A few boys stood alone, not moving, half naked but not cold. Standing like posts, back to walls, watching small inmates and the guards walking the rail. Skinny, bruised, unfazed by the chill.
“Infected,” I said under my breath. Rubin looked.
“Naw, brain damage,” he said, like it was an affliction every inmate acquired over time.
I didn’t need to speculate how the damage occurred or which of us was right. Instead, I wondered how many of these kids I'd seen before, on the outside, when they were normal and smiling.
I decided to stop looking at them.
Rubin typed a security code into the keypad at the blast doors, letting us into the main compound. Bleak, blue gray light on steel doors, concrete walls, and rough floors. The reek of bleach battled the rancid smell of enclosed bodies.
My palms were damp. I inhaled slowly, exhaled slower, and found my calm.
“Stay behind the red line,” Rubin said. “Make it quick.”
I wholeheartedly agreed.
Solitary confinement was exactly what I expected: a three meter square cell with a thick steel door and a shit hole in the corner. A scrawny boy wore a tall shock collar around his neck, chained to the wall with barely enough slack to take two steps. A red line across the floor measured where I'd be outside his reach. Billy Budd appeared of Hispanic and black descent. His body was skinny in the way of starving third-world kids, comprised of sharp bones. Shirtless, wearing thin cotton pajama bottoms.
He recognized me and fear happened. Heat rushed against his skin. His hands flew to the collar, and he yanked on it as his neck swelled. Mouth open, he breathed heavily, like a prank-caller.
“Stop huffing at the lady,” Rubin said.
“I know how to calm him,” I said. “Everyone loves poetry. Oh my love is like a red red rose that's newly sprung in June...”
“You kidding me?” Rubin said.
“Feel free to wait outside. Unless you want to chime in with the next verse? Oh my love's like a melody...”
“Christ.” Rubin slammed the door on his way out.
Billy remained still and attentive.
“I hate poetry, Billy. Don’t make me say the whole thing.”
He cleared his throat, tried his voice, and coughed. His white-knuckle grip tugged at the rough collar while his flesh swelled with the disease. The recessed ceiling light lit him like a museum exhibit, and I thought, he’s already dead.
“Clearly, there's some weird stuff going on,” I said. “Maybe unexpected is more the word.”
“Ludicrous,” he offered.
“Do you know who sent me?”
“Are you here to get me out?”
“No.”
He tipped his chin.
I should have lied so he'd tell me what I needed. Now he'd shut down, bullshit, or bargain. Even so, I couldn't fib to the kid. I examined the corners and ceiling, the fixtures, checking for cameras or bugs.
“This room isn't wired,” he said. “I'd know.”
Was that true? Or maybe this was a set-up to get me jailed for conspiracy. I regarded him. His jaw held evidence of peach fuzz yet to thicken. Merely a kid. Already a killer, monster, and pirate. They grow up so fast.
“Billy Budd isn't your real name.”
“Melville.”
Sounded equally fake. I smiled. “Well, Melville, our friend is looking for a lost soul. He wants me to help find the wandering spirit.”
“Lady, we don’t have mutual friends.”
“I'm looking for the Pot Doc. He's got the juice Rainer needs. I promised to help him.”
“This is a trick.”
“Think I quote Burns to everyone? That I spout poetry because it helps my image? If you know Rainer, you know I'd never learn anything he didn't want me to. He demanded my involvement, so here I stand. I even met the dude.”
“What's he wear around his neck?”
“A gold ring.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No. I swear on Rufus' wagging tail, I didn't kill either of them.”
That convinced him. Why would Rainer tell me the name of his dog unless we were in cahoots? Melville wrapped his arms around his chest, holding his own shoulders. Mutts don’t catch a chill. He’s dying.
“Are you cold?” I said, reaching for the button on my outer shirt.
“They won't let me keep it.”
