East of the Sun

by Trey R. Barker

  “Excuse me?”

  He looked at her, stricken, and just blinked. “Crap, Salome, I’m sorry; that was stupid of me. It was just a joke. Shit. I’m really sorry.” His head lowered.

  Anger poured through her. Her hands balled to fists and her teeth ground against each other. “How could you say that?”

  “Jace, really, I’m sorry; it was—You know I don’t have no social skills. Hell, I lived with my parents ’til I was thirty. I only moved out when Dad died and Mom had to go to a home. I never learned . . . it doesn’t matter. It was stupid and I apologize.”

  Through gritted teeth, Jace slowed her breathing. “It’s fine, I guess. You are, after all, the guy who stares at my chest and ass, all in the name of protecting me. That’s just you. Like a puppy who can’t learn to pee on the newspaper.”

  His brows knitted together. “Uh . . . thanks?”

  They both managed a nervous laugh and she showed him the five-pound bag of unshelled peanuts and the Mountain Dew. “Welcome back, Sarge.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Uh . . . five pounds of nuts? From me and Rory. The Mountain Dew is from me . . . just because I thought you might need one.” She held the gifts out but he didn’t take them. “Superficially, it’s a welcome back. But I think it’s more of a thank-you. For not letting me die.”

  “Oh, that. Whatever.”

  Eventually, Bibb took the gifts. His face was thinner than it had been, and it fit unevenly on his bones. Puffy and blotchy cheeks were now gaunt and angular though his skin was still pale. His jowls were gone and a nose that had once been nearly lost in the middle of a marshmallow face was now an alpine ski jump over a pile of rocks. In fact, his entire body was lost in a memory of what it had been just a couple months ago.

  “Cruz was at the meeting. Asked me to look at the video,” Bibb said.

  “You won’t see anything until after Deputy Ezell found the body.”

  “I’m pretty good.”

  “I know you are, Sarge, but if there’s nothing there, there’s nothing there. I’d think this is going to throw a kink into Cruz getting those new contracts.”

  “Ya’ think?” Bibb nodded. “He’s babbling bullets about it right now. Hard to convince the inspectors your procedures are safe when your assistant gets killed. The Travis and Taylor County guys were at that meeting, too, and they didn’t look none too happy.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Should’a heard Cruz. ‘Wasn’t medical’s fault,’ and ‘That was facility security, not ours,’ and all kinds of other crap.”

  Again, Jace felt the disconnect between what she’d seen of Cruz the night before and what other people told her. Vernezobre said Cruz was a gentleman and that was all Jace had seen, but shuffling blame off on the jail staff was a crappy thing to do.

  “Has to save his company, I guess.”

  Jace hesitated, then said, “Are you sleeping at all?”

  He said nothing for a long moment. “Not really. Getting better, I guess. Can’t get the inmates outta my dreams, though. They run all over the damned place and every single one of the idjits looks like Badgett.”

  “Yeah.” Jace had told Bibb of her dreams. “Me, too. The go-between and that damned shack sort of morphed into each other. Kind of hard to tell where I am sometimes.”

  “You and me both, Salome. Welcome to law enforcement. Now get outta my room.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Every location. Show him every step Mercer took in this jail.

  By her next shift, Jace had decided to overwhelm Von Holton with details. She would show him every place Mercer had been housed at Zachary County Jail, and where he was—and was supposed to be—the night Wrubel was killed. Dillon wasn’t happy she was doing Von Holton’s job. He complained up the food chain but had gotten ignored. He wanted her to get Von Holton’s information as quickly as she could and get back in the jail rotation.

  She would start wherever Mercer was living now and make copies of all the in-pod logs and work backward to when he came through the sally-port door. Next, she would document each and every trip out of his housing pod to medical or the yard or wherever. Then a trip to medical to document exactly when he was seen and for what, and when he was released.

  When she was done, she could compare all that to Mercer’s master log, which was a log generated by data entry of everything relating to an inmate for that particular stay, including all visitors and phone calls, all commissary purchases, all disciplinary procedures and court appearances.

