"Why would someone sit outside your apartment? Anybody give you a bad time lately? Some guy got the hots for you?"
"Not exactly," she said, hesitating. "Not like you'd expect anyway."
Her evasiveness was beginning to concern him. "What's the rest of it? Tell me the whole story."
She hesitated, and decided she might as well as tell him the truth. "Remember that guard? I think his name was Atkins."
Now the warning signals were palpable. "What about him? He giving you trouble?"
"He propositioned me in the parking lot that day. He offered to fix it so you’d make parole. I refused, but I think I screwed up."
"How? He has no right to ask you something like that."
"That's not what I mean. He made me mad, so I threatened him. I told him you'd better make parole, or I'd call some of your friends and have them pay him a visit. Then I drove off before he could say anything. I know he got mad."
So that was it. Atkins had a new hard-on for him; he’d been snubbed by a convict's woman. Had it angered him enough to set him up with Carmine Ruffino in a way that would get him killed? Probably not. The Ruffino thing was far more serious than that. Was that why Fulmer, Weiss and Flatline had attacked him? Possibly, but he doubted it. That had been more Billings' doing than Atkins'. But then, Atkins wasn't wrapped too tight. If he could kill two birds with one stone... More important was Jen's welfare; that was something he could do very little about.
"Listen," he said, “stay close to home at night, in your living room, with the curtains drawn and the lights on. Don't go out after dark, no matter what. In the meantime, I'll see what I can find out."
"Be careful, Adrian. I don't want anything to happen this close to your parole hearing."
He shook his head. "Compared to you, those are the least of my worries."
As she was leaving, she scanned the parking lot from the top step. Sure enough, parked in a space marked "Reserved," was the blue Ford pick-up truck belonging to her silent admirer. She shuddered as she recalled the nights it had been parked near her apartment. She shuddered at all the complications it represented. She was becoming overwhelmed with anxiety. Telling Adrian had been a disastrous mistake.
********
Adrian’s first impulse was to go see Jimmy Atkins, but he knew that was a notion born more of desperation than of good sense. Besides, Atkins would have laughed in his face. That was the kind of satisfaction Atkins wanted, and which Adrian refused to give him. He bit the bullet and went back to his cell.
By the time he got there, he had decided he could do little at the moment. If things got that bad, he'd go visit the only ace he had left in his deck...
Chapter Twenty-Nine
With all that was on her mind, Jen's final class of the day had been trying, and had ended late. She was discovering that going back to school was easier said than done. Yet, she'd committed to it. And she was glad she'd decided to let Andy stay with her parents for the time being, as well as her sister. She'd never warmed to the day care idea, and this would allow her to settle in before finding after school care for him.
By the time she got home she was ready to pack it in for the day. A few errands, homework, and stopping off for a few things for the apartment had left her spent. Now, standing in the tub after showering, she examined herself in the full-length mirror. No longer tanned, her bra and bikini lines had all but vanished. She wished she could find a private place where she could sunbathe outdoors, but didn't feel safe after recent events in the parking lot at the penitentiary.
She was pleased with her figure, nodding with approval at the way it narrowed at her waist, before expanding gracefully at her hips. She thrust her hip to one side and cocked her head to the other with mock insolence. Adrian always went crazy when she stood like that. She felt a longing deep within her as she reminisced and... Enough! She didn't need this torture treatment. She had experienced it more times than she could count. Someday she'd be able to indulge herself to the fullest after he’d been released, but for now she'd have to endure.
She straightened up, took a towel from the rack, and wrapped herself in it. She had just entered the bedroom when the phone rang. She frowned momentarily, trying to think of who it could be.
"Hello?" she said curiously.
"Is this Mrs. Cabraal?" asked the voice on the other end.
"Yes," she answered tentatively. "Who is this?"
"This is Officer Bates, over at the penitentiary. I'm calling about your husband, Adrian."
