by Nesly Clerge
Starks rapped on the table, stood and said, “Kane, go with the crew to the yard. I’ll catch up with all of you later.” He didn’t wait for a reply. Tray emptied and stacked, he headed for Gabe’s workroom.
The door opened after the second knock. Gabe said, “Had a feeling you’d show up.” He gestured to the small table and chairs.
Once seated, Starks picked up a pencil and turned it end over end, each time touching the tips to the table.
Gabe said, “Want to tell me about Crazy D?”
“I don’t know anything about it, other than it happened.”
“Right. Spencer hauled you in to amuse himself.”
Starks tossed the pencil down. “I wasn’t involved. I had proof.”
“So, someone did you a favor.”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone took care of him and now you don’t have to.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“Hadn’t you?” Gabe shrugged. “First time I don’t know who did what. We don’t have to talk about that. What’s done is done. There’s something else I want to say to you.”
“I’m listening.” Starks picked up the pencil then put it down.
“Heard you defended Kane. And how. That was good thinking. You could’ve taken it further, but didn’t. Guards would’ve stood up for you, since you were saving another man’s life.”
“It always amazes me how well informed you are.”
Gabe smiled. “It pays.”
“I’m sure.”
“Heard about Trevor, too. I warned you about him.”
“He blindsided me. Humiliated me in front of my guys and others. I thought maybe everything I’d built up had been demolished. Thankfully, it hasn’t been. And even though I didn’t kill Crazy D, people are giving me credit. I can see it in their eyes. My rep’s still good, if not better.”
“If you say so. What are you going to do about Trevor?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“One decision has the power to change everything.”
“I know that.”
“Life-changing decisions aren’t always easy to make, Starks. In here, you’re forced to make them more often than out there. Being in here is like being in an ongoing war. Between inmates, inmates and guards, between what was and what is. These wars are fought in stark surroundings, vacant of the good things you once enjoyed or strived for. Bleak so you’re reminded every day that a decision you made got you locked up.”
“What’s your point?”
“You got a lot of battles going at once. Let me give you something to think about. The biggest battle is fought inside us, between the part that wants to remain human and the part that questions whether that can happen. Especially when everyone else is engaged in the same inner battle. Some believe the only way to end it is to strike out at others. Like a pressure cooker that needs an outlet for the steam that builds inside. If there’s no release, the pressure blows the lid off and you’re cleaning the kitchen, floor to ceiling.”
“Again, what’s your point?”
“Sometimes we’re given only one option: Them or us. Sometimes we have options, like with the guy who went after Kane. You’ve got options about what to do about Trevor. You just have to decide which part of you will do the choosing, the part that wants to remain human or the other one.”
“I guess that means you’re not going to tell me what to do about him.”
“Not my decision.”
Starks pressed his fingers against his eyelids. “And your point is that I should consider my options.”
“Your options, Starks. What you want to do. Not what others expect you to do.”
Starks nodded and stood. “Here’s me, going to consider my options.”
“Sometimes it feels like our life has turned to ashes.”
“So I’ve learned.”
Gabe nodded and pointed a finger at Starks. “Be like the phoenix and rise from those ashes. It’s your choice. That’s if you want to climb out of the hole you’ve fallen or been pushed into. Or dug for yourself.”
Outside the workroom, Starks leaned against the wall. Ashes. He felt covered head to toe with the stuff. The decision to kill Boen Jones and Mike Lawson had been ones he’d had to make. They’d tried to kill him. Only some twisted luck had caused them to fail. Crazy D had to go because there was no doubt about his intentions. Those deaths happened as a result of his calculated decisions based on facts, not because someone insisted he take action.
As for Trevor, he seriously doubted the guy would personally attempt a physical attack; though, he could probably get someone on board to do it. What the hell was the kid’s beef with him? The only thing he’d ever done was correct him about his attitude. Surely he hadn’t been that offended or embarrassed, and he wasn’t the only one corrected about how Ethan was to be treated.
