one of the greeners from Trinh’s table, two inmates he didn’t recognize, and the tall Aryan from breakfast – fed the big machines with sheets, uniforms, underwear and socks. The temperature was high but tolerable for Eddie; the crew had stripped down to their undershirts, as was the norm on hot days. They spoke little, preferring to spend their down time leaning silently against the folding table, arms crossed.
Finally, after the third load had been deposited in the washers and the second load had been folded and sorted, Eddie saw Hodge, Trinh and the Aryan head for what he now thought of as the Dark Corner. He glanced at the camera above him; it was a reflex, one he hoped no one in the surveillance room had noticed. Odds were good that eyes were on the mess hall and the yard.
Not knowing what else to do, Eddie moved to the left edge of his platform in an attempt to keep an eye on Hodge. The irony was palpable: the place in the Badlands where he had been sure Hodge didn’t want to be was the place Hodge himself most wanted to be, with the people he should have least wanted to be with. Eddie wondered how closely he would need to follow whatever business arrangement Hodge was concocting, wondered more keenly how he would broach the subject of getting a taste for himself. Did he have it in him to be on the take? Why not? He deserved something in return for the shit sandwich he was being forced to eat.
Meanwhile, Hodge’s unlikely companions were talking animatedly in the Dark Corner while the ugly man listened, his arms crossed over his expansive chest. Eddie couldn’t make out what they were saying, but Billy Trinh didn’t seem overly impressed with the Aryan, who didn’t seem to care much. The three other men on laundry detail were making a show out of not noticing what was going on in the Corner, which Eddie had expected; the most successful inmates were the ones who made a habit of keeping their attention focused firmly on their own business, especially when the grown-ups were talking.
No sooner had Eddie’s thoughts turned to what he might do with some extra cash – maybe a trip to the Dominican, to one of the special “no-tell” resorts he’d read about online – than he heard and saw temperatures rising in the Dark Corner. Billy Trinh had positioned himself with his back to the stained concrete wall and adopted a defensive stance. Hodge remained cool, while the Aryan stripped off his undershirt, the kind Eddie and his friends called a wife-beater.
“You’re fuckin crazy, Hodge!” he heard Trinh shout. “Don’t you know who I am?”
Eddie’s pulse started to race as Hodge finally unfolded his arms and began to move toward the Asian. “Don’t care who you are,” the ugly man drawled. “Just care what you know.”
Trinh’s eyes darted from Hodge to the Aryan. “Sanchez!” he yelled to the outer room. “Get in here!” The Latino greener, whom Eddie assumed was Sanchez, paled noticeably, but continued to ignore the Corner.
“Your boy is smart,” said Hodge, continuing to advance on Trinh. “You be smart, too. Just give me the name and this is done.”
Trinh yelled something in Vietnamese and pushed off from the wall, his arms and shoulders rippling. He brought his right foot up in an arc aimed squarely at Hodge’s ugly head. Hodge ducked low and to his right, simultaneously driving his left fist forward like a piston. It connected with the inside of Trinh’s thigh, knocking the Asian’s leg back and throwing him off balance.
What is it with these guys and legs? Eddie thought stupidly as he watched Trinh hit the wall from which he had pushed off seconds earlier. He was obviously in pain, but the fury in his eyes said the fight was far from over.
“Name,” Hodge said calmly. He could have been ordering a meal in a restaurant. “Last time.”
Trinh launched himself at Hodge again, this time with a volley of blows aimed at the ugly man’s head and midsection, as Hodge advanced on him. Trinh managed to land several shots, raising welts on Hodge’s left eye and the right side of his neck, but Hodge continued to force him back to the wall. Finally, Hodge twisted his massive torso and drove his right elbow squarely into Trinh’s nose. Eddie heard the wet crunch even from his vantage point almost fifty feet away.
Another scream in Vietnamese, another furious attack from Trinh. Feet and fists swung blindly, some landing, others countered by Hodge. Eddie had never seen anything like this in all the time he’d spent in the controlled chaos of the karate arena. Blood rarely touched the surface of the mat; here, it was everywhere. And Hodge seemed to be laughing it all off. He was like a juggernaut moving relentlessly towards the wall. To Eddie, the battle seemed to last hours, though in reality it had been less than a minute since Trinh had thrown the first kick. Finally, Hodge slammed a jackhammer fist into Trinh’s abdomen, lifting the Asian off the floor and raising a watery yurk sound from his mouth. Trinh staggered for a moment before Hodge ended things with a piledriver kick to the chest.
