by Nesly Clerge
Bo turned his head and saw Starks. Lips in a snarl, he stood and reached out. Some of the inmates jumped Bo. Others propelled Starks back toward his starting point. The gang member sitting to the left of Bo turned; saw his leader fall to the floor. Saw feet kicking Big Bo, who was on his side, curled into a tight ball.
“Big Bo’s down,” he shouted. He shouted it several times before others in his gang realized what was happening.
Four masked guards rushed into the chow hall and up to the tangle of inmates.
Starks slid onto a bench a few tables away. He watched a few inmates dump their trays then head toward the exit, which they were prevented by a CO from reaching.
Inmates closest to the action shouted, cursed, and gasped as mace was sprayed into their faces, causing their eyes to stream and noses to drip. Some inmates and guards slipped in the mess. Nightsticks were used to pummel those still standing and even some inmates writhing on the floor. Several inmates screamed, twisted, and fell to the floor as rubber bullets fired by masked guards hit them. Tasers caused others to collapse. Over the intercom the call “Red Dot” came, causing the clot of men to disperse and run.
Inmates not involved tried to leave but couldn’t. The chow hall was in lockdown.
Three minutes later, every inmate stood with his hands pressed to the wall and high above his head. All except Bo, whose shouts, moans, and profanity prevented the silence demanded by the guards.
One of the additional guards removed his mask. “What the hell happened?”
No one said anything for a moment then Ted spoke. “It started as a food fight, but I couldn’t swear which inmate triggered it.”
The guard pointed to Bo. “What’s the matter with him?”
“I don’t know. He was in the middle of the fight. Couldn’t see him.”
“None of them is going to tell us what happened, goddamnit.” The guard stood on a table. “All right, you cocksuckers. First you’re gonna be searched. Anyone holding anything is in deep shit. You other bastards will go back to your cells. And you’ll stay there until dinner time. All privileges revoked until then.”
He turned to the guards waiting for instructions.
“Somebody get a stretcher and get that man to the infirmary. Move. Move. Move. I fucking hate days like these.”
***
The electronic door to the cell closed and locked.
“We did it,” Jackson said. “Why are you pacing?”
“We’re fucked.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bo saw me standing behind him.”
“Crap.”
“Yeah. He’ll talk, if he hasn’t already.”
Jackson shook his head. “I don’t think they’d believe him. By the time the crowd started to move to the walls, it was obvious you were sitting far enough away—like you hadn’t joined in. They’ll think Bo’s making it up, to get you in trouble.”
“Maybe.”
Both men looked at each other then away. Silence filled the space.
Starks dragged himself onto his bunk. If there was any energy left in his body, he couldn’t feel it.
Had he done the right thing? What if Bo did name him, and was believed? As soon as Bo died, it would be a murder charge. And life in prison.
Jackson walked to the bars and gazed out, tapping his teeth with a fingernail. He turned, went to his desk and sat in the chair. “There’s a chance he’ll pin it on you but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“No way you can be sure about that.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s not gonna say shit; that’s if he’s even still able to talk. For all we know, he may be paying tribute to a morphine drip. You think he’d want his rep damaged by breaking the code? No way. They’d take him out. Even if he has some lucid moments, he’s going to be planning how to get you once and for all. The thing is this: we know something he doesn’t.”
Starks turned on his side to face Jackson, who was grinning. After a brief hesitation, Starks said, “He’s only got about forty-five hours to live, most of them unconscious.”
“Abra-fucking-cadabra, man.”
CHAPTER 85
IN THE CELL the next day, Jackson watched Starks as he tidied his desk for the second time in an hour.
“Know what I think?” Jackson said.
“You’re the mentalist, not me.”
“I think if an election was held right now, you’d be voted top man.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t you realize the coup you just pulled off?”
“I didn’t do it by myself.”
“True. But you did the most important part.”
“Don’t blow smoke up my ass, Jackson.”
“I’m not blowing smoke. I’m telling you—”
From the door came, “Hey, Mr. Magician.”
Starks and Jackson looked at the Hispanic inmate standing at the threshold. He motioned at Jackson with his head. Jackson got up from his chair and walked over. The inmate whispered something then left.
Jackson stayed where he was, staring into the corridor. His fists balled up. “Well, fuck.”
Starks shifted forward in his chair. “What?”
“Rumor is that Bo’s conscious. Someone said they saw him walking around in the yard.”
Starks sat back in his hard plastic chair, linking his hands behind his head to hide how much they were shaking. “Calm down. You look like you’re about to freak.”
Jackson turned around. “I’d think this news would make your balls shrivel.”
“You said it’s a rumor, not a fact. I’m confident the stuff worked.” Starks jutted his legs out in front of him. “Get a grip.”
“You get a fucking grip. If it’s true… You said he saw you. He’ll include me by default, because I’m your cellmate.”
“It wouldn’t be just by default, though, would it?”
