Without inflection, I ask, “Yeah, what?”
Bruce casually mutters, “Do you know a Rita Sanchez?”
I make a noise. Everyone knows Rita in here. It’s hard to miss a five-feet tall Mexican transsexual with a crew of six fake-blonde fairy-dust blowers always at his/her side. “Yeah. I know him. Or her…or whatever. Why?”
“Ever see a little movie about hope?” Bruce asks, one of his eyebrows starting to twitch nervously.
Shawshank Redemption–that’s what he means, the prison movie we’ve both seen a million times. Scenes from it flash before my eyes: The hole Andy dug in the wall with a rock hammer over twenty, long years. Him coming out the other end a free man, holding his arms up to a thunder-filled sky, pellets of rain hitting the joy on his face. Morgan Freeman’s last words as he took a chance and escaped his parole, searching for a life free from the branding of having been a criminal: I hope.
The power of my cousin’s question ricochets through my veins as I stare at him, understanding what he means to do, and that somehow Rita Sanchez is involved. This I’ve gotta see. My eyes tell him I know exactly which movie he means, and this ain’t it: “Serendipity?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s the one.” He looks down at his hand and glances casually to the guard to make sure the guy hasn’t moved. He hasn’t. Bruce turns to me. “Well, I’ve found my guy just like how Kate Beckinsale did in that movie. Isn’t that great? Rita knows the guy, that’s why I bring her up. You never thought I’d find love,” he says, knowing full well I’ve said no such thing, ever. “See, there is hope. So you just keep praying and as soon as the appeal date comes, you know I’ll be there, sending you luck.”
I feel like I’m an arrow stretched tight on a bow. “Oh yeah? You found someone? Well, I’ll have to catch up with Rita and hear all about him…” I stop as the phone goes dead. Our time is up. Bruce’s eyes slide up to the guard who’s walked up to take me back to my cell. Bruce gives him a tight-lipped polite smile and we both get up, exchanging one last glance with each other.
Before he turns to go, Bruce mouths, “Merry Christmas.”
Merry Christmas, indeed. Walking back to my cell, it’s a lot easier to ignore the guard’s ribbing me about my cousin being gay. “You and your boyfriend have a nice chat?” I don’t even blink, my mind on the seed Bruce just planted.
If I get out of here alive, I know exactly what my present is going to be to myself. I’m going to pay a visit to an old friend.
Our family plans how to escape from places for a living. After we rob them, anyway. Can it be done? From a place as locked down as San Quentin is?
I can’t wait to find out.
Chapter Three
Annie
I cannot get enough of this pan-seared sea bass. Or these mashed potatoes. Or this Chicken Yakitori. Or these oysters. Or this…
Margaret smiles to Joe, briefly interrupting him. “Can you pass me the last lobster tempura?”
Damn. There goes that.
He doesn’t miss a beat as he hands the appetizer plate to his powerhouse wife, C.F.O. of the ad agency Location Times Three, where Brendan works. His focus is locked on Brendan, the Ebola virus controversy heavy on his mind. “Look, they should have never let them get on that plane.”
Brendan leans forward, a juicy chunk of filet mignon on his fork shining in the candlelight. “And then the one woman went on a cruise! They said they’re monitoring them. How? Don’t monitor them, make them stay inside!” He slides the steak into his mouth, his mind on the subject.
“How is it?” I ask, eyeing some for myself.
Distracted, Brendan mumbles, “Good.” To Joe, he says, “They’re saying that’s amoral,” disgusted with the logic.
Sliding another oyster into my mouth, I glance around 5A5 Steakhouse. It’s interesting to me how far I’ve come, that I’m one of these people now, sitting next to corporate types in a white table-clothed booth in a five star restaurant, not having to worry about the bill. It almost feels normal. Margaret is wearing a beige sheath dress, for Pete’s sake! I never would have hung out with a woman like her before. Which still shows in our lack of conversation. The men are the focal point…and so is this food.
So mouth-watering good, this food.
Joe shouts, his hand articulating the point, “Exactly! It’s amoral to quarantine them??! How is that amoral? Isn’t it amoral to all the people they’re possibly infecting, to let them get onto a damn plane in the first place? Or a cruise ship with thousands of other people?”
