Green looked at him for a long time, silently evaluating. Then he sat down on the cement stool and lowered his head.
“Nobody has ever really believed me. Maybe not even Nick.”
“I do now,” said Nick.
“I’m sorry,” said Green. “I envy the people who can’t believe such a thing could happen.”
“The FBI has a whole team working on this that’ll go one better than believing it,” said Nick with a sensitivity in his manner of bringing the conversation around that would have done justice to any FBI agent. “They’ll prove it. Start with trusting John to listen.”
Green drew a deep breath and clasped his hands tight in front of him. “They told me I wasn’t going to leave until I entered a guilty plea,” he said in a voice that wavered a little.
“I was starved, beaten, pepper sprayed, frozen to hypothermia ....abandoned naked in a completely bare cell. I have lung damage from untreated pneumonia, and I had to have three bones re-broken and set properly after I got here. This happened in New York. Not North Korea, New York City.”
John thought about Nick, and the condition in which he’d found him, and the horrifying CCTV footage. “I think I believe you,” he said slowly. “And as an agent of law enforcement, I’m very, very sorry. Being at Nick’s side through this - has shown me these things can’t ever be undone. It’s also shown me a glimpse of how hard it is to be an inmate here. If you’re innocent, I’m so sorry.”
Green tried to meet John’s eyes and failed. “In another life, I would’ve called this prison bleak and humiliating and cruel. Instead, I broke down when the CO showed me to my cell. There was a mattress and blankets and it was clean and the doors were all open. Then -- the fear hit, and I knew they were doing this just to torture me by taking it away. When the COs would get near me, I’d just scream hysterically because I knew they wanted to take me away, then I’d get kicked around for non-compliance, and I went pretty much catatonic.”
Green closed his mouth and stopped abruptly, frowning in confusion at John. “Why’d I - you don’t need to know - I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“To have someone with a badge listen, I’d guess,” said John, his voice gentle. “And care.”
“John has that effect on people,” said Nick, his eyes and expression soft. “You can trust him.”
“Nick.... hell, I’d seen the officer sit him down there. It was a trick to get me to confess to something, so I just sat in the corner and didn’t say a word or look at him. But there came a point where this kid is telling me how to say ‘escargot’ in Swahili, and the absurdity just boiled over, and I laughed. I look up, he’s dangling the fruit roll from his lunch tray like I’m a shelter dog he’s trying to coax out of the kennel. I hadn’t laughed in months, and this ....I just cracked up.”
Green gave them an embarrassed look. “We start talking, and he manages to convince me I was staying and the officers actually wanted me to feel safe. CO Larson joins us, calls me by my name and tells me I’ll be okay - and I’m just trying not to lose it as he reassures me. It was the most relief and gratitude I’d ever felt. I couldn’t believe I got to stay here and go to a cafeteria three times a day and work and have a TV in my cell and nobody beat me.”
John shivered. “This place is so much better, and so much worse than I imagined it.”
Green actually met his eyes, his shoulders relaxing. “I love this place and the people in it, and yeah, I know how messed-up that is.”
Green reached for Nick’s hand and touched the back of it lightly with his. “And it’s nice to see you again. How’s Mom?”
“As awesome as ever,” said Nick, his smile affectionate.
John frowned, then his eyebrows shot up. Green. Green.
“Wait — you’re Alice Green’s son? As in the artist? The rich artist letting Nick live in a penthouse apartment for approximately nothing per month?”
Green nodded, looking amused. “You didn’t know?”
John shook his head, a little dazed by the connection. “She’s — your mom is a real class act. She’s never — Nick mentioned her son had been wrongfully convicted, but she’s always gracious towards me. She’s never treated me like the enemy because I’m an FBI agent, and it sounds like she has plenty of reason to.”
“She knows Nick is important to me, and she knows you’re important to Nick,” said Green. “The corrupt, brutal assholes at Rikers are the enemy here, not you. Not Larson, or anyone else who’s doing their job with honor.”
“Like to help take down the guy who did this to you?” asked Nick.
Green’s head snapped up, and his eyes came alive.
“Like to? Try ‘it’s what I dream of every single day.’”
“Good,” said Nick with a grin. “You’re gonna be plotting to kill me, and when someone’s planning my death, I like it to be someone I can trust.”
John raised his eyebrows. "Like a convicted killer?"
"Well, you know, I've supposedly got practice," said Green. "Did I mention I lead a prison gang?"
The smile left Nick's face. "Lyndon, if anyone has the skill and ethics to get you out of here, it's John Langley and Dan Fisher. And if you help take down Starr, I promise you they'll make it a priority."
JOHN
John walked out of the warden’s office, accompanied by Fisher and Kasdan. He checked his watch. 10:15 AM.
Wash and Kelly would be landing in New York, back from DC, in an hour.
Wash, Kelly, John, Kasdan, and Gary Wills were all going to be posing as COs, and would comprise Nick’s immediate bodyguard team. Fisher’s men were handling the CCTV operation.
