The Starks Trilogy (Book 1 & 2)

by Nesly Clerge

  “More things at once than I can wrap my mind around.” Starks slid the envelopes out and put them on the table. He sat and tapped the envelopes. “Get these to Jim as soon as you leave here. You need his number?”

  “It’s in my phone. You want to tell me about this?”

  “Another time. We have something else to take care of.”

  “Margaret.”

  “We’ll get to her next. That discussion ties in with this one. I need you to put the child support payments back to what they were before.”

  Parker studied Starks and said, “The point of changing those arrangements was to keep Kayla from misusing the funds.”

  “That was then. Kayla’s dying.”

  “Who told you this?”

  “Jeffrey. Kayla told him.”

  “This is one of her tricks, and a cruel one, at that.”

  Starks shook his head. “Jeffrey saw proof. And, I saw her here a few days ago. She looks… I should have realized. I don’t want her worrying about money on top of everything else. When things get… when she’s no longer able to take care of things, I want Jeffrey to take over the financial matters. Get all of it set up tomorrow.

  “And that leads me to Margaret. I’m relieved she called you. I didn’t know if she would tell someone or if she’d leave me here to rot. Parker, I’ve got to get the hell out as soon as I can. My kids can’t be left without a parent, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let my mother get her hands on them.”

  “I’m sorry about Kayla. I never expected—”

  “Neither did I. What about getting me out?”

  “I’m meeting with Margaret tomorrow morning. I’m going to record our discussion and have her sign off on it. Then I’ll file for post-conviction relief and follow that with a writ of habeas corpus.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Filing doesn’t take a lot of time. Getting a new trial might. It could take a few months or up to eighteen for a criminal case.”

  “I don’t have even the few months. I have to get out now.”

  “I understand. And I wish I could tell you differently, but it’s best to be straight with you. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t push like hell to get you remanded into my custody.”

  “But you can get me out, right?”

  Parker tapped his pen on the table. “I can ask to have your sentence reduced to time served. I can also point out what you’ve been through since you arrived here. But I can’t promise anything. Please understand that. We have to pray that Margaret’s admission about the knife, which confirms your reaction to Ozy was one of self-defense, is enough to sway whoever makes the decision.”

  “Do your best. Whatever it takes.” Starks slumped back in the chair. “I’ve given you a lot to take care of.”

  “I have a large staff of eager young attorneys. Everything will be handled, and as a priority.” Parker removed his glasses and twirled them. “I have a question, Starks.”

  “Ask.”

  Parker picked up one of the envelopes and turned the labeled front to face Starks. “Who is Kane Sandler?”

  “That’s what I intend to find out.”

  CHAPTER 100

  STARKS RETURNED TO his cell and stayed there. Kane came back for the count at three and left immediately after, and did so without looking at or speaking to Starks. After the count at six, Kane climbed into his bunk and faced the wall. Starks stretched out on his bunk, with an open book facedown on his chest. Noise and conversations from other cells reverberated in the corridor. Their contribution to the cacophony was silence fraught with daggered thoughts aimed between them. It was Kane who breeched the silence two hours later.

  “All day, I kept expecting someone to tell me to get my stuff and move to a new cell.”

  Starks exhaled hard. “I forgot about that.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “What did you expect me to say, Kane?”

  “Pretty much what you did. But I’d hoped I’d be wrong.” Kane was quiet a moment. “You think it was easy for me to tell you?”

  “Why now? Why pick a moment when everything’s caving in on me to spew your lies?” Starks heard Kane roll onto his back.

  “It’s the truth. As for why now… because hearing you go on about how your kids need you pissed me off. I’ve needed you my entire life. I finally get to be with you and you don’t want me. And why would you? Why would you want your bastard son?”

  “That’s yet to be proved.”

  “My mother’s word should be enough. What kind of proof do you need?”

  “The kind that’s irrefutable.”

  “Suppose you could get it. Then what?”

  Starks didn’t know. When no answer was forthcoming, he heard Kane position himself to face the wall again. But what could he say? Nothing. Not until he knew for certain. If Kane wasn’t his, it meant the kid had an agenda that started a long time ago. Some sociopathic fantasy that he had no intention of being part of.

  If Kane was his… well, he didn’t have a clue what he’d do about it. Get used to it? How warped could life get where you discover the boy you’d raised wasn’t yours. To feel caught between experiencing that gut-wrenching loss, yet still feel a bond, like a cord attached between you. And then learn you have another son.

  May have.

  What a twisted fucking year, he thought, with four months still to go.

  CHAPTER 101

  THE LIGHTS BLINKED on at six. Neither Kane nor Starks got out of bed until almost seven thirty. Kane got up first. Starks lay with an arm behind his head, his gaze fixed on the bottom of the upper bunk.

  Kane ran the comb through his hair. “You gonna transfer me to another cell today?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Just get it over with so I don’t have to worry about it. I’ll worry plenty enough when they put me in with some jackhole or lunatic. But that’s not your problem, is it? I’m not your problem.”

  “I don’t think anyone’s going to bother you, since you’re in my crew.”

  Kane stopped moving. “You’re not kicking me out?”