Eddie’s eyes were saucers. What am I supposed to do? As if reading his mind, Hodge locked eyes with him from the Dark Corner and shook his head. Stay put. What the fuck was going on? This was supposed to be business. Eddie was supposed to get a taste! It was supposed to be business!
As Billy Trinh dropped to the floor, the Aryan – who had watched from on the sidelines thus far – took his wife-beater and wrapped the Asian’s arms behind his back. He held the shirt secure with one hand while the other reached into his shoe. Adrenaline drove a fountain of pennies into Eddie’s mouth as realization set in: the Aryan was pulling out a shank.
Hodge absently wiped blood from his mouth and eyes, his face and torso gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat from his exertion and the heat of the room. He surveyed the area: the three other inmates were still doing an excellent job of being lost in their own thoughts. The Aryan was breathing heavily, his eyes swimming. Eddie stood on his perch, paralyzed by indecision.
Hodge grinned wide and motioned for Eddie to join them. As Eddie left the platform and wandered, his hand on his baton, toward the Dark Corner, Hodge knelt next to Trinh. The Asian was panting. His shattered nose made wet slurping sounds as he tried to breathe through it. As Eddie arrived, Hodge knelt down beside Trinh, until their faces were as close as they could be without actually touching. Blood streamed from their wounds to mix and pool on the polished concrete flood.
“Your liver’s done,” Hodge said quietly. Trinh gasped and spat blood and phlegm without any real strength. “And your nose don’t work anymore. You’re either gonna suffocate here or you’re gonna die in the infirmary, but either way, you’re done. Gimme the name and baldy here’ll make it quick.”
The Aryan’s mad eyes gleamed as he brought the shank – a filed down toothbrush, the least dignified weapon Eddie could imagine – into Trinh’s field of view. Trinh’s head dropped in defeat. Eddie had seen it a few times in his years at the Badlands. Inmates were like a pack of wolves: if you took on the leader and lost, you rolled over and exposed your belly.
“I dode no de nabe,” he wheezed. I don’t know the name.
Hodge frowned. “What do you know? Think.”
“By brudda zed it wad a woban.” My brother said it was a woman.
Who was a woman? Eddie wondered. This was all about a woman? That’s just plain fucking crazy.
Hodge’s eyes narrowed. “A woman? You sure?”
“Yuh.”
“He didn’t know her?”
“Nuh.”
“He didn’t know her but he trusted her? Pull the other one, Billy.”
“Jee ad cash.” She had cash.
Hodge chewed this for a while. “All right, Billy,” he said with a gentleness that stunned Eddie. “Just one last thing and then it’s over.”
Trinh’s skin had taken on a dull yellow hue. Jaundice. Christ, Eddie thought. How did Hodge know the man’s liver was ruptured? He could barely string together a full sentence, but he knew anatomy?
The Asian nodded slowly, his eyes on the floor.
“When?” Hodge asked.
“De day abder.” The day after.
“After what?”
“Abder your boys gilled Ballizer.” After your boys killed Palliser.
“Huh,” Hodges breathed.
The big Aryan was shucking and jiving now. His eyes danced like those of an addict awaiting a major score. “Hurry up!” he hissed. “Let’s fucking go-go-go!”
Hodge spared one more glance at Trinh and straightened up. The Asian’s face had slumped almost to the floor, his skin all but glowing yellow now as toxins rushed into his bloodstream. The Aryan, still behind Trinh, lifted the man’s slumping torso upright. He looked Eddie straight in the eye as he clenched Trinh’s luxurious hair in one hand, and drew the toothbrush blade across Trinh’s throat in a vicious sawing motion. Blood spewed from the ragged wound down the front of Trinh’s shirt. The smell was awful.
Time slowed as the reality sunk in for Eddie. He had just stood by, transfixed, as two men beat another into incapacity. Now he was watching that man bleed to death right in front of him. His instinct throughout was not to rescue Billy Trinh, but to simply stand by and let it happen. Hodge hadn’t needed to give him instructions; turns out it was his nature to watch others suffer all along.