It was time to transfer Nick to solitary.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Soft Landing
JOHN
“Come here, Murderbait.” John waved Nick out of the cell to join him, agents Kasdan and Fisher, and new arrival Marshal Wills. "Let's figure out how to keep you from collecting any new piercings."
Nick addressed John, the one most invested in keeping him breathing. “The cells have panic buttons. But if something goes really wrong, I might not be able to reach it, especially injured. I should have something wireless to call for help.”
John nodded. “I’ll have something brought over. They’re also bringing a bulletproof vest, anti-stab jacket, and a SWAT helmet with a face shield for you to wear anytime you’re out of the cell.”
Nick was somewhat fascinated by that. “At least I get some cool toys.” He yawned. “And a nap.”
John yawned in solidarity. Being awake for more than 24 hours at a time was nothing new for him or Nick, but the circumstances weren’t typically this wrenching.
“Put at least one FBI agent in the camera control room round the clock to monitor Aster,” said Larson. Larson, while not a IMU officer, seemed to be sticking around. “CCTV operators’ll ignore Armageddon if they’re busy playing Angry Birds.”
“Already done,” said John. “We got two agents, cross trained as paramedics, one for each shift. They’ll be carrying and administering Nick’s meds. He has any sort of medical crisis, they’re standing by with our own gear. They’ll treat him while we wait for an ambulance, which they will accompany him on.”
“I’m somewhat less enthusiastic about that part of the plan,” said Nick, wrinkling his nose and eyebrows.
“We’re working under the command of the COs in the IMU.” John drew a deep breath. “It’s gonna suck. They’re understaffed, so we’ll be helping out with CO duties. We’re forming two shifts for direct contact with Aster. Days are me and Kasdan. Wills, when I'm off site for the investigation. Nights are Wash and Kelly. Rest of the support agents stay out of the way behind the scenes.”
“Why Wills?” asked Nick, curious. He gave Wills a friendly glance, which Wills returned. “He’s not FBI.”
“Because ....days are when you’ll be taken out of your cell for exercise or showers. Gary Wills is the only one who’s been able to put you in restraints without
a problem. If because of the operation with Fisher I’m not there to do it ... you prefer someone else?”
Nick shook his head. “I like him. He’s good at his job.”
“Okay,” said John. “I need to go off site to brief Theo, then Fisher and I are gonna tag-team Vineil once agents pick her up.”
“Wait - we have to restrain him?” asked Kasdan, dismayed. “Don’t they know he’s injured?”
Nick moved to stand close against John’s side. “Nobody steps out of a solitary cell before being strip-searched and placed in full restraints.”
Nick sounded calm. He had moved closer to reassure John, not himself.
“Oh, God, Nick.” Kasdan’s eyes were wide. “That’s -- cruel.”
Nick braced himself. “SHU is the cruelest environment I’d been in, until Rikers. Still rather be there than risk the NYPD getting their hands on me again.”
Can’t I just murder Starr, and Vineil, and every vile, hateful, evil piece of shit who hurt Nick?
Nick was in briefing mode, confident and steady. “The inmates in IMU'll show you why we absolutely need high-security prisons. The monsters of the night live in there, and they’re trying to get out. It attracts COs who like to fight and use force, because that’s where the action is. You guys harden your hearts, don’t trust anyone for a second, but remember there are also Nick Asters in there being punished, and they’re in hell.”
John saw halls and doors and carts through a dazed filter. He searched his mind for images of New York, and home, and the coffee machine at the FBI office. He got prisons and cells and the smell of blood.
He wasn't quite human right now, just a lost dog racing through the streets trying to find the world where he didn't participate in the further victimization of a suffering friend. Where he could trust his fellow protectors not to attack.
How had he become a part of this? How had he agreed to put his vulnerable, gentle best friend in what Nick calmly described as hell?
A nurse barged in without so much as an "excuse me." It was the guy who'd all but refused to acknowledge Nick's sentience while giving him a shot in the restraint chair. He stuffed a sheet of paper in John's face. "Give that to IMU. It's a medical order for extra blankets. Gets chilly in there."
"Thank you," said Nick sincerely. The nurse glanced at him with a curt nod and marched away.
"That was.... nice of him?" said Kasdan.
John scanned the paper, which ordered extra blankets, pillows, and an extra sleeping pad. "Think it was," he said, passing it to Nick.
Nick read it, raised his eyebrows, and gave a grateful glance at the retreating nurse. "It was exceptionally kind. The temperature is set for the COs walking around all day, not the inmates stuck in cells. It's cold and miserable."
"Starting to see why you value relationships over lawsuits," admitted John. If he were at the mercy of these sometimes incredibly cold people, and discovered they were capable of kindness, he'd turn down a hell of a lot to protect that.
Nick surveyed all of them. “Now if we can all magically get into S&M bondage for the week, this’d be a lot more fun,” he said dryly. “I haven’t managed that yet, but have at it. I’ll be over in cell three-ten polishing my Stockholm Syndrome to a high sheen, call if you need me.”
