Hard Time - Debt Collector 8 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  “Where would the fun be in that?” Jack replied.

  Lázaro handed the baton back to Chepe. “No food or water for the rest of the day. They’ll soon come around.”

  With that said he walked away leaving them to hang there in the blistering heat. The rest of the inmates weren’t allowed to come near them, nor use the courtyard. They were doing it to set an example. To make it painfully obvious that refusal was not an option.

  One hour stretched into two, then three and Jack lost track of how long they had been hanging there. His lips were dry and throat parched. With their heads hung low, each of them dealt with it in his own way. The gang member on his right cursed Jack, while the other told him to shut the hell up.

  “Why didn’t you fight?” Jack asked the one on his left.

  He was hesitant to reply but then he spoke. “I can’t speak for him but my brother died in the cage.”

  Twenty Five - Resistance

  That evening it rained harder than it ever had. The dirt below Jack’s feet turned into a mini-stream, washing away the grime of the day. Mixed into the steady flow was the blood of Pueblo. Every few hours Chepe would come by and ask if they were ready to fight. Neither of them said yes. Jack wasn’t sure why the man on his right hadn’t fought. He had been nothing but belligerent to him since they chained them up. He went by the name Darrel. The one on the right who had spoken with him was called Esau. He came to learn that Esau’s brother was one of the first to fight. At the start, there was no mention of an early release. Fights were put on for the pleasure of Lázaro. Selection of fighters was random. Esau’s brother’s name was called out and though he was ill, he was forced to fight. Esau pleaded for them to let him take his place but Lázaro wouldn’t let him.

  Jack turned his head. Darrel had barely spoken a word in hours. He’d been pretty sure he would be the first one to break and agree to fight but he hadn’t.

  “Darrel, why didn’t you fight?”

  Though he didn’t reply, he shot Jack a sideways glance. His hard exterior was fading as the strain of being strung up and made to bake in the sun and shiver in the rain had worn him down.

  “How long have you been a gang member?” Jack asked.

  “Since I was a kid.”

  “You’ve always been with M18?”

  He nodded. It was common to see gang members drawing young kids in at an age when they were impressionable. Most came from broken homes or abusive families, or they grew up as orphans. There were those who fell in with the wrong crowd but they rarely lasted. It didn’t matter where he went, gangs were the same. No different than the Mafia. It gave people a sense of belonging, it made them feel valued and more than anything it gave them hope in the face of a bleak future.

  Esau made a remark about M18’s being pussies.

  “Fuck you, homie,” Darrel spat back.

  Jack chuckled.

  “What’s funny?”

  “This. Gangs. Life. It’s all the same, just wrapped up in more bullshit.”

  “What the fuck would you know about being in a gang?”

  “Because I worked for the mob, asshole.”

  “Who you calling asshole?”

  “Listen, you want to keep playing this game of jerking each other off over the next ten years, then knock yourself out. But if you want to get out of here, you’re gonna have to lay aside your differences and work together.”

  “No fucking chance,” Esau said.

  “Like he said,” Darrel replied.

  “Right, because your homies wouldn’t like it. It goes against all you are,” Jack said in a mocking manner. Both of them grumbled.

  “There is nothing that can be done,” Esau said.

  “Not if you work alone. But together.”

  “Simón wouldn’t go for it.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Mara Salvatrucha leader,” Darrel replied before Esau could answer. “Guy doesn’t have the balls to do anything.”

  “And M18 does? You’re full of shit,” Esau said.

  “Actually, Carlos is down with starting a riot. Hell, he’s been thinking of kicking it off since the last one.”

  “Doubt it.”

  “Whatever, man. It’s the reason I didn’t fight.”

  “Because of Carlos?”

  He nodded.

  Jack remembered Carlos making a gesture from within the crowd.

  The rest of the evening was spent in misery. Chilled to the bone and drenched until the sun came up.

