by Nesly Clerge
Starks’s pupils darkened. “Tell him to go fuck himself.” He saw the CO’s eyebrows raise and the surprise on Jackson’s face.
“You sure that’s what you want me to tell him?”
“Positive.”
Jakes made a pseudo-salute with his baton then started back down the corridor.
Jackson said, “That’s some kind of message for your best friend.”
“Leave it alone.”
“He supplies the powders, man.”
“He was the courier, and not the only one I can use.”
“Quoting Alice while she partied in Wonderland, ‘Curiouser and curiouser.’”
“I said leave it.”
“If I leave it, we’re fucked.”
The numerals glowing on Starks’s digital clock showed it was a few minutes after five in the morning. The portion of the long, narrow window centered on the back wall let in a strip of illumination from the halogen lights positioned strategically, and in large numbers, around the grounds. Starks used a foot to push his twisted blanket into a crumpled pile at the end of his bed. Movement came from the upper bunk.
Jackson hung his head over the edge to look down at him. “Starks, you’ve got the most fucked-up sleep patterns.”
“We should talk.”
“About?”
“Things you said yesterday.”
Jackson leapt down. He pulled his chair close to the lower bunk. “I’m listening.”
CHAPTER 18
ONE MINUTE TO four that afternoon, Starks ended his library shift and started in the direction that would take him to the yard. He hated how wary he felt: confidence had been second nature for him most of his life; although, Kayla would have said it was cockiness based on a sense of entitlement.
One of the Hermanos called out a greeting to him, snapping Starks back into the moment. He derided himself for allowing his focus to slip. Even with the prepped needle in his shirt hem, it was a huge risk to traverse prison corridors while daydreaming. Too easy to be ambushed.
Jackson had better be on time.
Starks stepped into the yard. A small dust devil lifted up then dissipated just as fast on a grassless patch to his right. He scanned faces of the inmates milling around. Looked for enemies. Looked for Jackson. Found him standing with four African-American inmates. Jackson saw him and nodded.
Starks started toward the fence directly across from him, using his peripheral vision to watch for anyone who might approach him. It seemed to take forever, rather than less than a minute, to make it to the meeting spot. He was too damn jumpy on the inside. At least experience had taught him how to hide it.
Jackson said, “You remember Pete, Tommy, and Stinky.”
Starks met each man’s eyes then nodded once, grateful that Stinky was standing upwind. He understood the man’s reason for not showering more often—if it kept horny inmates away, more power to him—but he couldn’t stand to smell him.
Jackson gestured toward the fourth man, who was tall, with a bulk that was a combination of solid and pudgy. “This is Tank, for obvious reasons.”
Tank looked directly into Starks’s eyes. “Yo.”
Starks said, “You all know why you’re here?”
“We’re here,” Stinky said, “’cause you need us.”
Pete stepped forward. “I told you last time we talked I’m in. I’m ready.”
Tommy added, “Me too. I heard how you took on five of the Brotherhood, alone. And why. You got balls, man. People be talking about that.”
“What anyone who joins me needs to always keep in mind,” Starks told them, “is that I’m all about loyalty. Loyalty gets rewarded. You each need to earn your stripes to prove that loyalty.”
Pete formed his hands into fists at his sides. “I earned some of those stripes for you the day you took out Big Bo.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Starks replied.
“What we gotta do to earn those stripes?” Pete asked.
“I’ll let you know.”
Pete kept eye-contact with Starks. “We gotta get a dragon tat?”
“That’s a thought. It’ll show who you’re aligned with. However, if you do, make it just the head. Tatman knows not to ever use mine again.”
“We gotta pay for it?” Pete asked.
“I’ll pay.”
Tank nodded and said, “What about the rewards? Jackson says you’re generous.”
