“The sad truth of it is, son. I’m probably not gonna make it too much longer with or without you, but I ain’t complaining. Glad to see you gone outa this hell-hole. Word to the fucking wise?”
“Don’t see any wise men around here, so you might as well tell me.” Riker replied with a grin.
“This shit is serious.” This time Skippy frowned and looked around when he said it.
“Yeah? What’s going on?”
“Talk in the yard is that the dopers serving max are not too happy with your release. They gotta do their time, they think you should do the same. Envious fuckers. Word has it that they’re thinking of stealing your time.” Skippy told him. “Misery loves company and this place is full of miserable assholes.”
“Yeah? How they gonna try and manage that?” Riker kept his voice low and steady despite the ice cold dread that filled his body. Gia’s warning to be careful suddenly sounded out like a foghorn in his head. He had no doubt that if someone was hellbent on stopping his release, they would find a way.
“Could be the guards find a shaft in your soap bar or some other contraband during a cell check.”
Right on cue the announcement came over the loud speaker. “The following inmates on Block C have won the honor of a cell search: Abernathy, Arellio, Baker, Campolino, Cassidy, Chartook, and Devlin. Please remain in the mess hall until you are cleared to return to your cell.”
Just then one of the more hated guards, who was known as Fat Freddy to the inmates, came up and tapped Riker on the shoulder harder than he needed to.
“Inmate, come with me.”
“Where we going?” Riker asked.
Fat Freddy shoved his baton into the small of Riker’s back. “I said get the fuck up.”
While Riker walked down the long hall, his footsteps echoed against the steel bars and slapped down hard on the concrete floor. He tried to think rationally. If Skippy was right about the planted contraband it was too soon for them to have found anything. They had just announced the search. But then again, who the fuck knew how this system really worked. They could say anything. Or maybe the fat-boy was in on whatever it was that the dopers were planning. Wouldn’t be the first time a guard had led a prisoner into a trap. There was a voice screaming inside Riker’s head telling him that they were going to levy new charges against him, drop him into solitary, have him wait out his trial date in Siberia, chop off his hands, his head, his dick. He told himself he was being stupid, but as he walked down the corridor his heart was beating hard inside his chest.
“I don’t get you, Riker.” The guard said suddenly.
“What’s not to get?”
“You. You’re too fucking quiet. Too well connected not to be in up to your nut sac in contraband. But I see that you buy your own smokes, eat the shit they call food here, and keep clear of the drug trade. You’re waiting out the time set for your trial date like an old lady. You an old lady, Devlin? You ain’t got no balls?”
When Riker remained silent, the guard hit him again with the club this time against the back of his knees. Riker stumbled with the force of the blow, and Fat Freddy laughed. Then he snarled out. “Answer the question, inmate.”
“Not an old lady, sir.” Riker kept walking.
“Devlin’s an Irish name, but you don’t look like any Irish guy I ever saw. Brown hair, black eyes, black beard. Could be your mamma was sticking it to your pa. Could be when your daddy went off drinking at the bar, she was at home fucking dark meat.” The fat, bigot laughed at his own ignorant joke and when he did the mound of flab on his belly shook like jelly.
“Could be, sir.” Riker kept his eyes straight ahead and his back ramrod straight. He was doing his best not to let this dumb, racist asshole rile him up. Maybe this was the ploy…get him pissed off enough to react. Then Riker would have an assault on a guard charge brought up on him, and they’d slam Riker’s ass right into the hole. New charges would be levied, and any chance of release gone right out the window.
“So, you’re the fucker who beat the drug wrap, huh? I hear that’s caused lots of unhappy faces in max.”
“Yes sir.” Riker replied as his fists clenched at his sides. Do your own time. Get out. Get home.
“Well, maybe you think you beat it this time, Devlin, but you never know, do ya? You still got time enough to fuck this up. In this place, anything can happen. If I had my way, none of you ass wipes would ever see the light of day again. I’d drop you in a hole right where you fucking belong. Do the world a favor because your all nothing but pieces of shit, and misfit fuck ups.”
