The Starks Trilogy (Book 1 & 2)

by Nesly Clerge

  Starks watched Roberts move things around, but it was obvious the CO’s effort was half-hearted, more for show than efficacy.

  The guard cast a quick glance toward the door then positioned himself next to Starks, his back facing the entrance. In a low voice he said, “Name’s Luke.”

  “And?”

  “I took care of the cameras.”

  Starks lifted his hands away from the wall.

  “Best if you don’t do that, Mr. Starks.”

  “Got it. Thanks for handling that. You’ll get paid in the next few days. Ted will arrange it, once I get it set up. Five thousand to each of you, as promised.”

  “Much appreciated.” Roberts gave a quick glance over his shoulder then faced Starks. “So, you took Bo down. Impressive.” He grinned.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Right. I get it. But, hey, anything you need, you let me know. And,” the guard looked toward the door then back, “there are others who’d be willing to help you out. The pay’s not that good here. Every extra bit helps.”

  Starks looked straight at the guard. “I always take care of those who take care of me.”

  “That’s what I’ve been told.”

  A muscle in Starks’s right temple twitched. “How far has that spread?”

  “Just Ted, me, Simmons and a few others we know we can trust.”

  “I want assistance but I don’t want this to get out of control. Okay. It’s a deal. But I want to speak with the others.”

  “Not a problem. I know you’re working tomorrow. I’ll make sure they stop by the library in the morning.”

  Starks nodded.

  Roberts called out, “All clear.”

  The COs strolled away from the cell.

  Jackson entered the cell; he ran a trembling hand over his head. “What the hell was that about?”

  Starks said with a knowing smile, “Turning my sixteen into a twenty-one.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “You said we needed an army. You didn’t say there were restrictions about who could be recruited.”

  Jackson glanced at the empty doorway then back. “Them? Son of a bitch. How’d you manage that?”

  “I speak a language they understand.”

  CHAPTER 91

  STARKS ROLLED ONTO his back. Red numerals on the clock-radio he’d recently purchased in the commissary shifted to 6:07. He hadn’t slept well, despite what he considered his recent accomplishments.

  He started his new morning routine early—push-ups, lunges, making sure everything on his desk and shelf was in order—and after the count had been taken, he had fifteen minutes to make it to the library for his shift, which was plenty of time. Being late, even by a few seconds, made him feel as anxious as an untidy space did.

  Starks opened the wrapper of a packaged sweet roll, and ate as he started toward the library. He turned into the second corridor. One of Bo’s soldiers blocked his way, the same inmate who’d mouthed “You die” what seemed a lifetime ago.

  The man crossed his muscular arms in front of his chest and jutted out his chin. He flexed his arm muscles. The lion tattooed on his left arm seemed to leap forward. Glaring down at Starks he said, “We know you did Bo.”

  “You’d be wise to get out of my way.”

  The man’s lips drew back over yellowed teeth. “I oughta fuck you up right here, right now.”

  Starks smiled. “You could try. You might even succeed.” He leaned in, a hard expression in his eyes. “Either way, you’d end up like Bo. Life in here sucks, but are you really ready to kiss it goodbye?”

  Surprise then fear registered on the inmate’s face, followed by a scowl. “You ain’t gonna get away with killing Bo. You nothing in here, you cocky little prick.”

  Starks made his posture erect. “From now on, address me as Mr. Starks.”

  The inmate barked a laugh. “You ain’t never gonna hear me call you mister any-fucking-thing.”

  “If you understood what you just said, you’d… Forget it. Wasting my breath.”

  Two guards making rounds crossed the corridor and moved toward them. One of them was Simmons, who kept eye contact with Bo’s man and said, “Looking a little tense there, fellas. Move along or get sprayed.”

  Starks took another bite of the sweet roll and waited.

  The inmate muttered, “We ain’t done with you, fucker,” then moved on.