Ethan.
Did Ethan know what Trevor had done? He must. It was almost a given that at least some of the crew had talked about it in front of him, if not other inmates who’d witnessed the confrontation.
The question was, Would Ethan take the initiative to go after Trevor, or was he waiting eagerly for permission?
That was only one question. There was one more.
What am I going to do about this?
CHAPTER 85
STARKS’S CREW EXPECTED him to join them in the yard. It was the last thing he wanted to do. He needed time to himself, without another person’s thoughts occupying the same space as his own, without hearing another person’s movements or breaths.
Footsteps came up fast behind him. Starks gripped the hem of his shirt, bent into strike position, and swiveled around.
Mike, red-faced and puffing, skidded to a stop. He clutched a folded towel, with toiletries poking out the end, to his chest. “I been looking everywhere for you. Got cautioned three times for running.”
“What’s up?”
“I was going for a shower.” Mike shook his head and took a few deep breaths. “Got stopped in my tracks at the entrance. Sanchez was in there. Heard him say you gotta be taken out and soon because you took out Crazy D, and because you broke faith with him. Sanchez told someone to set up a meeting in a place where he won’t be interrupted when he executes you—that’s the word he used.”
“Lucky you were there.”
“That’s not the worst.”
“What is?”
“I heard who said he’d take care of arranging it and getting you there.”
“Who was it?”
“Jackson.”
CHAPTER 86
“LET’S PUT YOUR stuff in my cell. Last thing we want is for Sanchez to know he was overheard and that it was you.”
They were in and out of Starks’s cell in seconds. Starks pushed the door to the yard open and strolled toward the bleachers, with Mike at his side. “Stop looking around like a twitchy mouse.” After a moment he added, “And don’t mention Jackson.”
“But, Starks—”
“Leave him to me.”
All but Jackson congregated on the bleachers. Ethan stopped circling his arms overhead and studied Starks, who thought maybe the young man-slash-actor had radar.
Tank said, “We’re sweating like pigs waiting here for you.”
Starks motioned for Mike to sit, but remained standing. “Listen up. Sanchez is ready to act and fast. He’s got someone,” he flashed a look at Mike, “setting up a meeting somewhere isolated enough so he can kill me.” No one spoke, but all eyes were aimed at him. “I don’t think Sanchez will bring more than a couple soldiers with him. More men than that would draw too much attention. Plus, I’m sure he believes he can take me by himself, and wants to. I’ll bring a few men with me, for the same reason. I want Tank and—” Ethan, seated alone behind the crew, tapped his chest once. “And Ethan.”
The men were silent a few seconds then the protests erupted.
“Settle down,” Starks said. “The reason I picked Ethan is my own. For one thi
ng, he’s good at creating a diversion. Any of you tried what he gets away with, it would be suspicious.”
Stinky eyed Ethan. “Yeah, but a diversion ain’t gonna make The Razor forget why he’s there.”
Ethan yowled, dropped his pants, and mooned Stinky. Stinky jumped to the next riser, ready to fight.
Starks said loudly, “Enough.”
Tank frowned and said, “Any idea when we gonna get the word?”
“I’m sure it’ll be soon.”
“Shouldn’t we be doing something?”
“We are,” Starks replied. “We’re waiting for someone to approach us.”
Kane jumped up. “I’m going with you.” Other crew members voiced the same intention with equal insistence.
“No. And I don’t want to hear anymore about it.”
Starks listened to the heated discussion going on around him. Boisterous voices drew his attention to the left. Sanchez and four of his gang had entered the yard. Sanchez sneered at Starks for several seconds then turned away.
A minute later, Jackson came through the door and started toward the bleachers. He stopped a few yards away and motioned for Starks, who got up and joined him.
“Sanchez wants a meeting.”
“When and where?”
“Four fifteen. In the showers.” Jackson turned to leave.