  “Haven’t decided about that yet, either. For now, you’re still under my protection.”

  “That’s something, at least.” Kane climbed back into his bunk, where he sat cross-legged staring out the window.

  After Starks’s turn at the toilet and sink, he put his energy into his morning exercise routine, all the time feeling Kane’s eyes locked onto him. He knew who else needed to see him. He couldn’t stay out of circulation any longer, not without creating repercussions. As soon as the count was over, he said, “Let’s hit the chow hall.”

  “I thought you didn’t want me anywhere near you.”

  “For now, we need to keep up appearances, especially with the crew.”

  “As my mother always says, ‘Any port in a storm.’”

  Starks lowered his head and shook it. That Kane’s mother used that quote often meant nothing. A lot of people used it. And there was still the chance it was all a hoax for the purpose of getting something out of him, probably money. Whoever was behind this farce could forget that.

  Unless the DNA proved it was true.

  His crew wasn’t clear about how to behave. They watched him for clues. Starks acted as though everything was back to normal, even saying it must have been a virus that made him lay low for a while. The lie was accepted, even if not entirely believed, their subsequent conversation and laughter a release from the tension uncertainty brings.

  Starks went with them to the yard and stayed on the bleachers, chatting with crew members who took turns sitting near him. This pseudo-occupation was resistance on his part. Nothing stood in his way to make the call to Jim, but he was afraid to hear the result, because either way, something was lost.

  He read in his cell after the count at eleven. Kane stayed there as well, until it was time for him to meet the crew for lunch. They didn’t speak more than occasionally and made certain it was nothing about what
hung between them. At twelve thirty, Starks ate a sandwich. At twelve forty-five, he tucked the cell phone into his underwear and directed his steps to the library.

  At two thirty, he closed the door to the small office, kept watch through the window, and called Jim Rogers. “You get the result yet?”

  “Man, I’ve been waiting to hear from you all day.”

  “This was the best time. And?”

  “Kid’s yours.” Starks said nothing. Jim cleared his throat. “I gotta ask: should I expect anymore surprises regarding offspring?”

  Starks cupped his head in his hand. “Not to my knowledge.”

  “You want me to investigate him and his mother?”

  “I’ll get back to you about that. I need to let this sink in.”

  “Need anything else, you know how to find me.”

  “Be sure to see Jeffrey for compensation.”

  “Done and done. And before you ask, I didn’t tell him what it was for. Not that he asked or would.”

  Starks ended the call and collapsed back in the chair. Kane was his. Julie—was that her name?—should have told him she was pregnant. He wouldn’t have given up Kayla to marry her, but he would have contributed to Kane’s care. Like what? He’d been so fucking broke for years.

  Who was he kidding? Kayla would have found out. She’d have left him. Maybe that would have saved him from where life with her had taken him. Maybe life with Julie and their son would have been good. Maybe they would have had more children. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Nothing solid ever got built on maybe.

  Julie Sandler had told Kane who his father was, and the boy had gone through life yearning to establish connection, perhaps be involved, even if just on the periphery of his father’s life. Instead, he’d been denied contact by his mother, who’d raised him alone. He hoped her family had helped. The idea of her struggling to care for his child, his son, was a disquieting burden. He had enough burdens.

  He’d told Kane that his father had a responsibility in his regard. All these years, he’d had a son who needed him, needed him so much that he committed a crime to be near him, was brought close to him then rejected when the truth was revealed.

  Since January, he’d felt so completely alone at Sands, desolate over the separation from his children. Kane was his son. This was a gift. And although this was the worst damn place for a father and son to be together, they now had the opportunity to get to know each other. Fortunately or unfortunately, they had years to do that.

  Then he remembered. If Parker handled everything in an expeditious manner, he’d be leaving. Soon. Leaving his son to years in prison, without his father to protect him.

  He’d arrange to pay the crew to look after Kane. He’d hand over the fake thumbs and what they contained to his son. He’d train his boy how to use the toxic powders, how to hide the knitting needle, and he’d keep him supplied with the powders. He’d leave Kane with protection on all sides. And he’d visit him at least once every week. Maybe there was something Parker could do to get Kane out early.

  His children would have a lot to contend with in the near future, but perhaps they’d relish the idea of an older brother. Only he would know it was another half-brother. But he’d wait to make that announcement when Kane was released. He’d give him a job at Tendum Enterprises, get him set up for a successful life at his father’s side.

  He’d make up for all the years his son had been denied his rights.

  And he’d start now.

  CHAPTER 102

  STARKS FELT RENEWED, concerned, excited, anxious. He’d find Kane now and tell him everything was okay. Welcome the boy into the family. Apologize for what he’d said. Apologize for what the boy had endured for nineteen years. Apologize until it wasn’t necessary to do so anymore, if that would ever be possible.

  He positioned the phone back into his underwear and glanced through the window. Paco bent over the keyboard, his two fingers pecking at speed. Starks left the office and stood at the man’s side. “Take over for me. There’s something I need to do. I won’t be back today.”

  “That’s worth more than a ham sandwich.”

  “How about a month’s worth of commissary?”

  Paco said nothing for a moment then grinned. “I thought you were in a hurry to leave.”

