by Nesly Clerge
Starks and Jackson walked to the chow hall, as well as got their trays in silence. They rapped on the table and took seats across from each other.
“All right, Jackson, you have my attention.”
“I’ve recruited a few more people. They and the others want to know when the meeting you talked about is gonna happen.”
“Soon.”
“Not what they were hoping to hear, but I’ll let them know.” Jackson stabbed fake scrambled eggs onto his fork. “That nightmare you had was worse than usual. What’s up with that?”
Starks spooned oatmeal into his mouth, grimaced and swallowed. “Ever heard of Gabe Bianchi?”
Jackson tensed. “Why’re you asking about him?”
“I met him yesterday.”
“Stay away from him. He’s bad news.”
Starks put his spoon down. “He’s well-spoken, educated. A little too philosophical for my tastes,” he shrugged, “but each to his own. And, he reminds me of my grandfather.”
“Don’t let that fool you. The boss of the Bianchi family isn’t someone to mess with.”
“Former boss.”
“Don’t believe that for a second.”
“He’s someone who can get why I did what I did.”
Jackson pointed his loaded fork at Starks. “We all get it. The difference is he intended to murder his wife’s lovers, you didn’t.”
“Even though Ozy didn’t die, the result was the same: we’re both behind bars.”
“Don’t think you’ll be best buds, because you have something in common. Even though he’s been locked up for a while, people don’t like to mention him. They believe he’s still dangerous, even in here.”
“Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. I don’t like to believe everything I hear. You shouldn’t, either.”
“You gotta watch you don’t have a side-view mirror perspective, especially about that old man.”
“Enough about Gabe. I’m taking a couple-hour trip out of here today.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“I’m going for the scan Parker set up.”
“Dr. Troy’s a quack. Something ought to be done about him.”
“He’s on his way out. I saw to that.”
Jackson laughed. “Score one for the dragon. Let’s hope his replacement is better.”
“If he isn’t, I’ll deal with him as well.”
A nightstick came down hard on the table. Starks and Jackson looked at the guard glaring at them.
“You girls have gabbed long enough. You’re a minute over the ten allowed. Follow the rules and get outta here or lose some privileges.”
“Not a problem,” Starks said.
“I’ve got to start my shift, anyway,” Jackson replied.
The two inmates rapped on the table and carried their trays to the dump-’n-stack area.
“Good luck with the scan.”
Starks lowered his voice. “Keep it to yourself, Jackson. I told you for good reason. I didn’t want you asking where I was, and I don’t want everyone knowing what’s going on. Anyone asks, say you don’t know.”
“Got it.”
Jackson made his way to the kitchen; Starks turned right. Despite Jackson’s admonitions, he wanted to see if Gabe was in the workroom. Then he’d go to the gym, hit the showers, and be back in his cell for the eleven o’clock count. His shift in the library started at one. Then it would be time to head out for his appointment. He wondered which guards would be assigned to escort him.
And he wondered if the scan results would render his plans moot.
CHAPTER 32
STARKS GRABBED WHAT he’d need for a shower and some clean clothes. Jackson had been adamant that Gabe was dangerous, but he didn’t anticipate any trouble. Anyone who could be as calm and composed as Gabe was in this place had to be considered wise, or he had a real good reason not to be afraid. Plus, the former—or current—crime boss had garnered significant respect from Sands inmates; he was left alone, not that it was difficult to imagine why.
He wended his way through the few corridors to the L-shaped room, grabbed the handle of the heavy door and twisted. The door was locked. Starks knocked hard, but got no response. Ear pressed firmly against the door, he heard metal against metal. Starks pounded on the door and yelled, “Gabe, it’s Starks.” Still no answer. Either Gabe couldn’t hear him or didn’t want to be bothered.
Starks leaned against the door. He’d wanted to see Gabe more than he’d realized. Disappointment wasn’t something he found easy to take. Like the time his grandfather promised a new bicycle for Christmas and didn’t deliver. When he was older, his grandfather explained that he’d done it on purpose, because Starks needed to learn that life wasn’t fair.
“There will be times you won’t get what you want, son, at least not when you want it.”
“But you promised.”
“Had to. Wasn’t easy, but it was the best way to teach you not to believe everything people tell you, especially if they say they’re going to give you what you want. You have to watch people. You have to learn to trust your gut. Let that be the voice that’s louder than your desires, especially ones others say they’re going to fulfill. Something seems off, it is. Plain and simple. You got that bike eventually, didn’t you?”
“You made me work for it.”
“That’s one of the best lessons I could give you. Real success that has any meaning has to be earned. You keep these lessons in mind. You’ll be stronger for it.”
His grandfather’s lessons were often harsh, but they put calluses on him in a way no softer life could have. Even though the money-strapped years of college, the low-paying jobs that followed, and starting his first business caused him to pace the floors at night wondering how, when, and if he’d ever get out of that poverty, he’d been tempered to disappointment and persistence, unless giving up and moving on to something else was more profitable for him.
Starks faced the door. He pounded several more times and counted to sixty. He listened again. No sound came from inside.
