by J. M. Dabney
T welve hours ago, the doors of his cell slammed behind him with a sense of finality. The one person he was allowed to speak with had treated him as if he were a stranger. Peaches’ disappointment was clear in her cold professionalism as she told him he was being transferred the next morning had kept him awake all night. Every time he’d asked about his boy, no one had answered him. They walked a wide berth by his cell. He’d ignored the food brought by Heidi.
He closed his eyes countless times only to see the lifeless body of Pure passing like a specter behind his lids. The macabre torture intensified by the unknown. He felt them tormenting him, refusing to acknowledge his need for one shred of good news—a bit of hope. As he paced, his steps echoed in the cavernous space of the basement holding cells of the Sheriff’s department.
The transport would be there any minute for him. Was the person wanting to kill him at the end of the transport or behind the walls of state prison? He’d lost count of all the people he’d taken down. As soon as he arrived, the battle for survival began. Hundreds of inmates holding a grudge. Would he even recognize the danger before it was too late?
“Van’s here.”
Pelter’s voice made him pivot, and he saw the regret on the other man’s face. He knew Pelter had helped as much as he could, but he had his own boys and family to think about. He wouldn’t thank him on the chance someone listened too closely.
“Pure?”
“No news yet.”
“Is there news and you’re just not telling me?”
“He got hurt on a job. Once we know something, you’ll be the next to know.”
A small sense of relief came over him at the knowledge that they’d at least covered his boy’s ass. Everyone had their stories to stick to, and since he was going down for life, if he survived to trial, he wasn’t going to be allowed in the loop. He needed to get used to no longer being part of the team. Although, Pure’s trust was broken, that meant his boy would be moving on as long as they could keep Pure from implicating himself.
All he’d wanted was to make sure his boy was safe. But were they telling him the truth, did Pure make it to the hospital? He couldn’t ask further questions on the off-chance that his boy wasn’t out of the woods. He rubbed his chest through the stiff material of his orange jumpsuit. They’d confiscated his clothes for forensic testing.
“Horace and Freddie?” They hadn’t done anything but agree to shelter them for a few days. He didn’t want them punished for a favor. He’d always owe them a debt for putting their lives and freedom on the line out of nothing more than loyalty to Pure. Horace and Freddie had helped keep his boy safe.
“Peaches is dealing with them. The suspects who trespassed on their property were heavily armed and with the amount of evidence, more than likely it’ll be a justified shooting. But the D.A is also not happy with the fact that they appeared to destroy evidence in a rather conspicuous bonfire.” Pelter’s frustration clear as he spoke. “They are being ordered to undergo some psychological testing as Peaches is using severe childhood trauma as a defense and entering their records into evidence. What was done to them hinders their perception of right and wrong.”
No one was privy to much about their pasts, but after seeing their bodies, they had lived through hells most couldn’t imagine.
“I guess no one is coming to say goodbye.”
He understood the abandonment, the distance the Crews were putting between him and them, but he’d never felt loneliness this overpoweringly heavy. He really didn’t have anyone left. No crew, no family, and worse, no Pure. That would always be the hardest to accept. He had to be strong though, if—no when his boy survived—he wanted him to move on. He was reluctantly accepting that the moment that the doors had locked behind him, his fate was already sealed.
“Raul, man, I wish there was something I could say or do. Trenton has always gone above and beyond. Made fucked up choices to protect themselves and family, but this…this is an innocent victim and overwhelming evidence that you did it.”
“What do they have?”
“Eyewitness accounts of you at the bar, a few even claimed that you were seen leaving with the man.” Pelter stuck his arms through the spaces between cold metal to rest on one of the crossbars. The man laced his thick fingers together as if thinking of what to say next and how.
He knew the truth, but sometimes, justice cared nothing about the facts. Justice was making a statement—they didn’t care who paid as long as their approval and conviction rates labeled them the best.
“Hair, fiber, and blood evidence that they say shows you were there at the time of the murder. If this is a frame job, I don’t know who the fuck you pissed off with these kinda strings to pull.”
“I don’t have contact with them, but someone needs to tell my mom and dad. I have a feeling this is going to be a public trial. Every bit of dirty information.”
“I won’t say you’re not right. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Dad’s a former cop…he’s gonna want to prepare Mom for the backlash.”
“Raul, keep your back to the wall and cooperate. You’re gonna have no allies inside. And the biggest bitch, we still have no idea who’s coming for you. You may have worked with cops, but you won’t get any special consideration. You’re going to general population. There’s going to be no cushy protective custody for you.”
He thanked Pelter because the man had given him more information than he should’ve, but he needed to know how bad it was. When they locked him up, they would come for him from all angles. Cops hated him for the rules he broke. Inmates held grudges, especially for heavy time. Officers would know his rep, gay and brown. He was asking for correction officers to turn his back at the wrong moment.
Two Marshalls entered the holding area, quickly opened his cell and he was outfitted with cuffs and shackles. They were tight enough that his fingers and toes went numb within a minute. The drag of the chain on the cement and the rattle of the cuffs, but no one spared him a glance or helped as he ascended the steps, then was led out the back to the awaiting transport van.