Starks held Tank’s gaze for a moment. “When I say I’m going to take care of someone, I do it. That’s all you need to concern yourself with. However, if the only reason you’re joining is for what you can get out of it, and not who you can be because of it, don’t bother. Believe me. I’ll know what your motivation is.” The men went still. “Jackson will let you know when and where we’ll meet again. However, it wouldn’t hurt if we eat together, walk together, and watch each others’ backs as much as possible. Got it?”
The men nodded.
Jackson’s eyes were aimed at something behind Starks. Using his chin as a pointer, he said, “I think someone wants to talk to you.”
Starks turned to find CO Roberts a couple yards back and moving in fast.
“Starks, council wants to see you.”
“Now?”
“Sooner.”
CHAPTER 19
STARKS SAT ON his bunk and counted his blessings, at least the one foremost on his mind. Fortune had smiled on him and saved him from a month or more in the SHU. The months he’d spent in the Segregated Housing Unit earlier in the year, followed by more time in monitored isolation after his suicide attempt, had nearly driven him out of his mind.
Testimonies given to the council by correctional officers Roberts and Simmons the prior afternoon contributed to this save. He knew he could count on them. It was the tower guards who had concerned him more. Only one tower guard, positioned nearest where the fight had taken place, said he’d seen the confrontation from start to finish, and swore the men attacked Starks, who’d attempted to defend himself. Starks kept it to himself that the guard must have been dozing or looking elsewhere when the altercation began. In one way it was reckless to go one against five, but in another way, it had been smart. Even Spencer said he could not fathom that Starks would be so stupid as to stack the odds against himself in that manner. But there was the matter of stab wounds. When asked, Starks shrugged and said he was too busy getting his ass kicked to notice what else his attackers were doing. Roberts and Simmons stated no weapons had been found.
It was obvious to everyone in the council room during the hour that had dragged on and on, that Tony Spencer was livid about not being able to nail Starks regarding the fight. Spencer said that sooner or later, Starks’s luck would run out and he’d find himself unable to avoid the consequences of his actions.
But, today is a new day, he told himself.
After spending several minutes debating what to do with his Saturday, Starks decided to stay in his cell, at least for a while. He needed time alone to think. One thing in particular worried him: Crazy D hadn’t said or done anything yet regarding retaliation. It was only a matter of time.
Starks shook his head at the nature of things at Sands. Jackson had told him Crazy D’s given name was Darren Williams. Whether the inmate had come up with that moniker himself or it had been provided by another prisoner didn’t matter. The fact was it would be difficult to create fear in anyone by telling them Darren was coming after them. Crazy D, however, was a bone worth chewing on.
Now he was about to join those men who’d earned nicknames in here. So far, he’d been referred to as the Dragon and the Dragon Lord. He smiled. Not a bad start. However, he reminded himself, a good start doesn’t always guarantee a good finish.
His life with Kayla had had a good start. He pounded his forehead with a fist. Stop fucking lying to yourself.
For almost twenty years, he’d allowed her to fool him with her pretense of being shy, modest, virginal. When she’d affirmed repeatedly that he was the only man she’
d ever been with and that their union was sacred, he’d chosen to believe her. He could practically hear Matthew Demory ask him if his own need for other women was more about abandonment issues regarding his father than getting physical desires satisfied. His answer, if he and Demory were still having weekly sessions, would be the same as every prior time when Demory came up with such counseling babble: Bullshit.
It seemed longer than only a few years ago that his charmed reality was fractured by Richard and Jenny Hayes. The former best friend of his wife had confided in her husband, and he in turn informed Starks about what Kayla was really up to, and had been up to since college. So many, many men—in hotels, cars, behind closed doors at her workplace, and God only knew where else she’d spread her legs—all of this leading up to her three-year affair with Ozy Hessinger. He’d ignored the signs that appeared over time, especially during their last six years together: the hemlines that climbed higher, the necklines that dropped lower, and how often she went out with “the girls” and didn’t come home until late, usually staggering-drunk.