I dropped my hands and stuffed the un-broken one into my pocket. I watched his eyes, orbs feverish with mutt-sickness, and my gut churned in the wake of a wild nature. I pictured him running through the desert, not chained to the wall.
He'd die here.
Of course, he had killed two people.
“Can you tell me what we need to know?”
“This is so weird,” he said.
“I agree.”
“I get my pot in Red Sector at the old bus terminal near the Rubicon Café. You'll see it immediately because it's the one with old tires stacked high and melted on top of the roof. A really short, skinny Jamaican kid hangs out playing the accordion. Actually, he’s from Brooklyn, but he’s skittish. Send Marc, not Erik.”
Who's Erik? I thought, but I didn't want to raise suspicion by revealing what I didn't know.
“Marc should ask for the Leprechaun blend. The dealer will say he doesn't sell rare stuff because it's too pricey and the market is too narrow. Have Marc say: it's for my mother. He'll be given a sim card which will dial a ghost line as soon as he plugs it into any phone. Leave a message. The Pot Doc will call back when he isn't too high.”
“Leprechaun blend for his mother. Got it.”
“Did Rainer ask you to give me anything in return?”
“Like a bullet to the brain?”
Tight lipped, he nodded. His scalp was red from scratching at lice. His malnourished, jutting solar plexus made my stomach sink. I sighed.
“I can't, kid. Not because I'm noble or anything. If I shoot you, I'll have to file a report explaining why I was here in the first place. Since I was never assigned to your case, it wouldn't make sense that I'd be checking on you. I can't risk an investigation if I'm going to help Rainer.”
Melville was clearly disappointed. He wasn't an idiot. He knew it would be a slow death for him. Starvation, lice, mistreatment. A bullet or a massacre were his best chances of ending it quickly.
I nudged the red line with my boot.
“That guard, Rubin? I knew him in the bureau. Itchy, prideful trigger finger. Also a heinous bastard. Has a temper like a retarded bull with a thorn in its balls. Tease him about how he ruined his career by forcing his small dick on illegal pussy. Don’t let up, and he'll put you out.”
He nodded. Grateful and grim at once.
“For what it's worth...” I said.
“Yeah.” He frowned. “I don't know what you're playing at, but Rainer never hurt anyone. Not a soul. And he never would.”
Honor among thieves. Touching. I nodded and helped myself out. Rubin loitered at the end of the hall, chatting with a guard. He saw me but dawdled like he had all the time in the world before walking over.
“Get what you need?” he said.
“Kid's a waste of time. All his kind are.”
“Who's next?”
“Davey—David Aberdeen.”
He checked his handheld.
“No point.”
My gut rolled. “Why's that?”
“Kid's still in a coma and hasn't come up for air. He's locked in med ward.”
“He hasn't been turned out to the grounds?”
“Like I said, the boy's in a coma. Not going to make much use of the fresh air, is he?”
“Will he pull through?”
“How the hell should I know? Do I look like a—” He stopped and listened to his earpiece while I imagined all sorts of things I could suggest he looked like. He grabbed my arm with his meaty, repulsive fingers. I palm-struck his chest, sending him back three paces.
“No touchie,” I said.
“Bitch!
Time for you to get out. Disturbance in the yard.”
He hurried to the skywalk, tapped in the code, and followed me through the tube. The yard below us was in tatters.
Someone was shedding.
Boys scattered. Giant steel shutters came down and divided the yard into quadrants to contain the mutt and limit exposure. Only, the emergency barriers trapped some boys with the starving monster. Screams of sheer agony and terror saturated the air. We could see the action and the blood spray from above. Guards opened fire in the square and the roar of the beast dwindled. By then I was at the gate and Rubin practically shoved me out on my ass.
Unwelcome feelings of sympathy for the boys—amplified by the sound of them dying—roused me into a hasty and undignified retreat. Security searched me. Checked for blood contaminant. Commented on my guns. Admired my vehicle. I didn't hear much of it. Finally, I crawled into the safely of my truck and locked myself in. I turned the engine over, blasted thrash metal, and clenched the steering wheel. Shut out the worst of the gunfire and screams.