Jackson stomped to his desk, picked up a book and threw it against the opposite wall. “Don’t be a fucking fool.”
Starks launched himself from the chair then grabbed Jackson by the front of his shirt. “Don’t call me a fool again. You hear me? Now calm the fuck down.”
Terror that the news might be true coursed through him, but he needed to appear unafraid and in control. Otherwise, he feared, Jackson might snitch in order to save himself.
He returned to his chair. “You made me a promise. Fill it now.”
Surprise caused by the statement showed on Jackson’s face. “What are you talking about?”
“If I succeeded—which I did—you’d tell me what Bo did to you.”
“You want to talk about that now?”
Starks leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Sit down and start talking.”
Jackson stared at him in disbelief then pulled up his chair, where he sat twisting his hands and wearing a pained expression.
“My first month here, Bo and four of his soldiers cornered me when I was alone in the shower. The CO making rounds in there was in Bo’s pocket and left when Bo came in. Bo wanted all the money from my account. I refused. His guys moved in.”
Jackson’s face sank into his hands. “They shoved me against the wall and kept me there. One of them grabbed my balls and twisted. I kicked and punched and tried to get away. They beat me, the four of them, while Bo watched and laughed. Then he said, ‘Give him the special.’”
“They forced me onto my stomach and held my legs apart. One of the guys dropped his pants and said, ‘Four treats for you today, you little prick. Only our pricks ain’t little.’” Jackson shuddered. “The only reason they didn’t succeed was five members of the Hermanos came in. They hate Bo and Bo knows it. But they liked my card tricks. I amused them, like a pet.
“Bo and his four left me lying there in my blood. The Hermanos looked for the CO, but he’d made himself scarce. They wrapped a towel around me and carried me to the infirmary. It took me a month to recover. Physically, that is. A
fter that I did favors for the Hermanos, which they expected. Still do favors for them. Over time a mutual respect formed, at least, as much as that can happen in here.”
“I wondered how you got them to cooperate. But I think you’re holding something back. What they did for you in the chow hall wasn’t simple.”
Jackson looked up. “I needed protection. And about what I had to do to get it—you can forget about me telling you that.”
“I think you should tell me.”
Jackson stood up, kicked his bed frame. “You’re missing the goddamn point.”
“What’s your point?”
Their conversation was interrupted when a CO approached their cell, sliding his baton against the steel bars and walls as he neared them. Both men sat quietly and waited for him to pass. But he didn’t.
The CO was Jakes and he eyed both men in turn, before saying, “Frederick Starks.”
Starks said, “It’s just Starks.”
“Like I give a crap, asshole.”
Starks glanced at Jackson and said, “No respect.”
“You want respect in here,” the CO said, “you can find it in the dictionary.”
Starks’s smile didn’t travel to his eyes. “Did you want something or just dropping by for a chat?”
“You got a meeting with the counselor in three days.”
Starks sat up. “With Demory?”
“You got a problem with that?”
“No. No problem.”
Jakes banged his nightstick against the door then left.
What the hell was going on? If Demory was actually still employed, and seeing him in three days, that was good news. But where did the rumor come from that he’d lost his license to practice? As far as Demory having sex with an inmate… that was so far out of character for the man, Starks hadn’t believed it for a second.
“… are not taking this seriously, man. You have to get real about this, and fast.”
Starks looked up. “What?”
“Where’s your head?”
“I’m thinking about a phone call I need to make. While I’m gone, get your shit together.”
“I’m together.”
“Then act like it.”
Starks’s pace was quicker than usual as he made his way to the phones. His face contorted as he passed Crazy Rodney’s cell—the man was writing on the wall with his feces again. Why the hell did they have to transfer that guy to their block?
Jeffrey answered his cell phone on the first ring, accepting the collect call.
“Bro! How are you?”
“Muddled.”
“What’s up?”
“I’ll say more when I see you again.”
“Got it. What can I do for you?”
Starks glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Did Jim get anything yet on what I asked for?”
“Still digging, but here’s what he has so far. Let me get my notes. Here we go. Several arrests. Tax evasion, mail and wire fraud, impersonating a federal agent, second-degree murder, and aggravated assault.”
“He stayed busy.”
“A real piece of work. Jim says some of the charges didn’t stick. But he learned Ja—”
“The guy.”
“Got it. The guy tried to trick some mafia wannabes out of a big chunk of change. They went after the guy. He did what he thought was necessary.”
“Did the guy snitch?”
“Kept his mouth shut. Would’ve gotten a lighter term if he’d spoken up. He didn’t want to risk it.”
“He could have snitched and made a runner. I wonder why he didn’t.”
“No information about that, bro.”
“He said he used to perform. Jim get anything about that?”
“Yeah. He had some gigs. Is that important?”
“I was just curious to know if he was being straight about that.”
“Jim said the guy was good and that most of his acts were funny. Mostly local places, but he did have a couple of shows in Vegas.”
“A touch of the big-time.”
