by Nesly Clerge
Sunshine filtered through the security glass of the high small window in Starks’s hospital room. The sky was cloudless.
He pushed the tray table away, having eaten every bite of breakfast.
Like a last meal.
At nine o’clock, Ana Ramirez knocked, called his name from the doorway then came all the way into the room.
“Mr. Starks, you look healthy, and strong.”
“I feel pretty good. Especially now that I see your lovely face.”
Ana blushed and studied her shoes.
A quick glance in the mirror across the room from him reflected mussed hair and stubble. “I didn’t know if you’d come or not. Sorry I’m not more presentable.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m sure I don’t look so good myself. I’m just off my shift. Dropped by before I go home and get some sleep.”
“Even after working all night you look better than I do.”
“Flattery and charm.”
“If we’d met years ago, you’d have been the only woman in my life.”
“I would’ve considered myself fortunate.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“Why?”
“Humor me. Please.”
“July 24.”
“What year?”
“I’m thirty-three. Why do you want to know?”
“I promise my intentions are honorable. You’re a respectable woman, Ana. And I want to do something to thank you for all you did, and for your kindness.”
“There’s no need to do anything. Just did what I was supposed to.” She checked her watch.
“You need to leave.”
“Sorry I can’t stay longer. I’m back on shift tonight. I have errands to run and I need to sleep.”
“Is it okay if I give you a hug?”
“It’s not allowed, because…”
“I won’t tell if you won’t. It’ll be the only hug I’ve had for a while. The only one I’ll have for a very long time.”
Ana leaned over, giving him a solid hug, though not a lingering one.
“I wish you the best.” She knocked for the door to be unlocked then waved before pulling the door closed behind her.
Starks had showered the night before and didn’t feel like shaving. He put on the blue scrubs the hospital had provided for him. The yellow scrubs he’d arrived in, he’d learned, had been bagged and returned to the prison as evidence, along with his shoes. He slipped the skid-proof socks on that all patients received and waited.
And he put his mind to work.
CHAPTER 72
“STRIP.”
“Seriously? You guys just hauled me here from the hospital. I was searched before I could leave my room.”
“Gotta follow procedure.”
Starks huffed, and with compressed lips, removed all garments, revealing multiple ruby scars puckering his skin.
Officer Roberts whistled low at the sight. Other guards in the area stared and murmured comments.
Starks held his arms straight out to the side and turned in a slow circle. “Go ahead,” he said. “Get an eyeful.”
Roberts said to the gawkers, “Show’s over.” To Starks, he said with less of a bite to his tone, “Bend over.”
“Do you understand that’s going to hurt like hell? Do you care?”
“Gotta do it.”
Starks bent over slowly, sucking in his breath from the pain. He rested his hands on his knees and cursed when a gloved finger was slipped inside.
“Open your mouth.”
He did as instructed, fixing his gaze on the assisting CO who used a small flashlight to look inside his mouth.
“He’s clean.”
The guard pointed to a nearby metal table. “New scrubs. New shoes. Get dressed.”
“No disinfecting shower?”
“Not this time.”
Roberts went along the built-in shelves that lined one wall and pulled out bedding, a pillow, extra scrubs, and toiletries from various shelves, stacking these in Starks’s arms to carry. He motioned for Jakes to join them, told him which cell to escort their prisoner to.
The last thing handed to Starks was a small box. It contained his few personal items that someone had packed after he’d been sent to the hospital.
“Officer Jakes will take you to your new cell.”
Starks wasn’t as yet out of earshot when he heard one of the other guards say, “Don’t think he’ll be going shirtless at the beach when he gets out. That’s a lot of scars, man.”
Roberts replied, “Tip of the iceberg. You can bet the real damage goes deeper.”
CHAPTER 73
IT WAS A different cell in a different block, and it came with a different cellmate.
Jakes motioned for Starks to go in but stayed outside. “I’ll let you introduce yourselves,” he said then left.
The inmate was African-American, and looked to be around forty, but Starks had never been good at guessing people’s ages. The man was reading a real book, not a comic book, which Starks hoped was a good sign.
He studied Starks for a moment then grinned. “Name’s Ronald Jackson. I know who you are. Nearly everyone here does.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“Just saying.”
Starks stared at the empty upper bunk, debating whether or not to ask for or insist on the lower one. Every movement still brought pain. The idea of having to climb up and down to get into and out of bed didn’t appeal to him. The idea of letting anyone know how weakened his condition still was appealed even less. Plus, the P.T. guy had explained that normal range of motion, along with the exercises he’d learned, might hurt but would help get rid of the stiffness in the mended tissues and skin, as long as he didn’t overdo it. As he’d told Demory, he wasn’t going to use the prescription for painkillers, unless there was no other choice and only at night when he was locked in his cell.
Starks used the chair to stand on to pile everything in his arms on the upper bunk then climbed up. He stacked his extra clothing on the shelf mounted to the wall, made his bed then eased onto his back, hoping his cellmate would go back to reading so he could catch a nap. Exhaustion was setting in, and he wanted to escape the pain for a while.
