by Nesly Clerge
Then he’d see Margaret. He hoped his original decline of a conversation hadn’t ruined his chances. Maybe Jeffrey hadn’t gotten back to Margaret yet.
He turned to head for the entrance and was stopped by one of his newest crew members, who ran up to him panting hard. “Starks. I was looking for you.”
“What is it?”
“Trevor. Fool got into a fight with Tank. Doesn’t know when to stop or listen.”
“I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Mike.”
“Catch your breath and tell me what happened.”
The inmate bent over, hands on his knees, inhaling and exhaling a few times. “Trevor was cracking jokes on Tank. Tank told him to stop. He didn’t. Things got out of hand. I’m telling you, man, Trevor’s mouth is gonna get him damaged.”
Starks frowned. “Where are they now?”
Mike looked toward the entrance. “They just walked out.”
Starks blanked his expression as he watched them approach. He looked both men over. Neither man had any obvious injuries. “What the hell’s going on with you two?” The several curious crew members stopped playing and joined them. Sanchez’s soldiers respected the privacy a leader might need with his men.
Trevor answered, “Nothing. Some people can’t take a joke, is all.” His smile was quick and just as quickly gone. He toed the dirt.
Tank shrugged when Starks looked at him. “Kid needs a muzzle.”
Trevor looked up. “You’re too sensitive. Like a girl. And, Starks said I’m here because I’m amusing.”
“I ain’t amused, Trev,” Tank said. His expression was unreadable when he turned his gaze on Mike.
Starks noticed. The code was clear about snitching to an official, but this was among them. Still, he didn’t think Tank appreciated Mike being a tattler. For that matter, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it, either. “Let me make this plain: No fighting can happen among us. We stick together. Anyone has a problem with a member of the crew, talk to me. If there’s anything to settle, I’ll do it. And, Trevor, respect the men who have your back.”
Tank said, “Pups sometimes need a swipe when they get too frisky. Nothing to worry about.”
Starks shook his head. There was never nothing to worry about.
He left them in the yard. The first stop was to add the three names to his lists. The second stop was to the commissary for a couple of sandwiches. Back in his cell, he checked to make sure it was safe then called Jeffrey and asked him to set up a visit with Richard and Jenny Hayes and to tell Margaret Hessinger he would speak with her soon, but, he added, not until he met with the Hayes. He also told Jeffrey that his mother would need his help dealing with Kayla, and why.
Starks ate a sandwich, unaware of how it tasted, surprised when he noticed the crumpled wrapper in his hand clinched into a fist. There really was always something to worry about. Kayla was going to shit gold bricks when she learned about the new payment plan for the kids’ expenses. She’d lost the baby, and because of that loss and the loss of easy funds, she was probably going to lose Bret, if he hadn’t already left her. Would Kayla, to anesthetize her feelings, subject the children to more men? He needed someone to keep a watchful eye on the situation so the children could be protected. His mother, Jeffrey, Parker. Maybe even Jim. A nanny could be expected to do only so much.
His mother. She was searching the dregs for a wife for him, nurturing a union that was never going to happen. But he wasn’t giving Emma the attention she deserved or needed if he wanted her to stay with him. He prayed his mother didn’t have a conversation with Emma as well.
His still-healing wrist needed another bandage, but he was supposed to see Dr. Stewart tomorrow anyway. He’d also have to find out when Stewart would release him to resume his training with Felipe. Last thing he wanted to do was reinjure the wrist so badly that it permanently affected how well he could defend himself. Neither did he want to remain untrained longer than necessary.
Trevor and Tank had scuffled, and Mike had told on them. Was the man protecting the interests of the crew by telling, or was he an even bigger problem?
Then there was Hector Sanchez and Crazy D. He could put Sanchez off only so long about the powders he’d never get. Of course, he could continue to lie. But there was an expiration date on that as well. And whether it was Crazy D or someone else who’d ordered the attack on him while in the SHU, old Darren was going to come after him sooner or later. When Sanchez and the others involved got stiffed for the cell phone business…
Why don’t you just dig a grave now and get it over with, Starks mumbled to himself.
CHAPTER 60
IT WAS FOUR thirty. Starks bounced between antsy and bored. Maybe the guys still had a game going in the yard. Watching them might take his mind off all the threads that needed to be woven into something he could use to his advantage.
The light outside grayed as a dark cloud wafted in front of the sun. His crew members and Sanchez’s men dripped sweat; the basketball slipped from their hands as often as it didn’t. Droplets sprayed off the ball with each dribble. Starks joined his non-playing crew members cheering and shouting from the bleachers.
Pete said, “Hey, Starks. Where’s Jackson these days? He’s been kind of MIA lately.”
“He’s around,” Starks said. “His shift in the kitchen keeps him busy.”
Pete pointed to the right. “There’s that weird motherfucker from the chow hall.”
Starks and the others watched as the unkempt, gangly young man walked in small circles, his gaze fixed skyward. He stopped suddenly and looked at them.
Trevor said, “Don’t make eye-contact with him.”
One of Tank’s eyebrows went up. “Hunh. One minute you want to be his bodyguard and the next you want to ignore him. What’s up with you?”
