The Starks Trilogy (Book 1 & 2)

by Nesly Clerge

  Starks scowled at him. “Get out of here. I don’t need anyone who’s too chicken-shit to fight.”

  Jackson looked stricken. “Starks, be smart, man.”

  “Go play with your kitchen cronies, where it’s safe. I don’t need your fucking fake loyalty.”

  Jackson’s expression turned to one of anger. “Your head’s up your ass, Starks, and it’s gonna get stuck there because of your inflated ego. Stupid motherfucker. Fine. You want to be a solo act, go to it. I don’t need your shit.” Head down, Jackson pushed his way through the men watching and waiting to see what was going to happen.

  One of the five, a skinny blond, moved several inches forward. “Baldy here’s mad ’cause he’s gonna have to find himself another bitch.” The other four laughed.

  The largest of the five said, “Jackson’s right about you, Starks. You are stupid. We’re in Crazy D’s crew. Maybe you heard about the Feared Brotherhood. You don’t want to fuck with us.”

  Starks loosened the pressure his thumb had on the needle; he knew it was only a matter of moments before he’d have to use it. “Considering what you guys are into, it’s not the right name for you. Maybe Degenerates Are Us.”

  The skinny blond looked at the other four. “You believe this fucking guy?” He moved up until his face was inches from Starks’s. “I get it. You miss your dreadlocks bitch and wanna join him. We can make that happen, right here, right now.”

  Starks’s thumb flipped the needle up between the middle and ring fingers of his right hand. The thrust of the needle into the man’s solar plexus happened so fast, the man remained sneering for several seconds. Then the blond man’s eyes opened wide in terror. Extraordinary pain caused by the poison dropped him into a fetal position on the ground and writhing in agony.

  One of the other four said, “What the fuck? Starks barely touched him.”

  The largest man said, “Get the sonofabitch.”

  The four men rushed Starks, knocking him to the ground. He jumped to his feet, the needle no longer in his hand, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the men to look for it.

  The inmates came at him again. Under the crush of their bodies, Starks struggled to pull the knife away from his left arm, ignoring the sting of skin coming away with the tape. The shank was barely shoved into the abdomen of the man with black hair, who fell to the ground screaming. The largest man’s fist connected with Starks’s jaw, splattering blood onto the other two men who, in their confusion about what was happening, backed up a few inches.

  Another blow was delivered to Starks’s head. He went down. The three men sent a tornado of kicks to his face, head, and torso. Starks did the best he could to avoid as many blows as possible, but he was growing weaker. His biggest fear was that the other knife would puncture his skin; he pinned his right arm to his side and sheltered his face with his left.

  Almost as suddenly as it started, the attack stopped. Starks raised his head a few inches to see what was happening. His attackers were gathered around the two on the ground. He heard the first man he’d downed scream, “He fucking stabbed me with something. It fucking hurts.” The other man down was moaning but not talking.

  The large man said, “We gotta get these guys outta here before the guards come.”

  Starks used this moment of distraction to get the last knife loose. Both shanks had enough poison on them to do more damage, if he was careful. It took all his strength to get to his feet. He stood in place for a moment trying and failing to calm his ragged breath. The image of Skullars gave him the small amount of strength he needed. He staggered forward and drove the shanks into the backs of the large man and the inmate next to him. They went down. Starks’s eyes connected with the fifth man’s stunned gaze; the man’s face paled and he bolted.

  Starks turned, swaying on his feet like a drunk. Around forty pairs of eyes watched him. His pain was tempered by the realization that the four inmates would be dead in forty-eight hours. The worst fucking two days of their lives. They deserved it.

  Inmates milling about waited for him to say something. Starks took a few deeps breaths and stood as straight as he could manage and said in a loud voice, “This is what happens when someone fucks with me or anyone under my protection.”

