by Nesly Clerge
At least, for the moment.
CHAPTER 109
HECTOR SANCHEZ AND two of the Hermanos Starks recognized were waiting in the laundry room. The posture of all three men stiffened when they saw Starks wasn’t alone and that his sidekick wasn’t Jackson.
Starks stopped three feet away. He nodded at the men and said, “This is Skullars. He’s okay, or I wouldn’t have brought him. Skullars, this is Hector Sanchez.”
One of the Hermanos leaned forward, making eye contact with Skullars. “Sanchez is called The Razor, amigo. For good reason. You be sure you remember that.”
Skullars stared the man down and didn’t reply.
Starks cocked his head at Sanchez. “You have it?”
Sanchez reached behind him, pulling out an ice pick from the back of his waistband. Skullars shifted in place. Starks looked at him in a way that let him know everything was all right. He also wondered where the razor Sanchez was infamous for was kept. “Give me a second,” he told Sanchez.
Starks moved to stand behind Skullars. It took all of two seconds to carefully jab the ice pick through the thin cellophane and coat a few inches of the metal with the still-moist paste. He palmed the remaining wrapped paste in his left hand and stepped out.
Sanchez reached for the pick. Starks pulled it back. “Show me your hands.”
“What the fuck?”
“To make sure there isn’t any open skin on them. This stuff gets into your system and you go the way of Bo.”
Sanchez stared at him as though he was crazy then extended his arms, slowly turning his hands over for examination.
“Remember what I told you,” Starks said. “You have eight hours or less.”
“My memory’s good.”
“Hold it from this end.” Starks handed the pick over. “Give it about two minutes to dry completely.”
“After that, can it touch my skin?”
“As long as it’s unbroken skin. Make sure the pick can’t puncture you. Just be smart, not scared, when you hold it.”
“Hey, vato, I ain’t scared a nothing.”
Starks pointed at the pick. “That isn’t nothing. Let me know when it’s done.”
Skullars impressed Starks yet again: he asked no questions about what he’d seen, but neither did he seem put-off by what he’d witnessed.
“About what just happened—” Starks said.
Skullars held up his hand to stop him. “Mon’s gotta do what he’s got to.” Then he went on his way.
CHAPTER 110
THERE WAS AN hour left to go on his shift in the library, time that was cut short when a CO came for him.
Starks wasn’t expecting a visitor, so was surprised to see Jeffrey seated at a table in the visitation room. It was immediately obvious that his friend was upset.
Concern for his children sent him rushing to the table. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
“Kayla’s in the hospital.”
Starks dropped into a chair, his posture relaxing. “Thank God.” At his friend’s expression of surprise he said, “I thought maybe one of the kids… As long as they’re okay…” He shrugged. “She looked well enough when I saw her a few days ago. She brought Blake and Nate along. What’s wrong with her?”
“She might lose the baby.”
Starks drove his hands into his pockets, fingered the fake thumbs tucked inside. “How am I supposed to feel about this? I mean, it’s not my child, it’s his. I suppose that’s beside the point. How’d you find out?”
“She called me from her hospital room. You know how prideful she is; didn’t want to come out and say she’s scared or admit it’s potentially serious.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Stable. They want to monitor her and the baby for a few days. If they think it’s safe, they’ll let her go home. But they may want her to stay in bed or move around as little as possible until delivery time.”
“Maybe now she’ll realize what she gave up. Should’ve stayed faithful to the one man who ever really loved her, who’d make sure she was taken care of. You think Bret or Ozy or any man she spread her legs for is going to look after her?” He slumped forward and let out a ragged sigh. “Make sure she has whatever she needs. I wonder if Bret’s going to hang around if she needs care, especially if she loses the baby. He’s used to her taking care of him, not the other way around. I know her. I know what she’s like. Bret’s there to party and be catered to, and the last thing it’s going to be with her if she loses his kid is a party. By the way, how are my kids? Did you check on them?”
“I called the nanny. She said they’re scared but as okay as can be expected.”
“If Kayla needs anything—”
“I’ll make sure she gets it. If she has to stay in the hospital a while, I’ll see what’s what about letting the kids visit her. At the very least, I’ll set it up so they can see and talk to each other electronically.” Jeffrey cracked his knuckles. “I knew you’d be upset. I hate bringing you this kind of news.”
Some of the tension drained from Starks’s body. “No. I appreciate it. I appreciate how you’re looking out for me and for my family. And, yes, that includes Kayla. For the sake of our children, I hope she’s okay.”
“I’m sorry, bro… I have to run. I’ll stay longer the next time but I planned just enough time on my way to an appointment. Thought it best to tell you in person.”
“No problem.”
Starks stayed seated and watched until Jeffrey swiveled around at the door to wave.
He’d always had to contend with a lot of things happening at once and had become adept at doing so before prison. But he had to say it again: Thank God for Jeffrey. Trusting anyone had never come easy. Jeffrey was the one person in his life he could trust absolutely. It had been a stroke of the best kind of luck that life had put them together in friendship and in business, had made them wealthy together so there was never any jealousy that sometimes happened between friends who had and those who didn’t. He may not be able to rest easy entirely, but some of the pressure was off knowing Jeffrey was looking out for his family and his interests.