Riker spent the rest of the walk, not worrying any more about where they were going, but thinking instead of the many methods that he and his bunch of misfit fuckups were going to use to make this ignorant race-hating pig of a man scream for mercy while shitting his own pants.
Fat Freddy kept up his incendiary rant through a couple of checkpoints, up two flights of stairs and down a long hallway. Finally, Riker noted with both relief and apprehension that they were standing in front of the warden’s office.
The guard pressed down hard on intercom button. It seemed a long time before they were buzzed in. In that time, Riker tried to tell himself that everything was going to be just fine, that in just a few days he’d be on the open road heading back to his brothers and his wife.
This was Riker’s second time seeing the warden. The first time was when he was showing a contingency of politicians around the prison. He had reminded Riker of an ostrich with a large hooked nose, a round torso and long, stick-thin legs.
Warden Prentiss’s office was large and modern. The left wall contained a series of floor to ceiling thick, double- pane glass windows that overlooked the prison yard. The paneled area behind his desk was filled with custom framed degrees and certificates of various accomplishments. In the corner of the room stood an ornamental American Flag complete with gold fringed edges, the kind you might see in a V.F.W. or American Legion Hall.
The warden’s desk was clean and neat. On top of its polished surface sat a large old- school blotter calendar and an escribed pen holder. He nodded to the seat in front of the desk. The guard moved to the side of Riker and stood with his back against the door.
Warden Prentiss thumbed through a file on his desk. “Please, sit down.”
Riker noted the civility with surprise.
The warden pulled out a file from the neat stack on the side of his desk, he opened it, and read it without looking up.
“You were brought up on an interstate trafficking charge with five kilos of heroin in your possession. Bail was denied, and you were brought here to await trial.”
“Yes sir.”
“Recently the evidence in your case has disappeared from the evidence locker.”
“That’s what I’ve been told, sir.” Riker fought to keep his voice steady.
“Paper work is all filed. I see here that you were due to be released on Thursday.”
Were? Riker felt his heart stop in his chest as he saw the chance at freedom slip through his fingers.
“Yes, sir. I expect to be released on Thursday.” Riker responded as if saying it would make it come true.
The warden took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. It seemed to Riker that the pause was hours long instead of seconds.
“This just came in. As you can see it is signed by the governor.” Prentiss pushed an official looking document across the desk.
Riker looked at the heading on the stark white paper. There was the governor’s seal on it.
“What is it?”
The warden nodded to the paper and said not unkindly. “Read it, son.”
Riker scanned the document, then read it again more slowly.
Riker looked up in confusion. “I’m still not sure that I understand, sir.”
Warden Prentiss steepled his fingers and looked at Riker. “We’re releasing you today.”
“Why?” He knew that he should just shut up and get the fuck out of there. He was
getting out early, what the hell did he care why? But Riker got the sense that something bad was happening and he needed to know what that bad was.
Warden Prentiss simply said, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry, sir?” Riker was confused. “What exactly are you sorry for?”
“The order is based on the compassionate release doctrine. I’m afraid your wife was in a car accident early this morning. She is in the critical care unit at Med General.”
Riker heard the words as if he was in a long tunnel. The warden’s face swam in and out of his vision and Riker broke out into a cold sweat.
“I’m sorry, but I have no further information at this point. The guard will escort you back to your cell where you will gather your things. Our intention is to release you as soon as possible. Good luck to you.” Then with a nod to the guard, Prentiss signaled the end of the conversation.
As the guard led Riker back to the cell, he laughed nastily. “Kind of like a good news-bad news comedy sketch, ain’t it? Good news is that you’re getting out early, bad news is that your bitch will probably be dead before you clear those gates.”
Riker saw red.
Pure rage sped through his veins like molten lava.
He stopped short, raised his fist, and pulled back his arm…
From seemingly out of nowhere another guard stepped between them.