  Two days passed before all three of them were released from the shackles and sent to the infirmary to get cleaned up and checked over. Lázaro wasn’t having a change of heart; he was just making a statement, sending a clear message to the rest of the prison about the consequences of defying his orders.

  After being released, all three of them could barely stand. Hungry, thirsty and having not used their legs in over forty-eight hours, they were carried out. Had it not been for the rain, they would have been in an even worse state. The looks on the faces of the inmates brought home the reality of what might be done if they resisted.

  From inside the infirmary Jack could hear the noise of the crowd as the warden returned to pitting them against each other. Lázaro had succeeded. Of course he would. Not everyone would have stood in defiance. As long as the house was divided, it would remain that way.

  There was still something that puzzled Jack. A question that needed answering.

  Once he had spent a few days in the infirmary and was led back to his cell, he sought out Carlos from the M18 gang. He was seated at a table playing cards when Jack strolled up. Several of Carlos’s men approached him to prevent him from getting close. Jack put up his hands to make it clear that he had no beef with him.

  “A moment of your time, that’s all I want.”

  Carlos tossed his cards down and told the others not to look at them or they’d be in trouble. He got up and walked past Jack leading him over to a fence.

  He extended his arms out. “Speak.”

  “Your man Darrel was ready to fight. He said you prevented it from happening. Why?”

  Carlos kicked a few loose stones at his feet and glanced over to his friends. “I wanted to test the water.”

  Jack’s brow knit together. A look of confusion.

  “In here. We live and die by our actions. I wanted to see where the Mara Salvatrucha stood.”

  “And if Esau had attacked me?”

  “So would have Darrel.”

  “But you know the only reason he didn’t was because of his brother. It wasn’t anything to do with me. Esau has his own issues with Lázaro.”

  “Don’t you think I know? There isn’t anything that gets by my eyes in here.”

  “So?” Jack asked. “Will you speak with the Mara Salvatrucha?”

  He scoffed. “Of course not.”

  Jack shook his head confused.

  “You think I will go up to them and ask them to fight alongside us?”

  “But Noah?”

  Carlos leaned in. “I heard what your brother said and I agree but don’t think for one moment I would do this for him, or you. You mean nothing.”

  “Then do it for yourselves. How many of your brothers must die to line the warden’s pockets? There is no early release. He’s harvesting organs on the black market. There is no winning. You need to get that through to Simón.”

  Carlos stepped in close and grabbed Jack by the collar. He wasn’t a large man and he didn’t strike fear into Jack but he allowed him to feel as though he was the dominant one.

  “Hombre, I don’t need to do anything.”

  “And yet you want freedom.”

  There was a tense moment between them. His eyes scanned his face. Jack knew that with just a glance from Carlos, the others would have lynched him before a guard could have done anything. The largest number of inmates inside the compound were gang members, and many were M18.

  “The only way you, or any of them are getting out is by working together.
Look at what you accomplished in the last riot. Now, I heard the crowds this morning. That can’t happen.”

  “And what do you suggest?”

  “Unite.”

  Carlos pulled a cigarette and lit it, he placed a hand on the chain-link fence and cast his gaze outside. “Outside, beyond these walls, no M18 has ever worked alongside a Mara Salvatrucha.” He blew out gray smoke and shook his head. “You are speaking of things that can’t be.”

  “And yet you all abide by the rules of Chepe and the coordinators, why?”

  He spat at the ground and took another puff on his cigarette. “It’s how it works in here.”

  “Then maybe that’s how this can work. Perhaps neither of you need to agree upon a truce. You only have to agree to abide by what Chepe demands.”

  Jack took a few steps back. It was right there all along. He cast a glance across the yard to where Chepe was. He had a Band-aid across his nose from where Jack had smashed the gate into his face. Could he convince him?

  As he stood there chewing it over, he saw several families coming in for visitation. Chepe greeted what looked to be his wife and two children. Beneath his hard exterior was this ordinary man with a family. How long was his sentence? Had he made a deal with Lázaro for early release? Questions bombarded his mind even as Carlos returned to the others. Carlos made it clear that if Jack could convince Chepe to resist and riot or if he could get Simón on board, he would have the cooperation of the M18s.