Margaret adds, dryly, looking around to all of us. “Not to mention all the places the ship stops for sight-seeing.”
“Brendan, can I have a bite of that?” I’ve got my fork ready and waiting but he doesn’t hear me.
“I’ve heard it’s because Africa is going to be the perfect place to start a future world. But that’s a little crazy isn’t?”
Joe shakes his head, picking up his glass of ninety-dollar Scotch. “Is it?” His eyebrows rise. “Is it crazy?”
With my eye still on the filet mignon, I offer, “Well, if you’re suggesting population control…”
Joe puts his glass back down and meets my eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”
“First of all, that’s horrifying.”
Margaret nods, holding her half-empty wine glass to her lips. “It’s terrible.”
Brendan slices off a nice little chunk of steak as he talks. “Here’s the thing about population control theories. If you’re going to let an outbreak happen, aren’t you worried about the people you love getting affected, too?” He slides it over onto my plate. He did hear me! I grin, popping it happily into my mouth.
“Thank you, baby,” I mumble over a yummy mouthful.
Joe argues, “I don’t think they’re thinking that far ahead.”
Margaret shakes her head as if she knows all. “No one ever plays the tape all the way through.” At my look, she explains, “To see what happens at the end. Everyone just jumps off with an idea never thinking what will happen.”
“Ah. Well, this is a wonderful dinner conversation. Disease and murder. Yay,” I say with a smile, not offended, but looking to lighten it up a bit.
Neither Joe nor Brendan wants to let go, but Brendan makes a noise and shuts the conversation down anyway. “It just makes no sense is all.”
Joe agrees. “It’s a fucking disease.” His hand slices the air. “I’m sorry they got it. But they got it. Now that they have it, let’s make sure it stays put. How hard is that to understand?”
“Call the president,” Margaret smiles.
He leans back. “Yeah. Would that I could. So what about you kids? I figured for sure we’d have to cancel tonight because of the baby.”
“Thank you for meeting us early. I really appreciate it.”
Brendan explains with a tight smile. “Annie won’t stop working. It’s driving me crazy.”
I pick up my water, and keep my eyes on Joe. He’s safer.
“He’s taking his sweet time coming out, isn’t he? You’re big as a house,” Margaret laughs.
I choke on the water, wishing I hadn’t eaten so much in front of the woman. Wiping my mouth, I mutter, annoyed, “Um…Thank you?”
Brendan reaches over and touches my hair. Margaret commented on it when we sat down, her own much shorter and less healthy looking. Her jealousy was something he apparently caught. “Look at this. See how beautiful her hair is? It’s grown like five inches in a few months.”
“You’re glowing,” Joe says with a genuine smile.
Margaret sucks on her teeth, her attention now arrested by something on the tablecloth. “Where do you think they get these made? Not China, I hope?” she mutters, picking it up to eye it.
Brendan glances to me and I smile a thank you to him. He winks. Maybe in another year, I’ll be able to handle women like Margaret in a smoother way, deflecting the odd jab that always seems to come when I least expect it. I’ve only been in this little cir
cle for about, oh, nine months? She used to be friends with Rebecca, the woman Brendan ‘dated’ for several years before I came back into the picture. Margaret and Rebecca are a lot alike, so not only do I have to deal with replacing her friend, I have to deal with replacing her mirror image…ish. That a girl like me could replace a woman like her is terrifying to her.
A waiter comes to remove our plates. “Can I interest you in some Tira Misu? Some coffee?”
I groan, “I’d love some coffee! But I can’t.”
“I’ll have some,” Margaret smiles.
Brendan smiles to himself and balls up his cloth napkin. “We’d love to stay, but Annie’s got to go in to her bar. She let her employees have the holiday off.” He threw in that to remind Margaret I own the place, and I could just kiss him for it. “…and so we have to get going. Can I have the check, please?” he asks the waiter with easy authority. The guy nods and exits quickly.
Joe empties his glass. “Brendan, you’re not getting dinner.”