She paused and held her breath, sensing the news couldn't be good. Fearing the worst, she said, "Is anything wrong? Is Adrian all right?"
"I'm afraid there's been an accident, Mrs. Cabraal."
Jennifer's heart was in her throat. "An accident? What kind? How bad? Is he...?" She couldn't force the word from her mouth.
"No ma'am, he's not dead, but he's been seriously hurt. It happened after work. It would be best if you came over right away. We're not sure if he'll make it."
"Oh my God, I'll be right over!" she said, her mind racing.
"Very well, ma'am" said the voice matter-of-factly. "I'll instruct the officers in the waiting area to expect you."
She raced to the closet, pulled out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and climbed into them without bothering to put on any underwear. She then bolted to the kitchen and snatched up her purse and car keys.
Outside, she ran to her car and jumped in. Her mind was racing as she sped toward the penitentiary. She hadn't needed Adrian to describe the nature of Jimmy Atkins, or what he was capable of doing. She didn't doubt he'd do whatever it took to make life miserable for him. She knew he might even arrange for him to have an accident, perhaps a fatal accident. He’d told her some of the unexplained, unsolved fates of inmates who went against the grain in various prisons. This one was no different.
There were few other cars on the road at this hour, so she kept her headlights on high, maintaining a constant seventy-five miles an hour. When she noticed a set of headlights closing on her from behind, she slowed down, fearing it was the police. As she guided the Camaro into the right lane, she was surprised and mildly alarmed to see the other vehicle follow suit. It kept moving closer until it was only inches from her rear bumper. Suddenly, its high beams flipped on, filling her with fear as an intense brightness nearly blinded her. She swerved momentarily, nearly losing control of the Camaro.
The lights behind her backed off for a moment, then closed in again. This time she felt something nudge her rear bumper. It came at her again; then a third time. The fourth time it wasn't a nudge. It was a solid collision that broke the rear end of the Camaro loose, driving it into a tailspin that sent her sliding sideways across the breakdown lane and onto the soft shoulder at the side of the road.
Jennifer fought wildly to keep the Camaro under control, but lost it completely after it left the road. Her heart was in her throat. The car spun wildly from side to side, finally sliding to a stop in the brush about fifty yards from the road.
As her car came to a halt, the other car jolted to a stop beside her, and its lights were immediately doused. Its driver got out and was opening her door before she realized what was happening. Startled and panic-stricken, she looked up at the sadistic, leering face of Jimmy Atkins. And he appeared drunk.
"Are you crazy?" she blurted. "I could have been killed!"
"Oh, you don’t have to worry ‘bout that, sweetie," he slurred. "I know you're a better piece o' ass alive than dead."
“A what?” she screamed.
He took a long pull from his chrome flask. "Here, your turn," he said when he finished.
"Bullshit it is!" she answered, repulsed.
"You sure? It'll make things easier for you."
"Fuck you!" she spat defiantly.
"That's the plan, darlin'. Fuck me..."
She grabbed the handle to close her door, but Atkins was quicker. His beefy fist intercepted her, yanked it open, and then grabbed her by her sweatshirt and hauled
her out from behind the wheel. As he held her, she raised her knee and kicked him in the groin. He groaned and doubled over. Then, infuriated, he grabbed a handful of her hair and gave her a stinging slap that brought tears to her eyes and adrenalin to her bloodstream. He slapped her a second and third time, laughing as she struggled to break away.
"Think you're some kind of hot mama, huh? Let's see how hot you feel when I get done with ya. You ain't nothing but a convict's whore. But that's okay, ol' Jimmy'll show you how good it can be. Feisty little dumplin' like you needs a real man. C'mere, baby, so's Jimmy can make it good to you..."
Wildly insane with fear and rage, she scraped his face with her fingernails when he reached for her, leaving a trail of scratches. A beefy hand raised high and then descended, slapping her again and knocking her down. Barely able to see, she grasped a rock, climbed to her knees and raked it across his forehead when he reached for her, opening a substantial gash.
