by Nesly Clerge
Jackson nodded. “You’re surprised?”
“Never got mail before.”
“All this time and this is your first?”
“They read it?”
“There’s no privacy in this shithole. You know that.”
“I thought it was a federal offense to open and read someone’s mail. Especially from someone’s wife.”
“Not in here. Use your head.”
Starks unfolded the letter and started to read. He collapsed against the wall and slid down.
“Bad news, Starks?”
He folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. “That bitch.” Face flushed, his brows knitted together, he ripped the letter in half and threw it onto his desk. “Fuck it. It’s over.”
This time, Jackson didn’t need to be told to stay quiet.
CHAPTER 88
OFFICER JAKES STRUCK the cell bars with his nightstick. “Starks, get your ass up and follow me.”
He wasn’t supposed to see Demory until tomorrow. But he was eager to find out if there was any substance to the rumors about the counselor. He also wanted to talk about Kayla’s letter announcing he’d soon be served with divorce papers.
Jakes said, “You’re looking pretty happy for a guy who’s gotta face the council.”
Starks stopped smiling. “The council? Why?”
“Did you go stupid during the night? Let’s go.”
Starks glanced at Jackson then back at the CO.
Jackson said, “I’ll be here when you get back.”
“Don’t hold your breath while you wait,” the CO told him.
“And you,” he said to Starks, “get the pleasure of my company as I escort you to Spencer’s office.”
Tony Spencer was scribbling something on a tablet when Starks arrived. He gave a brief glance up then back at what he was writing. “Sit down, Mr. Starks.”
The same additional four men present his first time in front of the council were seated at the table in their exact places as before.
Spencer put his pen down. He leaned back, his gaze fixed on Starks. “You’re aware of recent events, of course.”
“Which events?” Starks kept his expression blank.
“That’s how you want to play it?”
“I’m not playing at anything.”
“C’mon, Starks. You know I’m talking about the attack on Boen Jones.”
“I’m aware the attack.”
Spencer aimed his pen at Starks. “You were there.”
“So were a lot of guys. I was nowhere near him.”
“I think you did it.”
Starks fought the sudden nausea that threatened to sabotage him and said, “You can think whatever you want. Doesn’t make you right.”
He rested against the chair back, splaying his legs out in front of him. “I’m not sure what your game is, Mr. Spencer. All you have to do is check the video. That’s the purpose of the cameras, right?”
Spencer cleared his throat and shuffled papers. “You don’t tell us what to do.” He smoothed his tie down. “Why don’t you tell us what you know about the attack.”
“I don’t know anything. I was eating breakfast then all hell broke loose. When it didn’t stop, I got out of the way.”
“What if I say I have a witness saying you’re responsible for the attack and subsequent death of Boen Jones?”
“I’d say either you’re lying or that person is. I had nothing to do with it.”
Spencer tapped his pen on the table. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. The person responsible will suffer the consequences.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Too many of you think you’re so goddamn smart. Get the hell out of my office.”
Starks didn’t hesitate. His knees shook so he started walking—fast. At the end of the corridor were two Hermanos he recognized. He passed them; nods were exchanged. All the way back to his cell, inmates glanced his way. Some gave him subtle nods, others stared then looked away.
Jackson jumped up when Starks entered the cell. “What was that about?”
“Smoke and mirrors. Trying to scare me into confessing or snitching.”
“What did the council say?”
“Tony Spencer did all the talking. Asked me what I’d say if he told me a witness said I killed Bo.”
“Shit. What did you say?”
“That someone was lying. Told him to check the tapes.”
“And?”
“I think my man came through for me.”
A wide smile broke across Jackson’s face. “You’re the man!” He raised his hand for a high-five, which Starks ignored.
Starks put a foot on the edge of Jackson’s bunk, hoisting himself onto his own bed. He’d gone head-to-head with surly opponents in business dealings, but his actual life had never depended on his staying in control before. Despite how his insides had quivered these last few days, on the outside he appeared collected. It was a façade but an important one, one that although exhausting was gradually becoming easier to maintain.
Bo had been dealt with. This wasn’t to say there wouldn’t be other challenges while he was in here—he was too logical to think otherwise—but his taking action against Bo seemed to be working in his favor. So far.
The foe he’d soon have to deal with was the one who’d borne three children with him.
CHAPTER 89
DEMORY OPENED THE file in front of him. On his notepad he jotted a reminder of what he wanted to discuss with Starks, if the inmate cooperated, that is. This reminder included asking who the distraught Cathy and Emma were; what Starks’s state of mind was since he’d been stabbed; and the big one—how he felt about Bo’s death. In parentheses he added, and did he have anything to do with it.
He tapped his pen against his lips. Retaliation was not a far-fetched idea. But from what he’d been told, something elaborate had gone down. Could Starks have coordinated that kind of attack, and when could he have planned it? He’d verified with the hospital that at no time had Starks had access to a phone, and certainly no visitors other than himself.
