by Brenda Novak
“How you feelin’?”
It was the blond C.O. who’d been conferring with the other guard in the corner.
Virgil didn’t want to be perceived as friendly to the C.O.s. He knew that wouldn’t help his cause. And he needed some space, some privacy to deal with the way he was feeling. So he gave the guy a look that told him to piss off. “You must be bored, because I can’t imagine you’re really concerned.”
He didn’t react like Virgil expected. The guy stepped inside his cell, something most C.O.s avoided without backup, and whispered, “You’re doin’ great, making it all very believable.”
A shot of adrenaline alleviated some of Virgil’s light-headedness. “What are you talking about?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were legit.”
“What?”
“Peyton sent me. She wanted me to tell you that if you ever have any info to pass along, you can trust me. I’ll handle it for you.”
Could that be true? Peyton hadn’t mentioned taking a C.O. into her confidence. And Buzz had just indicated this guard could be bought. But if she hadn’t told him, who had?
Virgil wanted to admit he needed a doctor, but Buzz’s words of a few minutes ago stopped him. He couldn’t trust this guy. “Get outta here,” he said with as much attitude as possible. “You got the wrong guy.”
The C.O.—Hutchinson from his name tag—glanced over his shoulder before continuing. “See?” he whispered, eyes alight with excitement. “You’re so damn believable! I think this was a great idea!”
Virgil waved him away. “You’re nuts, man. Certifiable. I don’t even know who Peyton is.”
“Right.” He winked. “I’ll be around if you need me.”
As the C.O. wandered off, Virgil tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. But spots danced before his eyes. The dizziness had returned, all the worse for that momentary reprieve. He had to steady himself with a hand against the wall so he wouldn’t sink to the floor.
While he was standing there, gathering his strength, he realized that his wound was bleeding again. He was staring at the blood when he heard Buzz talking to someone as he approached the cell.
Turning so his cell mate wouldn’t see the growing red stain on his shirt, he dropped onto his bunk rather than lowering himself as gingerly as he was tempted to do. Then he paid the price for showing off. Pain burned deep, like a ball of fire, so intense it made him nauseous.
Was his wound getting infected? Prisons weren’t the cleanest institutions in the world….
He knew he should see the doctor.
He also knew he wouldn’t even ask.
28
Rick sat on Peyton’s deck, his chair pushed close to the house so he could be sheltered by the eaves. A steady drizzle had begun a few minutes earlier. Wearing his heavy overcoat with the collar turned up, he stared out at a gray, churning sea, tapping his foot on the wood planking. Waiting…waiting…waiting. He’d spent most of the afternoon in meetings with the warden on various issues, going over CDCR mandates, but they had no more business to conduct, so there was no excuse to stay over another day. As soon as the warden left for the night, Rick had climbed into his car to head back to Sacramento and made the mistake of answering a call from Mercedes. They’d screamed at each other about their children, their house, their assets and who was at fault for the failure of their marriage until he couldn’t tolerate the sound of her voice any longer and had hung up—only to hear from his mother immediately afterward. He’d answered that call hoping she’d have some sympathy for him. She and Mercedes had never been close. Instead, she expressed sadness for his girls and pleaded with him to fight for his marriage, to seek counseling, to hang on at all costs.
Mercedes is a supportive wife and a good mother. You don’t throw away a woman like that. Where do you think you’re going to find someone more devoted to you and those kids than she is?
He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to learn how badly she regretted her own divorce, either. It was too late for him to change course. He hated Mercedes with a passion, felt he must’ve hated her for years and never known it. When he pictured her face, her body, he cringed. How could he have been so blind? Why had it taken him so long to consider Peyton as a viable alternative instead of an extramarital temptation? If only he’d realized sooner, before she’d met Virgil….
He’d gotten seventy-four miles down Highway 1, as far as Trinidad, before turning back. As much as he wanted to see his girls, he couldn’t bring himself to go home. He knew how nasty it would get with Mercedes. He also knew, if he left town now, he’d lose Peyton for good, which pretty much took care of his dream of coming out of this mess better off than before.
He wasn’t willing to live with no. He’d never had an honest chance with Peyton. Surely, now that he was cutting himself free of everything that’d held him back, he could beat out a thug like Virgil Skinner. Virgil had nothing to offer a woman, except beefcake.
“It won’t last,” he muttered aloud. She was just acting out some kind of captor fantasy. Maybe she was even punishing him for leaving her lonely for so long. And he’d made the situation worse by handling it with less sensitivity than he should have.
He hoped to make it up to her. He wished she’d come home so they could talk. Every minute that passed made him fear she was having sex with Virgil again, and that whipped him into a jealous frenzy. Why was she so attracted to Skinner? He was arrogant and uncouth and hard to know. He didn’t have two nickels to rub together. He had a terrible past. He couldn’t trust anyone, would never open up.
Maybe Virgil was well-endowed. Maybe he was such a good lover she couldn’t resist him….
Quit it. That was insecurity talking.
He checked his watch. Nearly nine o’clock. Would Peyton stay at the prison all night?