His knee-jerk reaction was to punch the side of her head, which knocked her unconscious. Standing over her, his face a mask of sweat and blood and fury, he took another pull off the flask, and uttered, “Too bad for you, foxy lady. Jimmy don’t wanna bang you no more. Now all I want is to kill you...”
*********
At the institution, Billings was studying a message sent to him by Carmine Ruffino. He stood over the inert form of Bobby Ray Smith, whose head was twisted limply at a ninety-degree angle.
"Any witnesses, Mister Fergus?" he asked, silently studying The Chiropractor's most recent handiwork.
"No," answered Fergus, "but you and I know who did it. And we know we'll play hell trying to prove it."
"Does Mister Atkins know about this?"
"Paged him twice, but haven't heard back yet."
"Call me as soon as you do." Transfixed, he stared at Smith's body. The message was blatantly clear: he and Atkins had gambled and lost. They had also failed to shut Adrian's mouth in time. There was no doubt that the whoever had killed the men assigned to silence Adrian, had also put Bobby Ray Smith to sleep. What had once seemed a grand scheme had backfired, and now the hunters had become the hunted. The only safe place for them now was inside the institution where they held all the aces. Once they set foot out in the free world they would be where Ruffino held the aces -- where nameless faces could dispatch them with calculated efficiency. It could happen anywhere at any time. Ruffino could fix it so they'd need a police escort to go from their bedroom to their bathroom. Every stranger would require a second look. Suddenly everything had crumbled and didn't seem worth the risk they had taken. It had now become a nightmare.
"Warden?" asked Fergus. No response. "Warden?" he asked again. Still no response. "Warden Billings, are you all right? Shall I get you some help?"
"No, no, I'm fine," said Billings, coming out of it.
"Shall we bring the body to the morgue?"
Billings looked stunned and sounded distant. "Yes. And make sure Mister Atkins calls me as soon as your reach him."
To Fergus, Billings no longer looked like a man in total control.
*********
Adrian tried not to worry, but it was a losing battle.
In the time that Jennifer had been visiting him she had missed only once, and had notified him in advance. Now she was two days overdue, and he hadn't heard a thing. She hadn't answered his calls to her apartment. He knew better than to worry about another man in her life. But there was something gnawing in the pit of his stomach...
When he could no longer fight it, he did something against his better judgment: he took his anxieties to Carmine Ruffino.
As he moved along the tier, he saw the now familiar faces of Ruffino’s bodyguards, Joey Massaglia and Tony Gioia.
Joey Massaglia – a.k.a. The Chiropractor - nodded as he approached. "Hi, Joey, how you doing?" Adrian asked.
"I'm doing," Massaglia answered. "What's up?"
"I need to see Mr. Ruffino if he's free. I've got a problem, and I was hoping he could help me out."
Without saying anything Massaglia went into the cell, then returned a moment later. Adrian was frisked, then motioned inside, followed closely by Massaglia.
The old man was at his desk, nursing a cup of espresso. He nodded to Adrian and gestured toward the other chair at the table.
"Hello," he said. "Sit down and take a load off. It's bad to have a load on your mind and your feet at the same time."
"Thanks, and thanks for seeing me."
Ruffino waved if off. "Think nothing of it. Besides, what's a little time shared among friends, especially in here. Hey, not bad, huh? What's a little 'time shared' in the joint, right? I shoulda been a comedian. So what’s with that troubled look?"
Adrian looked at him almost apologetically. He was reluctant to bother him, but his compulsion was overwhelming. "This may sound dumb, but I'm worried about my wife. I think something might have happened to her. Trouble is, I've got no way of finding out for sure. She missed her visit the other day, and I haven't been able to get her on the phone. It isn't like her to do that."
“That's it?" Ruffino asked in surprise. "That's the whole story?"
"Most of it. It probably doesn't sound like much, but it's really starting to eat at me."
"Adrian, don’t bullshit me. What's the rest of it?"