“He’s weirder than I thought,” Trevor answered.
The stuttering inmate laughed, as though he’d heard what was said, and then started his circling again, occasionally looking their way, all the while muttering to himself. Starks wondered if the guy could read lips.
Two inmates approached the stuttering inmate. One pushed him to the ground, the other spit on him. The young man rolled to the side before a kick from the second inmate could land.
“Weird or not,” Stinky said, “we gonna let that happen?” He looked directly at Starks.
Starks didn’t respond.
Stinky leaned forward. “What’d’ya say, Starks? We gonna help him or not?”
Starks felt the eyes of his men focused on him. “No.”
Trevor kicked the riser. “I thought we were about protecting the weak. Looks like we’re selective.”
“That’s right,” Starks said. “And I do the selecting. If we try to save everyone in here who needs it, we’ll be fighting around the clock. That is, when we’re not buried in the Hole. I have my reasons for who I get involved with and when. Either you trust me or you don’t.”
He could see and feel the tension in his men, their bodies ready to fight on his order, the order that didn’t come. Something else had Starks’s attention. Another young man, obviously new, stood by himself across the yard; his fingers gripped the chain-link fence and he faced the white wall and barbed coils on top of it, just as Starks had done when he’d first arrived. Even if Starks couldn’t see the young man’s expression, he felt certain he knew what the new inmate was feeling: A level of shock about actually being here, fear for his safety, fear about holding onto hope in such a hopeless place. The inmate glanced to his right, showing half his face to Starks. He appeared to be even younger than Trevor.
Something inside Starks pushed him to his feet, made him walk over to the young man. He watched the young inmate’s eyes widen as he went toward him, and then remembered how he must appear. He held up his hands in the universal sign that conveys no harm intended.
“Don’t be scared, son.” The young man’s eyes fixed on his were the same shade of brown as Nathan’s. He hoped to God none of
his children ever had a reason to reflect the same terror in their eyes as he was seeing now.
The inmate inched away. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“And I’m not going to give you any.” Starks held up a hand. “I swear. Relax. Before you hyperventilate. When did you get here?”
“This morning.”
“That’s some induction process, isn’t it?”
“I feel violated.”
“That’s a fact. How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“You don’t even look that old. I’m Starks. What’s your name?”
Wearing a stunned expression, the young man answered, “Kane Sandler.”
“I knew a senator named Sandler. He your father?”
“No father. Just my mother.”
Starks studied Kane’s pale face etched with fear. He reminded himself that the kid was here because he’d done something that warranted it. Or maybe not, Starks also reminded himself. Then again, with a face that all but had the word innocence stamped on it, maybe the kid had always gotten into trouble and always gotten out of it. Because of that face. That might have worked outside these barriers, but it wouldn’t work inside them. Sands perverts would see that innocence, façade or fact, as a temptation they couldn’t and wouldn’t resist.
“Son, you’re all but flashing a sign that says ‘Victim here’ to some of these guys.”
Kane’s gaze skittered around the yard then returned to Starks. He chewed on his bottom lip and stayed silent.
“I know how I must look to you.” Starks ran a hand over his head. “I did the tat and hair for effect. It works for the most part. I’m letting my hair grow back.”
“It’s effective, all right.”
Starks stifled a chuckle. “There are gangs in here. If you’re unprotected, they’re going to go after you every chance they have or can fabricate. Despite how I look, I intend to protect those they’d prey on, as best I can.” He pointed to his wrist. “I was on the other side of a secured steel door and still got this.” He raised his shirt then lowered it when the boy gasped. “Those happened not long after I got here, because I was unprotected. I’m not saying protection is a guarantee nothing will happen to you—I’m certainly proof of that, but you’re a hell of a lot better off if people know someone has your back. I have what I call a crew. We look out for each other. We’re even doing special defensive training. If you’re smart, and I think you are, you’ll join us so you’re not doing your time on your own.”
“I don’t want to do anything that’ll mess up my chance of early parole for good behavior.”
“I should put that on a T-shirt and sell it. Look, I had the same intention. Others in here don’t always respect or honor our good intentions.”
Kane chewed on a cuticle and looked everywhere but at Starks. “I can’t do ten years in here.”
“It’s no real comfort, kid, but ten’s better than life. What are you in for?”
“Being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people. In a stolen car containing concealed drugs and weapons. One of the weapons was used in a robbery where someone got hurt. Asshole roommate.” In a sing-song voice he said, ‘C’mon, Kane. You gotta drive my friend’s car to the repair shop. I’d do it but I have a class then, and he’s got the flu’.” Kane’s face was crimson. “Total asshole. At least my sentence was reduced because it was a first offense. My roommate disappeared right after I called and told him I’d been arrested, so no way to prove I was used.”
“That sucks, kid. Word of advice: It’s probably best not to proclaim your innocence. Inmates will think better of you if they believe you’re guilty. And, you don’t want anyone to start a rumor that you’re an infiltrator here to spy on them.”
Kane chewed his bottom lip then said, “What are you in for, Mr. Starks?”
“Just Starks.” He grinned. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people. Now, show me you can be smart. Come meet some of the guys who’ll have your back.”