  —moving one . . . E edward to D david—

  E Pod was old men and the infirm. D Pod was discipline. Jace chuckled at the thought of an old man getting over on a jailer enough to be moved to the discipline pod.

  Ten minutes later, after a check of the main computer, Jace keyed her mic. “Control from 479 . . . ad-seg outer.”

  Immediately it popped open. When it closed behind her, the ad-seg inner door popped open and she stepped inside.

  “Schlomo besties, senorita,” Jimmson said from the jailer’s desk. “Urrea’s been teaching me Mexican. Paying him a few bucks here and there to teach me.”

  “Well, first of all, it’s Spanish, not Mexican. Second of all, it’s como estas, not schlomo besties, and third of all, get your money back.”

  Jimmson grinned. “Meaning?”

  Jace laughed. “Where’s Croft?”

  Jimmson pointed to the pod’s bathroom. It was in the day-use area and meant for prisoners when they were locked out of their cells during the day. Given that the toilets were for prisoner use, Jace had never been quite able to put her bottom on one.

  She headed for the desk, slipping around the backside of one of the large load-bearing posts because of a table and chairs that had been left out. Mostly the chairs were gathered around the table, though a few were scattered elsewhere. A checkers game, half-finished with four black kings against none for white, had been left on the table.

  “Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”

  Mercer screamed and pounded his cell door. The boom exploded through the pod, less than a foot from Jace. She jumped, her heart in her throat, and fell over one of the chairs.

  “Jimmson!”

  Her feet got tangled in the chair and for a split second—for a heartbeat—she was sure it was attacking her. She would feel metal fists, metal feet, a headbutt from a metallic aggressor. She tried to kick it away, certain Mercer was headed for her.

  Where is Rory?

  She hit the ground hard and bit through the tip of her tongue. Warm blood coated her tongue and her shoulder screamed as her arm got wrenched backward.

  Where the hell is she?

  Blood filled her head, heated and scared, and her legs were above her, caught in the chair’s legs and arms. She couldn’t see everything at once but she knew they were coming for her. They’d come from over there, and over there; from behind her and over the top of her. Inmates would beat her and kick her, stomp her out of existence. After that it would be the ERTs taking control of the pod. After the feet and fists of inmates she’d get batons and shields of fellow officers.

  This can’t be happening again.

  “You ain’t railroading me.” Mercer screamed and pounded against his cell door, his fist punctuating every word. “I didn’t fucking kill nobody.”

  “Mercer,” Jimmson yelled. “Shut the hell up. Ain’t nobody listening.”

  “I didn’t kill no freakin’ doctor.”

  Jace kicked the chair. Bolts of pain rocketed up through her duty boots. The chair blasted away, bounced off Mercer’s cell door.

  Mercer laughed madly. “Take more than that. You can’t shut me up that easy, bitch.”

  Scrabbling away from the chair, Jace tried to get her feet under her, to get up and fight back, but none of her limbs seemed to work right. They had minds of their own and they ignored her commands.

  “Jace. Take it easy. Everything’s cool.”

  “Everything ain’t cool. I ain’t taking no shot f
or killing nobody. Bitch, you ain’t railroading me.”

  Get hold of yourself. If they’re coming for you, you have to protect yourself. Get hold of yourself.

  She pushed away from the cell, away from the attacking prisoner, shoving herself across the floor until she was under the checkers table. The adrenaline dump was molten metal in her blood.

  Remember what it does to you . . . cuts your breathing . . . narrows your vision . . . makes you paranoid.

  Under the table, feeling somehow safe, like a puppy in a box with his back against two sides, she managed to breathe more deeply. Cool air chilled her throat and her head. She made a point of swivelling back and forth to see the entire pod.

  The chair was just a chair. None of the inmates were out, cell doors were not popping open. No one was coming for her. There was no shrieking alarm calling the ERTs to smash her and make her piss herself.

  Certain she was safe, she lay on the floor, staring up at the underside of the table. She heard Jimmson come to her while Mercer continued to howl from behind his locked cell door. Her chest heaved painfully.

  “Can I move the table?”

  She started laughing. Long and loud, loud enough to cover Mercer’s yelling.