“Anything else you need? Are you sure everything’s okay?”
“Yes. Just watching my back. You can never be too cautious.”
“What about—”
“That’s something else I’ll tell you when I see you. What else is going on?”
“Your mom scheduled a visit for next week, on Thursday. It’ll be her, Anita, and Hank.”
Starks ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “You know how I feel about that. But I won’t block the visit. Gotta get a move on. Thanks again, Jeffrey.”
“I got your back, bro.”
CHAPTER 86
“HEADS UP.” STARKS tossed a packaged sweet roll to Jackson. “Maybe we should eat breakfast in here this morning.”
Jackson yawned and sat up. “Wrong move to make. We gotta show our faces. You, in particular. Besides, I want to get the latest on Bo.”
“You can do that without me.”
“Get your ass up and go with me so people don’t think you’re hiding out. You gotta show your face, as well as not make the guards suspicious.”
Starks slipped on a set of scrubs, followed by his shoes, slid the needle into the hem and a fake thumb into each pocket. “Nothing’s ever simple here.”
“Nothing’s simple anywhere. And hold your head up. None of that staring at the floor thing you do when you’re antsy.”
Ten minutes later they took a seat at a table with several other inmates. Starks glanced around, his expression impassive, before focusing on the food.
“Breakfast is crap,” he said.
“See. Some things are simple in here,” Jackson replied.
“No amount of salt and pepper can make this shit easier to eat.” Starks dropped his fork into the food. “I can’t eat this. I’m going back to the cell.”
Starks lifted his fist to knock on the table as he started to stand but was stopped when an inmate sat next to him and said, “Sit down.”
The inmate kept his head lowered. “You-know-who puked his guts out all that first night, ran a fever so high they iced him down. They thought he had some kind of nasty virus. Then he went to sleep.”
Jackson asked, “What are you saying?”
“Bo’s dead.”
Starks’s gaze met Jackson’s.
Jackson winked and sang soft so only those closest could hear, “Ding-dong, the dick is dead.”
“Meet me in the cell in two hours,” Starks told him.
He knocked on the table as he got up then dumped his full tray. On the way out, he passed the table where three Hermanos from his block were sitting. Each of them gave a subtle nod of their heads.
He returned the nods and wondered if their attention was a good thing or the opposite.
Starks kept checking over his shoulder, as well as scanning the face of every inmate and guard. This was as much about keeping an eye out for any of Bo’s soldiers who might try to approach him as it was to make certain his small contingent of Hermanos were sticking with him. The guys who’d nodded at him in the chow hall kept their distance but made it evident they were watching his back.
He needed something to do, something that would take his mind off matters for a while. The first thing that came to mind was the commissary, where he filled three bags with foods and other essential items. He made sure his followers were still with him then headed for the library, indicating to the Hermanos that they should follow him inside. He placed the bags on a table, nodded at the bags then walked off. Once he was at the back of the room, he turned to see them going through the bags. All three men were smiling.
The library was a decent size and seemed to have a fair collection of books, magazines, and newspapers. He watched one inmate close the book he’d been reading then leave the library. Starks waited a few moments for the inmate to return but he didn’t. He picked up the book, checking the label for the filing number, found the shelf where it belonged, and put the book i
n its correct place. Several other books were shelved out of order, which he corrected.
An inmate approached him. “You don’t work here.”
Starks faced the man. “So what?”
“Looks like you know what you’re doing. There’s a work assignment just opened up, if you want it.”
Starks glanced around. “I wouldn’t mind working here. This place looks like it could use some organization.”
“Set it up. Start as soon as you can; I need the help. Name’s Sam Carson. I’m like the head librarian or something.”
Starks nodded. “Starks.”
“Know who you are.”
“Then I’ll see you soon. Hopefully tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 87
“WE DID IT,” Jackson said, when he bounded into the cell.
Starks leaned back in his chair, blew out a deep breath and crossed his arms. His expression went blank and stayed like that for several moments.
Jackson slapped him on the arm. “Time to celebrate, man. Why are you looking like that?”
“I’m thinking about life.”
“As in life in prison?”
“As in I can’t believe this is my life.”
Jackson pulled his chair around. “It is what it is. Shake it off. C’mon, you saved your life and probably the lives of who knows how many others Bo had in his sights.”
“Still…”
“Face it, Starks, some people need killing.”
“Still doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Sit well or not, some people don’t give you a choice. That’s the crack Bo put you in. You had to get out of there or get buried.”
“On the count” was shouted over the intercom.
Starks groaned but got up and went to the door of the cell, followed closely by Jackson.
CO Simmons made his way through the block, pausing to hand out mail to inmates. “Starks, mail.”
“Wonder who it’s from,” Starks said as the envelope was handed over.
“Maybe Santa Claus is writing to you this year.”
“Nothing like a CO who’s funny,” he replied.
Starks read the front of the envelope as he went back to his chair. He stayed standing. “It’s open.”