  The thing to do now was walk away, to get back to his cell and get cleaned up. And, the knives had to be hidden. He glanced back at the ground for the needle, but couldn’t see it. His right foot moved forward but his legs went numb. Starks crumpled to the ground. The attempt to get up was futile. It was also the last thing he needed after making his grand declaration. He used his right hand to prop himself up, felt the needle under his hand, and slid it back into the hem, taking two attempts to accomplish this.

  Lightning streaked across the gray sky about a mile away; thunder rumbled. The storm was getting closer. Heavy footsteps moving fast came toward him. It took great effort to stuff the two knives into his socks, but he did it.

  Starks collapsed onto his back. He lay there staring into the faces of two guards who didn’t look happy to see him.

  CHAPTER 16

  STARKS STARED UP at COs Luke Roberts and Brandon Simmons, two guards on his payroll, which meant less discussion or explanation required. He gave them a half-smile. They didn’t smile back.

  Roberts squatted and asked, “You okay, Starks?”

  Simmons looked around at the observers. A number of them demonstrated their eagerness to disperse by backing up or starting to walk away, but a number of them didn’t budge. He said loudly, “What the fuck happened here?”

  Two guards joined them. One of them said, “Don’t tell me: nobody knows nothing.”

  Roberts glanced at the four injured men several feet away. “I don’t know what happened to them, but considering Starks here is the one wearing the most blood, I’d say they attacked him.”

  Between groans, the largest attacker shouted, “Starks fucking stabbed me.”

  An audible gasp came from several inmates. Starks stifled a smile. He almost wished he could get word out that anyone prepared to address this breach could save the energy; they’d only do his attacker a favor by ending his life sooner.

  Roberts stood fixed in place, his expression one of obvious contemplation. He glanced down and asked Starks, “Did you stab him?”

  “No. I was minding my own business.”

  Roberts told the other guards to get the four men to the infirmary.

  “How’re we supposed to do that?” one of them asked.

  “Get some fucking gurneys or carry them on your backs or,” he waved toward the inmates in the yard, “ask some of these guys to help you carry them. I don’t care which, just get your asses moving.”

  Simmons took the lead. Facing inmates nearby he said, “I want eight of you guys to help carry those four to the infirmary. Move it.”

  The large attacker spoke up again. “He fucking stabbed us.”

  Roberts said, “One against four? That’s some odds. Where’s the knife?”

  The inmate didn’t answer. Instead, he screamed as the poison in his system forced his muscles to contract, drawing his knees painfully to his chest against his will.

  Simmons said to the guards, “You gonna get these guys to the infirmary sometime today? And, why don’t you practice a little crowd control while you’re at it.”

  The extra guards kicked into gear, directing inmates, who grabbed arms and legs then started toward the main door, with several guards in tow. One guard yelled at inmates in the yard to mind their own business as he made his way back to his post.

  Simmons radioed tower guards, telling them the situation was under control.

  Starks glanced at one of the several towers. The barrel of a long rifle retreated into the small structure. As he sat up, he prayed tower guards hadn’t seen enough to get him into real trouble. He pressed his hands into the dirt to keep himself propped up.

  “Can you get up?” Roberts asked.

  “Not without help.”

  Simmons and Robe
rts took his arms to raise him.

  “Easy. I think a few of my ribs are broken or at least cracked.”

  Roberts said, “We need to take you to the infirmary.”

  “How in the hell,” Simmons asked, “did you fight four guys?”

  “Five guys. One of them ran away. As for how I fought them, it’s amazing what you can do when your life or the life of someone you care about is threatened.” Starks dropped to the dirt. “Roberts, if you check my socks, there are two items I need you to get rid of for me. You’ve got pockets; I don’t.”

  Roberts squatted and pretended to check Starks’s ankles. “Goddamnit,” he muttered.

  He was about to reach for the knives when Starks said, “Don’t touch anything but the duct tape. Here,” he removed the extra pieces of tape from his arms, “cover the tips and blades with these.”

  Simmons kept watch. “What the fuck are you up to, Starks?”