  Jack pressed his back against the fence as Noah made his way over. He tapped him on the chest. “So, how did it go? Is he in?”

  “That depends. How easy do you think it would be to turn the general coordinator?”

  Noah blew his cheeks out. “If anyone has it good in here, it’s Chepe. I would say even on his worst day, he wouldn’t go against the warden. Especially, if he has come to some arrangement with the warden for an early release.”

  “Have you spoken with Simón?”

  Noah nodded. “He won’t do it.”

  “Fuck!” Jack said. He knew how pigheaded gang members could be. It was all about honor, appearances and respect. Just because they were locked up alongside their rivals, it didn’t mean they would fight alongside them, even if it meant getting out.

  “Look, Jack, I’ve been thinking. We need to just make a break for it. The next time they have us out on work duty.”

  “Noah, there won't be a next time. Lázaro won’t risk it again.” Jack breathed in deeply. His muscles still ached. “Besides, even if we could get out of here, you want this sick bastard to keep on doing this?”

  “Who cares what he does? These are criminals in here. You look at them as if they’re innocent. As if they deserve anything more than death. And anyway, do you really want to see these animals on the street?”

  Jack turned to him. “Criminals or not, what Lázaro is doing is wrong.”

  “Of course. Listen, Jack, I applaud what you have done for others, but that was then, this is now. We’ve got to think about ourselves.” He paused. “You were right, trying to bridge the gap between two rival gangs was absurd, and thinking Chepe could be turned, well…” He stopped talking.

  “Maybe that’s it. We’re going about this the wrong way,” Jack said.

  “What?”

  “We’ve been trying to go against the flow and get them to unite and riot against the warden. But he’s out there. Chepe’s in here. Without him, this place will fall like a house of cards.”

  Jack walked away.

  “Where you going?” Noah asked.

  “Off to start a riot.”

  He continued and then stopped and turned back to Noah.

  “Well come on. You said you wanted to learn.”

  Noah smirked and followed Jack’s lead.

  Twenty Six - Blood Bath

  Family day was the only time that Chepe was left by himself. It was the only time inmates’ eyes were distracted. It was the only time wives were allowed in the cells. There was no privacy, well not like the U.S. conjugal visits. In the States, prisoners were assigned to designated rooms like a trailer or a cabin. They were even given things like condoms, lubricant, soap, bed linen and towels.

  Not in Danlí.

  It all took place in the same cell they shared with twenty other people. It was the reason they had drapes that hung over their bunk beds. No one in the prison system gave a shit. It was down to the inmate to secure privacy.

  Over the time they had been there, Jack had observed the flow of the prison. Coordinators weren't any different. The only time they laid down those batons and gave Chepe space was when his old lady showed up.

  Today wasn’t any different.

  Jack knew there would be consequences to his actions. Kicking a gate in the face of the general coordinator might have got him a beat-down in a USA prison. But here? In front of an audience of inmates, it was all about getting respect back and Chepe would get it regardless of what plans the warden had for Jack.

  Death was coming, and Jack wouldn't wait.

  In the maze of shanty buildings, Jack watched as Chepe disappeared inside his cell with his wife and closed the barred door behind him. A drape was dropped and his kids played outside with a coordinator. They were rarely far from him unless he had that visit. Jack lit a cigarette and stood by the corner waiting for his visit to end.

  All the while he looked at the kids. They couldn’t have been over six or seven years old. By the time Chepe was released from prison they would be in their early twenties. He went back and forth in his mind on whether to kill him. He’d planned to take one of the M18’s shirts, cover it in Chepe’s blood and leave it inside a cell belonging to a member of the Mara Salvatrucha.

  All hell would break loose once Chepe’s body was found.

  Accusations would fly and cells would be searched.

  He was about to kill two birds with one stone.

