The Starks Trilogy (Book 1 & 2)

by Nesly Clerge

  “What kind of set-up?”

  “A damn good one. You back out now, you better use that poison on yourself. Too many people—people you don’t want to piss off—are counting on this going down.”

  “Won’t fingers point to me if I attack him now?”

  “Possibly. But you’re not the only person in here who’d like to deal with Bo. Listen, suspicion is not conviction. They need evidence to convict someone, and inmates ain’t gonna talk. You know that.”

  “I know that’s how it’s supposed to go but this is Bo we’re talking about. Some of his people may talk.”

  “Your opinion of Bo is too high. He’s a conniving, double-crossing sonofabitch who’s pissed off a lot of people. Even some of his own people. People who’d pay the price of admission to see him get what’s coming to him.”

  “Including you.”

  Jackson hesitated then said, “Especially me. And before you ask again, my why isn’t important. My commitment is.”

  “It would help a lot if you’d tell me what he did to you so I understand why you want to get him back.”

  “Maybe one day. For now,” he reached up and used a forefinger to tap Starks’s forehead, “stay focused. Let me give you all the details. I’m sure that’ll help you see why this is gonna work.”

  “You have to promise something.”

  Jackson narrowed his eyes. “What?”

  “If this is successful, you have to tell me what he did to you.”

  Jackson scrubbed at his face with his hands. “Jesus. Sure. Back to business. The four guards who’ll be on duty in the chow hall tomorrow are not in Bo’s pocket. There’s a problem, though. That guard you talk so friendly to is one of them.”

  Starks’s shoulders and face relaxed. “I should be able to handle that.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t worry about him.”

  “Wish I could be as confident about that as you. Anything you wanna share?”

  “No. Go on.”

  “I’m gonna get it lined up so you can strike and not get caught.”

  “If you can do that, you are a magician.”

  Jackson grinned. “I’m gonna use part of his own plan against him. One of his gang will start a fight. The guys I’ve lined up are gonna place themselves in such a way that Bo’s cut off just enough from his gang so you can do your stuff.”

  Starks stared at Jackson several moments before speaking. “You’re telling me one of his soldiers is going to betray him? Are you out of your fucking mind? If the man said he’d do this, it’s a trap. You must know that.”

  “You have a steep learning curve ahead of you. There really is no honor among thieves. If you think those misfits are more loyal to Bo than afraid of crossing him, you’re wrong.”

  Starks combed his fingers through his hair. “How’d you manage that?”

  “You concern yourself with the wrong things at the wrong time. What you need to concern yourself with now is that this is likely going to be the only try you get. If this nosedives, who the hell knows when you’ll have another chance.”

  “If it fails I’ll be killed.”

  “No maybe about it.”

  “There’s one flaw I see in this plan: cameras and guards will see me move in.”

  “Ye of little faith. I have that covered.”

  “There’s a lot I don’t know about this, and it’s scaring me.”

  Jackson’s sigh sounded his frustration.

  “I’ll need a shank,” Starks said. “Lawson used mine on me.”

  “Too bulky.” Jackson winked. “I’ve got something better.” He slid his hand under his mattress, feeling around until his hand found what he was searching for. “Ta-da!”

  “What is that?”

  “Child-size knitting needle—same color as the scrubs so it won’t be seen. Don’t ask how I got it. It’s sharp enough to make your point, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

  “Where am I supposed to hide that thing?”

  “In your shirt hem. It’ll go here.” Jackson pointed to the left side of his shirt. “Let your arms hang at your sides so it’s blocked from view. It’ll work. I promise.” He smiled. “It’s been tested.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Starks wiped his sweating palms on his pants. “What if they search us after the attack? What am I supposed to do with the needle after?”

  “I’ve planned a disappearing act.”

  CHAPTER 81

  STARKS AND JACKSON positioned the chairs in their cell so they faced each other as they went over the plan several times for the next two hours.