Demory looked up when he heard a knock on his door. “Come in.”
Starks opened the door. Smiling broadly, he closed the door behind him and started toward the chair he hadn’t sat in for months.
“Hi, Doc. It’s good to see you again. How’s your son doing?”
“He’s completely healed and back to himself, like nothing ever happened. I’m wondering if the same can be said about you. You do look stronger than the last time I saw you.”
“Progress happens every day, Doc.”
“Take a seat. I know it’s been a while but are you ready to get started with our sessions again.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Starks pulled his chair closer to the desk. He stared at the stack of newsletters in front of him for a few moments then began to straighten them, making sure all the edges were even.
Demory waited until Starks completed his compulsion then got comfortable in his chair. “I want to discuss how you’re feeling emotionally since the attack on you, but there’s something else directly related to that topic that needs to be included. Do you know what I’m referring to?”
“I’d rather be certain.”
“Bo, and the fact that he died within forty-eight hours, with nothing more than a small puncture wound.”
Starks said with controlled casualness, “That’s what I heard, too.”
Demory tilted his head to the side. “Any possibility you did more than just hear about it?”
Starks shrugged and folded his hands in his lap. “I was there but too much was going on for me to see what happened.”
“How did news of his death affect you?”
“My troubles will never be over—in here or out there—but that’s one part of my life that’s no longer an issue.”
Demory waited a few moments then said, “Let’s focus on you and your close brush with death. That can change a pers
on. Some people become more spiritual. Others become more determined about taking control over their lives and environment. I’m wondering which one of those groups you now fit into.”
Starks rose and went to the row of framed certificates hung on Demory’s wall. He studied the position of each, making micro-adjustments, staying silent until he returned to his chair.
“I nearly died. It sucks but that happens in here. I’ve adjusted to the fact that I have to watch my back… differently. I’m learning as I go.”
He rubbed his chest and abdomen. “Some lessons are harder than others. But I’ll say this about Bo’s… absence: I like life to be tidy. I realize how difficult that is to maintain here, but any bit helps.”
“And you feel his death has—”
“Gotten rid of some garbage.”
“You realize someone else will take his place.”
“I know.”
“What will you do about that person?”
Starks smiled. “Hopefully find him an easier fellow to get along with.”
Demory wrote on his tablet. “I suppose if he isn’t, he’ll find himself going the way of Bo.”
Starks shrugged and stayed quiet.
With his head still down, Demory asked, “What you’ve been doing with yourself since you got back.”
“I took on a work assignment in the library.”
Demory looked up. “How’s that going?”
“Sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”
“Anyone come to see you since you’ve returned?”
“Jeffrey. It was great to see him again.” Starks faced Demory. “Speaking of Jeffrey, I understand there was a big screw-up about my being dead or not.”
“I’m going to regret my part in that forever. I’d like to explain.”
Starks waved him off. “Jeffrey did that. But, Doc—”
“Believe me, I know. I called everyone and apologized. It’ll never make up for what happened but it was the best I could do.”
“It’s over. Let’s move on. You’ll like this. My mother and two other relatives are visiting next week. Arrangements are being made for me to see my children as well. Too bad the total number of people who can visit at one time is three. Visits with my kids will have to be staggered.”
“How do you feel about seeing your children here?”
“Not great but that can’t be helped. I have to get over that aversion or I’ll never see them. So, yes, I’m frightened about their reactions but eager to see them.”
“I think it’ll be therapeutic for you. And even for them. They’ll see you’re all right. I know the visits with Jeffrey have been good for you. But keep in mind these family visits may be different. It’s best if you don’t attach too much expectation to them, especially regarding the children.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Don’t have expectations about how the visits should go. Pay more attention to how your children act or respond than to your own feelings. That’s very important with children. Any feelings you need to deal with, we’ll deal with them in here.”
“Sound advice. Thanks for that.”
“What about Kayla? Has she asked to visit you?”
“She told Jeffrey she wants to. I told him to tell her I have the right to refuse the visit and will.” Starks scratched the back of his head. “I especially don’t want to see her now. I got a letter from her letting me know she’s filed for divorce and that the papers will be sent here when they’re ready to be signed.” He shook his head. “I was beaten and stabbed but I’m managing to cope with that. What Kayla’s done to me feels worse.”
“As we said before, physical wounds can heal relatively quickly. That’s not always the case with emotional wounds.”
“That’s the truth. I’m staying busy now, and that helps. But when I’m not doing something that occupies my mind or when I go to bed at night, it’s as though it all happened yesterday. You’d think I’d be able to get over it by now. Maybe there’s something wrong with me.”
“We’re each unique, Starks. Some handle emotional pain better than others. You’re not weak because you’re still feeling what you feel. Grief happens in stages, anger being one of the stages. Grief lasts as long as it lasts, and that’s different for every individual.”
“I think what gets to me most was learning she was a habitual cheater, and that she lied about it for so long.”