He was thinking he might have to drive over there to see what was going on when his cell phone rang. The area code told him the call originated in L.A., but he didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
“Is this Rick Wallace with the CDC?” A voice as unfamiliar as it was raspy grated in his ear.
“Yes…”
“Good, because I’d like to make you an offer.”
“Who is this?” he asked in confusion.
“I could be your best friend. Or I could be your worst enemy. Your choice.”
Oblivious of the rain that had bothered him just a few minutes earlier, Rick got to his feet. “I have no idea what that means.”
“Maybe this will help. We want Virgil Skinner. Tell us where he’s at, and we’ll make it worth your while.”
“You’re from The Crew?” He’d never anticipated this.
“I’ve obviously reached the right person.”
They knew he was involved. How? Where were they getting their information? “Who gave you my number?”
“The little girl I just spoke to at your house. For security reasons, you really should get an unlisted number.”
When he chuckled, Rick imagined one of his daughters reciting all seven digits of his cell number to whoever asked, so proud that she could remember it. The people who’d killed Laurel’s babysitter, the men who’d attempted to kill Eddie Glover, had just contacted one of his children!
Nausea made him gag. “You better not have—”
The man on the other end cut him off. “It was just a call. For now.”
What did for now mean? Was his family in danger? Would The Crew make him and those he loved a target? He’d never dreamed they’d be that bold. He was on the administration side of corrections. He never dealt with actual convicts, not on a day-to-day basis. And he’d certainly never been threatened. “What, exactly, are you saying?”
“I’m telling you we’re going to find Virgil Skinner one way or the other. If you make it easy for us, we’ll throw you a few Gs for your trouble and you’ll never hear from us again.”
Blinking against the rain, Rick held a hand to his chest as if he
could slow the beating of his heart. “Why do you think I can tell you where he is?”
“Come on! We’re not playing games.”
Lying wouldn’t work. They already knew too much. And it was a waste of time to ask this man to divulge his source, because he wouldn’t.
“What do you say, Mr. Wallace? You like your comfy life, don’t you? You like feeling safe at night.”
Rick remembered how The Crew had terrorized Laurel before he got her out of Florence. How they’d managed to track her down even after she was in protective custody. The gang was a lot more organized and resourceful than he ever would’ve guessed. And now, after killing Trinity Woods and Marshal Keegan, wounding Eddie Glover and attempting to murder Laurel and her kids, they were at his house!
Operation Inside had seemed like such a good solution when he’d first come up with it. He’d considered it a creative way to make a name for himself, felt it would be a stepping-stone to bigger and better things. Now he was afraid of where it all might end. Peyton had tried to tell him, but he hadn’t listened. It’d been a mistake to bring Virgil here. Maybe, given enough time, Virgil would be able to provide the evidence to convict whoever had ordered the hit on Garcia, but there were no guarantees. And that chance wasn’t worth risking the lives of his girls. Or spending the rest of his life looking over his shoulder. Or losing Peyton to a man who wasn’t worthy of her.
Even if she wouldn’t have him, he didn’t want her to be with Virgil.
“I need an answer,” the guy pressed.
Rick squeezed his eyes closed. With just two words— Pelican Bay—Virgil would no longer be a problem to him, and the threat posed by Virgil’s low-life friends would be gone. It’d almost be as if he’d never gotten involved in this.
“Five Gs, Mr. Wallace. Think of the kind of family vacation that can buy.”
“I don’t want your money,” he snapped. And it was true. That would only create a tie between him and The Crew, a tie others might discover. If he simply gave this man what he wanted, who would be the wiser? Then everything that’d gone so wrong since he started this whole thing would instantly improve.
He didn’t have any option, he told himself. They’d find Virgil, anyway. It would be better if it happened before anyone else got hurt. Virgil was the one who’d joined The Crew in the first place. He’d understood the risks: blood in, blood out.
“He’s in Pelican Bay.”
“What’s he doing there?”
This answer was more difficult. Rick knew what it might mean. The Hells Fury would have a greater chance of reaching Virgil than The Crew….
But remembering Virgil standing in Peyton’s office, tall and proud despite his cuffs and chains, and knowing that he was taking what Rick had warned him not to take was too much. Rick had the chance to strike back, and he took it. “We put him there to investigate the Hells Fury, to tell us who killed Judge Garcia in Santa Rosa,” he said, and hung up.
If he’s such a good fighter, let him fight his way out of that….
Shady smiled as he punched the end-call button on his phone. “We’ve got him!” he announced to Horse and Meeks.
Don “Meeks” Mechem sat in the converted garage across from Horse. An older member of the gang, still physically fit but already gray at forty-five, he’d mostly gone legit. If not for Pointblank’s death, he probably wouldn’t have requested a meeting. He didn’t show up at regular events. But Pointblank had been like a kid brother to him, and he wasn’t taking his murder lightly. “And now Skin’s going to pay,” he said.
Horse held up his drink in a toast. “For Pointblank.”