  Starks kept his arms at his side as he hurried to his job, desperate to keep the wet stains from his armpits out of sight.

  He needed to act fast. In life, death, and trains, timing mattered.

  CHAPTER 92

  STARKS STEPPED THREE feet into the library and stopped. It was as though all his organization efforts the day before had never happened. He moved through the first room, scanning the tall shelves. It would take hours to align all the book edges again. Desks were occupied and cluttered with crumpled papers that belonged in the trash receptacles being ignored.

  His mother had kept their house spotless; had taught him that everything had a place where it was stored and returned to after it was used, especially books. In his own home, he’d made certain the only open shelving was in the library in his home office. Expensive closets and cupboards had been custom-built for each room, including in the children’s rooms. A cluttered space meant a cluttered mind, he’d told them. They’d learned that every book, toy, or gadget had to be put away, if not once they were finished with it, before they went to bed.

  The eight computers in the library had inmates seated at each; some of the desktops bore still-wet rings of coffee and soda, as well as what was intended as breakfast, next to opened books. He fought the urge to shout at the inmates, to order them to keep everything clean and organized.

  Instead, he turned and went into the small room at the back, where only authorized staff was allowed. He stood behind the metal desk bolted to the floor and gazed through the partition of safety glass, noting fingerprints and palm prints that needed to be cleaned from its surface.

  Starks pressed the button to turn on the computer on the desk and thought about the right words for notices he’d decided to tape up around the library, informing inmates how the library and its contents were to be treated from now on. Conversation in the next room grew softer then halted. He looked up. Two guards were heading his way. He sat back in his chair, watching and waiting.

  Jakes and Simmons entered the office, closing the door behind them. Starks fought back a satisfied smile. Roberts had told him Simmons was in on it; the CO was okay enough. Jakes, on the other hand, had given him shit at every opportunity. The tide was turning.

  Jakes rested his hands on his hips. “Luke Roberts said we should come by; that you’d know why. You’re the guy took down Bo, right?”

  Starks snickered. “I understand why people assume that but they’re wrong. I had nothing to do with it.”

  Jakes winked and pointed a finger like a pistol at Starks. “I hear ya. Okay, the way this works is you need something, we take care of it and get something in return.”

  Starks rested his back against the chair. “That is how it works. What fee did you have in mind?” He glanced from one man to the other.

  Simmons answered. “Depends on what you want.”

  “How about this? I’m going to arrange a regular pay schedule, like a retainer fee. Long-term, if it works out. I’ll set things up with my guy on the outside. Any conversations or meetings with him happen away from here, of course.” The COs nodded. “How many others are we talking about?”

  Jakes pointed at himself then Simmons. “Three more makes five of us.”

  “You two, Ted, Roberts, and who else?”

  Simmons said, “Ted’s out.”

  Starks narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

  “He’s a fucking goody-two-shoes,” Jakes replied. “He doesn’t wanna be involved in anything.”

  Starks ran a finger slowly back and forth across his lips. Ted had more honor than
these two put together; he could’ve kept his hand out for more but didn’t.

  “Tell you what I’m going to do. Once I get things set up, whoever meets with my guy, whether it’s one or all of you, my guy gets a copy of your last paystub. He’ll calculate your gross salary for the year. I’ll match that through weekly payments for you two and Roberts. The other two guards will get ten thousand a year.”

  Jakes shook his head and said, “Everyone gets treated the same or we’re not playing.”

  “Nice of you to want to play fair, but my offer stands.”

  Jakes and Simmons looked at each other. Jakes replied, “All right, but orders go through us. And we handle giving the other two their ten thou each.”

  Starks blew out a breath. “I’ll agree about the orders going through you, or Roberts, but I don’t want jealousy about who’s getting paid what mucking things up. And, I need to know who the other two are; I need to be able to contact them directly.”

  Jakes placed his hands palms-down on the desk. “Look where you are, Starks. You’re treating this like some business deal you’re in charge of instead of a favor.”

