by Nesly Clerge
“Plastic fork.”
Stewart sighed and turned to the nurse practitioner. “Prep a bed for Mr. Starks. I’m keeping him overnight.”
The guard who’d first seen Starks said, “No way. He’s in isolation. You said it’s not serious. Give him a couple stitches. He can heal in the SHU.”
“Mr. Starks very recently received a blood transfusion. Based on his recent tests and results, I need to keep him under observation overnight, and I need to give him something for pain. End of discussion.” He turned to Starks and said, “If you even think of giving me a problem, forget it. I’m a former Marine medic with access to tranquilizers.”
The guard huffed and said, “We’ll inform everyone who needs to know.”
Stewart studied Starks. “When was the last time you ate anything substantial?”
“Several days ago.”
“That’s unacceptable. What about your iron tablets?”
“Every day, except since I was put in isolation on Saturday.”
Stewart faced the guards. “I’ve been here two days, and some of what I’ve witnessed is unconscionable. I want a hot meal delivered here within thirty minutes. And when Mr. Starks returns to isolation, he’d better damn well be fed and get his iron tablet every day, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
Starks slid off the exam table and was escorted to the secure patient section. The guards left grumbling.
“They’re not happy,” Starks said.
Stewart shrugged. “Not my problem.”
“You’re a huge improvement over the last doctor. Although, I’m being gracious by calling him that. He’s a sadist with a license to practice on prisoners. Speaking of him, you might need to check the wounds on my back and on the back of my left thigh. Dr. Pain removed Taser hooks with no anesthetic and his bare hands.”
“That guy deserves a Code Red. But he’s out of here for good. Let’s get your clothes off—they’re ruined, anyway—and let me take a look.”
“I’ll need some of my own clothes from my regular cell. And, before we do this, I need the toilet.”
Stewart pointed. “Bathroom’s there. And,” he pulled something white and folded from a nearby cabinet, “here’s a hospital gown. Put your clothes in the receptacle marked as hazardous waste. While you’re at it, wash off the blood. Everything you need’s in there.”
Starks closed the bathroom door and leaned against it. Too many trips through airports around the world had taught him that cell phones and even aluminum foil gum wrappers set off sensitive metal detectors. There was no way he could take the phone and needle with him when he left without setting off the one at the entrance. Nor could he dispose of the items with his scrubs. The alarm would trigger when the hazardous waste bag was removed, and he’d be linked to the illegal items or at least be the number-one suspect. It wouldn’t be difficult to replace the items, just inconvenient. Jackson or Roberts could get another phone, and knitting needles came in pairs: he knew where Jackson kept the brother to his needle hidden.
A quick glance revealed the only place to hide them was in the small air vent on the back wall. The two screws had slight rust on them. He tested one screw with a thumbnail; it moved. He turned the water on then removed the screws and cover. After wiping prints off both items, he hid them as far back as he could inside the vent. It would be a bitch to lose them, but a bigger bitch to be caught with them. He wanted to get out of the SHU sooner than later.
The fake thumbs in his pockets were put on top the small stack of folded towels. Once he was clean and in the gown, he slid the thumbs on, rubbing the edges until they blended with his skin. There had never been a reason to sleep with them on. There was a first time for everything.
I don’t need all these fucking complications, he thought.
CHAPTER 54
STARKS DRAGGED HIS eyelids open as the nurse practitioner positioned the tray table, with breakfast on it, in front of him. He sat up and remembered the thumbs, feeling for them with his fingers. One was missing. He thanked the nurse and waited until he left, then hunted for the rubber appendage, glancing at the large window occasionally to make sure his somewhat frantic search wasn’t observed. The thumb was under the covers. Starks smoothed it into place. As soon as his heart slowed its racing, he began to eat. Despite what the doctor had said, it was possible they’d lie to Stewart about what they fed him once he was back in isolation. This might be the last so-called decent meal for who knew how long.
