The Starks Trilogy (Book 1 & 2)

by Nesly Clerge

“Mason agrees. He said he didn’t think what he did would work for you, because he never had what happened to you… you know. That’s why he wanted to whip up something special.” Jeffrey glanced around the room as nonchalantly as possible. “I have it with me.”

  “Can’t wait to find out what that means.”

  Jeffrey placed both of his hands on the table, palms down. Smiling, he said, “Do you see them?” He cast his eyes toward his hands then back at his friend.

  Starks looked at Jeffrey then at Jeffrey’s hands. “See what?”

  Jeffrey spread his fingers apart. “Look again, but more closely. Just try not to be so obvious about it.”

  Starks placed his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “I’m looking but I don’t see anything.”

  “You’re not supposed to see anything, unless you know what to look for.” He checked the guards, who were paying attention elsewhere.

  Starks’s eyes widened as Jeffrey used the forefingers on each hand to rub at the base of each thumb then slowly push upward: his thumbs seemed to lengthen a quarter inch.

  Whispering, Jeffrey said, “Fake thumbs, bro. Made from the highest-grade latex rubber. Looks just like skin, especially with the thinner bottom edges.”

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “Stop staring at them. And stop looking shocked.” Jeffrey leaned forward. “They passed the search I went through before I was allowed in. Good thing our skin tone’s nearly the same. No one will see them on you, either.”

  “They look real, all right, but what am I supposed to do with them?”

  “Magicians use these for disappearing and appearing tricks. You can hide things in them, say, a small handkerchief or scarf. How Mason explained it is this: People watch what the magician misdirects them to watch. With a lot of practice, he learns how to make it a now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t moment. He puts the scarf or handkerchief into his palm then gets people focused on something while he pushes the cloth into the fake thumb—or pulls it out, and, voila!”

  “I wondered how they did that.” Starks sat back, crossing his arms. “How the hell does Mason think this is going to help me? I don’t get it.”

  “You’re gonna love it.”

  Jeffrey rested his hands on the table and folded his fingers together, hiding his thumbs in his palms. It took only moments to remove the fakes and hide them in his lightly closed right hand.

  “Do exactly what I tell you to do.” Jeffrey leaned back. “Mason had me practice this over and over, until it was smooth. I’m going to get my handkerchief out of my left front pants pocket, unfold the handkerchief once, pretend to use it then slip the thumbs inside. When I go to return the handkerchief to my pocket, it’ll drop to the floor between us. Pick it up. Carefully. Like you’re grabbing a clump of something. Do your best to get the thumbs without anyone seeing. Place the handkerchief on the table so our hands don’t touch then put your hands in your lap and under the table so you can slip the thumbs on. Got it?”

  Starks nodded.

  Jeffrey’s movements went as planned. “Oops. Missed my pocket.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  “Good thing I used my handkerchief before it hit the floor.”

  Both men laughed.

  The handkerchief in Starks’s right hand was placed on the table. His hands went onto his lap. A few seconds later, he rested his arms on the table, linking his hands together. “I can see the edges.”

  “Press down on them… gently and without looking like that’s what you’re doing. Body heat makes the latex adhere to and blend with the skin.”

  Starks did as instructed. His left eyebrow went up. “Tell Mason he’s a genius. They’re invisible.” He studied the thumbs. “There’s something inside these things.”

  “That’s the other bit of magic he whipped up.”

  Jeffrey placed his right elbow on the table and turned his head toward his friend. “Inside each thumb is a small balloon with powder in it.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Blow it into someone’s face? Drop it into their food or drink?”

  “Just listen. The powders are not the same; by themselves, they’re nothing special. You mix a small pinch of each powder together then add just enough water to moisten it into a paste. Put the paste on anything sharp. Doesn’t even have to be large. You could use something as small as a sewing needle and it’d still work. Here’s what you need to know. The mixture isn’t toxic on its own. Blood’s the catalyst for that to happen. So make damn sure you don’t have any open wounds, especially on your hands, when you mix and apply this stuff. Once it mixes with the bloodstream, it’s lethal shit, bro. And, it dries clear, so don’t forget what you put it on. You have enough powder there to last you awhile, if you don’t waste it.”

