“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 transsexual 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.
“Okay ladies, that’s enough. Calm down! CALM DOWN!” Beady Eyes yells.
The blondes don’t stop. One of them lunges for me, but the shorter, fatter guard, Lorenzo, blocks him by standing between us and pulling out his taser gun.
“Do I have to use this?”
They cower, but all six pairs of brown eyes are trained on me, not the gun.
Beady Eyes smiles. “Looks like you made some enemies, Pretty Boy.”
I huff, flicking slop off my chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend anyone.” What else am I gonna say?
The guards are all ready to fight the gang or me, but the fight is over, so the short one shoves me toward the exit. “Go to laundry and get cleaned up.”
Lazarus, the oldest convict in here, stands up at the table next to this one to take his tray to the bin. He’s been in here over fifty years and nobody bothers him because he’s ancient. They may have when he first came in, because he’s also small and slight. But nowadays he comes and goes as he pleases because he’s not going anywhere and everyone knows it, including him. He’s trusted now.
Lazy Beady Eyes calls over to him, “Lazarus! Take this fairy to laundry.”
The guy’s wrinkly neck twists as he looks over with tired surprise. Since no other option is given him, his face shifts to resignation and he sighs and shakes his head, shuffling to the bin.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Hamilton says. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him talk. Apparently he wants to impress his buddies.
Without another word, I scowl at Rita and turn away, following my reluctant guide out the exit.
Lazarus shuffles along for a bit. When we’re about twenty paces away, he mutters, “That went well.”
I shake my head a little. “Like clockwork.”
Chapter Nineteen
Brendan
Watching her get dressed lately is kind of hilarious.
“This is absurd. These hardly fit anymore!” Annie cries out, laying on our bed to pull up her black pregnancy jeans, the elastic ballooned waist stretched as far as it will go. “And look at my belly! It usually flattens out a little like this. I mean, not flattens, really. More like spreads out.”
“While you have those off…” I call over, leaning against the wall by the door with my arms patiently crossed.
She throws me a look. “They’re not off. They’re just not on.”
“Men see that as the same thing, my love.”
She laughs and exclaims, “Oh! There they go! Yay!” She pushes herself up with her elbows, then her hands to sit on the edge of the bed with a grunt.
“Yay to you, bummer to me.”
Rolling her eyes on a smile, she waves me over. “Help me with my shoes?”
Sighing, I walk over. “Baby, don’t go in.” I kneel down in front of her and slide her flat, black boots on. “Look at this. I’m putting on your clothes. They warned me this would happen after I got married.”
Chuckling, she argues. “I have to go in. Manny would be all by himself. And I really want us to stop arguing about this. You said you’d leave it alone.”
“I lied,” I smile.
“You’ve been doing that a lot lately. I think I’m a bad influence on you,” she teases me, her bright blue eyes dancing.
Laying my han
ds on her knees, I cock my head to the side. “What? I never lie.”
“That tree is sold.”
“You made me do that!”
“It was Annie’s idea to pick up the check.”
Laughing, I shrug. “Margaret was being Margaret.”
Annie’s fingers play with mine. Her eyelashes fall to look at our hands. “I wonder if he’s going to have your hands. I hope he looks like you.”
A warm sensation spreads out in my chest. “It’s going to be weird, watching him grow. Finding out who he becomes. I don’t know about you, but it’s giving me more respect for my parents.”
Annie nods, looking into the past. “I was such an asshole in high school. I hope he doesn’t give me paybacks for that.”
“He will.” I pull her up and walk with her to the door. “Have everything you need?”
“Yep. It’s been so busy!” Her eyes light up, but still I’m not feeling supportive.
“That’s great.”
She glances to me. Walking to the coat rack together, she inhales and closes her eyes. “That tree smells so good. The whole penthouse has a crisp, outdoorsy smell to it now.”
I breathe it in. “I feel like we should roast marshmallows and have a campfire.”
She closes her eyes, breathing it in again. “Mmmm. Marshmallows.”
It’s now habit since the weather got colder that I help her put on her coat whenever I see her off to work, and we do this tonight without thinking about it. As she slides her arms in, her mind is on something else. “Brendan?”
“Yeah?”
“I wish our first Christmas here was a party. Surrounded by friends and family, you know?” She searches my face to see if I understand.
“I’m glad it’s just you and me, babe. But you’re right. That would be nice. My mom’s at Pajaro Dunes with her boyfriend. Mark and Nicole are…”
“I know,” she smiles, interrupting me by laying her hand on my chest in a sweet way. “I was just thinking aloud. I’m looking forward to our home filled with family. I don’t think I gave myself that when I was younger. Too angry, you know?”
I nod. “Still wearing all black, though.”
She blinks and looks down. “Just to work!”
“You picked a job where you could wear all black.”
She laughs and shrugs. “Can’t take the spots off the leopard. Decorating the tree tomorrow, yes?”
“Yes. Have a good night at work. If it slows down, come home early and let Manny close up.”
“Brendan...”
I sigh, my mouth tight. She rises on her tip-toes for a kiss. I encircle her with my arms and lay a good long, slow one on her.
She murmurs against my lips. “Mmm…maybe I could take these pants off for another second?”
“Manny knows you’re coming in late. Why not be a little later.” I brush her lips with mine, sending a shiver down her body. Just when I think she’s giving in, she smiles and pulls away, shaking her head like she’s trying to snap out of it.
“Oh, Brendan! What you do to me!”
I slap her ass on the way out.
Walking to the T.V. I flop down on the couch and grab the remote. CNN jumps on the screen, having been the last station I watched. Out of habit, I stare at the images of the terrorist group Isis flashing before me. It takes me a second to remember our deal, but as soon as I do, I change the channel, stopping at The Christmas Story, just as the kid sticks his tongue to the frozen pole, his schoolmates eagerly watching.