Stewart entered the secure space and dropped clean clothes on the end of the bed. “Those are from your cell. You should feel rested this morning. I gave you something to make sure you slept.”
“It worked.”
“Your vitals are good and your color is better. No reason to keep you here.” He kept his gaze on Starks and said, “I checked your prison file; I was curious about why you’re in isolation. Not your first time there. Maybe you should give some thought to making it your last.”
“If it were solely up to me, it would be. If you try to stay out of trouble here, there’s always someone eager to force you back in.”
Stewart looked like he wanted to say something then changed his mind. “Get dressed. The guards will be here soon.”
“I appreciate everything you did for me. And I’m relieved you’re a real doctor, not a psycho quack. Just so you know, there are some decent people in here.”
“And I’ll probably have to sew them up at some point as well. Come by in two days so I can check how everything’s healing and change the bandage. If anything bothers you before that, come in right away.”
Stewart left. Starks took his clothes to the bathroom. He washed his face and ran a hand over the stubble on his head, smiling at the memory of what Jeffrey had said. His smile faltered when he opened the bathroom door and found two guards waiting for him. “I’m ready,” he told them. He nodded at Stewart on his way out and congratulated himself for his decision when the guards made him walk through the metal detector alone. Satisfied that he wasn’t leaving with anything he shouldn’t, they put the shackles on his ankles, waist, and left wrist and escorted him back to the SHU.
The lock clanged firmly into place when they left him alone in the cell. He sat on the concrete bed, his back against the wall, knees bent, and thought about his attacker, who could have acted on behalf of any one of the people he’d antagonized. But it was more likely someone acting on instruction from Crazy D. Any real leader in here had guards on the payroll. And, he realized, it was possible that one or more guards could be double-teaming him. It was a disquieting thought. Was there a way he could identify every crooked guard at Sands and get them on his payroll, to mitigate that possible problem? He laughed at himself. Such a task would be not only involved, but would take too much money. One problem at a time, Starks.
He’d have to deal with Crazy D at some point, but he wanted to find out who, in fact—not rumor or supposition—was responsible for this latest, albeit feeble, attack. And it had been feeble. The most anyone could have done from the other side of the door was a moderate injury, unless they poisoned the food. Another unsettling thought.
This wasn’t a murder attempt, it was a warning: I can get to you if I really want to. Now, it was a matter of confirming who’d sent the message. And paying them back in kind.
CHAPTER 55
A FEW HOURS LATER, the cell door opened and CO Roberts stepped in. “Heard about the attack, Starks.”
Starks held up his bandaged right wrist. “My question is, Who set it up, who gave the order? I’m banking on Crazy D. Since he’s still in solitary, he had to involve a guard. How else could someone legitimately get by the video cameras?”
“Spencer reduced Crazy D’s confinement time; he got out Monday afternoon.”
“Why’d Spencer do that?”
“No idea. Every guard in the SHU is under scrutiny now. But we’re all being more cautious. Warden’s talking about making us wear body cameras with audio. Lucky for us it’s not in the budget and can’t make it in there
for another year.”
“That would certainly screw us,” Starks replied. “Why are you here?”
Roberts smiled. “Taking you to your cell. Doc Stewart chewed Spencer’s ass about you being attacked with more than one Taser for a relatively minor infraction, then abused by his predecessor, and then knifed by someone while in what’s supposed to be a highly secured area. His words, almost verbatim.”
“Stewart’s not one to take crap from anyone, and he’s a conscientious doctor. I owe him one for getting me out of here.” Starks extended his arms.
“Sorry about the shackles, Starks. I’ll put them everywhere but your injured wrist. And, considering the atmosphere, it’s probably best if we do this transfer with no talking.”
Inside Starks’s cell in D-Block, and once the restraints were removed, Roberts faced Starks, his discomfort obvious. “You said if you were ever injured, you’d cut our pay in half. Considering all what’s happened lately, that gonna happen?”
Starks made Roberts wait then said, “No. But if you guys don’t run better interference, it will.”