  “This is Mason’s solution?”

  “He said you have to get the guys who got you. It’ll put off anyone who even considers going after you, especially once they see what would happen to them.”

  Jeffrey shifted in his chair. “C’mon, bro. This oughta give you some peace of mind.”

  “That’s the second time I heard that phrase today.”

  Both men were silent for a moment.

  Starks studied the thumbs. “You said it’s lethal.”

  “What’s even better is it takes forty-eight hours to kill once it enters the bloodstream. How fast the person loses conscious, and doesn’t ever come out, depends on body weight.” Jeffrey drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “You’re nowhere near when they bid adios to this life, if you can call it that.”

  “I just have to come up with a way to introduce it into the blood.” Starks rubbed his thumbs together. “What’s in the powders?”

  “You really care?”

  Starks shook his head.

  “I didn’t think so. Leave the chemicals to Mason. He knows his business.”

  “Okay, let’s say this works. I still have to put myself in danger in order to get it into someone’s system. I could be beaten to a pulp or taken out long before the mix kills the person.”

  Jeffrey twisted his lips in a wry smile. “Nah. That’s the beauty of it. The moment this stuff gets into the blood, it causes unbearable pain. The person’s too incapacitated to fight or care about fighting. You just have to act before the other person can do any damage to you. Mason said the ideal scenario is to cause some minor wound, even a pinprick, and do it with enough witnesses for word to get out that you’re not taking any shit from anybody. Unless, of course, you want to keep your attack secret. But Mason said that’s not the way to build a reputation.”

  “If it causes that much pain right away, won’t I get busted? The infirmary doctor would probably run a tox screen, and then I’m S.O.L.”

  “Mason said it’s untraceable once it enters the system. I didn’t understand everything he told me, with all his techno-jargon, but the basic principle is this: Once it’s in the body, it comes across like if the body’s fighting a bacteria or something. Only this stuff acts super fast, and with more punch, instead of over time.” Jeffrey, grinning, leaned back. “It’s fucking brilliant, bro.”

  “Any inmate finds out I have this, they’ll kill me for it.”

  “Nobody will know unless you tell them. What you have to do is give some thought to what you can do and how you can do it. The fake thumbs let you hide or transport the powders, in case you have to mix them in a certain place. Mason said you can use your spit if there’s no water available. Long as you don’t have any open skin on your thumbs, not even a ragged cuticle, you can carry the mix inside one of the thumbs. He said to carry a thumb in each pocket when you don’t need or want to wear them. If there’s a chance they’ll be found, put your hands in your pockets and slip the thumbs on in a flash. Just remember to give the bottom edges a rub so they blend with the real thing.”

  “What if I’m caught with them?”

  “First, don’t get caught. You’re a smart guy. Figure it out. Second, if you’re caught, they won’t see the powders because the b
alloons are small and the same color as the thumbs. Third, if they find the powders, they look identical. Unless they know the formula, both powders register as inactive if tested. If you’re caught, come up with a damn good lie. Or, swallow the shit and pray you don’t have a bleeding ulcer.”

  “Swallow it. Great advice, Jeffrey. Really appreciate it.”

  “Don’t get caught.”

  “Can I wear them when I shower or put my hands in water?”

  “It’s best not to do that. Although, Mason said as long as the edges have adhered to the skin, the whole thing is waterproof. But not forever. And you have to watch not to get them caught on anything that could pull them off. Like I said, you’ve got some thinking to do about this.”

  “It’s risky, but worth it. Thanks, Jeffrey. And thank Mason for me.”

  Jeffrey grinned and said, “I’ll tell him you gave his idea two thumbs-up.”