“Can I have a minute with my client?” Peaches stopped them as they were opening the door.
The two Marshalls stepped away.
“When you get inside, find Benito Feeley, he has orders to keep you alive until trial. He owes me one, but if anyone asks, I never said a fucking word. It’s just between him and me, none of his Crew know. So keep your head down, don’t get yourself stomped and find him.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Listen, Raul. I know how things work. I’ve spent over half my life as a defense attorney. I know when my clients are guilty or not. You’re getting jammed up on charges. I’ll do my best to get you out, but until then staying alive is all on you. My influence only goes so far. I understand why you ran, but it’s not going to help you in the eyes of the jury and the sentencing phase. You should’ve ran a helluva lot farther when you had the chance.”
Peaches stepped back, and the two men secured him in the van. There was a man in a uniform sitting in the back seat, armed, and he knew no escape awaited him. His body tensed as the door slammed and too quickly, they were on their way to Atlanta, then to Texas where he’d stand trial. He had to prepare himself to sit and wait—no bail would be issued. All he had to look forward to was watching his back while he had three hots and a cot provided for him.
Part of him already knew his best-case scenario was getting killed quickly and worst, rotting in a cell until he was old and gray. He’d rather fight for his freedom than give up and lose. Lots of people spent the rest of their lives behind bars, professing their innocence until someone strapped them down and put needles in their arms. He didn’t want to throw away his hope. Deep down though, it was just a matter of time before he stood in a courtroom and listened to a judge announce that he’d just be another statistic.
WHEN WOULD THEY ANSWER HIM?
T wo weeks passed which had started with his arraignment, denial of bail as
he was considered a danger to society and a flight risk. His trial was scheduled for two months out to give his attorney and the District Attorney’s office time to gather evidence and wait for testing from state and independent labs. He wasn’t surprised, he’d expected it, and they were still trying to find his accomplice.
Peaches’ visits were short and brutal, with no mention of the outside world. He used his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face as he worked out in the yard. His gaze never stopped scanning his surroundings. He couldn’t relax until he was locked in at night, but in those brief hours of respite, his thoughts and dreams tortured him with thoughts of his boy.
They still wouldn’t tell him if Pure was okay. The longer the freeze-out went, the more he thought Peaches was attempting to save him from the truth. He’d found Benito and learned that the man was a reluctant ally. Peaches apparently meant blackmail when she said her client owed her a favor.
He walked over the bench where Benito sat, his steel hued hair and scarred face kept everyone at a distance. Benito was serving three consecutive life terms for a series of murders back in the eighties. Peaches had gotten four of seven murder charges dropped due to lack of evidence, and was still working on appeal processes to get him a retrial. Rumors were when the crime boss he worked for needed information, Benito was the best at his job. Some of his victims weren’t identified due to the removal of limbs, teeth, and other identifying marks. One of them had died of shock after the man skinned the victim alive.
He didn’t like owing the man a debt, but since he’d arrived, he’d escaped numerous attacks with nothing more than a few more scars.
“You gotta piece of ass on the outside?” Benito asked.
“I do, maybe.” He sighed and leaned over to rest his forearms on his knees as he looked out at the men littering the workout yard. “Last time I saw him, he was flatlined and being flown away from me. What about you?”
“Naw, man, you get that sentence that says you’re an inmate until you die, you suddenly ain’t got much to offer.”
He wondered if that was going to be him one day. It had already started. Peaches visited in a professional capacity but shared nothing from his life—his former life.
“Inside, you occasionally find a bitch to bend over for ya for a bit of protection.”
“Peaches said—”
“Yeah, Peaches, that’s one hardened bitch right there. I seen men beg for the chair after one threat from her. Gotta respect a woman like that. Twenty-five years and she still working my case. Ain’t gonna do much good. I ain’t ever lied about the man I am. I liked it too much. Took pride in my work. Naw, either someone punches my ticket or I—” Benito paused. “I do it myself before someone bigger and badder than me takes over this place. You better get used to the accommodations, Martinez, because even if you’re innocent like all the rest of us claim, you’re gonna die here.” The man motioned around them.
His gut told him the man was right, but he didn’t want to admit it out loud though. He tensed as Benito leaned forward to mimic his position.
“You know a Terrance Traven?” Benito asked.
“Low-level goon trying to make his way to the top. Heard he got shivved five years back or so. He skipped town on a weapons charge, and his bondsman wasn’t playing around when he discovered he ran.”
“Good memory. His old man who went down on a homicide been making some noise. Silvio or some shit like that. Heard his name was Marvin or something but wanted to sound like his balls were bigger than they were.”
“What about it?”
“Seems like he’s a member of your growing fan club. You might wanna watch your ass.”
“Man, I’ve seen at least thirty people I collected on since I’ve been here. If I hadn’t been faster, that blade woulda done a helluva lot more damage.” The makeshift blade had pierced his side, just under the skin, piercing a layer of fat. He’d lost more blood than anything, then they stitched him and sent him on his way.
“What the fuck you doing here, man?”