Starks got to his feet and stretched. He still had time to go into the yard and walk off the feelings competing for his attention.
CHAPTER 111
STARKS SIGHTED HECTOR Sanchez in the yard with his usual cronies, so strolled in their direction. “What’s the word?” he asked.
Sanchez replied, “Weasel’s on his way to hell. You were right: The fucking smell of steak he had for lunch reached me before I even opened the door. Tray was still in his cell. Sucker lied and told me he didn’t know why they’d brought it to him. Just before I stuck him in the heart with the pick, I told him they’d brought it because he was a dead man and that was his last fucking meal.” He spit on the ground. “Weasel’s not talking his shit now. Weasel’s not talking, period.”
“You got rid of the pick?”
“I know what I’m doing, gringo. Cleaned it good. Put it back in the kitchen. I need it again, I wanna get my hands on it pronto.”
Starks made a subtle thumbs-up sign and kept walking.
There was no way the similarity of what had happened to Bo then Lawson would be missed. There was also no way that what had happened to Lawson could be attached to him, unless someone talked, and the chances of that, considering who’d done the deed, were so remote it didn’t bear further thought. Any suspicions they had about his involvement with Bo’s death would have to be dropped. It was logical; the evidence was in his favor.
He strolled around the perimeter of the yard, eyes aimed at the ground. Minutes later he noticed he was near the weight equipment kept out in the yard. Someone had left a fifteen-pound dumbbell on the ground. He bent over to pick it up, wincing as the scar tissue inside and out reminded him that he may never be the same again.
Who was he kidding? He’d never be the same ever again.
He placed the dumbbell on the rack where it belonged. It seemed an eon ago that he’d
hit Bo with a weight five pounds heavier. The quote about how the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step flashed through his mind. For him and others like him in this place, their journey had begun with a single misstep. This was never how he would have predicted his life to play out, here in this place, in the thick of it with misfits and missteps.
He kicked at a pebble, watching it sail through the chain-link fence to the grassy expanse between the fence and the wall. Head up, watchful, he made his way slowly to the door that led back inside.
Starks was almost to the door when CO Roberts opened it and held it open.
“Your attorney’s here. I’ll take you to where he’s waiting.”
CHAPTER 112
ROBERTS AND STARKS walked quickly and in silence to a small, windowless room fitted with a table and two chairs. The CO nodded then left.
Michael Parker was seated so that he faced the door. He stood when his client entered the room. Starks closed the door behind him, walked to where Parker waited and shook his hand.
“This is a surprise, Mike. Hadn’t heard from you since the trial. What’s going on?”
“A few things. Things I needed to see you in person about. Better that way, I think.”
“Should I be as anxious as I’m starting to feel?”
Parker cleared his throat. “Take a seat.”
“I have a feeling I’m not going to like this.”
“The first matter. We’re working on your appeal. Unfortunately, even though I advised you to keep your nose clean in here, that didn’t happen.” He held up a hand to stop Starks from speaking. “I’m truly sorry about what happened to you, and I’m glad you made it through that horrible ordeal. Still—”
“Before you continue, let me remind you that you know the kind of stuff that goes on in here. It’s practically impossible to avoid trouble, unless you don’t mind becoming one or more inmates’ bitch, or dying early.”
“I can only imagine what it’s like for you.”
“It’s one thing to imagine it; it’s another to live it every fucking day of your life.”
Parker cleared his throat again. “The fact still is that what’s now on your record affects your parole and, possibly, your appeal.”
“They get you coming and going. I know you’ll figure something out. What else?”
Parker linked his fingers and stared at them for a few moments before speaking.
“When you brought me and my firm on board for this situation, you asked me to look into Kayla’s infidelities, specifically all the way back to high school.”
“You said it was impossible.”
“And you said enough money can accomplish anything.”
Starks motioned at the room. “Obviously not everything.”
“There are limits to what money can buy. Not often, but it happens. Anyway, without going into all the details, it took a lot of manpower to track down anyone who knew Kayla in high school and in college, and interview them.”
“Did you have to pay them for information?”
“Sorry to say that the fact you’re in here made some of them more than eager to talk. There are always those who delight in tearing down others who do well for themselves.”
“Forget them. What did you find out?” Starks fixed his focus on Parker, who was obviously uncomfortable. “Go ahead, Mike. Or is it really that bad?” Uneasiness gripped him.
Parker exhaled, keeping his eyes on his joined hands. “Several men readily recalled one college classmate who told them about his secret relationship with Kayla. We were careful to interview them separately and simultaneously, so they had no opportunity to arrange their stories ahead of time. According to these men, with the exception of intercourse, the guy and Kayla did everything the law allowed, and didn’t. I paraphrased their more explicit information.”
Starks sat still for a moment then waved it off. “Sounds like bragging to me. The guy made it up. At that age, especially back then, even college-age guys always lied about conquests they never had a chance in hell to make happen. These days, it’s all different, of course.”