“I’m a mentalist,” Jackson said. This got no response. “What’s that, you didn’t ask? I’m like a magician. I read minds.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“Check it out.” Jackson hopped up and grabbed the deck of cards on the table next to his bed. Fanning the cards face-down in his hand, he said, “Pick a card.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Let me just show you…” He shuffled the cards several times then pulled a card from the deck, looked at it then showed it to Starks.
“Queen of Hearts, right? That’s what you picked, isn’t it?”
Starks fixed his gaze on the card, the card he’d thought of, even though he hadn’t meant to. “Don’t make me tell you again to leave me alone.”
“I was right, though. Wasn’t I?”
Starks turned on his side and looked out his part of the window.
Jackson stayed where he was. “That’s why I’m in here. Used my talent to trick people out of their money.”
“Good for you.”
“Started playing for bigger stakes with… certain people. Just tricked the wrong person.”
“I’m not interested. And you’re not listening.”
“I get it. You have trust issues. Who wouldn’t, right? I mean, your wife cheated on you. People close to you betrayed you. Your last cellmate was a piece of work. And… ha! You really like that nurse that took care of you.”
Starks rolled over and said, “Who the hell’s feeding you information?”
Jackson held his hands up and backed up a few feet. “I told you. I’m a mentalist. We don’t reveal our secrets.”
Starks moved to get down from his bunk, but stayed where he was when Jackson said, “Hey, for you, I’ll make an exception.”
He use
d his right forefinger to tick off fingers on his left hand as he spoke.
“First, your story was all over the news, including how your wife’s cheating made you go after that guy. Yeah, some of us in here read. Not smart how you did it, though—you got caught. But, attaboy. Second, there are very few secrets in this place. Third, you attacked Big Bo. That was big fucking news. Fourth, despite the code of silence and the crowd ploy they used, security videos showed Weasel was the one who attacked you. After that,” he shrugged, “too many bodies to see who was doing what. He was the only one they could pin anything on. He’s a blabbermouth, which is how I learned a few other things about you before the shit hit the chow hall fan. Nobody in here keeps their trap shut when they’re under Big Bo’s thumb or if they think knowing stuff will put them in good with others. And in case you’re interested, Weasel’s been in isolation since that day.” He laughed. “On a diet of nutraloaf.”
“They went too easy on him.”
“And, fifth,” he pressed his finger to his thumb, “you think I’m gonna betray you, too. Wanna know why?”
“Enlighten me.”
“You’d be a fool not to think that. Not after all that went down.”
“Glad we got that settled. Now, leave me alone.”
“No problemo.” Jackson crawled into his bunk, picked up his book and waited.
“How’d you know about the nurse?”
Jackson chuckled and got back up. “I have a sensitive nose. Her scent is still on you. Not strong, but there. Only one place that happened and it wasn’t here. You see,” Jackson continued, “that’s why men are seldom good at cheating. They forget how a woman’s scent clings to skin.”
He aimed a forefinger at his temple. “They don’t think with this head.” He pointed to his crotch. “They think with this one.”
Starks shrugged. “Parlor tricks.”
“Okay. What about this? Close your eyes and think back.”
“You can forget closing my eyes.”
“Then just stare at a point on the ceiling.”
“If it’ll get you to shut up. Fine. I’m staring.”
“That test you took in school… remember how disappointed you were when you got that low score?”
“There was only one low score ever. How’d you know about that?”
“I didn’t. I made a general statement. Who doesn’t get at least one low or bad grade in his life, right? That’s called misdirection. Phony psychics use it all the time. There’s all kinds of general statements you can make to get people talking. Listen,” Jackson continued, “it’s about being observant. It’s about watching facial expressions, mannerisms, body language, reactions. Do that and you learn how to read people without them realizing you’re doing it.”
“That’s a handy skill. Now tell me about the card trick.”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” Jackson laughed.
Starks didn’t.
“Sorry, man. Wrong choice of words.” Jackson kicked at his bunk. “All that card trick is, is another form of misdirection. Misdirection is what life’s based on.”
“I don’t follow.”
“You went to school to become an engineer, right?” Starks nodded. “People wanted you to focus on good grades and everything that goes with that, and you did. But the real focus was always on what comes later: money, prestige, rewards. You follow?”
“Not really.”
“What do you call an engineering major who graduated last in his class?”
“A failure.”
Jackson laughed. “Nah, man. You call him an engineer. He gets his degree and people think they’re hiring one kind of engineer, when they’re hiring another kind. Misdirection. It wears all kinds of masks.”
“You make it sound like there’s a thread of logic in there, but I’m not up to pulling that thread to see where it leads. I need to rest. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop talking.”
“One last thing. I think you’re a man who knows how to settle a score. I know you don’t trust me—probably won’t trust anyone in here ever again—but it’s just possible, when you’re ready, that I can help you settle that score.” Jackson scratched at his scalp. “I was one happy dude when I heard we’d be sharing a cell.”