He hit the door with his fist once and shouted, “I’ll be back. You’re going to talk to me.”
Starks got the usual nods of respect from Los Hermanos members. He watched them as he put the weights back in order before starting his set. One of the gang, Felipe, led a practice session that Starks took to be impressive, fast-paced wrestling moves. Starks abandoned his workout and instead stood nearby, watching. Each time a man joined Felipe on the mat, he had his opponents submitting to chokeholds in less than a minute.
Felipe announced the workout was over. Starks approached him. “That was some fancy wrestling moves you were demonstrating.”
“That’s not wrestling, man; that’s Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.”
“You’re from Brazil?”
Felipe laughed. “Puerto Rico. I’m a Jiu-Jitsu champion, or was. Won several medals. Some of my competitions are on YouTube.”
“I’m impressed. Would you teach me some of those moves?”
Felipe grabbed his towel from the mat and wiped sweat from his head and arms. He avoided looking at Starks. The other members of the gang gathered their towels and things, but it was apparent they were listening.
“I’ll pay you,” Starks said.
“It’s not that. Need Sanchez’s permission. I’m supposed to teach only the amigos.”
“Is it best if you ask him or that I do?”
“You. Pay the man the respect he requires.” Felipe chuckled. “I hope he says yes. I’d get a special tattoo just for that, right here.” He pointed to his upper right arm. “Dragon Trainer.” The other Hermanos laughed. Felipe picked up his gear and made for the door, trailed by the others in the gang. He turned, pointed to his right arm, laughed out loud then left the gym.
I’ll see what I can do to get you that tattoo, Starks said to himself.
CHAPTER 33
STARKS RETRIEVED JACKSON’S roll of duct tape, tore off two strips, which he pressed flat on his abdomen. He tucked the cell phone in
to his underwear and headed out for his library shift. Once in the office, he taped the phone under the desk, in a place no one would discover without deliberate effort.
At 3:35 three guards came for him. None of them were on his payroll or familiar to him. The room went silent. Paco and six other inmates sat motionless as one guard put shackles on Starks.
One of the guards said to them, “This isn’t your business.”
The inmates pretended to go back to what they’d been doing, occasionally casting furtive glances at Starks.
A guard said, “Let’s go.”
Paco wore an expression that was clearly quizzical. Starks smiled and winked. Paco shook his head.
Two of the guards secured Starks in the back of the van; one of them opened a small panel in the roof to let air in. The three guards climbed into the air-conditioned cab, one guard acting as driver. He cranked the engine and jolted the van into motion.
The twenty-minute ride was bumpy and sweltering for Starks, but he ignored this as much as he could—he was leaving Sands for a while again, this time conscious. The hazy summer sky was a solid wash of milky blue. Trees and shrubs were flush with every shade of green. Wildflowers carpeted the fields they passed. Starks closed his eyes, raised his face toward the vent and inhaled. It wasn’t the fresh-air scent he’d hoped for, but memory let him recall summer days when he was a free man.
The van slowed and turned right into the medical facility. People walked out of their way to avoid Starks and his escorts. Most of the staff made an effort not to stare. After signing in, the first stop was at the lab for blood to be drawn. Then Starks and the guards went to the waiting area in the radiology department, where every chair was filled with anxious patients and family, made even more so by the new arrivals. Starks was certain the reason he was called in next was to get him in and out as fast as possible.
The four men followed a nurse to a small office, where a white-coated man behind the desk, his profile to them, typed on a keyboard. He didn’t look up when they entered or when the nurse placed Starks’s folder on the desk.
Starks saw the name plate. “Dr. Garrett Hall. I’ll be damned.”
Garrett focused on the man in shackles across from him, initial confusion evident in his expression. “Starks! I recognized the voice before the… uh…” He gestured with a hand that he then dropped self-consciously to his desktop.
“I look different.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“It’s good to see you, Garrett. Long time. I’d shake, but…” He held up his shackled hands.
Garrett said, “The restraints have to come off.”
“No can do, Doc,” one of the guards replied.
“He can’t go into the machine with them on.”
“We can take them off before he goes in, but not before.”
Garrett came around his desk. “Follow me.” He picked up Starks’s folder and read as he walked.
They entered another small office. Garrett said, “Okay, the restraints need to come off here, before I take him into the next room.”
“Where he goes, we go,” a guard said.
Starks laughed. “It’s not like I’m going to escape. There’s only one way out of here and you’re blocking it.”
The same guard said, “We’ll take them off at the scanner.”
“No,” Garrett said, “you take them off here. The only two people going into the next room are doctor and patient. We have rules we have to follow as well.” He pointed behind him. “That’s a big window. You can watch him from in here. But doctor-patient confidentiality starts as soon as Starks and I cross that threshold.”
Shackle-free, Starks went ahead of Garrett into the anteroom to where the scanner was positioned. Garrett closed the door behind them. Starks stretched and said, “Those things are heavy. All that aside, how the heck are you? Looks like you’ve done well for yourself.”
“You helped it happen. I would never have been able to afford top-notch lawyers like the ones you set up for me to help with that… little issue.”