“Bye-bye, slant eye!” the Aryan hooted. “Now I’m the king of the castle and you’re the dirty asshole!” He dropped the corpse to the floor and locked eyes with Eddie again. “Hodge says you’re his pet. Guess that makes you my pet, too, eh?”
Hodge bristled. “That’s not what I said.”
The Aryan tilted his head and turned his wild eyes on Hodge. “Whatever, man. As long as he tells his boss that this was self-defense. I don’t need anymore time on my stretch.” He bounced on the floor like a boxer getting ready for a fight.
Slowly, the blanket that had been wrapped around Eddie’s brain started to peel away, and the reality of the situation began to sink in. A dead inmate on his watch, killed – at least in part – by the one Eddie was supposed to be watching. And now, another prisoner trying to control him. He felt detachment wash through him like cool water as his hand crept toward the baton on his belt.
Hodge’s mouth widened into a hideous grin as his eyes followed Eddie’s movement. “So,” he said. “You did pay attention. I was worried there for a minute.”
The Aryan blinked. His eyes darted rapidly between Hodge and Eddie. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Hodge had taken off his undershirt (something Eddie now thought of as a Trinh-beater) and was wiping the blood from his face. When he was done, he fixed his gaze on the bald man, though he spoke to Eddie: “This inmate’s threatening you with a contraband blade, officer. You gonna stand there all day?”
The fog had lifted. Eddie was now receiving signals clearly.
The Aryan’s eyes grew owlish. “The fuck are you doing? You told me to kill Trinh!”
“Uh-uh. All I said was the opportunity might come up.”
“We had a deal, you cocksucker!” The Aryan raised the shank. “The screw here would back me up!”
“I think it’s time to contain this situation, don’t you, officer?”
Yes, it was. Eddie brought the gleaming tip of his baton down in a high arc, striking the crucifix tattoo dead center on the Aryan’s right forearm. The shank dropped to the floor with a faint tak. The Aryan’s screams drew no response from the three other inmates still working in the main area, their backs conveniently turned towards the Dark Corner.
The Aryan staggered back into the wall, eyes rolling in their sockets. “Oh, you fuck!” he shrieked. Eddie couldn’t tell whether he meant him or Hodge. “You dirty fuck!”
Eddie would have occasion later to wonder what would have happened if Hodge hadn’t done what he did next. Eddie raised the baton over his head, fully intending to bring it down on the top of the Aryan’s bald skull, but Hodge stepped forward, quick as a snake, and grabbed Eddie’s wrist. Eddie turned on Hodge, consumed by the moment, and almost attacked him.
“You don’t need that,” Hodge said soothingly.
Eddie breathed. His pulse had slowed to its normal rate and his belly was acid-free for the first time in days. He felt a sense of ease, of rightness, that had eluded him since the night he first met Jason Crowe and his goons.
Hodge gently took the baton from Eddie’s grip as the Aryan screamed more curses into the room. “Help me! Fucking help me, you cocksuckers!”
Eddie didn’t bother to see whether the other three had started paying attention. He let his instincts take over, dropping low over his left leg while his right spun backward on a plane level with the Aryan’s head. His thick-soled work shoe connected with the bald man’s jaw, thock! before completing the spin and landing back on the floor. The Aryan stumbled to his left, dazed, still holding his rapidly swelling forearm. Eddie loosed an open palm strike directly at his collarbone, snapping it with an audible crack and eliciting another scream from the Aryan.
Eddie had been in a hundred karate matches since first stepping foot in a dojo at the age of fourteen, but this was different. He didn’t need to pull his punches. There was no judge ready to flag him for excessive force. No one to tell him no. There was only Rufus Hodge and his enigmatic grin.
The molasses-like time dilation was back again as he rained blows down on the bald man. He felt a freedom he’d never experienced before in his life. The Aryan’s face seemed to transform, first into Jason Crowe’s hatefully handsome one, then into a string of queerboys from the Golden Cage. Finally, the Aryan’s face was that of Eddie’s father, his eyes red-rimmed from drink. C’mere and take your medicine, that voice slurred in his memory. Take it like a man. By the end, there was no technique to his assault, no control. Only rage.
Reality jolted back into place as Eddie felt arms encircling his own. Hodge was behind him, holding him by the elbows. He struggled, but Hodge’s grip was iron.
“That’s enough,” the ugly man whispered near his ear. “It’s over.”