“Stand down, inmate!” When Riker hesitated, the officer said with surprising compassion. “You’re on your way out of here, don’t mess it up because of some bullshit provocation.”
“Who the fuck all side you on?” The guard snarled. “You blind?”
“What did you just say to me?” The senior officer snarled back.
Fat Freddy changed his tone, but just a little. “With all due respect, Sarge. This inmate just physically threatened me. You gonna let that happen on your watch?”
The sergeant looked at him with disgust. “You’re lucky I didn’t let him kill you. Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with you? How many times do you have to be written up for provocation and mistreatment of these inmates? Now get your shit and get the hell outa here. You’re on unpaid leave pending an investigation and starting now.”
Riker watched on silently as Freddy’s face turned white, then red, then purple with rage. He sputtered and postured, then finally backed down and exited through the guard room.
The sergeant walked Riker back to his cell without another word. Numbly Riker began to pack up his things. He took down all his pictures and letters from the wall but left the calendar for Skippy. He dressed in the civilian clothes that were waiting for him packed in brown paper wrapping and sitting on his bunk. Then he began the long process through the labyrinth maze of paper work and documentation. Two and a half hours later, Riker Devlin was a free man.
Prosper and Gunner were both at the prison waiting for Riker to walk out that gate. The club van had a trailer hitched up and Riker’s Harley was on it. Nothing had ever looked so good to Riker in his life. He needed the open road, the wind at his back, the sunshine on his face and to ride hell bent on the highway.
Prosper gave him a hard man hug. But when he opened his mouth to speak, Riker stopped him. He didn’t want to know any more right now than he already did. He just wanted to get on the road. Maybe he was being a full-on coward, but the way he looked at, bad news could wait and good news could change.
Riker passed the speed limit signs on the highway without the least bit of consideration. With Gunner following in the van, and Prosper following Riker’s lead, the three men made the four hour trip in just over three. Riker’s bike had barely stopped in the fire lane of the hospital parking lot when he bounded off it and ran into the building.
The waiting room just outside the wing that led to the critical care unit was a quiet mob scene. The Hell Saints brothers covered every inch of the space. They were scattered around the room like clumps of funeral ash, talking in hushed tones, their bodies tense with bottled up energy. When they saw Riker, Gunner and Prosper get off the elevator, all eyes turned to them.
A head full of auburn curls snapped around and pushed its way through the crowd. Dolly’s eyes were red rimmed, and she had a tissue tightly gripped in her hand. She gave Riker a long hard hug. “Glad you boys are home safe.”
Prosper nodded and scanned the crowd.
Dolly answered his unasked question. “Pinky and Claire are downstairs in the cafeteria getting coffee for everyone. Glory’s home watching your grandchildren. Raine just went to the nurse’s station to try get an update.” Dolly reported. Then she put a hand on Riker’s arm and squeezed it gently. “The doctor’s been asking for you, honey.”
As if on cue, the trauma doctor strode through the swinging doors of the Critical Care Unit. That’s when Riker first heard the words Medical Coma. That was followed up by an explanation; reducing the energy requirements of the brain, which then reduces blood flow and pressure, and allows the brain to rest. Riker had just stood silently looking at the physician, the words buzzing around his head like baffled bumblebees.
“What?” Riker shook his head as if trying to shake out the meaning of the words.
Doctor Gideon, as if summoned by voodoo magic, appeared out of nowhere. He put his hand on Riker’s shoulder. “Do you understand what’s happening?”
“What?” Riker repeated and shook his head in dazed confusion. Did he understand what was happening? He never understood less in his whole damn life.
“I know that coma is one hell of a word, Riker. But try to think of Gia’s current medical state in this way⸺ it’s like letting an engine that’s running too hot stop for a while and cool itself down. We’re giving Gia’s brain time to rest, that’s all.”