“That’s what friends do.”
“Have a seat. There’s something I need to discuss before we start the scan.”
Starks sat on the edge of the chair. “You look worried.”
Garrett opened the folder, exposing the top sheet. Got the results of your blood work.”
“That was fast. Uncommon, even.”
Garrett blushed. “Not for prisoners.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Your CBC is abnormal, and your hemoglobin levels are dangerously low.”
“That’s way too technical for me. What does it mean?”
“It can mean a number of things such as severe anemia, maybe from a bleeding ulcer. It could also mean colon cancer or kidney problems. We’ll get this scan done and see what’s what head-wise. But I’m amazed the prison doctor didn’t catch this.”
“The man doesn’t care. Parker’s doing what he can to get him replaced as soon as possible.”
Garrett nodded. “A blood transfusion may be needed. Who in your family could donate?”
“Kayla and I are both Type O, not that she’d give me any blood; she only takes it. I know that two Type Os can only have Type O children. One of my three could donate.”
“Who’s the oldest?”
“Blake. He’s thirteen.”
Garrett frowned. “Legally, he’d need to be seventeen. We can’t use him.”
“Can’t I sign a consent form or something?”
“You could if he was sixteen. We can get blood from another donor, if Kayla won’t do it. What about your mother?”
“Type A. I want my son to do it. Let me talk to Parker and see if there’s anything he can do.”
Garrett scratched his ear. “Actually, in special situations where there’s medical value for a family member, someone under that age can donate. Further tests may prove that need.”
“Let’s do them.”
“First,” Garrett turned to a computer terminal and began clicking through icons, “let’s get you to sign a form so I can get your son’s health records.” He turned a small piece of equipment toward Starks. “It’s all electronic these days. Just use the pen attached and fill in the information you know. There’s a place for your signature and one at the bottom for you to list yourself as his father.”
It took about two minutes for Starks to fill in the form. “Now what?”
“Now we do the scan, a different blood test, and then I admit you for an overnight stay.”
Starks glanced at the guards. “They’re not going to like it.”
“Not my concern. You are. Unfortunately, we’re required to place you in the—”
“Secured mental ward. Been there, done that.”
“Yes. Sorry. It’s in the file.”
“At least the food here will be better than what I usually get.”
“Must be really bad where you are. The food, I mean.”
Starks exhaled. “It’s not a place where you find much that’s good.”
CHAPTER 34
STARKS SLEPT AS well as could be expected, considering all that was on his mind and the occasional night screams from patients in the mental ward. He forced himself to linger over, rather than gulp, a breakfast of pancakes with syrup, bacon, real scrambled eggs, toast with real butter and jelly, orange juice with pulp, and coffee—brewed, not instant.
There was no TV in the room, just a small barred window on the side wall. No telephone was provided. He ignored the tiny window on the door; there was nothing in the ward he wanted to look at.
Starks pushed the tray table aside then double-checked that his clothing, folded by him so the knitting needle wasn’t detected, was still untouched in the built-in closet. He went to the window. It was overcast; a light drizzle speckled the glass. He guessed it was around nine; breakfast had been delivered at 8:29—he’d asked.
Someone unlocked the door. Starks smiled when Garrett came in.
; “How’re you feeling this morning, Starks? Were you able to sleep?”
“At the moment, I’m feeling pretty good.” Starks patted his stomach and nodded at the food tray. “I slept well enough. The noise level here is slightly less than at Sands.”
“I have some good news for you. No neurological problems showed up on the scan.”
“That’s a relief. So, what do you think caused the headaches and me to faint?”
“The abnormal CBC could be a factor. It’s also possible the headaches are stress-induced.” Garrett sat on the edge of the bed. He ran a hand back and forth across his mouth and kept his eyes aimed at the floor.
“Garrett, you’re stalling about something. What is it?”
“This isn’t easy.”
“Talk.”
Garrett looked straight at Starks. “Blake is Type A.”
“That’s not possible.”
Garrett blew out a breath but stayed silent.
Starks’s voice was a whisper. “Are you telling me Blake isn’t my son?”
“One of his parents would have to be Type A.”
Starks shook his head violently. He paced for several moments then slammed his fist into the wall. “That fucking whore.”
“I’m truly sorry, Starks.”
Starks faced him. “No.” He shook his head. “A mistake was made in the typing somewhere along the line. Some half-asleep technician mixed things up. We have to be absolutely sure about this. How do we prove this one way or…” Starks slid down the wall. He dropped his face into his hands and sobbed. “It can’t be. It just can’t be.”
“It’s in his medical records.” After a moment he added, “The only way to remove any doubt is with a DNA test. Kayla would have to approve it, of course.”
Starks used the hospital gown to wipe his face and eyes. “No.” He nodded once firmly. “That’s not how we’re going to do this.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I need your help. Not in any way that’ll get you into trouble. But this has to be done differently.”
“I owe you. How can I help?”
“Did the prison post a guard outside my room?”
“They tried but I wouldn’t allow it. Told them no way was I going to disrupt the patients in this ward.”