Starks hesitated a moment then said, “Whatever.”
Starks clasped his hands behind his head on the pillow.
Jackson had mentioned trust several times to him. It seemed like every time he trusted someone, they betrayed him. Eventually. Jeffrey was the only person who’d never done that or given him a reason to doubt him. And in here, Demory was the only person he could trust, though he preferred to remain a bit cautious about that, as well. The counselor was nice and all, but he was on their payroll, not his.
He rolled over, punched his pillow into shape.
Jackson was right about his intention to settle the score. If he didn’t, he’d either be killed a lot sooner than later or become a repeat victim in this place. A bit over fourteen more years in that role wasn’t going to happen.
Frederick Starks might get knocked down but he doesn’t stay down.
Not as long as he can still get up.
It was time for a new Starks to emerge. One more focused on winning, as he’d been before coming here. How to accomplish this still needed to be figured out, but he was good at that.
Bo or Lawson, or some other gang member, would go after him again. He was as certain of that as he was that his scars would never disappear. It probably didn’t look good on their resumes that after all they’d done to him, he’d survived.
Jackson had demonstrated some skills it would benefit him to learn.
The big question was this: was Jackson just another one of Bo’s hired help?
He made a point of not changing his shirt where Jackson could see his scars. He wasn’t ready for that yet. Soon, he’d have to hit the shower. He wasn’t ready for that yet, either. Sponge-baths would have to do. It wasn’t just the idea of being gawked at, it was how vulnerable he’d feel—still felt—without protection in the shower. Something had to be done about that, as soon as he figured out what to do. His shank was long gone. Getting a new weapon would be nearly impossible.
He could hear his grandfather telling him, “Choose your weapons carefully, Freddy. Use your imagination.”
CHAPTER 74
STARKS IGNORED WHISPERS and stares as he waited his turn for a phone.
He tried not to fidget like the anxious man he was, even though his muscles tightened and his scars throbbed and itched. After ten minutes he was finally able to hear the voice of the person he most wanted to talk to.
Jeffrey let out a whoop. “Welcome back to the land of the living. How the hell are you, bro?”
“Better than I was. Guess I’m not that easy to kill.”
“Man, when I heard you were dead—”
“Wait. You what?”
“Yeah. Demory called me with the news. Everyone freaked and—”
“Christ. He didn’t tell me that. Wait until I see him again.”
“He fucked up, for sure, but don’t be too hard on him. That’s what he was told, like a few seconds before finding out his kid needed emergency surgery. Soon as he heard you were actually in a coma, he called everyone and made it right. Well, as right as he could.”
“My family. My kids! Crap. They had to be scared. Are they okay?”
“All good. Worried about you. Everyone wants to visit, including Kayla.”
“As far as for Kayla, tell her I said no. Regarding my family: Not yet. You can tell them I called and that I’m well. For now, at least.”
“What’s that ‘for now’ business?”
“I know who attacked me and who was behind the set-up. I don’t think they’re going to crawl into a dark corner and leave me alone.”
“They’re not still walking around, are they? You reported them, right?”
“Not how it’s done here.”
“What’re you gonna do?”
“Roadblock, because he’s an ex-con. Not that they don’t allow ex-cons to visit. But then the attack on you happened and a big red stop-sign went up.”
“That’s unfortunate but not insurmountable. See if you can meet with him. Tonight, if you can. Get him to tell you what he did to protect himself while he was in prison. Anything he can suggest will help, even if he thinks it won’t. Then visit me as soon as possible.”
“I’m on it.”
“One more thing. Ana Ramirez was one of my trauma nurses at Grace. She went out of her way to be more than nice to me.” He gave Jeffrey the details he’d gathered from her. “Get Jim to investigate what went on when they were married and what’s going on with her now. Tell him there’s a bonus of a grand if he can get it done before you come here.”
“What’s this about?”
“I take care of people who take care of me.”
“You always did.”
Starks ended the call then turned to head back to his cell. It was unsettling to have to wait longer than he liked for information and action. He’d always delegated whatever tasks he could or should, and staff learned quickly that it paid to deliver what he’d requested sooner than later.
Caution would have to be his watchword until Jeffrey came to see him.
***
“Breakfast sucked,” Jackson said when he entered the cell, “but you gotta eat something.”
“Chow hall left a bad taste in my mouth,” Starks replied.
“Then get your ass to the commissary. I get why you don’t want to go near the chow hall, but you’re gonna have to do it sooner or later or people here gonna think you’re easy pickings.”
Jackson opened one of his books then closed it. “Heard something you may be interested in.”
“I doubt that.”
“Really interested in.”
Starks sighed and turned his face away so Jackson wouldn’t see him grimace as he plopped into his chair. It cost him to move that way, but the cost would be higher if word got out that he wasn’t as healed as he looked.
“Word is Big Bo’s scared.”