  “Just trying to tip the scales in favor of the oppressed,” he replied. “Justice isn’t always fair. Take Skullars, for example. Only reason he was in here was because he went after the bastards who butchered his wife and only child. What he did may not be legal, but it was understandable. If I’d been Skullars, small pieces of those guys would have been scattered across three states. Skullars didn’t bother anyone. He just didn’t want to be anyone’s bitch, and they—those guys—didn’t like it. I’m here because I went after my wife’s ex-lover when he pulled a knife on me, a knife conveniently never found. You guys have a tough job here; I respect that. But no fucking way can you protect every inmate. That means the responsibility falls to those of us with the balls to take it on.”

  “You know,” Simmons said, “this shit’s going to be investigated. You better pray everybody—and I mean everybody—keeps their mouth shut.”

  Roberts surreptitiously slid the knives points-down into one of his deeper pants pockets. He took one of Starks’s arms and motioned for Simmons to do the same. “Why didn’t you come to us first? You’ve probably put yourself in the crapper this time.”

  “C’mon, officers. It was five to one. I was down for the count. For all I know, other inmates did it to them while I was out of it. Maybe they stabbed each other in their frenzy.”

  Simmons said, “Providing extra protection is one thing, but we’re not here to clean up every damn mess you intend to make.”

  Starks grimaced in pain with each step. “Anytime you want to back out and let someone take your place on the payroll, let me know.”

  Roberts intervened. “Look, let’s not do or say anything any of us will regret. Of course we’ll do what we can. But you need to realize we’re going to have to deal with Spencer. Man’s got a hard-on for you. He wants to nail you bad.”

  Starks spit blood on the ground and pushed at a loosened tooth with his tongue. “Tell him to take a number.”

  The first large drops of rain began to fall.

  CHAPTER 17

  STARKS SHIFTED HIS position in the hard plastic chair. Adrenaline had ceased charging through his system a while ago. Now, every part of his body ached or throbbed and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. Bed was what he needed, and soon, not sitting here in the infirmary waiting for—he checked the wall clock again—a full hour now. No one else was waiting to see the doctor, so what was the hold-up? The guys he’d stabbed were nowhere in sight, and he wasn’t about to ask if they were still at Sands or had been transferred to Grace Hospital. He needed to be considered a victim of their attack.

  The nurse had checked his cuts and abrasions when he’d first arrived, treating any that needed cleaning and ointment. But he needed his ribs X-rayed and something mild for pain, two things that only the doctor could address. What the hell was the man doing?

  As he had, several times since the wait had started, Starks replayed the fight in his mind. Perspiration beaded on his forehead: Jackson was right. He was tempting fate by acting reckless. Those five men could have killed him. If more of Crazy D’s gang had been there, he’d be on his way to the morgue right now.

  According to Jeffrey, Mason’s powders were effective for approximately six months. Thank God he’d received them in June and not at the start of his incarceration mid-January. The powders should remain full-strength until October, but that was a best-guess. The word approximately made him anxious. It might be wise to order more, sooner than later.

  Only a small amount of Mason’s deadly concoctions had been provided, as only a minute amount was needed for a single potent attack. Still, he’d have to be careful how much he used and when. Granted, a little went a long way, but running out of them before he could get more was not a scenario he cared to create. If things were different, he’d call Jeffrey the moment he left the infirmary and word his request in a way no one listening in could decipher. But he couldn’t call Jeffrey. Not anymore. An ache of a different kind thrummed in his chest.

  Footsteps interrupted Starks’s thoughts. Dr. Troy, with his futile comb-over, headed his way.

  Troy said, “Back so soon?” He took in Starks’s appearance. “Maybe you should avoid fights for a while.”

  “I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Troy used his penlight to check Starks’s eyes then prodded Starks’s swollen jaw.

  Starks flinched. “What the fuck, Doc?”

  Troy’s face burned red. “Don’t use that language with me.” He jotted a few notes onto Starks’s file then said, “Get some rest, apply ice, and stay out of fights.”

  “You need to X-ray my ribs. A few are either cracked or maybe broken.”

