by Nesly Clerge
He would never have to see Kayla’s face or hear her voice again once all his children were adults. They’d be old enough to understand, and to make their own choices regarding their relationship with their mother.
As he mused about this, the breakfast tray arrived. Starks ate slowly, imagining the day of his release from Sands. He’d buy a huge house on several acres so his children, and someday their children, could visit, or live there, if they wanted to. If Emma was still part of his life then, her family could do the same. He’d be polite when his children or grandchildren mentioned Kayla, maybe even ask occasionally about how she was doing. He’d be the gracious, wise head of the family, surrounded and adored by his loved ones.
Better stick with reality, schmuck.
Starks fell asleep faster than he had in months. He barely woke when a technician came in to draw blood.
Nor did he want to.
CHAPTER 40
ABOUT AN HOUR after the lunch tray was delivered and the plates practically licked clean, Garrett Hall entered Starks’s room.
“Your vitals are looking good. How are you feeling today?”
Starks, who’d been dozing, sat up in bed. “Better than I have since before my life got flushed.”
Garrett’s smile faltered. “I’m pleased with the improvement.”
“Then why the face?”
“If it were up to me, I’d keep you here as long as possible. But it’s not. They wanted me to discharge you today but I fought for tomorrow. Told them observation after a transfusion should be forty-eight hours. If you continue doing as well as you are—and I insisted on personally checking you tomorrow morning—I have to discharge you.”
“It was going to happen eventually.”
“But was it enough time for whatever you were doing?”
“Yes. You helped me in a number of significant ways. I won’t forget it.”
“Can you take the phone back with you?”
Starks shook his head. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow. Wish I could take it, with all those unused minutes, but even if I could hide it up my ass, they’d find it.”
Garrett grimaced. “Full search? Even after you’ve been here?”
“If I had a cavity in a tooth, they’d look inside it.”
“You’re made of tougher stuff than I am.”
“You either get tough or go crazy. Or become every asshole’s victim or bitch.”
Garrett looked away and said, “If you can, get more rest. Real sleep is better. I’ll see you in the morning, but if you need me, buzz and they’ll page me.”
Starks extended his right hand. “You’re a good man, Dr. Hall.”
Garrett clasped Starks’s hand. “So are you. Even if some people in your life forgot to remember that. Just promise me that you won’t forget it.”
“I don’t like to make promises I’m not certain I can keep.”
CHAPTER 41
A FEW MINUTES AFTER eight o’clock Tuesday morning, Starks lingered in what he believed might be the last hot shower he’d take alone for fourteen years and five months, unless some other medical matter or emergency sent him back to a hospital.
Still in the bathroom, he pulled the rubber thumbs from his scrub pants pockets, mixed the poisonous powders with a small amount of water, applied the paste to the knitting needle then tucked the needle into the shirt hem.
No longer able to rely on Jeffrey to get the powders from Lewis Mason, he’d get Jim to take care of this from now on. He’d have to get word to Mason about this arrangement and add Jim’s name to his visitors list. No way would Jim be as excited about being in on this secret as Jeffrey had been. Jeffrey had practiced a magician’s trick in order to transfer the thumbs to Starks, was proud of himself when it went smoothly. Jim was smooth, but it would never be the same.
If things were the same, he’d have called Jeffrey and confided in him about Blake, Jeffrey being the only person he would have trusted, other than Jim and Parker, with the truth. What was he going to do about Jeffrey?
It seemed that lately the question of what to do about someone was taking up a lot of his time. The people in his life were becoming like bowling pins: it was anyone’s guess as to who would be left standing in the end.
He slipped on his scrub pants and shoes. His back was still damp, so he carried his scrub shirt with him into the room. Garrett Hall was seated on the bed, checking messages on his phone.
“Be right with you, Starks. Just need to… done.” Garrett looked up. His face paled and his eyes widened. “Jesus, Starks. Reading about injuries in your file was one thing, but seeing them is—”
“Unless they pull or ache, I don’t give them much thought.”
“As a doctor, I’m used to seeing anything and everything. As your friend, I’m furious.”
“Maybe one day I’ll get them tattooed so they look deliberate. It’ll make it easier to go to the beach. I’ll get looks no matter what. Might as well choose why.”
Garrett shook his head. “It was always like you to make a positive out of a negative. Okay, let’s get this exam done.”
Several minutes later, Starks asked, “What’s the diagnosis?”
“The anemia is taken care of, for now. I’m sending you back with a prescription for iron tablets. Take one a day.”
“How long?”
“I’d say until you’re out of prison and can get decent food. If at all possible, try to keep the stress down, or find a way to deal with it.”
Starks decided not to state the obvious.
They shook hands. Garrett took the burner phone from Starks and slipped it into one of his pants pockets. “Time to sign a discharge order I don’t want to sign.”
Starks slipped his scrub shirt on and waited.
As though fate was screwing with him yet again, the lunch tray arrived moments before the three Sands guards from before did. One guard leaned against the door to keep it open.