  Starks replied, “That’s exactly what this is, gentlemen. And this isn’t small trade for small favors I’m offering; it’s payment for services. Generous payment. Let me put it to you this way, if you don’t like the terms, I’m certain I can find others who will.”

  Jakes looked at Simmons, who nodded. “We’re good. When we gonna see the money?”

  “I’ll arrange it to start next week.”

  “Cash, right?” Simmons asked.

  “No W2s or 1099s from me, fellas.”

  “Okay,” Jakes said. “I’ll get word to the other two to talk to you. At least one of the five of us is around day or night, depending on our shift schedule. When you need one of us, catch our eye. Scratch your right ear then your left arm. We’ll get to you as soon as we can.”

  “Got it. Simmons, thanks for what you did in the corridor. Keep an eye on that guy for me, and on the other gang members. Word’s out that they blame me for what happened to Bo and plan to take revenge. I want each of you in on the deal to watch my back… and Jackson’s.”

  “What’s Jackson got to do with it?” Jakes asked.

  “Finding a cellmate you get along with isn’t easy.”

  “Yeah, your last one was—”

  Starks rubbed his abdomen. “You don’t have to tell me.” He stood. “I’ll instruct my guy to continue payments for services as long as I’m alive and healthy. Any injuries and the payments get cut in half. Same deal about Jackson. If I die… so does your funding.”

  Jakes replied, “We’ll watch those assholes. Any word we hear, or we see them up to anything, we’ll take care of it.”

  “We’re all settled, then. One more thing. Where’s Mike Lawson?”

  Simmons looked at Jakes, grinned then answered, “Weasel’s still in PC.”

  “Where’s it located?”

  “Farthest wing. It’s where all snitches and bitches like him are kept.”

  Starks walked up to the glass and scoped out the library. Not one inmate had hung around after the COs arrived. He turned to face the guards. “We have a deal. You’ll be hearing from me.”

  Jakes’s face was florid. “About how I treated you before…”

  “You take care of me; I’ll take care of you.”

  Lunchtime. Only the usual three inmates in the library at this time every day were using the computers.

  Starks walked up to the inmate seated closest to the door. “Hey, Paco. How’s the memoir going?”

  “Going slow, amigo. But I got time.” He laughed.

  “Keep an eye on things for me for a few minutes, will you? I’m running over to the commissary to get something for lunch. You want me to bring you anything?”

  “Ham sandwich and a soda.”

  “You got it. I’ll even throw in some chips. Don’t let anyone do what they shouldn’t in here.”

  “If they even look like it, I’ll threaten to take them out of my memoir.”

  Starks hurried to the telephones to make his collect call.

  “Jeffrey, I need you again.”

  “Ask and you shall receive.”

  “Get a visit set up as soon as possible. But it has to be within the next six days. The sooner the better.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Thanks. Gotta run. Ham sandwiches sell out first.”

  Starks smiled as he speed-walked to the commissary. Everything was falling into place nicely.

  CHAPTER 93

  BY TEN AFTER four, Starks hadn’t heard from Jackson about a meeting with the Hermanos, nor was he in their cell or block.

  This was as good a time as any to face the showers. Days of sponge-baths had left him feeling like he needed to scrape grime off his skin. He needed hot water and lots of it.

  His back stayed toward the wall and his eyes were kept open as hot water from the showerhead sprayed his face and body. Someone had cleaned the shower not too long ago and had gone overboard with the bleach; the odor of chlorine stung his nose and sinuses. Scars from shanks driven into the gray tiles beneath his feet during successful and unsuccessful fights reminded him of walking barefoot on gravel as a child.

  He tried to get a lather going from the only soap available the last time he’d bought some in the commissary, but it wasn’t happening. This was so far removed from his marble shower with temperature and pressure controls, steam jets, and his abundant supply of expensive gel and shampoo. He was tempted to ask Jeffrey to bring him some, but that would invite problems he didn’t want.