The facts had crushed him. But the fact that had done him in was the one he’d only recently learned from Parker about Jeffrey. That Jeffrey had screwed Kayla while Starks was at a university class was egregious. That they’d done it in his grandfather’s basement added insult to injury, as his grandfather would have said. What he didn’t know for sure was whether or not they’d continued to betray him during all the years that had followed.
The manure pile his life had become kept getting deeper.
CHAPTER 20
“WHAT’S THE MATTER, Jackson?” Starks closed his library book, sat up in his bunk, and gave full attention to his cellmate, who looked in at him from the threshold of their cell. Jackson stared at him with lips compressed into a hard line. Starks sighed and said, “Do I need to say please?”
Jackson plodded to his chair and sunk into it. “Just heard… Sorry, man. Skullars died.”
It took a moment for the news to register. Starks’s head dropped into his hands. “This fucking place! These fucking people!” He threw the book against the wall.
“I hear you,” Jackson said. “Not that it makes up for it, but the four guys are dead.”
Starks pointed toward the ceiling. “For you, buddy. For you, your wife, and your son.”
Silence lingered a few moments then Jackson spoke. “Word going round is Crazy D’s coming after you. Soon.”
“About damn time.”
“I’m not feeling the same excitement about that you seem to be.”
“It’s one thing to face an enemy. It’s another to sit around worrying about it.” Starks walked to the cell door and stared toward the first cell on the left of the corridor. “I wonder who they’re going to put in Skullars’ cell. I wonder if Skullars had any family left to mourn him. I never asked.”
Starks checked the clock. “Ten thirty. Next count’s in half an hour. You should have time to get word to our recruits between now and then. Tell them we’re having our first meeting in the laundry room at noon sharp.”
“They won’t be happy about missing lunch, no matter how much it sucks.”
“We don’t need to meet for long, but tell them they won’t go hungry. I’ll take them to the commissary afterwards. My treat.”
“I’m on it.” Jackson bustled from the cell.
Starks picked up the book from the floor and carefully straightened the bent pages. His chest and limbs felt weighted with loss. For a little over a decade, his life had been about profits and gains. Back then, the only losses he suffered were the occasional business contract and the huge rewards that would have resulted. He’d turned the word “loss” into a verb that motivated him to find a way to win even bigger.
Then everything flipped. Unanticipated, devastating losses started to come into his life like storm waves on a shore, and didn’t appear to be letting up any time soon. The losses were like multiple exorbitant overdraft fees, as though he’d taken more from life than he was supposed to, and now he had to pay and pay, when he was already so close to running on empty.
He walked to the small mirror above the lavatory-toilet combo and looked into his reflected eyes. After a few moments he said, “You’d better dump that fucked-up philosophy, right now.”
CHAPTER 21
THE LAUNDRY ROOM had one person in it when Starks arrived. Nick was at the long table in the middle of the room, folding inmates’ clothes. He looked up and nodded. “Need your laundry done, Starks? Where’s your box?”
“Not today, Nick. I need you to disappear for twenty or so minutes. I’ll comp you with an equal amount of commissary.”
Nick grinned. “Sure thing. It can take longer, if you like.”
“That should be enough time. Don’t want to get you in trouble for being off the job.”
“Man’s gotta eat and visit the john sometime.” Nick took a load of clothes from a washer, tossed them into a dryer, got it going then left.
Jackson arrived with the four recruits. Starks directed them to follow him; he stopped in front of a dryer spinning clothes. “I don’t know if you heard, but Skullars Bailey died. So did the four guys I got in the yard. I know for certain three of them were the ones who killed Skullars. The other two may have just gotten in the way, not that that bothers me. I don’t know if any of you knew Skullars, but—”
Tommy said, “I seen him around. Big Jamaican buck.”
Starks narrowed his eyes and said, “He was a big man, in more ways than one, and” he shifted his gaze back to the others, “he was going to be an important asset for us. A couple months ago I saw him deal with the three bastards by himself, with nothing but his hands and his wits. This time they went after him armed, with more of them and guards willing to look the other way. Only way they could’ve taken him out.”