“I wonder if Joe is keeping up his end of the bargain,” I mutter, smiling as the kid finds out he’s stuck like that. Grabbing my phone out of my pocket, I text him:
Watching the news?
No. You?
Christmas Story.
Me too. Hilarious stuff. Thanks for dinner.
Anytime.
Setting the phone down on the coffee table, my glance lands on our tree, naked and waiting for some love. “Don’t worry, buddy. You’ll get yours.”
Chapter Twenty
Tommy
Who knew Lazarus was a beefcake?
I guess the best of us criminals can play a role. Isn’t that what lying is, to a certain extent? Pretending to be something you’re not? Know something you don’t? So I don’t know why I’m surprised when old Lazarus stands up straight, his crotchety back no longer twisted by age as he motions to one of the commercial dryers. “Help me with this,” he says with a voice stronger than I’ve heard him use.
After my double take on his dramatic change, I stroll to the machine and watch as he takes one end, waiting for me to take the other. We lift the beast, both of us grunting, and slide it three feet out into the room, away from the other dryers.
“Well I’ll be,” I huff, staring over at the slender hole. It’s going to be a tough squeeze for me, but like I care? With my pulse hammering in my head, I glance to him. “How’re you going to move the dryer back?”
Without flinching, he says, “Easier to push than to pull. You can use your legs.”
“Right. Well, here goes.” Squeezing back behind the dryer, I stare down at the hole, kneeling to lower myself in. “Hey? Why don’t you come with me?”
He shrugs. “I’ve been here fifty-three years. This is my home.”
I stare at him, taking the weight of that in. “Right. Well, suit yourself.” I’m waist deep when I look at him again. “Why don’t the blondes leave?”
“They love Rita. Or didn’t you notice? Now stop procrastinating. And don’t ask me about Rita. My loyalties aren’t with you.”
My eyebrows raise. Without another word, I squish myself down into the hole, maneuvering my wide shoulders until I fall with a thud on hard dirt. A larger space around four feet wide has been gutted at this point in the hole, enough for me to be able to bend down and start the long crawl out of here.
I didn’t bother to ask how many hundred yards it would be, but right now, I’d crawl all the way to hell if it got me out of the one I was just in. For maybe an hour, maybe more, I crawl in pitch-blackness. Twice rats run over my body, but I keep going. I’m sure there are spiders down here, too. And centipedes. But nothing is worse than Antonio’s gang owning my balls for the rest of my life. Or The Gimp Patrol making me their little bitch. So, I keep going, hoping that on the other end, no one is waiting for me in uniform.
When finally I emerge on the far side of the 580 freeway, with San Quentin across from it looming like a bad dream I just woke up from, I gasp for fresh air, looking around the meticulously cut out insides of a large shrub. With little green leaves all around me, and some dead ones fallen on the earth near my face, I start to laugh. A portion of the hedge is false, held together on the inside by thin, green garbage bag ties. I unfasten two and let myself out through the fauna door, digging my arm back in to tie it closed again, leaving it the way I found it.
Rising up to stand, I strip off my prison blues and ball them up in my hand, just wearing my tighty-whities as I run for the car Rita told me would be here. The key’s in the ignition, and there’s a stack of clothes on the seat. Jeans, boots, socks, underwear, a white t-shirt, a green sweater and a brown corduroy coat.
“Oh, Bruce, you outdid yourself. Fuck it. I don’t need these anymore.” Glancing around the deserted dirt road, I slide my underwear off and put on the fresh pair. The shoes go, too. And the socks. I want nothing on me that reminds me of that place.
But now what to do with them? Do I dare ditch them in some trash bin? I’ve seen too many episodes of C.S.I. to be that stupid. Running over to a dirt stretch that doesn’t look too hardened by the sun, I start digging with my fingers. Soon I’m sticking the prison clothes in a shallow hole and covering it up, reaching for leaves and branches to hide what I did.
“There. That oughta do it.” Smiling a real smile for the first time in months, I run back to the car and drive away.
Now to get to what I came out to do. I’m not looking forward to it, but it’s gotta be done. I’ll never sleep again if I d
on’t take care of this once and for all.
Chapter Twenty-One
Annie
Baby bellies are great for tips, bad for patience.
Barb’s ample, leathery cleavage spills over a gypsy-style blouse as she leans into the bar counter to gleefully whisper, “Ice Queen has left the building! I told you she’d drink white wine! Am I good or am I good?”
I glance over, hoping said Ice Queen didn’t hear that, but the front door of Le Barré has mercifully shut behind that particular female customer and her not so happy date. There’s only one couple left now, plus Barb. But she’ll stay until after we’ve closed, no doubt about that.
Topping off the elegant glass with more Pinot Grigio, I give her an unconvinced look. “Barb, you’re drinking white. Are you an ice queen? And I like white wine. What does that make me?”
Momentarily stuck, she sucks on the insides of her mouth, thinking about how to prove her point. She unsticks as an idea hits her, her penciled-in eyebrows wagging happily. “Yes, but she asked for ice in hers! A-HA! I am never wrong!” She grabs onto the counter so fast that her bracelets jangle as she demands, “Admit it!”
Barb is my favorite regular and she takes great pride in predicting the cocktail a person will drink as soon as they enter my chic little lounge bar on Mission Street. Ever since Le Barré opened, Barb’s been a regular fixture, always sitting on the street-side end of the bar. When I was just getting started and business wasn’t great, she never failed to show up and make me smile. I will always treasure her for that, even if she does wear on my patience on occasion.
Capturing Hearts: Hearts Series Book 4 Page 6