“Jackson.”
“Yeah?”
“Make sure you’re there.”
“Count on it.”
CHAPTER 87
STARKS MISCALCULATED THE number of men Sanchez would bring to the fight. He’d expected two or three. There were six, plus Sanchez, with Felipe on Sanchez’s right. Seven to four. He and Tank were armed, and he was fairly sure Ethan was as well. It might not matter, not with these odds.
Sanchez’s men formed a circle around Starks, Jackson, Ethan, and Tank.
“You’re one stupid gringo,” Sanchez said. “I don’t care you killed Crazy D. More dinero for me, but Seth is pissed.”
“Glad you can see the bright side about Darren. You must be scared, though, if you brought this many men to a meeting.”
“This ain’t no meeting.” Sanchez laughed. He pointed to his right cheek. “This afternoon I’m going to put another blue teardrop right here. First, my soldiers are going to mess all of you up, so none of you can give me any trouble.” He grabbed Jackson’s arm and pulled him to the side. “Except Jackson. Your soldiers will recover—I want them to join me. But you, amigo, you I’m going to carve like roast pollo. Maybe I leave your head attached, maybe not. Maybe I mail it to your children. A present from their papa.”
Tank positioned himself next to Starks. Ethan pretended to catch invisible flying things in the air. Jackson moved only his eyes, checking each man in turn.
Starks kept his gaze fixed on Sanchez. “You should look after your men better than you do.” He shook his head. “You can forget about getting that teardrop today, or any day.” Without shifting his focus, he said, “Felipe, how’s the family? They have enough to eat? Is your father as comfortable as possible? Your mother getting some rest?”
Sanchez turned his head toward Felipe. “What the fuck’s he talking about?”
Starks answered. “He knows exactly what I’m saying.” His eyes flicked to Felipe.
Felipe nodded once. Three of the Hermanos grabbed Sanchez. One man pulled a sock from his pocket and forced it into Sanchez’s mouth. The other two Hermanos posted themselves at the entrance. Felipe pulled a wad of thin rubber gloves from a pocket. He handed them to the men and slid a pair on. “Starks, you and your men can leave. Or you can stay. Up to you.”
“I’m staying.”
“Then you and your men should stand far enough away. Now.”
Starks and the other three hurried to the farthest wall. Starks turned to Jackson. “You did well, but you should have given me more information.”
Tank and Ethan looked from Jackson to Starks.
“Couldn’t,” Jackson said. “Sanchez had eyes on me all the damn time. I had to convince him I’d turned against you. Couldn’t be seen talking to you, unless I was doing his bidding.”
Felipe turned the Cold knob for one of the showerheads on high. Water sprayed down then out as the men positioned Sanchez underneath.
Sanchez’s eyes were wild. He struggled, his screams muffled by the sock. Tank stared up at the ceiling. Ethan remained still, watching with an interest that disturbed Starks.
Felipe said, “Turn him to face the wall.” He removed the straight razor from Sanchez’s waistband, flicked it open, and from behind, slid the blade across his former leader’s throat. Sanchez fell limp to the floor.
With a few rapid strides, Felipe reached a drain on the opposite side of the room. He used the razor tip to loosen the screws on the cover, dropped the razor in, putting the screws back in place with a thumbnail.
One of the men pulled a steel wool pad from a pocket. The other man removed a bar of lye soap from his. The four men went to different showerheads, stripped, and scrubbed the blood from their bodies. One of the Hermanos guarding the door removed spare clothing from the back of his pants.
Felipe asked him, “Anything we need to worry about?”
“No one saw nothing.”
Felipe and the other three Hermanos handed their stained clothes to the man. “You know what to do.”
Starks pulled Felipe aside. “I wasn’t sure how this was going to go down. But I didn’t expect his men to side with me. I wasn’t entirely certain about you.”