Tank stood erect. “I’m big.”
“Yeah,” Tommy said, “but he was bigger.”
“Not by much,” Tank replied.
“We’re wasting time,” Starks said. “If people in here are going to gang up in order to take out someone Skullars’ size, someone who didn’t bother anyone, then no one is safe, not that anyone in here ever is. The only way to improve our chances is to join forces. But we need to get organized. Now. Another problem is betrayal.” He glanced at Pete.
Pete said, “Big Bo was a bastard. Spell that in capital letters. You hear me? He didn’t look after the men who looked after him. Didn’t ever treat us like men. Treated us like something he had to wash off his shoe. I heard you’re different. Hell, I seen it for myself. You big on loyalty? I say, man gives loyalty, he gets loyalty back.”
Starks focused on Pete for a moment then faced the others. “I always take care of the people who take care of me. I couldn’t have succeeded the way I did before I came here if I hadn’t done that. If any of you betray any member of this gang or the gang as a whole, you need to know now that the penalty will be an extremely unpleasant death.”
All the men but Jackson shuffled in place.
“From this moment on,” Starks said, “anyone fucks with one of us fucks with all of us.”
Tommy crossed his arms. “What do we get out of this, other than protection?”
Starks smiled and said, “Benefits and profits. Starting now. Soon as we’re done here, we’re going to the commissary, as I’m sure Jackson told you. Get whatever you want—on me. After that, if you need anything or have a problem, I’ll do what I can to get what you need or make whatever or whoever leave you alone or leave permanently. In exchange, you do what I need you to do. Any questions?”
Pete asked, “What’s next?”
“Crazy D is going to come after me, soon, which means he needs to have to face all of you as well. I don’t know when, how, or how many of his people will be involved. Pay attention to what’s going on around you at all times. Get any information you hear about Crazy D’s plans to Jackson or to me. We may have to be spontaneous, but I’d rather have a strategy in place, as much as th
at’s possible, and based on solid information. For now, stay sharp, and try not to be anywhere where you can be cornered, especially not alone. Be suspicious of anyone who isn’t standing here now. Unless any of you have questions or something to say, let’s go to the commissary.”
Tank said, “You not shittin’ us about getting whatever we want?”
Starks nodded once. “No limit.”
Pete jutted his chin forward and said, “There’s a lot I want.”
Starks smiled and placed a hand on Pete’s shoulder. “And I believe you should get everything you want and deserve.”
CHAPTER 22
STARKS AND HIS crew sat on the heavy wooden bleachers hot from the unflinching midday sun. His four recruits had been like kids turned loose at Christmas in the commissary. He still didn’t trust Pete as completely as he’d like. As soon as he had that thought, the inmate’s gaze met his. Pete grinned as he shoved the last bite of sweet roll into his mouth.
He’d asked them to put themselves in harm’s way, for his sake. Bullshit, he thought: it’s as much for their sakes. But now, he was responsible for them, for their lives.
Tommy shifted forward, his eyes aimed straight ahead. “Trouble’s coming.”
The others faced the direction Tommy was looking.
Pete said. “Crazy D.”
“Is he the one in the middle?” Starks asked.
Pete nodded. “That’s him. And there’s three more of them than us.”
Starks studied his opponent. “How many in his gang?”
“No idea.”
This wasn’t at all what Starks had imagined someone called Crazy D would look like. But since when did crazy have a specific appearance? His adversary was slender and more than a head taller than the tallest of the several men walking with him—he stood out like a hen with its chicks. Lank black hair hung to the man’s collarbone. The black swastika on the right side of his neck all but shouted its presence against pale skin. Crazy D was a pretty-boy; there was no other word for it. Perhaps comments, ribbing, and taunts he was sure to have heard all his life drove him over the edge a long time ago. If there was one thing Starks understood, it was just how easy it was to be driven there.