Parker’s shoulders stayed tense. “Maybe you’re right. However—”
“Where were these assignations supposed to have happened?”
Parker rubbed his eyes then looked directly at Starks. “The basement of your family home. According to the interviewees, there were two days a week you were in class that Kayla went to your house to study in the basement, and to wait for you.”
“Grandpa and Mom were at work all day. I’d meet up with Kayla at the house after my morning classes and we’d go at it like rabbits until we both had to leave for afternoon classes. No.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe them. I’d need proof, and how can you get that after all these years?” Starks hesitated. “Unless… unless you’re telling me it was Bernard Hazely. If Kayla brought that slug to my house—”
“It wasn’t Hazely. As for proof, there’s one thing each of them remembered, something distinctive they said the classmate told them about. It’s something you’d know that would confirm whether the story is truth or a lie.”
Starks sat at attention. “Such as?”
“The guy told them Kayla had a small, almost heart-shaped pinkish-red mole on the area just above her… you know.”
Blood rushed from Starks’s face, his breathing became shallow.
“There’s something else. Your mother knew about the basement. Not who, just that it was a fact.”
“No! She would have told me.”
“I spoke with her myself. She didn’t tell you, because she knew you wouldn’t believe her. She knew it was a fact because she saw a guy running off when she came home unexpectedly one day, but not who it was. Your mother made it a point to see if she could catch them again, but it seemed her showing up that first time must have scared him off. She said after all the fuss you made about being with Kayla, it was better to let you find out on your own what she was really like.”
“My God. She should have told me. All of this… all of it could have been…” Color drained from Starks’s face.
“Are you okay?” Parker asked.
Starks sat with his face buried in his hands for several moments. When he looked up, he shouted, “That lying, conniving bitch. I never fucking told anyone about that mole. No one. It was mine, just as she was.”
Starks lurched forward. “Who was it? God damn it, Mike, tell me.” He slammed his fist on the table. “Tell me!” He pulled back and studied his attorney’s face and posture. “What’s wrong with you?”
He watched the attorney struggle to form a word—a name, and fail. Parker’s anguished expression made it clear he wished he didn’t have to.
“Starks… God… I’m so sorry.”
“No.” Starks eyes were wild. His rush to get away knocked his chair over. He staggered around the room as a man seriously wounded might.
The air in the room had thinned for Starks, who stood gasping and gaping at Parker. A gagging sound came from within him and he stumbled to the plastic trash can in a corner of the room and vomited into it, before collapsing to the floor. He emptied his stomach of its bile twice more. The sour odor permeated the small, closed space. A few minutes went by, as he waited for dry heaves to stop. Then he got up, unsteady on his feet.
Parker stayed silent and waited.
Starks, after several minutes of pacing, faced Parker. “What about after college? What about all those years? What about lately? Tell me, Mike. Tell me. Did Jeffrey and Kayla… Have they all along been…”
Parker rubbed a vein that throbbed in the middle of his forehead.
“Jesus.” A chord of restraint and hope snapped inside Starks. He walked to the door, placing his hand on the knob. His back to his attorney he said, “Mike, I can’t continue today. I know we have more to discuss. If you would, please come back next week. I need time. There are some arrangements I need to discuss with you. Some matters I need you to take over for me.”
“I
understand.”
Starks looked over his shoulder, met Parker’s eyes. “I don’t.”
He opened the door wide and left the room, taking the burden of betrayal like a dead body with him.
And he wondered whose child Kayla was carrying.
CHAPTER 113
THE NEXT MORNING, immediately after the 8 a.m. count, Starks headed to the barbershop. One person was in the room.
The man lifted his gaze from the tabloid he was reading and sang out, “Business. Yay!”
“How’s it going, Steve?”
“Honey, you saved me from boredom that was about to swallow me whole.” He swished to the chair and patted it. “The usual trim, Starks? Or do you want to try something new?”
“Shave it.”
Steve’s hands went to his cheeks. He stared at Starks’s reflection in the mirror with his eyes wide and his mouth open. “You want me to shave it… as in off… all your gorgeous hair?”
Starks nodded.
“I need a few moments to catch my breath.” Steve studied Starks from all sides. “You do have the bone structure for it, but don’t you want to reconsider?”
“I have other things to do today, so I’d appreciate it if you’d get going.”
“I may cry, but here we go.”
Steve wrapped a towel around Starks’s neck, clicked the switch on the clippers, filling the space with its electric buzz, sniffling as dark locks fell to the floor. Over the racket he said, “You know, the last couple years of your life can be found in your hair, chemically, that is.”
“Another reason to get rid of it.”
When it was done and the room was silent, Starks asked, “Inmates don’t bother you, Steve. Why is that?”
“You know how good I am with hair.” He waited for Starks to agree then continued. “Honey, I was the best in Boston. Won every national and international hair show I competed in. With all that sucks in here, getting your hair done right is something no one wants to mess with. My skill is my golden ticket; I’m protected. Plus, I don’t bother anyone who doesn’t want to be bothered.” He winked.