“And Ink,” Shady added. Although no one particularly liked Ink well, he’d become as much a reason for revenge as Pointblank. In some ways, Pointblank had been the luckier of the two. According to Ink’s doctors, he wasn’t going to come out of the hospital the same as he was before being shot. He was currently on a respirator with tubes going in every direction, had nearly died twice. If he survived, he’d be unable to walk. And to top it all off, once he healed, he’d have to stand trial for what he did to those prostitutes, as well as answer for his part in all the other violence. That meant he’d likely get a life sentence. Or two or three.
What had happened at the safe house was a bad deal. But there were some positives that’d come out of it, at least when they looked at the big picture. The Crew hadn’t seen this much solidarity in two years. Shady could feel the members rallying behind him, as their leader, while he worked to avenge their fallen comrades—and he loved every minute of it. Everyone was on the hunt for Virgil and Pretty Boy; everyone was putting out feelers, checking contacts and reporting because they were all determined to make Virgil and Pretty Boy pay for turning on them.
“How do we handle it?” Horse asked, after draining his glass.
Shady wished he could blow Virgil’s head off himself. He knew nothing would make him look better to the rest of the gang than that. But Skin was in prison, which meant Shady couldn’t get access to him. Someone else would have to do the honors, someone on the inside. The question was, who?
“We drive up to Crescent City, meet with Detric Whitehead and form an alliance with the HF,” he said.
“Shit, do you know how far that is?” Horse complained. “It’s like…fourteen hours!”
“You’re worried about your time?” Meeks growled. “When Ink’s in the hospital and could die at any second? And Pointblank’s being buried this week?”
Horse’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m in. Of course I’m in.”
“There’s no need for all three of us to go to Crescent City,” Shady said. “Someone’s gotta take care of things around here. And we still have to find Pretty Boy. He’ll probably come to L.A.”
Stretching out his long legs, Horse crossed them at the ankle. “So you want me to stay?”
“Yeah. Find him while we’re gone.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“When do we leave?” Meeks asked Shady.
Slamming his empty glass onto the table, Shady scooped up the keys to his truck. “What’s wrong with tonight? We play our cards right, we can get there before visiting hours tomorrow afternoon.”
Meeks heaved himself to his feet. “Who we gonna see?”
“Detric Whitehead,” Shady replied. “Like I said.”
When Peyton spotted Rick’s car in her drive, she felt her temper rise. This time she was going to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he had to go. She didn’t care what it meant for her job. No boss had the right to do what he was doing. She’d sue him for sexual harassment, if necessary.
But before she could reach the deck and confront him, he hurried down the steps and brushed past her with a comment about having to get home.
“You’re leaving for Sacramento?” She shaded her face from the rain. “This late?”
Ducking his head, he unlocked his car and tossed his briefcase inside. “Yeah, listen, I waited around for a bit, hoping to talk to you. I know I’ve been acting like an ass lately. And I’m sorry. Truly. We’ll have a conversation on the phone tomorrow. I just remembered that…there’s something I’ve got to do.”
“No problem.” She was so eager to have him gone she didn’t question his rush—until after he’d driven off. Then she wondered what he’d been doing for the past four hours. She knew he’d left the prison shortly after the warden because that was what the C.O. at the guard shack had told her. She’d thought he’d already left town, as well; that was why it had come as such a surprise to find him at her house. But if he wanted to drive back to Sacramento, why didn’t he get an earlier start?
She had no idea, but she didn’t really care.
Breathing a huge sigh of relief at finally having her house to herself, she ran up the stairs to let herself in. She’d grabbed a bite to eat on the way home. Now she craved a nice long shower and a good night’s sleep. She wasn’t sure she could manage the sleep part—she was on edge, worried about
Virgil and probably would be the whole time he was inside—but she knew she had to try.
Her cell phone buzzed on the bathroom counter while she was standing beneath the hot spray. Normally, she would’ve ignored it, returned the call once she got out. But it was late for a sales call or anything like that, and the memory of Virgil using a contraband cell phone had her getting out dripping wet.
Sure enough, this call was from the same number.
“Hello?” she said, breathless with hope and anticipation.
No one answered.
“Hello?” she said again.
“Who is this?” a voice responded.
Buzz! Her heart nearly seized in her chest. Fear urged her to hang up, but she couldn’t. That wouldn’t be doing Virgil any favors. Getting back in the shower with the water running, she closed the door so the noise and echo would help camouflage her voice and pretended to be someone much coarser and bolder. “Who’s this?” she snapped back.
Her answer got no response, but Buzz was still listening. She could sense him on the other end of the line.
“Where’s Simeon?” she asked.
“Sleeping,” Buzz said, and then he was gone.
Peyton stood shaking in the shower long after Buzz hung up. Had he fallen for her act? Or had he recognized her voice?
What was he going to do?
Rex had no answers. He’d returned to Los Angeles because that was the only city he could call home, but he couldn’t go to any of the houses or bars that were familiar to him. The Crew owned or frequented those places, and he knew what would happen if he showed his face. No doubt they’d already put out an order to shoot him on sight.
He did have one thing going for him. He hated his family and everyone knew it, so it was unlikely that gang members would threaten them. Virgil was his only family, really, and The Crew had been after Virgil before Rex defected. What he’d done wasn’t going to affect anything.