  If everything went to plan, in less than thirty minutes the shit would hit the fan.

  While waiting, he watched families come and go. There was a different atmosphere when wives and kids came into the prison. Some inmates sat holding hands with their wives. The same individuals he’d seen acting all tough, and threatening. Others tossed their kids up in the air and hugged them. He’d always imagined that it would have been a hellish experience to bring kids into, but there was an unwritten rule. No one could touch another inmate’s family. Fortunately, those who might have been inclined to break that rule were housed in a separate block, called cell 27. An isolated area designated only for those who had committed rape; pedophiles and violent sex offenders.

  Jack heard the groan of a gate opening. He peered around the corner acting casual and like the previous two visits before, Chepe gave his wife a kiss, hugged his kids and the coordinator led them back to the exit. Chepe pulled out a tin of cigars and lit one, he turned and Jack looked away. When he glanced back he saw him disappear inside the cell.

  He knew he had a window of only five minutes before the coordinator would return. Gripping the shirt that Noah had grabbed from the cell of one of the M18 members, he sprinted over and pulled out a shank that was made from a plastic toothbrush that had been filed down on a stone wall.

  As he entered the cell, his eyes darted around the small corridor. Either side of him were wooden bunk beds, multicolored material was draped over the sides. He knew the beds were empty. Chepe was the only one that got real privacy. It was another perk of being a general coordinator.

  He moved quietly. Inside he could smell cigar and hear Chepe shuffling around. As he rounded the corner to where his bunk was, he saw a light on behind the drape and what looked like the silhouette of Chepe.

  Jack shot forward and ripped back the curtain only to find the covers had been stuffed with pillows.

  There was a roar as Chepe burst out of a side bed and slammed into him, knocking the shank out of his hand.

  There wasn’t much that anyone could get by him.

  Right here in the middle of t
he cramped quarters, Jack wrestled for control while both of them tried to go for the shank on the ground. Jack delivered multiple knee strikes but Chepe wasn’t going down easy. He slipped past Jack and dived for the shank. Jack grabbed his leg and Chepe landed hard against the ground. Jack stood on his leg to hold him down as he reached for the shank but Chepe shouted like a foghorn.

  He wasn’t able to scream for long before Jack soccer kicked him in the face.

  Even then Chepe would cause all the coordinators to come rushing if he didn’t get him to shut up.

  Jack made a choice in those few seconds.

  Go for the shank or silence him? Jack landed on him and wrapped his hand around his mouth and squeezed his nostrils. Chepe flailed around. It took close to three minutes to suffocate someone, or ten to thirty seconds to choke them. With time against him, he opted to choke him out. He squeezed his forearm hard around his neck, while keeping his other hand over his mouth. Chepe clawed at his arm trying to pry his grip loose but it was useless. Jack was the stronger of the two.

  He was nearly unconscious when Jack heard the gate open. His eyes widened but he kept his grip tight. Sure enough, it was the worst thing that could happen. A coordinator stepped into view. He sprang into action, pouncing on Jack.

  Jack had no choice but to release Chepe so he could defend himself against the second guy. Chepe rolled and was choking, gasping for air. The coordinator pummeled Jack with his baton while he was still on the ground. Jack grabbed his pant leg and would take his legs out when Noah came into view behind him. His eyes darted from Jack to Chepe, to the coordinator and then before Jack could say another word, he stabbed the coordinator multiple times in the back.

  By now Chepe was clawing his way towards the exit on his knees. He had one hand on his throat, and was trying to call out for another coordinator when Jack hauled him back into the darkened enclosure.

  Ten more seconds and it was all over. Stabbed, throats slit, Chepe and the coordinator were lying in an ever-increasing puddle of scarlet.

  Jack grabbed up the M18 shirt he’d dropped and covered it in blood. While he did that, Noah was acting as a lookout. Once it was done, and the coast was clear they darted out of the cell and made a beeline for the nearest Mara Salvatrucha cell.