  “What the hell?” He moved the table and stared down at her. “Are you dead? That why you’re being hysterical?”

  Her laugh petered out and she breathed long and deep. Her vision cleared and she felt her heart slow down. Eventually, she sat up. “What an idiot.”

  “You or him?” Jimmson pointed to Mercer.

  “He scared me to death. I’m such a dumbass.” She laughed again and knew it was the last bit of adrenaline slipping away from her. It was a nervous laugh and even that struck her as funny. “I knew they were locked down.”

  “Have been since before I got here. That’s how efficient I am.” Jimmson helped her up. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She tried to laugh it off again even as she tasted humiliation on the back of her throat and felt it in the embarrassment filling her cheeks. “Just me being stupid.”

  “Stupid? Hardly. I thought that son of a gun had gotten out.” Jimmson’s voice rose on the last word. “I thought he was killing you. Holy crap—scared me to death.” He chuckled. “Well, not killing you because, obviously, you’re so tough.”

  Jace shook her head. “You know, I hear the right words, but I think I hear a bit of . . . sarcasm?”

  “Maybe.”

  “All fun and games with you assholes?” Mercer pounded on his cell door again. “I’m telling you I didn’t kill the doctor. You can’t pin it on me.”

  “Okay, Mercer. We hear you. Nobody’s pinning anything on anyone. Now shut up.”

  “Fuck you. You can’t tell me what to do.” He fell silent and stared at Jace. “You ain’t sticking me with this killing, I don’t care what you think; I didn’t do it.”

  Jace stood slowly. “I don’t think anything, Mercer. I’m just doing paperwork.”

  “Bullshit.” Mercer’s voice rose. “You’re investigating me. He told me so. Told me you were gonna put the needle in my arm yourself.”

  The walk to his cell door was a short distance, maybe twenty feet, but she took it slowly. Her legs were weak, her knees watery, her hands still shaking. “Who told you that?”

  She stopped about two feet beyond his cell door. It wasn’t barred, like in the movies, but was solid. There was a chuck hole about halfway down through which items could be passed, and a narrow window about halfway up.

  “Who told you I was going to execute you?”

  “That fucking detective. I don’t know his damned name.”

  Jimmson said, “Von Holton was in here when I got here, talking to Mercer.”

  Von Holton had talked to Mercer? Anger bit Jace from the back of her throat, nipped at her heels like a small, yappy mutt. Von Holton had set her up, filling Mercer’s head with crap. Even had Jace never come in here for records, Mercer would have been looking for her. Maybe he’d have come after her in the yard or while going to court or back to medical. Von Holton had put Jace squarely in the sights of a man who’d already shown he was capable of murder.

  Jace tried to keep her voice calm. “Mercer, I’m not a detective. I don’t pin anything on anyone. Von Holton asked me to gather some paperwork, yes, on you, and deliver it to him. He’s the one looking into this mess.”

  Mercer’s face was as tight as a drum, his shirtless torso slick with sweat. “That’s crap. You’re trying to put it off on him.”

  “Mercer, come on, you’re smarter than that.” Jace stepped up next to the door, as close as she could get to his face. She wanted him to see her as plainly as possible. “How is a jailer, and I haven’t even been here a year yet, going to take an investigation over a detective who’s got . . . I don’t know . . . thirty years on?”

  Mercer was silent, though Jace could see one of his fists through the window. It hovered at his chest.

  “Jimmson. How long have I been here?”

  “Since April.”

  “And Von Holton?”

  “Forever.”

  “Does he let anyone take his cases?”

  Jimmson laughed.

  “Mercer, listen to me. Von Holton came to talk to you because he’s the investigating officer and he thought he’d have some fun with me at your expense. Do I think you did it? Yes. Am I the investigating officer? No.”

  “I didn’t do it.” His voice had gone soft, almost delicate. Gone was his anger and screaming. Gone was his fist, now it was just a hand that played at the back of his neck. “I didn’t kill nobody. I’m just in on a cheap warrant. I ain’t a player and I didn’t kill nobody.”