  Starks laughed, patted the old man on the shoulder and exited the library. He knew where he could find Kane. He turned right when he entered the yard and took a seat next to Tank when he reached the bleachers. “How’s the game going?”

  Tank shrugged. “We back ten points, but we’ll catch up.”

  “How many points has Kane scored?”

  “None.”

  “Sounds like he’s off his game today.” Starks, feeling responsible for Kane’s playing poorly, cupped a hand over his eyes to block the sunlight and searched for his son among the inmates dribbling, throwing, dodging, and running on the hard-packed dirt.

  “He ain’t scored ’cause he ain’t playing.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Said he was gonna do you a favor and do both y’all’s laundry.”

  Starks smiled and said, “He didn’t need to do that. I’ll go take over that chore so he can get back here and help our team win.”

  Jaunty steps propelled him across the yard and into the prison. His son was trying to make things right between them. And that’s what he was going to call him to his face—son. It wasn’t prudent to over-anticipate Kane’s response to being accepted, being claimed, but he hoped the boy was ready to forgive him, at least as much as he could for now. What was needed was a fresh start for both of them.

  What was he going to tell the guys? Maybe nothing. That might be the wisest thing to do for Kane’s protection, especially after his own release came through. He’d have to make that clear to Kane, tell him to wait until his own return to the world to make his heritage public, and they’d do it together. He didn’t want inmates, guards, or Spencer to hold the son accountable for his father’s sins. Starks made a mental note to arrange everything with the guards on his payroll before he left Sands. No, he thought, do it sooner. Better to be safe.

  A right turn brought him to the correct corridor, where the laundry room was at the end on the right. Despite how he sped his steps, it seemed to take a week to reach his destination. Then his steps faltered.

  Everything is fragile. As Gabe had said, what happens in a moment can change everything. No, he told himself, everything is what it is. It’s people who change. The cog slips and you spend your life trying to make the parts fit again so the gear runs as it should. It was something he’d never understood before. Nor had he ever realized how much destruction he’d left in his wake, until now. In his own way, he was no different than his father. He’d sworn to do better than the man who’d abandoned him and his mother, but hadn’t. This was his chance to change that.

  Yards from the entrance, he heard the spin-dry cycle going on one washing machine. He struggled to contain the grin he wore. Appearing as elated as he felt probably wasn’t the way to go.

  He stopped just outside the threshold. No one appeared to be in the space. Kane must have started the laundry then left with the intention to return. Maybe he’d gone to their cell. Even though Kane would return to put the clothes in the dryer, Starks didn’t want to wait.

  He spun around to leave then stopped and turned back. Laundry on the table had been left mid-folding. A cigarette smoldered on the edge of the table. Burning tobacco mingled with the acrid odor of singed Formica and laundry powder, and something else, something he’d smelled before, something that made his stomach roil and his limbs grow weak.

  The back of his neck prickled. He didn’t want to look where memory prodded him to, but he couldn’t avoid it. He stepped into the room and looked left. Red splatters on the wall, on nearby washers and dryers, and on the floor caused him to retch.

  Leaden steps inched him toward the corner, where the washers and dryers abutted, where a several-square-foot space existed, where he’d onc
e found something he didn’t want to what seemed a lifetime ago, and was desperate not to find now.

  It could be anyone.

  Please, God.

  CHAPTER 103

  THE WASHER SPUN to a stop. Starks’s shallow, ragged breath was the only sound. He needed to move but couldn’t. Every part of him resisted the reality in front of him. A nearly inaudible moan caused him to will numbed limbs to move. His sluggish steps picked up speed across the several yards to the corner. With strength that under different circumstances would have stunned him, he wrenched the washing machine away from the wall: room was needed to hold his battered son in his arms.

  Kane cried out when Starks cradled him to his chest. He knew the motion would hurt the boy, but he also recognized there wasn’t much time. There were only so many moments left to hold his child. “Kane, it’s… it’s Dad. I’ve got you now. I’ve got you, son.”

  Kane coughed. Blood and tooth fragments sprayed onto Stark’s scrub shirt.

  “Son, can you talk? Can you tell me who did this to you?”

  Kane’s eyes were swollen shut. Through engorged, torn lips, he mumbled the word lion.

  When Starks had found Skullars Bailey in this same corner, he’d used laundry to attempt to stop the bleeding. Skullars had been a large man, and was why he’d believed there was a slim chance his friend would survive despite his horrendous injuries. Even a glimmer of such a chance didn’t exist here. Kane had inherited his size, but wasn’t as muscular, not that muscles would have prevented the carnage. Seth had beaten Kane hard with something solid, beaten him hard enough to separate flesh from bone, hard enough to break bones now protruding their shattered edges through ruptured skin, hard enough to fracture teeth.

  Kane whispered, “Sorry.”

  A sob caught in Starks’s throat. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything. I was coming to find you to tell you…” What point was there to mention the DNA test? “I came to find you, to tell you I remembered your mother. She was beautiful, intelligent. And I was a fool to let her go. I had been drinking, but… None of that matters now. I know you’re my son. I’m so proud that you’re mine. Kane, do you hear me? Kane!”