  When Jackson said they’d covered everything often enough, Starks climbed into his bunk. “I can’t believe I have to do this,” he said.

  “You know what’ll eventually happen if you don’t.”

  “Because of that fucking woman I’ve destroyed my reputation, faced death, almost killed a man, and now I’m going to deliberately take a life.”

  “She may have been the trigger for what put you in here but what you do inside is all about you. The sooner you get that the better off you’ll be. It’s about power, man. In here or out there, you either let others have power over you or you have power over them. That means you gotta have power over yourself. Time to play the cards you’ve been dealt and make the best of it. You play blackjack?”

  “You and your cards. All right, where are you going with this?”

  “If you ever got dealt a sixteen, it was a shitty combination because you have to take a hit and see how it goes. What you get is all about chance, or a cheating dealer. This is your time to turn the hand you were dealt in your favor.”

  “Until a few years ago, I always believed I knew which direction I was heading in—to the top—and that I was in control. Then up became down and down became up. It’s even more so in here.”

  “And look where you are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re at the top.” Jackson laughed. “Top bunk. Get it?”

  Starks punched his pillow and faced the wall. “Sometimes your sense of humor is goddamned annoying.”

  “But my assessment of people is always right. You like everything neat and tidy. And, you like to win. You have to win or you become a miserable bastard.” Jackson tapped Starks’s bunk. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking… what are the odds?”

  “Which odds?”

  “All of them.”

  Jackson stretched and said he’d be back in a half hour or so.

  Starks lay on his bed, staring out the window. He’d never considered himself a cold-blooded killer. Yes, he’d gone after Ozy, but that was in a fit of rage, which Ozy had incited with his comments. It was an attack he’d never intended. This was something altogether different. He’d always judged, and harshly so, people who committed acts of pre-meditated murder. It was an ugliness he’d viewed as far-removed from his nature.

  This was a steep decline from the days when his primary concerns and goals were to have success, a family, a home he could be proud of, and the freedom to live his life as he chose.

  But Jackson was right: This was a matter of kill or be killed. If Bo was as scared as Jackson said he was, especially since his and Lawson’s attack had failed, he wasn’t going to let this status quo go on much longer. Otherwise, Bo risked losing his position as leader, maybe even his life, if his gang and others saw him as weak. Already, at least one of them was willing to betray him.

  Starks prayed it wasn’t all a trick. Again.

  CHAPTER 82

  STARKS CONTINUED GOING over the plan in his mind and trying to assess possible pitfalls. His mental exercises were interrupted when Ted Landers stopped at the door.

  “How’re you holding up, Mr. Starks? Everything okay?”

  “Things are as good as they can be in here, I suppose.”

  “You look like you have something on your mind.”

  “I need to ask you something, but I don’t feel easy about it.”

 
; “Ask, and we’ll see what’s what.”

  “I need a favor. It’s life or death, or I wouldn’t ask.”

  Ted’s smile faltered. “If I can help, I will.”

  “You know my situation here. You know my life is on the line.”

  “Boen Jones.”

  “Yes.”

  Ted stepped two feet into the cell and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Go on.”

  “If I don’t take care of it, I’ll be killed for certain. You know it as well as I do.”

  Ted massaged the back of his neck. “We shouldn’t be having this conversation. If you want me to hurt someone, I can’t do that.” He stood straight. “Time to get back to my rounds.”

  “Wait. Please. That’s not what I’m asking. How about if I talk hypothetically?”

  “Okay.” Ted stepped out of the cell for a moment. He looked in every direction before resuming his position against the wall. “What is it?”

  “Hypothetically speaking, do you have access to the cameras in the chow hall?”

  Ted stared at Starks, pausing before he answered. “Every camera in here is controlled internally from one room. In order to do anything to the cameras—hypothetically speaking—the guard who’d control them on a given day would have to be involved. That would put me, and him, in a bad situation.”