My breath, for the first time that morning, came whole and unhurried.
I was about to jump again.
Act without thinking it through.
Change everything on the flip of a coin.
Hell, full speed ahead.
Chapter 31
Morning found Red Sector’s streets littered like the basement of a frat house. Streamers, red plastic cups, pamphlets, spent paint cans, and a broken piñata surrounded by condom wrappers. Good times. I parked behind the porn shop, but it was closed and the door was locked. Damn it. Rufus hopped up on the glass to woof and me. If only he was Lassie, he could unlock the door and let me into the basement.
I pounded on the bars of the security door.
A gigantic mass of blond hair popped up behind the counter. Naked female shoulders appeared, followed by a large torso that heaved upward. The woman rounded the counter. Monstrous, pendulous breasts, a round belly, wide hips, full thighs, and a triangle of hair. Full frontal Amazon nudity came at me in broad daylight.
Cripes.
She unlocked the glass door, opened it a crack.
“He doesn't like visitors,” she said.
“Oh!” I ejaculated. “Right, but—”
She slammed the door in my face and turned away.
Bitch.
“Open the door or I'll shoot it down,” I said.
She rolled her eyes and sauntered away, bare flanks shaking.
“Seriously!” I rapped on the door. She ignored me. The phone at the counter rang. She answered, looked at me, rolled her eyes again, slammed the phone down, and came back. Her breasts were enormous. I was a little frightened of them.
She opened the door, swept her arm wide, and invited me in. Rufus hopped up and down eagerly. I skirted around the two of them, bumped into a rack of edible undies and chocolate syrup, and escaped the naked woman and eager dog.
“I'm just gonna…” I hooked my thumb at the jerking booth. Since when is a filthy porn booth the lesser of two evils? Since a stranger aimed her enormous bosom in my direction and advanced like they might manhandle me.
I retreated into the booth and slammed the door. Why was there no lock on this flimsy thing? Why was Rainer taking so damn long to open the security door? My heart pounded and I didn’t know way. Closed spaces? Anxiety? Or worse, my brain finally realized what my gut intended to do.
I inhaled deeply.
The panel slid aside. I descended the stairs and waited until the second door opened. Rainer stood by the computers, dressed in board shorts with a goldfish design. His hair was tousled like I woke him.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi.”
Awkward. Of my own volition, I was now locked in a vault with a mutt. He backed a few paces, grabbed a white shirt from the cot, and slid it over his scars. Some pink ridges peeked at the collar, much like mine did.
“Want a cup of tea?” he said.
“Uh, yeah. Nothing fruity. I hate when they put weird stuff in tea.”
“How was your evening?”
“Eh, you know. Uneventful.”
“Cool, cool.” He set a kettle on. “Thaddeus Nolan turned up dead. Home invasion. Someone shot him.”
“Huh. What a shame. Sounds like karma.”
“Hmmm.” He set out two mugs. “In completely unrelated news, you respond to stress in odd ways. Mostly by shooting things.”
“Keeps my heart ticking.”
“And?” He crossed his arms and waited for the water to boil. “Why are you here so early? Without calling first! Didn't I mention you should call?”
“I met with Melville. Or Billy Budd, if you prefer.”
“Already?”
I smiled. “I thought you were spying on me.”
“Even I have to sleep sometime.” His hands clenched. “How is he? How’s he doing?”
I swallowed. I didn't want to depress Rainer with the details of what Melville would endure at Willington's.
“He might be just a kid, but he's clever. The poem wasn't enough; he wanted me to answer a few questions to indicate I hadn't killed you or orchestrated a set-up. Took some doing, but he finally told me what you wanted to know. I hope that's not decaffeinated tea.”
“What?” He picked up the box and read the label. “I don't think so, no.”
“Great.”
“Stop jerking me around and tell me, would you?”