  “That was sad.”

  Jeffrey’s smile faded. “I miss being able to hang out with you, bro.”

  “There’s a lot I miss, and some things I don’t.”

  “Speaking of what—or who—you may or may not miss, Kayla wants to bring the kids to visit you.”

  “I don’t want her anywhere near me. If my mother wants to bring the kids, that’s different. I miss them, and her.” Starks grew quiet. “I’m scared to let the kids see me in here, but at least visiting in this room should be less frightening for them than the first set-up you and I saw each other in.”

  “Glad you said that because your mother said she’s coming, whether you want her to or not. She’s eager to see you, especially after what happened. As for Kayla… I’ll relay the message but it’s out of my control.”

  “I decide who sees me and who doesn’t.”

  “It’s almost worth it to let her find that out on her own.”

  “What about Ana Rodriguez.”

  Jeffrey nodded. “Oh yeah. Jim verified the stuff you told me, plus a few other facts. She filed a restraining order against her husband for domestic disputes. Recently filed for bankruptcy. Car repossessed six months ago. Evicted from her apartment five months ago. She’s living with her mother, which is putting a strain on all of them.” He shook his head. “Her life’s sucked for a while.”

  “She needs help. Figure out a way to give her fifty thousand.”

  “That’s a lot of money, and tricky. But I’ll figure it out. Wonder what she’ll write in a thank-you note? Hey, maybe she’ll ask to visit you to thank you in person.” Jeffrey grinned. “Or is that your plan?”

  “I’d rather she doesn’t know it’s from me.”

  Jeffrey’s eyebrows went up. “All right. If that’s what you want.”

  “It is. One more thing. It’s important, so the sooner done the better.”

  “Name it.”

  “Have Jim check on my new cellmate. Ronald Jackson.”

  “Just being cautious, or has he done something to make you suspicious?”

  “Yeah. He’s nice to me. Last time someone in here was that nice to me—aside from Ted—I ended up in a coma and leaking like a sieve.”

  “I’ll call Jim from my car and tell him he’s in for another big bonus.”

  Starks fixed his eyes on the far wall. He rubbed his fake thumbs together and said, “I’m into giving special treats these days.”

  CHAPTER 78

  THE WALK FROM the visitation room back to his cell was awkward as Starks fought the urge to keep his hands in his pockets but felt subconscious walking with his hands out, as though the rubbery items might at any moment glow like a neon sign with an arrow pointing where to look. Terrified the fakes would fall off he kept his thumbs pressed against his forefingers.

  Jackson lay on his bed with an open book covering his face. He lowered the book and asked, “How’d your visit go?”

  “Fine.”

  Starks started toward his bunk.

  “Before you climb up, would you mind handing me the yellow highlighter on the far side of my desk? I’m too lazy to get up.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I promise to return the favor.”

  Starks handed the marker to Jackson.

  Jackson’s eyes focused on Starks’s right hand then on the left. He sat up fast; his expression became animated. “Whoa! Where’d you get the fake thumbs? What’re they for?”

  Starks froze in place. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I told you I studied the magician’s craft. Not as much as someone who performs professionally for a living, but enough to recognize fake thumbs when I see them.”

  “How—”

  Jackson grabbed Starks’s hands. “Someone did a beautiful job. Professional. The hand-painting is exceptional. What gave them away are the cuticles. They don’t match your other ones. Whoever made these obviously didn’t have a current reference, so did the best they could.”

  Starks yanked his hands away and backed up several inches. His breaths were rapid, his eyes wide.

  Jackson held up his hands. “Don’t panic. I doubt anyone here but me has this knowledge. I had a set myself that I played around with. But they weren’t anything like this quality.”

  “I’m fucked before I even leave the gate.”

  Jackson pointed at the chair pushed under his desk. “Sit. You look like you’re gonna keel over.”

  Starks pulled out the chair and sat facing his cellmate.