Another guard said, “Aw, ain’t that too bad, Starks.” He lifted the cover from the plate. “Looks good, smells good. Too bad you’re in such a hurry to get back to your cell. Otherwise, we’d let you stay and eat every bite of this delicious food. Now, get your ass off the bed and take the stance.”
The third guard secured the chains on Starks’s wrists, waist, and ankles.
The first guard chuckled. “Time to do the Sands Shuffle.”
They reached the locked ward door. One guard knocked on the glass. A nurse buzzed them through. She frowned and said, “All patients have to leave in a wheelchair. It’s the rule.”
The guard propped his thumbs on his belt weighted with a walkie-talkie, Taser, nightstick, and holstered gun. “We got our own rules, and they say he walks his ass outta here.” He turned away and said, “Let’s go.”
The ride back to Sands was as expected: blistering from the August sun that pelted the metal van roof, jostling, and punctuated with occasional rude comments from the guards.
Starks’s arrival at Sands was the same process as before of wait and wait some more, in order to eventually get to every prisoner’s least favorite room.
“Welcome back, Starks,” a different guard said. “You know how it goes: strip, shower, and smile for me when you bend over.”
“One of these days, you might buy me dinner first.”
CHAPTER 42
THE CHOW HALL was still serving lunch, but the last thing Starks wanted to do was field questions. He checked Jackson’s work schedule taped to the wall. His cellmate’s kitchen shift should have ended at eleven thirty. No telling where Jackson was at the moment, but he’d have to come to the cell for the three o’clock count. His own schedule showed he’d normally have worked today, getting off at four. He did want to get his phone, but that could wait.
The proper thing to do would be to go to the library and see if Sam needed him. But doing the proper thing wasn’t what he wanted to do. Sure, Sam would probably get word he was back, but the manager might believe his assistant was resting. He had no desire
to rest; in fact, he had no desire to do anything, especially deal with emotions that had their teeth sunk in deep and wouldn’t let go.
He thought he’d dealt with the matter of the DNA results; that he’d never let it bother him again. He was wrong. Nothing he told himself quieted the voices wrestling inside him. How long would it take, if ever, for him to get past or over this newly discovered betrayal on Kayla’s part, or to land in one place about how to feel about Blake?
Despite his mental state, Starks’s stomach growled. He could go to the commissary for a sandwich, but he didn’t feel like moving. An unopened packet of cinnamon rolls was all that was left of his stash. The simple matter that nothing of his had been taken while he was gone was an indication he had clout. Trucking someone’s commissary, even when they were around, was an all-too-common practice. No one had ever done it to him. So far.
He dropped into the chair at his desk. Chemical additives had kept the rolls from going stale, not that he cared how they tasted. It was just filler, empty of real substance.
Like so much of my life.
Starks still sat in the same place, staring with a deadened expression at the wall, when Jackson came in.
“Man, I thought you were supposed to be back the same day. I asked, but no one would tell me anything. What happened? What’d the scan show?”
“It didn’t show anything wrong.”
“Then why they’d keep you?”
Starks shrugged.
“Something’s up. For one, you, Mr. Clean, left that wrapper on the desk instead of sanitizing it before you threw it away. I’m surprised the world didn’t stop spinning.”
Starks leapt up and flung his chair toward the cell door. “Fuck people. They’re nothing but a bunch of parasites.”
Jackson picked up the chair from just outside the entrance and returned it to its original place. “Jesus, Starks. What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing you can help me with. I need to talk to Gabe.”
Jackson pointed a finger at Starks. “I warned you about—”
“When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Right now, keep your thoughts to yourself.”
“But—”
Starks held his hand up in protest then exited the cell saying, “Save it, Jackson. I need to talk to someone who’ll empathize, and that’s not you.”
CHAPTER 43
STARKS TURNED RIGHT out of his cell block and hurried forward. CO Roberts was coming from the other direction and flagged him down.
“Hey, Starks. Went looking for you Saturday and heard you were out. You okay?”
“I’m fine. What did you need?”
Roberts lowered his voice. “Still working on the cell phones.”
“Don’t take too long.”
“I’ll give the guy a push. It’s just… he’s not someone you can push too hard. His influence is one you don’t want to fuck with.”
“I’m counting on you.” Starks continued on at a quick pace until he reached the workroom door. It was locked. Two hard knocks went unanswered. His fist was halfway up, ready to pound the metal, when the door opened.
Starks lowered his hand. “You have a few minutes?”
Gabe motioned for Starks to enter then bolted the door. “Heard you were in the hospital again. Not from a fight you lost, for a change.”
“I came to talk to you, not get my balls busted. Enough people are doing that already.”
“Count yourself fortunate.”
“In what way?”
“One thing going for you is you got balls. Your problem is, like I told you last time, you let your emotions run you.”
“From what I hear, I’m not the only one with a temper.”
“My temper doesn’t drive me. Logic and strategy does. Unlike you.”
“What gives you the right to think you know me?”
“A degree in psychology.”
“I didn’t know that’s covered in a law degree.”
“I got two degrees. One to learn legal loopholes, the other to understand what makes people tick. Only way to know how to manipulate people is to know what motivates them.”