“But you had your suspicions?”
“Yes. And there were times I checked up on her and found out she was engaged in sexual conversations with men. Lots of text messages and so forth. And telephone numbers I checked on. But I didn’t want to believe it was more than that. That was bad enough. So I accepted her excuses. Including that it was girlfriends I didn’t know who she was going out with at night. Her argument was that I went out, so she should be able to as well. She’s lucky she didn’t kill herself or someone else, considering how drunk she sometimes was when she came back in the middle of the night.”
“She was right about your going out, though, and that you were with other women.”
Starks began to pace. “Yes, but I’m a man. She’s a wife and mother. Her behavior is supposed to be beyond reproach. She didn’t respect that or me.”
“Can you see why your behaviors may have triggered hers?”
Starks’s pacing came to a stop. “Which do you think is worse, a man sleeping with a hundred women or a woman sleeping with a hundred men?”
“I’m pretty sure you mean your woman, not just any woman. Were you ever with a prostitute, even a professional one?”
“If you answer my question, Doc, I’ll answer yours.”
“We both know what your thoughts are about this, don’t we?”
“We’re going in circles.” Starks faced Demory. “Listen, I heard about the problems you’re having with your license. I don’t want to intrude into your personal business, but if you need legal help, there’s a guy you can call. Michael Parker. Brilliant attorney. Tell him I referred you; it’ll make a difference. There was only so much he could do about this mess I got myself into, but he may be able to help you.”
“I’ll think about it.” Demory checked his watch. “I’d like to talk about who Cathy and Emma are.”
Starks got up from his chair and stretched his arms. “Another time. I’m tightening up from sitting. How about we end early today? I really need to rest. Same time next week?”
Demory recognized avoidance when he saw it but knew it was better, at least for now, to act sympathetic. “Sure. You need to take care of yourself.”
He watched his patient leave the office. Starks was a hard one to reach. The man had his feet planted deep in his beliefs and it seemed he wasn’t about to shake them loose any time soon.
What concerned him more was what had Starks been up to besides shelving books?
CHAPTER 90
STARKS FOUND JACKSON pacing up and down the cell, sweat dripping from his chin onto his scrub shirt.
“Thank God, Starks! You’re back in one piece.”
“It was just a session with Demory.”
Jackson shook his head. “No, man. Bo’s gang is after us, but especially you.”
“What’ve you heard?”
“They’re coming after us. That’s the word around the yard.” Jackson collapsed into his chair.
“Let them come.”
“You’re shitting me, right?”
Starks looked at Jackson. “Is this a matter of honor or something? Did they like Bo that much, feel that loyal to him?”
“That’s not it at all. It’s not because Bo’s dead. It’s because they don’t have the same clout around here Bo did. They’ve lost alliances and allegiances—COs, inmates. They’re seriously pissed off, man.” Jackson stared at his hands, which he wrung as though trying to get something sticky off.
Starks pulled out his chair and straddled it. Facing Jackson, he smiled. “I’ll prep the knitting needle and keep it with me at all times.”
Jackson flung his hands up. “Great. That’s you. What about me?”
“To use your words, you need to calm down so you can focus.”
Jackson nodded. “Right. You’re right. I gotta get my thoughts working.” He pointed at Starks. “You’ve started a war.”
“We. We’ve started a war. One you were planning before we met, remember?”
“Again, you’re right.” Both men stayed silent for a few moments. “If it’s a war, we need an army.”
Starks grinned. “So, we need to recruit some people. Let’s start with the Hermanos. They protect you, and I’ve notice some of them watching my back as well. Set up a meeting for me.”
Jackson slapped his hand against his thigh. “It doesn’t work that way. It’s a favor for a favor, man. They helped out in the chow hall because they owed me. You don’t want to get involved with those guys.”
“Too late. Set it up for tomorrow afternoon. My shift in the library ends at four. Make it after that. Don’t worry about my involvement with them. Let me handle that.”
“You’re crazy if you think you can handle the Hermanos.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“Man, it’s like your head’s up your ass, and it’s too dark in there for you to see what you’re doing.”
Starks sighed. “Are you going to set it up or not?”
Jackson shook his head. “You’re crazy. But, yeah, I’ll set it up. Or try to. We can’t do nothing.”
The familiar sound of nightsticks striking metal bars grew louder in their corridor. Starks and Jackson watched the cell door, waiting to see what was going on. Three COs stopped at their open cell.
Ted stood in the middle of Roberts and Simmons.
In a voice just below a shout, Ted said, “Shake down. Jackson, step out of the cell so we can search you.”
Jackson swallowed hard, glanced at Starks then got up.
Starks started to follow.
Roberts said, “Not you. You stay inside. Place your hands against the wall and stay there.”
Outside the cell, placed where he couldn’t see what was going on inside, Jackson was ordered to assume a similar position. Simmons began a pat-down while Ted stayed at the door, his focus on the corridor.