“What's the rush? Do you have someplace to be?”
“Jesus!”
I told him what I learned. By then, he had a cup of tea ready. He advanced, setting it on the table twenty paces away. This was a test to see how close I'd get to him. That, or he didn't want to get any closer to me.
“Thank you,” I said. Then I wondered if he poisoned it.
“Did you kill Melville?”
“No, but I told him what he needed to do in order to kill himself. It was the best I could manage under the circumstances.”
Rainer lifted both hands to his head, flattening the wild hair. Thin, fine strands fell perfectly at the smallest manipulation. I was a wee bit jealous. My hair had to be forced at gunpoint into any semblance of order. A rooster tail graced the back of my head as we spoke.
Flustered, he reached for his teacup.
“Ms. Durant—”
“Kaidlyn.”
“Fine. Kaidlyn. What we have here is a unique circumstance. An ounce of cooperation between such unconventional partners doesn't necessarily come along every day. I think it worked out well for us, provided the information you gave me is accurate.”
“I can only relay what Melville told me. Not my fault if the dude lied.”
“What now? The feds aren't making any irregular movements that indicate a security breach, and there aren't any unmarked cars infringing on my territory, so it doesn't seem like you ratted me out. As far as I can tell, agent, you haven't contacted any of your fed buddies or attempted to organize a raid into Red Sector. On one level, it looks good and clear. On the other hand, you are sitting here, in my sanctuary. That's a bad sign. You stormed the Bastille in order to catch me off guard, presumably because you hope to avoid being ambushed yourself, or you seek to ambush me. Which is it?”
“Uh...neither?”
“You could have called me on the phone I provided instead of coming here. Our business could have been completed without us ever meeting again. Are you looking for validation? A cookie? What? To make matters worse, I permitted you to come down here completely armed. I bet there's even silver in that gun. What possessed me? I must be ailing! One too many pages of bi-numeral code flashed before my eyes and I've gone daft. Completely crazy. Marc was right! Of course, he's usually right. Self-assured ass. That's not true. He's not an ass. I'm simply venting. He's a great guy. You have a similar taste in books. That's it, isn't it? You're after him, too. Or his books? My books? Are you here for Rufus? Well, I don't care if you're determined to kill me, you can't have my dog!”
“Is that
tea poisoned?”
“Huh? What?” He looked at the cup as if seeing it for the first time. “No!”
“Just checking.” I smiled at the offended expression on his face. I eased my fingers around the cup and sniffed it. “I don’t plan to shoot you, Rainer. But don't go giving me a reason to. Is this chamomile?”
“Yes.”
“What I like about you, Rainer, is how you process information. Your whole rant about my visit was comprised of valid thoughts. Me, I don't think as much. I do more of the...well, doing. That's why this partnership will be so beneficial. You sit down here and think, I stay up there and do. It'll be perfect. Besides, I've been told I need a constructive hobby.”
“Partnership? Oh, no. No way. Who said we'd be working together?”
I waved my hand. “Please, you know I'm a great resource. You'll tap me again.”
He folded his arms and quirked an eyebrow. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because you let me in.”
“Maybe...uh...” He frowned, stumped.
“Right then. That's your answer. Hey, you called Red Sector your territory.”
He paled. “Did I?”
“Did you know up to eighty percent of natural wolves die in land disputes?”
“Matter of fact, I did. Wait. Did you just threaten me?”
“Simple trivia. So you don't go to the surface, like, ever? How do you get food? Wait, Jugs brings it to you, doesn't she?”
He snorted tea. “Please, don't ever let her hear you say that. She's a lady.”
“We aren't talking about the same person.”
“Kaidlyn! Why are you here? What do you want?”
“Since we'll be working together in the future, I figure we need some sort of trust-building exercises.”
“What, like I fall and you catch me?”
“Or you wave your magical tech fingers and fix a little detail of my life. Well, someone else's life which will ultimately affect mine.”
Scratch Lines Page 33