  “Understood. Staying in the realm of theory, if I needed the ones in the chow hall to malfunction tomorrow, could it be done? Could it be done for five thousand—cash, untraceable—for each of you?”

  Ted cast his eyes downward. “Payback time, is it?”

  “I wouldn’t do that to you.” Starks leaned forward. “I’m afraid for my life. You know I have every reason to be.”

  Ted stayed quiet for a moment then nodded. “When and what time?”

  “Breakfast tomorrow.”

  “I’ll see what’s possible. Hypothetically speaking.”

  “Ted… I know what I’m asking. I know this isn’t easy for you. If you can, you can; if you can’t, you can’t. And if you can’t, or don’t want to, nothing about our arrangement will change. I need you to know that.”

  Ted nodded and left, nearly running into Jackson as he entered the cell.

  Jackson stopped at the entrance to make sure the CO kept walking then went up to the bunks. Frowning, he said, “I heard some of that. That wasn’t smart.”

  “Insurance is always smart.”

  “Insurance? You’re gonna get us fucked; that’s what you can be sure of. He’s probably on his way to the warden right now.”

  “He isn’t.”

  “You know that, how?”

  “I’m more sure about that than I am about a lot of things.”

  “You don’t get it, do you? You don’t trust people in here, especially not guards. Especially not the ones who treat you nice. Even if, like Bo, you think you own a guard, you still don’t trust him.”

  “You want me to trust you.”

  “I’m on your side. Listen, I adapted to this shithole long ago. You’re still in training pants, man. I’m trying to help you. Your success is our success. A lot of people are counting on you. They’re risking their necks for you.”

  Starks’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the bunk. He lowered his voice and said, “In case you think you’re smarter than me, let me assure you that I’m ten steps ahead of you. You don’t know why I can trust that man, nor do you need to.”

  Jackson raised both hands in submission.

  “Okay. Okay. You’re a genius and I’m a schmuck. You’d be the last person who wants this to go south. I’m gonna have to trust you.” He pointed toward the corridor. “And him.”

  CHAPTER 83

  RAIN STRUCK THE window hard. Seven in the morning and it was so dark the outdoor lights were on. Jagged lines of lightning were quickly followed by cracks and rumbles. The hair on Starks’s arms lifted. This storm’s going to last a while, he thought.

  From the bottom bunk, Jackson said, “Hey, you up?”

  “I’ve been up.”

  Jackson clapped his hands once, saying, “Today’s the day. How’re you feeling?”

  “Not as chipper as you sound.”

  “You focused?”

  “You can shove your focus.”

  “You’re about to perform your first magic trick—a very elaborate trick. You damn sure better be focused.”

  Jackson got up, went to the lavatory and filled a plastic cup with water. He returned to the bunk and handed the cup up.

  “Here. Might as well play chemist now. Give the stuff time to dry.”

  He got the knitting needle from the slit in his mattress and handed it to Starks.

  “During the night, I sharpened the point. Good, huh?”

  Starks sat up. “You’re full of surprises.”

  “I used the point to make a hole in your shirt hem. Now, do your thing. I’ll watch at the door.”

  “You had a busy night. I didn’t even hear you moving around.” Starks held up the fake thumbs. “Did you tell anyone about this stuff?”

  Jackson turned back and stood at the edge of the bunk. “You must be crazy if you think I’m going to let anyone know you have those” he pointed at the thumbs, “in your possession. You said you’re smarter than me. Act like it.”

  “Jesus. You’d think it was you who had to do this.”

  “I’m the one orchestrating it. My ass is on the line just as much as yours. Now get a move on.”

  Jackson took watch at the door.

  Starks used the smooth surface of the narrow window ledge to mix the powders, stirring the concoction with the needle. It took a few attempts to get the paste just right. He ran the knitting needle through the paste, turning the needle so that the mix covered the entire surface starting at the point and going up three inches. He blew on the needle until he felt certain the mixture was dry. A couple of tissues moistened with water removed any remnants of the powders from the sill.