Roberts expressed appreciation and left.
Starks stood alone in the center of his cell. He longed for a hot shower but decided that wasn’t smart. An attack could happen just about anywhere, anytime, but going to the showers alone and injured would be asking for it. He’d been a bit too stupid a bit too often lately. Jackson’s word played across his mind: Reckless. Gabe had also used that word.
As it was, there were more immediate tasks to take care of.
Jackson’s extra knitting needle was where it was supposed to be. Starks prepped it and tucked it into his shirt hem. He was pleasantly surprised to see his cell phone still inside the book. Roberts had played it safe and gotten the phone from outside, on his own time and dime. On my dime, he told himself. He recalled Roberts’ comments about how trustworthy Jackson really was and smiled. Roberts had decided involving Jackson was too big a risk.
It was five after noon. Some of his men would be in the chow hall. He could get a few of them to agree to protect him while he got the shower he needed and craved.
The chow hall was crowded, but the number of men waiting in line for trays had whittled down to four. That wouldn’t last. The next wave would arrive soon. Starks made his way to the line. A number of inmates he didn’t know made a point of telling him hello. He surveyed the tables, looking for members of his crew and picked out Hector Sanchez first, who gave him a thumbs-up. He nodded and wondered what that was about. Two tables over had Crazy D and several of his gang at it; some of them glowered at him, some snickered. Darren’s expression should have scared him, but it didn’t. It did amplify his desire to deal with the man in the only way he’d understand, or as his grandfather used to say, Some people need to be talked to by hand.
Starks got his tray and made his way to the table where Tank and several of his crew sat. His crew greeted him with smiles and atta-boy praises. Inmates at other tables waved.
He took a seat across from Tank and said, “What is going on?”
Tank grinned. “You said you were going to do something about Troy and his lackey, and you did. Some of those guys had a reason to go to the infirmary. Said it was the first time they felt like human beings since they been here. Word got around.”
“I’m glad it worked out, for my sake, as well as theirs.” Starks looked at Trevor, who sat one man over from Tank. “Nice to see you’re still with us. You made a wise decision.”
“Seemed logical to me. I always try to use logic when—” Trevor’s focus shifted to behind Starks. He scowled and said, “Assholes. There’s a guy slightly newer than me over there. Some guys are harassing him. We should rescue him.”
For a few moments, Starks watched the inmates torment the short, slender young man. Trevor was right, of course. But he’d only just been released from solitary and was in no hurry to return. “Not our business,” he said.
Trevor’s eyes opened wide. “Not our business? The poor guy doesn’t stand a chance. You helped me. Why won’t you help him?”
“I helped you because you amuse me.”
“Big thanks. But I’m not here for entertainment purposes. Besides, maybe he’s even more amusing than I am.”
“I said no.”
“That’s fucked up, Starks. I’m going over there and inviting him to join us.” Trevor started to rise.
Starks hissed, “Sit your ass down.”
Trevor ignored him. He was halfway up when Tank’s arm reached around Pete, gripped Trevor’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince, and then shoved him back into his seat.
Tank pushed his face in front of Pete’s. “When Starks talks, minnow, you listen. We look for trouble if Starks tells us to look. If he says yes or no, he’s got a good reason. You like to be lo-gi-cal, well, logic this: The man just got outta the fucking SHU. Your sorry ass gonna put him back in there the same day he got out? You want to spend time in there, yourself? Put all of us in there?”
Trevor’s cheeks flamed. “They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that.”
Starks said, “There’s a lot in this world that isn’t right, kid.” He wanted to know what was going on behind him but didn’t want to watch if he wasn’t going to act. He said to Tank, “Tell me what they’re doing.”
Tank nodded. “One of ’em just dumped the fish’s full plate upside down on the table and hit the guy in the head with the plate. Not hard enough to hurt him bad, but it didn’t feel good.”
Starks didn’t have to look to know the eyes of his men were focused on him, waiting to hear what he had to say. “Have they stopped?”