Kane hesitated. Starks nodded his head to the left and waited. The young man let out a breath he’d been holding and walked alongside Starks to the bleachers.
Starks glanced at the young man. Nineteen; not even old enough to drink, and marking his crossing into manhood here. At least Kane would still be young when he got out. If he lived long enough. Starks inhaled, felt his posture straighten. He’d do whatever it took to make sure this kid got out of here alive. All he had to do was survive as well.
CHAPTER 61
SEVEN THIRTY-SIX. TIME to start his morning routine and be done by the eight o’clock count. Starks passed Jackson in silence, who sat at his desk reading. At the small mirror above the combination toilet and lavatory, he studied his reflection. His hair had grown a quarter-inch. He smoothed shaving cream onto his face and dragged the razor across his skin. When done, he wiped down the sink.
Jackson said, “Only you would rinse a razor you’re gonna toss. What about your head? You haven’t put a blade to it in days.”
“I’m done with the scalped look.” Starks tossed the disposable razor into the trash. “By the way, I picked up a new recruit.”
Jackson grinned. “Can’t have too many of those. He muscle, like Tank? A tough mother?”
“Not exactly.”
“Exactly how not exactly?”
“He’s about my size. An inch shorter. Says he’s nineteen; looks sixteen. I bet he’s the youngest inmate here.”
“Man, we need recruits who can pull their weight, not mascots or pets. Or children who need their noses wiped.”
Starks shook his head. “The kid needs protection. No one else in here’s going to do that, not without making him their bitch. Besides, he makes me think of my boys. God forbid they ever end up incarcerated, but I’d hope someone would care enough to look after them.” He realized what he’d said: My boys. A statement made out of habit. That, and out of history, he told himself. Maybe family wasn’t solely about blood. Maybe it was as much about shared history. Blood didn’t always result in family, as his own absent father proved. One example that immediately came to mind, one he couldn’t deny, was that he’d always felt Jeffrey was as much a brother as if his mother had given birth to both of them.
“Are you listening to me?” Jackson said.
“Are you saying anything worth hearing?”
“I said we can’t rescue everybody.”
“I know. We have to be discerning. I chose this kid.”
“Dragon has a soft spot. Who knew? On another subject, what about the Sanchez situation?”
“What about it? Are you feeling guilty about how I’m treating your buddy?”
Jackson slammed the book closed. “I don’t know if people like Sanchez have buddies. But you know he literally saved my ass several times. I’d probably still be unable to sit if Sanchez and his guys hadn’t fucked up Bo’s plans to assault my back door. And I think you’re forgetting Sanchez is called The Razor for a reason.”
“I’m not forgetting anything, Jackson. You’re a worrier. And a nag.”
“Maybe I’ll stop worrying if you tell me the plan.”
“I’ll let you know just as soon as I have a firm one in mind.”
Jackson was about to comment when the announcement for the count blared out.
The two inmates stood next to each other in silence just outside the entrance to their cell. When the count was over, Starks said, “I’m heading to the chow hall. I told Kane—that’s the new recruit—to make sure he was there so he can meet the crew members he didn’t meet yesterday. You joining us?”
“Can’t. Have stuff to take care of in the kitchen. I’ll have to meet your hatchling later.”
“If you’re ready now, I’ll walk with you.”
Jackson clasped his hands and drew them to his chest. “Oh, yes, please. Your mere presence will keep me safe.”
Starks sighed. “My own personal court jester.”
Jackson bowed and swept an ar
m toward the corridor. “After you, your majesty.”
Starks’s laugh was hollow to his ears. The truth was that he wanted to be king or emperor or whatever in here, but it was taking much more effort than he’d planned on. There were too many inmates vying for the position of kingpin at Sands. Out in the world, he knew exactly how to move those people out of the way and keep them on his side, or at least doing what he wanted them to. The same tactics didn’t apply now.
Nothing and no one was a given anymore.
CHAPTER 62
EVERY MEMBER OF Starks’s crew but Jackson was at their usual table in the chow hall. Kane and Trevor sat next to each other chattering away like new college dorm buddies. Starks asked Pete, who sat across from them, to move over. He’d have to watch the two youngest crew members carefully. Had to make sure some of Trevor’s flaws didn’t transfer to Kane. Had to discover Kane’s flaws. That lesson had been learned as soon as he’d started hiring staff all those years ago: Discovering their weaknesses early, as well as their strengths, saved time, energy, and money. He was already behind the curve on that one with his growing crew. No option but to trust Jackson’s choices.
“Morning, everyone,” Starks said as he sat. His attention was drawn to three tables directly ahead of him: The inmate who stuttered was being bullied by the two men who’d accosted him in the yard. The young man’s cheeks were flush and his lips pressed tight.
Trevor turned to see what Starks was focused on. He faced back around. “I hate to say it, but the poor guy practically asks for trouble with the way he behaves. I think he has some kind of mental thing going on.”
Starks said, “Maybe. But no matter what’s going on with a person, a fine line exists between standing up for yourself and trying to be invisible so you’re left alone. In this place especially, you risk losing, whichever one you choose.”