Leaning back in the booth and casually resting his arm around me with his thumb caressing my shoulder, Brendan smirks. “I am, Joe. I already gave him my card before we sat down.”
Joe laughs. “You jerk!”
Margaret’s impressed, too of course. My husband is a classy man, something I’m very proud of.
Brendan looks at me, meeting my eyes. “It was Annie’s idea.”
I smile, amused by his lie. “It was the least we could do for making you eat at 5:30 p.m. I mean, who does that?”
Joe chuckles. “I know, right? What are we, senior citizens?”
Margaret loses the stick up her ass and joins in. “Early bird special anyone?” We all appreciate her making the mood light and friendly again. “You know what? No more news until after the holiday. We can watch It’s a Wonderful Life, or Rudolph Came to Town, or whatever those animation movies are called,” she smiles. “But no more news.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” I exclaim, impressed. “I’m in!”
Joe grumbles and Brendan says zip. But at Margaret’s look, Joe shrugs. “Oh alright. It’s only a couple of days.”
“You can solve the world’s problems later. What you put into your system, affects you. It’s a fact.”
I think about this, never having considered it before. Does that apply to all things?
“Alright, I’m in,” Brendan says just as the bill arrives. He signs away, leaving a hefty tip. “Merry Christmas,” he tells the guy, handing it back to him.
“Merry Christmas! Thank you, sir!”
Chapter Four
Tommy
The real torture about being in jail? Dinnertime.
With my tray filled with sub-par dog food, I face the cacophony of the mess hall. It’s 5:30 p.m. This is when they tell us to eat. What are we, senior citizens?
Normally I’d walk to the row of metal slabs where the Caucasian loners sit, past The Chain Gang, with my eyes dead, my walk deliberately self-assured. But the gang is eyeing me like they’re wondering if I’m going to join them now or later...after I’ve done the job on Lenny Morales. Shiftily I glance to where Morales is laughing with the Latinos to my left, his light blue eyes eerily reminiscent of a Siberian Husky’s, tats all over his arms and neck. Before he notices me looking, I focus on the place I really want to go, forcing my feet to move at a normal pace despite the fact that I’m fucking terrified and excited all at the same time.
As I pass the gang, they get quiet and watch me. Antonio’s the only one who keeps chewing, but he’s doing it slowly, his unnerving gaze on me. I give him a jerk of my chin, a quick acknowledgment to show respect. Antonio nods back slowly and just once. I know from the look in his eyes he’s now certain I’m in, that I’ll join them when I feel I deserve to, after I’ve completed my mission. Controlling my mind so my hands don’t shake, I look to the prize, hoping to God my cousin’s plan works.
Halfway across the room, auburn-haired Rita Sanchez looks my way. One penciled eyebrow cocks upward and her red painted lips stop moving as she clocks my approach. Two of her blonde comrades scoot to the right on the bench, bringing their trays sliding with them like they’re expecting me. The other three stay put.
If this promise of escape doesn’t go well, I can kiss my virginity goodbye. Not to these guys. These guys are just homosexual people who committed some crime other than rape; like robbery, murder, or hacking into the federal government’s computer system. It’s The Gimp Patrol I’m worried about and I’m doing everything I can not to look over at their table by the east wall. Those monsters will without a speck of a doubt look at me as open season from here on out. Willing, ready and begging for it, that’s what they’ll think. The only reason they’ve not come after me yet with this face of mine is because they have a couple victims they haven’t tired of. Yet.
My lipsticked ticket out of here nods to the empty space. I put down my tray and climb onto the bench, sitting down with a thud, greeting the blondes one by one by meeting their eyes. They’re all Latin save for one guy from Thailand. And why they all dye their hair blonde is a mystery I don’t care to solve. “Hey,” I say. They don’t answer back. They just keep chewing the slop. I hate this place. I miss manners.
“Tommy,” Rita starts, her accent thick and tinged with a lilt. “I was wondering if you’d have the balls to come here. That was not an easy thing to do.”
“So we understand each other,” I mutter, ignoring my tray of processed chicken and pale peas and corn.