“They sided with me. Against Sanchez. I picked men he’d cut more than once. They were eager to pay him back. As for me, as soon as I knew his plans, I figured you’d rely on me to return your favor.”
“Tell these men I’ll reward them, no matter what their motivation was. In fact, tell every Hermanos they’ll get compensation if they join me.”
“They’re going to ask how much.”
Starks glanced at Sanchez’s body and at the blood thinned by water disappearing down the drain. “What were they getting from him?”
“Nothing but rep and occasional stingy commissary.”
“They’ll get more than that from me, and it’ll build over time. The better I do the better they’ll do.”
“What about Seth?”
“I’m not worried about him.”
“You should be.”
CHAPTER 88
A COUPLE YARDS DOWN the hallway from the showers, Starks said, “Tank, tell the crew the meeting was brief and ended on friendly terms. I don’t want them asking any questions.” The four of them walked in silence through the corridors and into the yard. Some of the crew sat on the bleachers, cheering other members shooting hoops.
Kane dribbled the ball, threw it, and thrust a fist into the air when the ball dropped through the ragged net. He saw Starks and jogged to the bleachers. “Everything go okay?”
“We resolved our differences. Get back in the game. Looks like you’re having a good streak. No point wasting it.”
It was only a matter of time before Kane learned the truth. It puzzled Starks as to why he felt guilty about that, almost ashamed. He reminded himself it wasn’t his hand that had wielded the razor.
Starks rested his back against the riser behind him and shut his eyes. This was the brief calm before the storm. Once Sanchez was discovered, all hell was going to break loose.
Spencer would more than likely haul him back to the council room. He’d lie. Either they’d believe him or they wouldn’t. This time, he didn’t have proof of where he’d been. He needed a plausible lie, but the idea of coming up with one was more than he could tackle at the moment, other than saying he’d been in the yard, enjoying the game. His crew would back him up. Guards were another matter. None of the COs on his payroll was pulling yard duty.
Sunlight created a red filter through his eyelids. Like the blood that had been spilled. Most gang leaders would strut and brag about what an accomplishment it was to eliminate two threatening opponents in
such a short amount of time. This was one time pride eluded him. So did the relief he’d anticipated. Instead, he had a pounding head and an eddy in his gut.
One person kills.
Someone in turn kills that person.
A cycle is created and perpetuated. Where was the line to be drawn? Who would draw it first?
In that moment, he knew what to do about Trevor.
Although he had no appetite, Starks had to maintain the façade of innocence and normalcy. “Let’s hit the chow hall.” As one, he and his crew joined other inmates moving through the door.
Inmates in line for trays moved with lethargy that matched their enthusiasm about the food.
Tank said, “Smells like they cooked everything in week-old dishwater.”
“Don’t think they didn’t,” Mike replied. “Jackson, what the hell goes on back there?”
“You don’t want to know.”
The red overhead lights flashed, the alarm wailed.
Stinky said, “Now what?”
To a man, every crew member focused on Starks. “Turn the fuck around.”
Lockdown was announced. Inmates left their trays on the table and emptied from the chow hall. News about Sanchez passed among them in whispers, despite guards shouting for them to stop talking.
Back in their cell, Starks waited for guards, for shackles, for accusations, for extended SHU time, for his sentence to be changed to life and the transfer to Red Onion, the worse goddamned prison in the U.S., where he’d serve his sentence until he died. Which would probably be within a week, if that.
The moon crossed the night sky.
The sun rose.
No one came for him.
CHAPTER 89
CO ROBERTS YAWNED as he followed procedure for the count.
Starks said, “I’d appreciate a few minutes of your time when you’re done here.”
“I want to talk with you, too.” Roberts moved to the next cell, where there was one inmate waiting instead of two. Starks assumed Jackson had already left for kitchen duty. He hoped that was the case.
Count over, Starks, trailed by Kane, entered the cell and said, “Want commissary for breakfast or chow hall?” He held up a cinnamon roll.