  “Wasting taxpayers’ money on you isn’t my idea of the right thing to do. You want to get yourself beat up on a regular basis, go ahead. But don’t come running to me to put you back together every time.”

  “What kind of a doctor are you? You’re a fucking sadist. Where’s the other doctor who works here? If he’s not here today, I’ll come back tomorrow so I can get proper care.”

  “You’re out of luck, Starks. I replaced Wilson. Now get the hell out of my infirmary.”

  “What about something for pain?”

  “You lowlifes are all the same, you always want drugs. Think you deserve to numb your time here. Here’s what you do. Go to the commissary and buy some aspirin. Just don’t swallow a bunch of them and expect me to send you to the hospital for another little holiday.” The doctor marched back to his office, slamming his door after him.

  Starks turned to the open-mouthed nurse and said, “Sooner or later, that bastard’s going to be sorry. I only hope it’s sooner.” He stopped at the door. “How’s Skullars Bailey? I haven’t heard anything about his condition.”

  The nurse hesitated then said, “Still unconscious at Grace.”

  Maybe Skullars had a chance.

  Starks left, carrying several levels of rage with him. He was almost to his cell when Jackson caught up with him.

  “Heard you survived.”

  “Nice of you to sound so relieved.”

  “You’re not moving too good.”

  “Sonofabitch doctor refused proper medical care. No X-rays, nothing for pain. ‘Take a couple aspirin and don’t ever call me again.’ Bastard needs his license taken away, or shoved up his ass. Either one works for me. I did, however, find out that Skullars is still alive. That alone was worth the price of admission.”

  Starks entered the cell first and headed straight for his bed. His attempt to climb up to his bunk made him groan in agony.

  “Shit, man,” Jackson said. “You’re in no condition for that. My offer to switch bunks is still on the table.”

  “This time I’m going to take you up on it. I need to recover as fast as I can. Climbing up and down won’t get me there.” Starks lowered himself carefully into his chair. “I need you to swap the stuff around.”

  Jackson nodded and got busy. After a few moments, he said, “You know you were crazy to try to take on five guys by yourself.” When Starks didn’t
answer, he added, “You were kind of harsh with me out there.”

  “Yeah, well…” Starks winced and rubbed his ribcage.

  Jackson sighed. “You need to be careful, man. Don’t go out of control. You could’ve gotten killed.”

  “Same thought occurred to me.”

  “You went after some of Crazy D’s men. He’s not called crazy for nothing.”

  “Everybody’s called something.”

  “You can bet he’s going to come after you.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Yeah, right. In the condition you’re in, only thing you’re ready for is a fucking tea party, if that. We’re seriously outnumbered, man. Did you happen to pay attention to that? Yeah, you’ve got some guards on the pay, but you need more inmates standing up for you.”

  Starks dragged out a sigh. “By the way, I had to get rid of the extra shanks. Couldn’t risk it.”

  “Not good news, but there are more knives where those came from.” Jackson made up the bottom bunk. “Lie down before you fall down.”

  Starks lifted himself from the chair and slowly positioned himself on top of the thin mattress.

  Jackson began to pace. “We ought to recruit the three guys I introduced you to last month. We gotta start somewhere.”

  “I told you that loyalty is important to me. Those three were members of Bo’s gang and they betrayed him. What makes you think they won’t do that to me?”

  “And I told you: They hated Bo. Look, fact is you’ve started another battle. If we’re gonna win, we need soldiers.”

  Starks draped an arm over his eyes. “Do what you want, Jackson.”

  A baton rattled across the cell bars. Starks and Jackson glanced at each other, sharing a similar thought stemming from prior experience: Starks was getting called before the council then thrown into the SHU.

  Starks sat up. “Officer Jakes. Haven’t seen you for a while. You dropped by for a particular reason?”

  “You have a visitor.”

  “I’ve been expecting my attorney. Glad he finally made it.”

  “It’s not your attorney. It’s a guy named Jeffrey Davis.”