  “It’s ready.”

  Jackson picked up Starks’s scrub top and slid the needle into the hole he’d made in the hem on the left side.

  Starks jumped down, going straight to the toilet to flush the tissues away.

  Jackson held out Starks’s shirt. “Put this on and let’s make sure the needle’s unnoticeable.”

  Starks slipped the shirt over his arms and torso then stood back. “Can you tell?”

  “Not with your arms down.”

  “I have to hand it to you for saying the needle needed to go on that side.”

  “You’re right-handed. It’s the only place it could go.”

  “Like a soldier drawing his sword.”

  Jackson sat on his bunk to slide his feet into his shoes. “Finish getting ready. It’s almost time to go.”

  Starks drew in a deep breath, held it then exhaled.

  Jackson frowned at him. “You gotta relax, man. You look tense. Don’t look tense. You’ll draw attention to yourself.”

  Starks stood in place, shaking his arms and his legs. He rolled his head in slow circles, rotated his shoulders.

  “You ready for this?” Jackson asked.

  “I just hope nothing and no one screws up. Especially me.”

  CHAPTER 84

  STARKS HAD HIS arms as loose as possible at his sides. He forced himself take slow, deep breaths and kept his eyes, wide with anxiety, cast downward all the way from the cell to the chow hall.

  In line for their trays, Jackson elbowed him. “Put your fucking game-face on, man.”

  “You’re right.”

  As planned, a few seats were available at the table next to Big Bo’s, but at the opposite end from where Bo and his gang sat. Jackson sat on Starks’s right rather than across from him.

  Memory of the last time a cellmate sat to his right flashed through Starks’s mind. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. He wiped the moisture off with his hand and tried to assure himself this wasn’t a repeat performance. This time the weapon of choic
e was in his possession. Unless Jackson had something hidden on him.

  Several of Bo’s gang looked his way. One of them nudged Bo, who turned his head. He locked eyes with Starks. Grinning, Bo raised his right hand, fashioned like a gun, which he pretended to fire. He turned back and said something to his soldiers, which sent their small crowd into laughter.

  “Okay,” Jackson, looking left, said. “I just got the nod. Stay alert.”

  Starks felt the skin at the back of his neck tighten and his bowels try to loosen.

  This is it.

  He heard someone shout, “Keep your spic eyes off my tray, shitbag.”

  The Hispanic man at the next table replied, “What the fuck you on about, maricon?”

  Bo’s gang member stood and said, “What the fuck you call me?”

  “What you are. Someone who prefers pricks. Didn’t your mamacita tell you that’s a one-way street?” The others at his table laughed.

  “You going down, motherfucker.”

  Bo’s gang member launched his tray at the man, causing food to fly and hit a number of inmates at the table. Everyone at both tables, except Bo, stood up.

  The table where the Hispanic man sat emptied of inmates as they rushed forward. Inmates positioned around the room started toward the area, leaving those who stayed behind shaking their heads. Guards shouted and tried to move in but were blocked by more and more inmates encircling where the action was. No one was doing anything more than posturing and throwing out insults.

  Jackson said into Starks’s ear, “Go now. Stay low. Make it count.”

  Inmates created just enough space for Starks to move along their human tunnel, just as Jackson had promised. He wondered if the hands that propelled him forward, as Jackson had also promised, were in fact assisting him or speeding him toward a trap.

  Hidden by the bodies, Starks reached where Bo still sat eating and laughing and believing himself immune.

  Starks’s hands shook so much that it took three attempts to remove the knitting needle from the shirt hem. His right elbow drew back then thrust forward; he felt the weight of extra hands helping him. The needle pierced skin in the area of Bo’s right kidney. Starks saw a hand pull the needle out, but not the inmate who did it. And he saw Bo’s right hand reach around to touch the spot on his back where he’d felt the jab.