"The rest of it is Atkins," he blurted. "He tried to put a move on her one day, and she thinks he might have followed her home a few times. You know, stalking her. I'm afraid he might have done something to her."
"That makes a lot more sense," said Ruffino, shaking his head. "And if I was you, I'd be worried too. Sick fuck like him, no tellin' what he might do. Your wife a nice girl?"
Adrian smiled, sheepishly "Of course she's nice, she's Italian."
The old man laughed. "Give me her name and address, and I'11 have someone check things out."
Chapter Thirty
“Yo man, snap out of it," said Woodstock. "You’ve been messed up and fidgety all day. Damn near set me on fire with that pan of grease you spilled this morning. What's eating you?"
"Nothing I can't handle." The convict's famous battle cry, 'I can handle it'.
"Bullshit," he responded, wagging his finger. They were in Adrian's cell. "When something's buggin’ you, you read like a book. I'm not some chump, I'm your grill partner. What gives?"
Adrian didn't want to open up, so he lied. "Nothing. I guess I'm just sick of hearing metal doors go slam, and seeing a whole world full of guys all dressed the same, and having my whole world being the inside of this penitentiary. I miss my wife and son, I want out, that's all. Now get off my case."
Nazareth rose and stood near the edge of Adrian’s bunk. "Man, you so full of shit your eyes are brown. You touched on everthin' but the truth. You're a man with woman troubles if I ever saw one."
Adrian frowned at him. "You think you're pretty smart for an older guy, huh?"
"Of course I am. You don't get old without havin' somethin' going on. What'd she do, give up on you?"
"No, nothing like that. She missed our visit this week, and I haven't been able to get in touch with her. Something's wrong, I can feel it."
Just then the loud speaker blared, "Adrian Cabraal to Warden Billings' office. Cabraal to the Warden’s office."
"What'd you do now?" asked Nazareth.
"Who knows?" answered Adrian. "But I'll tell you one thing -- that feeling I have just got worse."
********
He walked through the corridors, deeply preoccupied, and not paying attention to his surroundings. If someone was waiting for him again, they better do it right, or he'd be dead before he hit the pavement. The frustration, the rage, and the general hostility that had been building for almost twenty months had finally reached a point where he felt like a walking volcano. Now, one of the people who had helped keep everything in check had vanished from his life without reason. Just as bad, that morning he had seen a line of graffiti on a rest room wall that read: I miss the sound of children laughing. It
made him think about Andy, and how much he missed him, how his time away from him could never be recovered. What were Paula and his grandparents telling him about Adrian’s absence? And Jen’s? She’d been going back to visit on a regular basis – something that had become almost as trying as her sabbatical out here – and if it wasn’t for the possibility of his making parole, she would likely have moved back. If he didn’t make it, she’d have to move back anyway. Her time away from home and Andy was taking its toll. How would he ever make it up to them?
The rest of his day had been a bust. Now, he was half hoping someone would give him the excuse to spill a little blood in the hallway. Jailhouse therapy they called it. Why not? Everyone else did it.
When he arrived at Billings' office he knocked once and walked in without waiting to be told. Inside, Billings and Atkins were waiting for him. For a change, his folder was nowhere in sight. Atkins stood facing the window, so he looked at Billings, who was seated at his desk.
"Okay, I'm here."
"My goodness, Mr. Cabraal, you sound testy. All must not be well."
"Don't worry about me, just tell me what you want. The game’s getting old."
"Very well, I want to negotiate a truce with Carmine Ruffino. And I want you to middle it for me."
"I don't know, Mr. Billings. I heard the last guy who tried something like that fell down and broke his neck."
"I wouldn't expect you to do something for nothing. Here, read this before you say no."
He slid two stapled sheets of paper across the desk.
Adrian picked them up, noting the institutional letterhead. He read the document, and studied the signature at the bottom of the second page. It was Billings'.
Rules of the Game Page 23