Kasdan had to chuckle. Something in John unwound, and a sense of relief snapped through him. This was the same irreverent, lighthearted, keenly intelligent Nick Aster who had been working at his side for years, making life at the FBI simply more fun every day. He wasn't thrilled about slick car-salesman Nick, but playful Nick had become a much-needed adjunct to his own more serious soul. And playful Nick was still alive, just fighting his way out from under a deep pile of trauma.
Wills stuck his hands in his pockets and lowered his head. “I think his shoulders are more messed up than he lets on. He doesn’t have any strength to move his hands all the way behind his back. I had to do it, and it hurt him.”
John grimaced. US Marshals weren’t exactly known for squeamishness about restraining people. Wills looked like he was trying not to cry when he talked about doing it to Nick.
“Don’t .... we’re asking a badly injured man to let us lock him into the instrument of torture that’s just been used on him,” said Wills. “Practice that. Be sure you can both handle it under pressure.”
JOHN
John clicked the exam door shut. A strangely normal-looking doctor’s office was the only place around without cameras or potential spectators. “’Go practice locking your friend in a torture device’ is advice I could’ve gone a lifetime without needing.”
Nick’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, come on. You, me, an iron maiden in a museum somewhere ....we both know you’d last about ten minutes before you found an ‘official’ excuse to stick me in it.”
“Yeah,” admitted John, grinning. But sadness returned all too fast. “Only if I couldn’t possibly hurt you. This will, and --” he hesitated.
Instinct to avoid revealing weakness clashed with his desire to reciprocate the deep trust Nick had been showing in exposing his own vulnerability. What broke the tie was Mari’s admonition that if he wanted Nick to stop fearing him, he had to sacrifice being foremost an FBI agent with Nick.
“-- I don’t actually know if I can do that,” admitted John.
It was the right call. Nick’s tightly balled fists un-clenched, and he gave John a timid smile that made him realize Nick was indeed frightened. “So you’re the one who needs to practice this.”
“Yeah, I need to practice hurting my injured buddy. Always good for a guy’s humanity,” said John.
The sarcasm fell flat. While the idea of causing Nick physical pain nauseated him, the fear barely concealed in Nick's eyes was startling. It hadn't really occurred to him that Nick might not be able to handle --
Being chained up by the one person he relied on and trusted?
Being locked in a cell designed for isolation and punishment, and abandoned while John went off site to work a case?
Being left in the hands of people who'd already let him be pushed beyond any reasonable limit on intake?
Having his survival depend on the profession that had repeatedly shown complete disregard for his life and value as a human being?
“John.” Nick's face was deadly serious, and his voice was tight. “Solitary confinement is the only part of being in prison that’s given me nightmares.”
John shivered. “We don’t have to do this. One word from you, at any time, and we get you in an FBI safehouse.”
Nick gave him an intense look. I wasn’t done. “I know you. You’re gonna feel awful. Please don’t. My COs fought as hard to keep me out of solitary as you do to keep me out of prison. You think my sum total of life in prison was this misery, you’re doing a disservice to everyone who made it worth living. You’re only seeing the worst parts of this picture.”
“You just trying to make me feel better? Or you mean that?” asked John.
Nick looked as desperately sincere as John had ever seen him. “I’m a con artist. But I can’t hurt you like that. I was fine.”
John glanced away and tightened his lips. Nick could rip his heart out when he looked into John’s eyes with pain in his own. It didn’t even take a change of expression, just fluid blue eyes revealing how much Nick felt. The man could go from playful to damn near tears in one second, and just as quickly through fear to love to the wary stance of a wild animal facing a predator.
“I ....Nick.... I’m only now seeing how much you’ve hidden about how hard this was on you -- I do feel bad. At least about how flippant I’ve been about it.”
Nick’s eyes were soft and adoring. “You’ve always, always taken it seriously by never acting like being sent back here would be a casual thing.”
John studied the opposite wall, with its PSA posters on blood-borne pathogens and flu vaccines. It was the little framed watercolor of a desaturated cottage by a beach that completed the bizarrely normal picture. “I’ve.... always known it
had to be devastating.”
“At times,” said Nick. Only the tiny, hastily quashed waver in his voice betrayed him.
John pulled his handcuffs out and brandished them in challenge. “You gonna be able to handle this?”
Nick was looking right at him, eyes open wide and direct and honest, determined not to cower or flinch even in his gaze. “You have no idea what I can handle.”
John looked down at the steel cuffs, cold and hard in his hands. True enough. “Locking you up alone in a place I know you’ve been confined as a punishment is the worst possible thing I can imagine.”
“You have a very limited imagination,” teased Nick. Seeing John’s genuine worry, he went serious. “Look ....all I want to do right now is sleep for a week. I get to. I trust you, I trust our team, and sometimes the best thing one can do is confront demons in the shadows.”
Broken Blue Lines: Love. Hate. Criminal Justice.: An FBI Crime Drama / LGBT+ Love Story Page 37