  Starks occasionally glanced at the other four inmates showering. He’d seen each of them in passing, and to his knowledge, none of them belonged to a gang. They looked his way as well, turning away just as quickly. He dipped his head down and smiled. Sure, his scars would draw attention but it was easy enough to see suspicion or maybe even fear in their expressions.

  His smile faded. Even with his plans, even with working at the library, none of that matched the fast-paced activity he not only was used to in his former life but needed; it fueled him. He’d never done monotony or boredom well; one reason that monogamy had soon felt stifling no matter how wonderful the woman was he was with.

  He got dressed and made his way back to his cell, his eyes always taking in who and what was in his field of vision. Hidden in the clean shirt he wore was the prepped knitting needle, kept on hand at all times now, just as the fake thumbs stayed tucked into any pants he had on.

  Jackson was reading at his desk. He slammed the book shut as Starks strolled to his own desk. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “The leader of the Hermanos, Hector Sanchez, is going to meet with us. Just so you know, they call him the Razor.”

  Starks folded and put his dirty clothes and damp towel into a cardboard box under his desk. “Can’t wait for an explanation about how he got that nickname.”

  “You really need one?” Jackson walked to the toilet. “And, he’s skilled at keeping it hidden.” Over his shoulder he added, “Until he needs it. Even goes after members of his own gang to keep them in line.” He faced forward and went silent. Jackson flushed; washed his hands. “The guy’s ruthless. You sure you want to do this?”

  Starks sat in his chair and linked his hands atop his head. “I’ve noticed something about you. You don’t do well under pressure. Sure, you’re good at planning. You read people well enough. Even follow through on what you say you’ll do. But anything takes a turn for the worst or even looks like it might…” He shrugged.

  “That’s not true.” Jackson plopped into his chair; his brows were knitted together. “This is some serious shit we’re in.”

  “Part of being a good leader is being able to handle pressure. You have to keep your composure when things go wrong. That’s true for managing anything… business, relationships, even gangs.”

  “Didn’t do so well in the re
lationship department, though, did you? Didn’t keep your cool when you visited your wife’s lover.”

  Starks let his arms slide to his lap. “Okay, I slipped up there. I’m just trying to help you, Jackson. Your brain can’t be turned on only if things are going well. You ought to know that by now, especially in here.”

  “We all have weak areas, man. Even you.”

  “Point taken.”

  Starks walked to the cell door, looked out, then returned. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms at his chest. “Where’s the meeting?”

  “Laundry room. It has to look natural so the COs won’t suspect anything.”

  “When?”

  “Ten minutes. That’s another reason I was so anxious when you walked in. Sanchez doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “And I don’t like to be late.” He grinned. “Looks like he and I have something we agree on already.”

  Starks handed a small box of soap powder to Jackson. “Carry this.” He bundled his dirty clothes and towels. “Let’s go.”

  “The laundry I get but why are you bringing that?” He pointed at the hem of Starks’s shirt. “What if he frisks you?”

  “Jesus, Jackson. Will you relax? Be smart. It’s not just Sanchez we have to worry about. It’s the walk from here to there. I’m sure he’d understand why I carry it.”

  “Oh sure.” Jackson dragged out the last word. “Razor’s known as a real understanding kind of guy.”

  “I can be very persuasive.”

  “You gotta learn that it’s different in here.”

  “Only in some ways. In others, it no different at all.”

  CHAPTER 94

  A SHORT, MUSCULAR MAN with black hair that hung in a ponytail down his back turned when he heard Starks and Jackson enter the laundry room. On his cheeks and centered beneath each of his eyes was a teardrop tattooed in blue. Three other Hermanos, arms crossed at their chests, stood behind him.

  Two inmates assigned to work in the laundry room were at a long table in the middle of the space. They left the clothes they were folding for other inmates and made hasty exits.