  Jace took a deep breath and gave Jimmson a small nod. Jimmson returned the nod and wandered back to the jailer’s desk.

  “You think I did it?”

  “The evidence says you did.”

  “The evidence is bullshit, then, ’cause I never even left medical. What . . . I’m gonna get out of holding, out of the pod, down the hall, knife him, come back to medical, get back in the pod, and put myself back in holding? They put me in holding after you guys came storming in and they didn’t let me out until the day after he was dead. I. Never. Left. Medical.”

  Jace chewed that over. It was, basically, the same argument she’d used on Von Holton to convince him it couldn’t be just any inmate. “You threatened him.”

  “Yeah, I did that. I was pissed off. He wouldn’t give me my meds. Every time I get picked up I go through this crap. I never ask for anything but my asthma meds and every damn time it has to get approved. Hell, I’m up in this bitch just about every other month. Just keep what I need in that meds cabinet; you guys know I’m coming back.”

  “I hear you, I really do.” She tried on a small smile. “Dude, I work here and they won’t stock the soda I like so what are they going to do for you?”

  He chuckled. “Ain’t that the shitting truth. Look, I got mad and yelled and knocked the computer over and whatever. That’s fine . . . charge me.” He stood up straight and faced her dead on through the door window. “But I didn’t kill him. I’m not a killer.”

  She waited for his eyes to leave hers, for him to sweat or fidget or fill in the silences. She watched for all the things guilty inmates did but she saw none of it. After a few seconds of staring at each other, wariness crept into his eyes.

  “Ask.”

  “Huh?”

  “You got a question. Ask.”

  She swallowed, unsure. “I keep hearing about drugs being smuggled into the jail. I wonder if you can help me with that.”

  A smirk slipped across his face. “ ’Cause I got a bit of a problem, you mean? Got myself a little addiction?”

  “I’m not judging.” She leaned in close. “Look, I’m trying to work my way up, you know? That’s why I’m doing a little work for Von Holton.” She winked. “Got to suck up to move up, you know? So I’m just wondering if you can help me notch my belt a little.”

 
He laughed. “You guys are all assholes. Don’t want to give me my meds but have no problem asking me to rat. I ain’t no rat, but I’ll tell you this: You wanna stop some of the smuggling and selling? Don’t be looking just at inmates. Be looking higher up the food chain, know what I mean? Not way far up, just a little up.”

  “Mercer, just tell me.”

  He laughed. “No, thanks.”

  Eventually, she nodded. “Tell you what; I’m going to gather the paperwork that Von Holton asked me for, but I’ll sit down with him. I’ll tell him you never left medical and he’ll look into it. That’s the best I can do. I’m just a jailer, remember.”

  “That ain’t gonna get’cha any more information.”

  “These are two separate things. One does not affect the other.”

  He nodded. “You promise you’ll talk to him? ’Cause I didn’t do it.”

  “Absolutely. You have my word.”

  Again his gaze descended on her, harsh and brutal and tough, but also vulnerable. It reminded Jace of Mama and for a moment, Jace couldn’t breathe.

  Eventually, Mercer nodded. “Fine, then. Good night, Deputy.”

  “Good night, Mercer.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Rory, badge number 456 and RC30, bounced into the break room, light on her feet. “ ’S up?”

  Jace plunged right in. “Mercer said he didn’t do it.”

  Rory’s step stopped mid-bounce. She spun, a rusty pirouette, from her ballet days as a little girl, and bowed deep from her hips. “He didn’t.” She rose. “I did. Took my little girl-scout pocket knife and sliced him all to pieces.”

  Jace frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Sitting, Rory became serious. “Jace, everybody says everything. You know that. You’ve been doing this long enough. Everybody in the Zachary County Jail is innocent, didn’t you know that?”

  Jace shook her head dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I know, what I’m saying is . . . I believe him.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because of you.” Jace explained how she had watched for Mercer’s tells: for fidgeting and sweating, for increased breathing, for his jugular pounding harder with an increased heart rate, inability to speak clearly without hesitation, all those tells Rory had taught her to watch for. “I didn’t see any of them.”