Rita tears off a dry chunk of white roll and tosses it into her mouth with pizazz. “We do.”
I nod and look down at the food in front of me. “Do we need privacy?”
“They’re the reason I have a solution for you. You see, I have a need for things I can’t always get in here. Girly things. So my friends have helped me out by…umm… making a bridge to what I need. Understand?” So, that’s what’s going on. A hole has been dug. These blonde fruitcakes have dug it. Somehow we’re going to get me down it and out the other end. “They’re very good to me. Aren’t you girls?”
I look at the faces around me, but there’s no light in their eyes. Suddenly I’m aware that these people are just as dangerous as The Chain Gang. It makes my spine straighten. I nod to Rita and pick up my fork as the guard who took me to Visiting walks slowly by our table, his beady eyes curious as to what I’m doing way over here, a spy for Antonio more than the prison system.
As I take a bite of what is pretending to be chicken, we all wait. He stands at the wall behind us for five or six minutes to intimidate us. Rita looks unfazed. Somehow this calms down my nerves, and I devour most of my food, suddenly famished. As soon as we’re free to talk again, I hold onto my fork and ask under my breath, “Why are you doing this?”
A vulnerable look passes over her eyes, and damned if she/he didn’t look the most like a girl than I’ve seen so far, in that moment. “I owe Bruce. He helped me.”
“Steal something?”
She shakes her head. “Come out of the closet.”
“Ah. You know he still hasn’t done that himself,” I say off-handedly, using my tongue to get gristle out of my gums.
“He has to us,” Rita says with feeling, making me pause. She means the entire community, not this little group here.
“Right. Well, if he ever comes out to my dad, he’s dead, so let’s hope it stays here at this table… and at Folsom.” Rita and I share a smile. Folsom Street Fair is where the leather and bondage festival takes place. There were half a million people there this year. It’s insane. I’ve never been, but Bruce lives for that shit. Feeling more comfortable now, I pick up my fork to shovel the remainder of my pale veggies into my face. “So why don’t you tell me how this is going to go down and when.”
Her eyes light up. In a low vibrato lilt, she whispers, “This is going down tonight!”
Shocked, a pea flies into the wrong pipe. Coughing until it dislodges, I grab the milk carton and drink it down with my eyes on the transsex
ual across from me. “What?” I finally choke.
Leaning forward, she tells me what’s going on, including some disturbing details Bruce wasn’t able to share with me. As I listen to this stranger telling me about the plan for that bitch Annie, and how she’s pregnant with my ex-friend’s kid, I start to itch. As more details come out, my blood begins to boil and emotions I wouldn’t have expected to be this strong, take me over.
Rita’s eyes narrow and she hisses, “Calm down. You’ve got murder in your eyes. You don’t want the guards to see that if you’re going to slip by them. Act natural or I’m calling it off. I won’t threaten my guys anymore than I already am by talking to you.”
Licking my lips, I put a leash on it. “Right. Right,” I repeat, trying to calm down.
Rita watches me, then stands up in a flash, tossing her tray at my chest with a man’s strength.
“What the fuck?!” I yell, too shocked to stand up yet.
Her blonde gang rises up, their femininity replaced by the menacing glares of people with nothing left to lose. Two of them toss their trays at me with ferocious growls. I duck unsuccessfully as food smashes into my blue prison uniform and my face. My hands fly up for protection, but it’s all over me.
Rita yells at the top of her lungs, a mixture of shrill and deep bass, “Fuck you, white boy! We don’t want to suck your little white boy cock, pendejo! Get away from us!”
“What?!” I cry out, standing up, looking around me as the mess hall goes silent except for the running footsteps of three guards headed this way. My humiliation is on full display and there’s nowhere to turn. “Alright! Alright! Cut it out! I’m going! What the fuck?!”
Hamilton, Lorenzo and Beady Eyes, Antonio’s spy, all show up asking us what the problem is. The blondes are all speaking in their native tongues at high-pitched, ear-splitting levels. Rita scowls at me with contempt, surrounded by her loyal crazies.
Searching For You: A New Adult Contemporary Romance (Anything For You Book 3) Page 2