“The guy’s getting up. He forgot to rap on the table. Guard’s chewing him out, making him pick up the mess. Here he comes.”
Starks and his men watched the young man walk, head down, to dump his tray. Someone threw a bread roll at him; it hit the back of his head then fell to the floor. The young man picked up the roll and bit into it as he made his way to the exit. The four inmates who’d harassed him and several at their table laughed; others grimaced.
The slight-framed inmate stopped in the doorway. He turned around slowly, pointed at the four men and spoke, struggling through his stutter to get out the words “You’ll regret this.”
The four men laughed even harder at the staccato pronouncement, and stopped only when a guard told them to settle down.
Tank shook his head and turned to Starks. “I’d spell that t-r-o-u-b-l-e. And I wouldn’t be surprised if it pays us a visit sometime in the future.”
“No reason it should,” Starks said.
“No disrespect, but you’re like a magnet for trouble. Like ants to honey.”
“Frankly,” Starks said, “I’m tired of getting stung by venomous creatures and having to suffer and heal.”
Pete stopped chewing and said, “What’s that mean?”
Starks felt weariness press in on him. “I’m not sure yet.”
CHAPTER 56
STARKS ABANDONED THE idea of a shower. He couldn’t shake the confusion about what he was feeling and didn’t want to have to carry on a conversation with anyone. He made one quick stop to replace the two damaged scrubs sets then headed for his cell.
Jackson showed up about fifteen minutes later. “Heard you were back, and that you got knifed. Through the damn cuff. How’s the injury?”
Starks was stretched out on his bunk. He glanced at his bandaged wrist and shrugged.
Jackson pulled his chair from under his desk and sat. “You PMS-ing on me, again?”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“If you talk about it, some of that mental clutter can empty out.”
“I don’t think it would make any sense. It doesn’t make sense to me. Not yet, at least.”
“Try me.”
Starks sat up. He rubbed his hands back and forth on his pants legs. “I feel like I’m unraveling, and I don’t know whether I want to stop it or wait and see what happens.”
Jackson whistled and leaned back. “What cranked that engine?”
“I don’t know if it was any particular thing or if it’s everything. I think I’m going in one direction and then find myself off course.”
“Man, that’s called life. You zigging along, and then life zags you. You gotta roll with it. You know?”
“I used to wake up every morning knowing who I was, what I could expect from myself and my life. Then I discovered some of my reality was a big fucking lie. I’d been strutting around, all the while being a fool and the only one who didn’t know it.”
“Your ego got sucker-punched by the truth.”
Starks glanced up at Jackson then lowered his head again. “Yeah. And the punches keep coming. I’ve got scars inside and out. Like I’m being shredded strip by strip. I keep thinking I’ve done what was needed to stop it, and then…”
Jackson nodded. “Either someone takes a piece out of you or you set yourself up for it to happen.”
“Something like that.”
A guard called out from the door. “Starks.”
Starks and Jackson jumped. At the same time, Jackson said, “Make a noise or something,” and Starks asked, “What is it?”
“You have an appointment with the counselor at two. Be on time.”
“I’m not talking with any counselor but Matthew Demory. When he’s back, I’ll go.”
“He’s back.”
“When did he return?”
“What’s it matter?” The clack of the guard’s nightstick against cell bars diminished as he continued to the end of the corridor.
Jackson said, “How do you feel about talking with Demory again?”
“I have to remember to tell him he’s got good timing.”
CHAPTER 57
IT HAD BEEN a few months since he and Demory had seen each other. The first time he’d met the counselor two guards had taken him to his appointment in shackles, which were left on during the session. His attack on Boen Jones and other disruptive behaviors had resulted in an extended stay in the SHU, which led to his failed attempt to end his life. Prison officials foisted weekly counseling sessions on him. He’d resented Demory initially then had come to find time with him useful, if for no other reason than to vent about Kayla. In the several months they met for sessions, a lot occurred, to both of them. They shared a history. It was limited in some ways, and deep in others.