“I’ve always found money to be the great motivator.”
“That’s why I’m smarter than you. For example, I listen. You’re always running your mouth.”
“Forget you, old man. I’m out of here.” Starks started for the door.
“You’re too sensitive for your own good. Starks.”
Starks stopped but didn’t look back.
Gabe pulled out one of the two chairs at a small table. “Sit down. You got something on your mind. I said I listen. I’ll listen.”
Starks hesitated then took a seat.
Gabe sat across from him. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Starks expelled a breath. “Any chance I can swear you to secrecy and it sticks?”
“In my world, talking can get you killed or invite a hostile takeover. But, it’s up to you.”
“I had a blood transfusion at the hospital. In the process, I discovered my first child, a son, isn’t mine.”
Gabe released a slow whistle. “Did she trick you into marrying her because she was pregnant?”
“No. We were married a while before Blake… She had fibroid tumors. The doctor told her she could get pregnant but it might be difficult. We were thrilled when we found out we…” Starks massaged his temples.
“If my wife had done that to me, she’d’ve had an accident. So would the fucker who’d knocked her up.”
“This is thirteen-years-and-two-more-children-who-are-mine later. What would you do in my situation? That’s a rhetorical question, by the way. I’m aware of the situation regarding your own wife’s activities and what you did to her lovers.”
“They had to be put down.”
“That’s not what I intended to do to Ozy. I’m not like you.”
Gabe shrugged. “We each handle things our own way, and our ways weren’t so far apart. You’d see that if you dropped the judgment. The question is, What are you gonna do?”
“For Blake’s sake, I’m going to keep my mouth shut, unless I don’t have a choice.”
“She doesn’t just bust your balls, she wrings them.”
Starks nodded. “The thing is, I’m not sure whether she does or doesn’t know he’s not mine. Not sure I want to find out.” Starks stared at his clasped hands resting on the table. “She knows I screwed around. Not as much as her, but a good bit.” He continued to talk, uninterrupted by Gabe, about Kayla’s infidelities and his, about his successes and failures in business, about Jeffrey’s betrayal.
Gabe leaned back and studied Starks. “Shit happens, but you gotta find a way to climb out of that hole, and in a way that doesn’t shove you back in by someone’s hands or your own. Fact is, you and I didn’t manage ourselves and our lives in a way that worked as well as we’d’ve liked. Sometimes life becomes a tempest. That happens, you gotta walk through it with the intention of coming out alive. These things going on now aren’t easy, but they’re happening on the outside. Here,” he waved a hand, “is where your focus needs to be. You’ve pissed off a few people. And if I read you right, you intend to piss off a few more before you’re done.”
Starks gave him a half-smile. “That’s a possibility.”
“A probability. You have an agenda, but do you have a plan? Are you thinking ten steps ahead of where you are now, or are you gonna keep winging it the way you have been?”
“I’m not winging it. Why is everybody so damn eager to get on my case?”
Gabe pointed a finger at Starks. “You’re more reactive than strategic. That’s ignorant and dangerous. You’re smarter than that. Another thing, you spend too much time feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Wait a damn minute. I thought we were getting along.”
“We are getting along. And this is me getting along so well that I’m telling you to get your head out of your ass or you’re gonna get mangled.” Gabe glanced at the clock on the wall. “
Quarter to three. Get going so you don’t miss the count.”
Starks got up abruptly. “What are you, bi-polar or something?”
“I’m intolerant of self-pitying whiners. Now, get outta here. And don’t wait too long to come back. We’re not done talking.”
“You can forget my coming back.”
“You will.”
“You’re too arrogant for your own good.”
“Pot and kettle.”
CHAPTER 44
AFTER THE COUNT, Starks went to the commissary to stock up on sandwiches and anything else he’d run short of or wanted for the sake of having it. He stood in the center of the space and turned in a slow circle. His shoulders slumped and he shook his head. Extravagant shopping had been a pleasurable experience. The true measure of his success and power was the day he realized he no longer needed to care about cost. He’d busted his butt to reach that point. Giving gifts that wowed recipients was now reduced to occasionally treating inmates to the low-end basics in stock or that had to be ordered. The power of the purchase, he muttered.
Starks returned to his cell. He tossed a sandwich to Jackson, who reclined on his bunk. “Jackson, I know you’re itching to ask questions or give me reports about whatever, but I don’t want to hear anything or talk about anything. If that’s too difficult, tough. I want to be quiet with my thoughts.”
“Sure thing, Starks. Wallow away. Thanks for the sandwich. And the warm camaraderie.”
“We’ll talk later.”
“My day is now complete.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“If I could do that, I’d stay in this cell all day.”
The next morning, after the eight o’clock count, Starks and Jackson met up with some of their crew who waited for them in the yard. Several of the faces were new and not ones Starks had noticed before. He nodded at each one as Jackson introduced him as the leader, but his mind was still too preoccupied with his own disturbances to remember their names; he’d leave that up to Jackson for now. All he had to do was memorize their faces.