  “Okay, Jackson, what are you going to do with this?”

  “What are you gonna do with those?”

  Starks didn’t answer.

  “Relax,” Jackson said. “I’m not going to do or say anything about them.” He held up his right hand then crossed his heart. “Magician’s code of honor. But if this is part of your plan to get Bo, I want in.”

  “I’m going to have to trust you. I don’t like it but I don’t think I have a choice.” Starks exhaled a shaky breath. “You said you could deliver Bo to me. Were you serious?”

  “More than serious—committed.”

  “How do you plan to do that?”

  Jackson moved to the edge of his bed. “I’ve been working on it a long time.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “I’m getting there. It’s about paying attention to routine, being aware of your surroundings. I pay attention to how many guards are on duty and their shift changes, as well as what creates distractions for them.” He picked up his book and reclined on his bed. “There’s more I could explain but it would cause you too much anxiety. You don’t need that right now. Hard as it may be, trust that I have the details under control.”

  “That scares the shit out of me. But it’s not like I have a choice.”

  “You’re really going for Bo?”

  “His is the first name on my list.”

  “I like it.” Jackson clapped his hands together.

  “What did he do to you?”

  “Let’s just say the bastard rubs a lot of people in here the wrong way. There are more people here who’d like to see him taken down than you might think.”

  “Let’s talk, then.”

  “First, why don’t you tell me exactly what it is you have up your thumbs?”

  CHAPTER 79

  TWO DAYS LATER Starks, with the thumbs in his pockets as instructed, took a seat across from Jackson in the chow hall at lunchtime. He observed how his cellmate glanced around but not in an obvious way, could practically see the man making mental notes about the environment and the people. Starks’s amusement was interrupted by a conversation behind him.

  “Demory? You sure?”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “You know which inmate he did the nasty with?”

  “Nah. Just one he was supposed to be treating.”

  “What are they gonna do to him?”

  “It’s done, man. He lost his license. He’s out.”

  “I had some sessions with him when I first got here. Dude was cool.”

  “Got w
hat he deserved, far as I’m concerned. Self-righteous prick.”

  “I didn’t know you did time with him.”

  “Only once. I walked out on him. Told him to shove his questions up his ass.”

  Starks put his fork down. “I don’t believe it.”

  Jackson’s fork stopped midway to his mouth. “Don’t believe what? Why are you looking like that? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I was thinking about something. Didn’t realize I said anything.”

  “You need to learn to control your thoughts, and your mouth. Keep your focus.”

  Jackson lowered his head but kept his eyes firmly on Starks’s. “It’s tomorrow, man.”

  “What is?”

  “Showtime.” Jackson wiggled his eyebrows up and down a few times then put the forkful of food into his mouth.

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. It’s gonna fly.”

  CHAPTER 80

  STARKS’S MIND REELED. The two bits of news he’d just heard had him walking back to his cell in a stupor. He didn’t want to believe what he’d heard about Demory. And, Jackson wanted the attack on Bo to happen in less than twenty-four hours. It had been his intention to wait for Jim’s information on his cellmate before planning or doing anything. That idea was blown, especially if Jackson insisted that tomorrow was the day.

  No. He was calling the shots. Jackson would have to accept that.

  Starks climbed onto his bunk, wrapped his arms around himself, clenching his hands to hide how much they shook.

  Jackson, hands on his hips, stared at him. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Why tomorrow?”

  “I thought you wanted to get the bastard.”

  “I do.”

  “Then tell me why you’re looking and acting like a man who’s ten minutes away from the needle.”

  “Maybe this doesn’t have to happen. You did say Bo’s too scared to attack me.”

  “Doesn’t mean he won’t get someone else to do it. I’ve been here five years. Believe me when I tell you that if you don’t attack sooner than later, you’ll live—and I use that word sarcastically—to regret it. I can see it on your face: Don’t even think of backing out. Especially not after all I’ve done to set this up.”