Eddie’s heart was racing now, but his breaths were long and steady. He felt a bubble of snot expanding and receding in his right nostril as he inhaled and exhaled, finally popping against the bristles of his moustache. On the floor below him laid the crumpled remains of the Aryan. Blood covered the man’s face, and his legs were splayed at wrong angles. His right forearm looked like a giant blood sausage. The rise and fall of his chest was almost imperceptible. As the TV doctors liked to say, he was alive, but just barely.
Eddie looked to Hodge. “Now what?” he asked. The ugly man was calling the shots now, that much was clear.
Hodge looked at the bodies on the floor and spread his hands in an isn’t it obvious? gesture. “Baldy here came after me and Billy Trinh. He sliced Trinh, then he came at you with the shank. You stopped him. Saved my life.” He grinned. “My hero.”
Eddie’s breathing was finally beginning to slow as he assessed the situation. The story could work. Eddie was out of camera range long enough for it to be plausible. The other inmates had just watched – or at least heard – a guard beat a fellow con almost to death with help from the man who was now the Badlands’ most notorious badass. It was in their best interests to stay quiet.
He reached for the radio mike clipped to his collar, then stopped and turned back to Hodge. “Why?” he asked.
“Why what?”
“Why did you stop me?”
Hodge folded his arms across his bare chest. In the dim light of the Dark Corner, his sweat had the effect of delineating every hair, every ripple, every scar on his body. In that light, he looked like a marble statue of some long-lost Viking raider, fresh from devastating a poor Christian village and driving its people into death or slavery. In that moment, Eddie felt something akin to awe for the ugly man.
“You’re no murderer,” Hodge said simply, breaking the spell.
Eddie finally squeezed the button on the mike at his throat. “This is Spanbauer in the laundry!” he shouted. “Two inmates down! I need men in here now!” Back-up would be there in less than a min
ute.
“I could have killed him,” he said, letting go of the mike.
“There’s a difference between a killer an a murderer,” Hodge said mildly. “I’m a killer. Got no problem finishing a fight if someone’s lookin to finish me. Even feels good sometimes.” He pointed a toe at the bodies on the floor. “But them two are murderers.”
Eddie stared at him for a moment. Hodge was right – Trinh was in for shooting two bystanders during a bank robbery, and the Aryan had just slit the throat of an incapacitated man, apparently for the thrill of it. Then something occurred to him.
“But you are a murderer,” he said matter-of-factly. No point in pussyfooting around the man any longer. “You shot that security guard point-blank in the back of the head. You had the cop and that Duff guy murdered.”
Hodge’s signature half-smile was back. “Not me,” he said. “But I’ll tell you what – I’d sure love to know who did. That’s what this was all about. I need you to talk to Crowe.”
A gang of guards arrived just as Hodge finished giving Eddie his instructions. Two tackled Hodge and cuffed him, while the others got Trinh and the Aryan onto stretchers and secured the three other inmates. A flurry of questions, commands into radios, but Eddie barely heard any of it. As the guards dragged Hodge from the room, he quickly glanced at Eddie and dropped a covert wink.
Eddie surprised himself by winking back.
CHAPTER 14
Alex Dunn was quite drunk. Not staggering drunk, but certainly past the point where he could get the big brass key into the lock of his room at the Bluebird Motor Inn on the first two tries. Third time’s the charm, he thought with foggy good cheer as the key slid home and the knob turned. Inside, he tossed his pocket stuff on the dresser that also served as the television stand, yanked off his sandals, and fell back onto the bed. The coverlet was a scratchy nylon blend that clashed severely with the salmon-colored walls (not to mention the painting of a herd of goats mounted behind the bed), but it was comfortable enough for now.
The room’s air conditioner was working overtime, grinding out its somnolent white noise even now, after midnight. Alex sighed and grinned a big, dumb grin he wouldn’t have thought himself capable of even ten days earlier. It had been a great day. Hell, it had been a great week. Lost Lake had started to come alive as more and more tourists began to trickle in, taking advantage of record high temperatures to leave the rat race behind and bake their troubles away on the beach for a week or two. Kids shrieked and laughed in the water, and in the parks, and at the Kool Treet stand near the town common. Parents piled into the town’s handful of watering holes each evening, looking for a night to remember, or at least one to let them forget the worries of their everyday life outside of Lost Lake. Music seemed to be everywhere.