“Cooling around the cylinders is critical.” Riker responded automatically. But his tongue felt thick in his mouth and it seemed as though he was looking at the doctor through water, everything was blurred and distorted.
“That’s right.” Doctor Gideon led Riker to a chair and sat down next to him. “We need to stop Gia’s brain from swelling and putting increased pressure on her skull. This is the best way for us to do that. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
“I think you’re telling me that you’re trying to save my wife’s life.” Then with a choked sob he asked, “And the baby? Will you be able to save the baby too?”
“The baby?” Doctor Gideon volleyed a look from Riker to Prosper and then back again. His blue eyes blazed with uncharacteristic anger. Then Doctor Gideon spat out at Prosper. “You mean to tell me that no one has told Riker anything about the baby?”
Gia had woken up that morning feeling restless.
Fat and restless with a whole lot on her mind.
Along with everything else that weighed heavily on her psyche, she was afraid that the whole house raid and everything that followed had set her on a path towards insanity. Gia was worried that she had begun to see things and might be rocking on the edge of paranoia.
Lovely. Along with the thirty pound weight gain, the swollen feet and non-existent ankles, let’s add lunacy to the mix.
Gia felt like she was being followed. Watched and followed. Because the baby was resting hard against her bladder, Gia knew every bathroom stop east of the Mississippi or, so it seemed. One day, on her way back into town from a relaxing afternoon of pre-natal massage, Gia had stopped at a woodsy rest area to use the facilities. When she pulled into the lot, she noticed two men sitting at a picnic table at the far end of the property. The wild gesticulating of arms and intermittent shouting would have caught anyone’s attention and they definitely caught Gia’s. To her surprise, she recognized one of the men as the ATF officer who had come to her house. His flaming red hair was a dead giveaway.
The other guy meant nothing to her. He looked like a grubby, overweight throwback to the hippie age. When she closed the car door, they both turned and stared. Caught by surprise Gia stared back openly, but they quickly turned back around.
The agent and the guy he
was meeting with definitely had not wanted to be seen.
Whatever.
Her business with the ATF was thankfully in the past and that is where she wanted to keep it.
Gia’s bladder was just about to burst, and she ran into the restroom. When she came back out, a family of six were setting out a picnic at the table, the men were gone, and the incident was forgotten. Forgotten, that is until Gia suddenly thought she started seeing the guy everywhere. Not the ATF agent but the other guy. Everywhere. So much so, that one time she caught up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. When the guy turned around, while he bore a strong resemblance to the guy at the picnic table, it wasn’t him at all. Just plain weird. So weird that Gia did a google search on paranoia during pregnancy. Yup and holy shit. There was a ton of women complaining about how the raging hormonal changes in their body had generated fits of irrational thoughts. These thoughts ranged from fear of giving birth to a chicken to fear of being mugged while pumping out breast milk on a park bench.
The advice to overcoming this tendency was to use conscious thought, prudent action and mind over matter. Gia moved herself to more rational thought and to her surprise it seemed to help.
One problem down.
One to go.
Gia had gained thirty pounds in her pregnancy and she was not done yet. Gia worried that Riker would think she looked like a big giant Mabel the Cow. As a child, Gia had read a series of books about Mabel. Mabel the Cow used to sneak out of the barn at night when all the other farm animals were asleep. She would lumber out to the old oak tree where she would meet her pal, Olive the Owl. Together they would take off into the woodland and have the most wonderful nighttime adventures.
Well it could be worse, Gia told herself. At least Elsie had big brown eyes, thick long lashes and a hat made out of straw.
The thought of herself as Mabel the Cow made Gia giggle. She was still giggling when the motorcycle blew past the stop sign and shot out in front of her. Gia had a quick flash of a malicious grin before the driver in the Dodge Ram swerved to avoid the bike and rammed into Big Blue with the force of a freight train. As the vintage car spun from the impact, the world twisted around Gia as if she were caught inside some macabre spinning top.
Raising Riker (Hells Saints MC) Page 14