“I got asked to take a job. My partner was on another assignment, so I went alone. Job went down, and I headed home. Next thing I know, deputies are at my door and taking me into custody on a warrant. Prosecution claims they have witnesses that said the bartender went back to my room. They got evidence that’s pretty tight.”
“Who the fuck you piss off with that much clout?”
“The list is long.” He felt his lips tug into a smile at the rough chuckle from the other man.
“Don’t I know it. See that kid over there?”
He followed as Benito pointed to a scruffy kid, shaking like he was coming down, and talking to a group of guys that looked to be about the same age.
“Yeah, what about him?”
“That’s Squeak, violent motherfucker, crazy white boy, but you might wanna make friends. Ain’t nothing that boy can’t learn. Somehow got himself assigned to the library. One of the C.O.s kinda gotta a hard-on for him. Might be worth using his spectacular blowjob skills.”
“Not interested.”
“I’d be too afraid his detoxing ass be biting it off, but he’ll do anything for a price. You find out his weakness…he might just find you some answers.”
Benito didn’t say anything else as he pushed to his feet and headed across the yard. As he got up and followed, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and thought about what the man said. He couldn’t sit there and wait for good news that wasn’t coming. He needed to make a list.
Men who lived the life, they expected their untimely deaths. They signed up for it. He mentally brought up all the names Pure mentioned during those weeks of research.
At the thought of his boy, the loss washed over him again. Dead or alive, he needed to know. Would his boy be waiting for him on the outside or would he be visiting a grave to say his goodbyes? To confess the love he hadn’t had the balls or smarts to do before the first battle began.
How long before his memory faded? Pure nothing more than a ghostly outline of disappearing features. He wouldn’t remember the softness of his boy’s lips or the sound of his laughter. Fantasies of the weight of Pure’s head on his chest, the rush of his warm breath, and the softness in his boy’s beautiful blue eyes. All of that faded in time, nothing lasts forever, and the years elapsing to erase what used to be tangible items.
He owed it to his boy to get out somehow. His boy had fought so hard for him, possibly made the ultimate sacrifice. Even if he figured out his way to freedom, Pure was it. The one he’d waited for—the one who made him start to believe that dreams weren’t childish imaginings. His boy would never get his happily ever after or the future children that had his boy smile.
He’d ruined that, but he had to make amends. Had to make sure that Jenn’s sacrifice—her faith in his innocence—was worth it. Reaching out to her terrified him. An apology wouldn’t ever be good enough. Pure was all she’d had, and he’d taken that from her.
All he had to do was find a way, he would, but first, he had to survive. To find the person hellbent on enacting justice hands-on; who had enough hatred for him to orchestrate his downfall? People had all kinds of reasons to do the things they did.
Revenge was the biggest. Retribution for a supposed wrong. Yet, everyone was different. People felt justified to do atrocities to people. An abusive husband who thought murdering their spouse for leaving them was acceptable. A shorted baggie in a drug buy. Hell, being looked at in a way that someone found disrespectful. What would cause this level of rage? It had to be more than a bounty. This was personal, and if he didn’t find some clues soon, he was going to lose everything, Having his boy taken from him was cruel punishment enough.
He’d always knew that possessing Nicolas would be like attaining the beauty of the sun. Light and warm, comforting after the darkness. His touch had destroyed his boy. His selfishness had put his boy in danger, and now he had to atone for those sins.
PURE AWAKENED WITH NOTHING
T hey assured him
he’d awakened several times over the past three weeks, but it wasn’t until that morning that he’d been coherent enough to take in his surroundings. He wore a brace and was unable to move. The doctors explained that several pellets had shattered a rib that had, in turn, punctured his lung. The subsequent blood loss and trauma, along with a minor infection, had taken him out for the count. He’d heal, this wasn’t his first time getting shot and it wasn’t his worst.
What was pissing him off was that no one was answering his questions. He remembered the fear in Raul’s eyes, and that was it until he’d regained consciousness. His first demand was to see Raul. To know he was okay, but he knew no one else had fought for him. Horace and Freddie would’ve watched Raul’s back. He sensed that Raul had turned himself in once he’d gotten hurt.
He didn’t want guilt or despair. His Daddy needed to fight.
He’d barred everyone from his room, no Trenton guys or Crew were allowed. Security had asked Peaches to leave. Looking at them enraged him. He’d never forgive them for the disloyalty they showed. If everyone thought he was overreacting or being unreasonable, he’d stepped outside the law plenty in defense of the Crews. Most of them had bodies hidden—deaths to answer for—and he was no different. Their hypocrisy was more than he could take. He’d taken lives in defense of his teammates without a second thought.
Trust was a huge thing for him. He’d spent too many years covering his ass and not letting anyone close. The Crews were the family he’d always wanted. A life where he never worried about who was at his Six.
“What did I tell you about showing up in my ER?”
His mother’s disapproving tone made him smile, and he looked up at her leaning onto the bed. Her perfect arched brows reaching for her hairline.
“No better ER to end up in.”
“True enough.”
“What’s the verdict?”
“Your ribs will take time to heal, and the tear to your lung was a simple enough repair. Another ten feet closer and I would’ve been picking out a suit for you to be buried in.”
