Jason Frost - Warlord 04 - Prisonland

by Jason Frost - Warlord 04

  “Maybe they’re right.”

  She shook her head violently. “You can’t make a deal with a man like Thor. I know. I was a lawyer in the District Attorney’s office for four years. Before that I was public defender. I’ve defended and prosecuted some of the men over there. I know what they’re capable of. No matter what they agree to, they’ll want it all. Just for the principle of it.”

  Eric didn’t say anything. He knew she was right. But that still didn’t make it his concern. “So you want to use me to help get some votes. I mean, that is what this whole kidnapping of the doctor is all about, right?”

  “Partially. Bringing him here to tend our medical needs, to help manufacture antibiotics, that would go a long way toward convincing everyone how capable the three of us are.”

  “Except that you got the wrong man.”

  She had to smile. “That didn’t help our cause a whole lot. Still, it’s not too late to turn that mistake into an asset.”

  “By getting me to help.”

  “Yes.”

  Eric looked around the room. “Where’s my backpack?”

  “Safe.” She looked into his eyes, the candle highlighting the deep brown of her skin. “Will you help us?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  She gritted her teeth. “You’re so damn ...”

  “Cautious?”

  “... smug. You don’t seem to understand what we’re up against. It’s like the Civil War. We’ve got a bunch of people who want to secede from the Union.”

  “Led by Jefferson Nestor Davis.”

  “Go ahead and make fun. It’s easy for you. You don’t have anything to fight for. You just drift around, take what you want. We’re trying to build homes, a life. We’ve got children here, for God’s sake. We can’t even let those people go who want to. We’ll hold them here at gunpoint if necessary. We’re going to hold this damn rock together because that’s all we’ve got left.”

  “You’re the second person tonight who’s tried to give me a history lesson,” Eric said. “I never knew disaster could be so educational.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of being glib?”

  Eric leaned toward her. The candle flame set off the pale scar along his cheek. It gave him a slightly demonic look. Maggie flinched back involuntarily. “What I’m tired of is everybody assuming they know me. That they know what I want, what I’m looking for. The Warlord. They hear that and immediately I’m a hired gun. A mercenary. Well, I’ve never been a mercenary. I’ve never killed for hire. Unless you count a few years in the United States Army in Vietnam. All that righteous judgment coming from you. At least Nestor knows what this is all about. Politics. Power. That’s all you’re arguing about.”

  “No,” Maggie started to protest.

  Eric interrupted her. “You want to know what I am, Maggie. You really want to know? I’m a father. That’s first, last, and everything. I have a son out there with a man who embodies everything I hate. In the light of that, your problems don’t mean squat to me.” Eric was breathing shallowly as he glared at her. He wasn’t sure how much of what he’d said he really meant and how much was just for effect, out of anger. Not knowing bothered him.

  “You want me to apologize, well, I won’t. Maybe I am trying to use you. But it’s to do what’s best for everyone here, not just for myself. And I don’t care whether you believe that or not.”

  Eric leaned across the floor and pulled Maggie to him, kissing her full on the lips. He wasn’t sure why he did it, and that bothered him too, but not enough to stop. She didn’t stop either. Tongues slapped against each other in groping passion. He lowered her to the floor. He was on top, then she was on top.

  She pushed him gently away. “This would be more fun without our clothes.”

  “And on something softer,” he agreed.

  They stood up and undressed, each watching the other while they hurriedly unfastened buttons, snaps, zippers. She stood there naked and hung her holster on the bed post. “Gives the place a little class, don’t you think?”

  Eric laughed. “Only if you’re Pancho Villa.”

  She peeled the comforter back and hopped onto the bed.

  “What about birth control?” Eric asked.

  “I’m fine. One of the things Thor and his men didn’t bother looting from pharmacies was birth control pills.”

  Eric stood next to the bed first, watching her stretch out on the cool white sheets. Firm sinewy muscles flattened her stomach and shaped her legs. Her breasts were small, topped by long nipples, almost purple in the dim light.

  She held the comforter up for him to climb in next to her. “Come on in, the water’s fine.”

  And he did.

  Her arms pulled him closer to her, tighter against her sleek skin. The muscled leanness of both their bodies made it difficult to fit together comfortably at first, but soon they managed. Sweat slicked their bodies like a thin oil as they slid across each other, wrapping arms and legs around the other, grinding, straining, fighting. They prodded and probed as if searching for something, some way into the untouched, intimate part of the other’s private being.

  Finally, rivulets of sweat rolling down his arms, chest, buttocks, he entered her. She hooked her knees over his hips, clasped them there, the strong thigh muscles urging him deeper with each rocking motion. They didn’t close their eyes; they stared into each other’s eyes as she pulled him into her and he obliged. With each thrust, he watched her eyes close slightly, then flare with pleasure, Sweat dripped from his chin onto a small puddle between her breasts.

  “I’m ready, “ she whispered.

  “I’m not.”

  She laughed. “Neither am I.”

  “I know.” He smiled at her as he shifted into a quicker rhythm, his hips rolling in slow circles, ending a deep penetration that sent a warm charge up through her stomach. Then faster. And faster. Slowing, waiting for her to build, to catch up, then faster again. She was puffing air through her mouth now, her teeth clenched tight, her eyes fluttering.

  “Oh Jesus,” she said, arching her back, digging her fingers into his upper arms.

  And he pounded his hips into her with a heated flurry. The sweet aching started somewhere down in his knees and shivered along his thighs until he was emptying into her and she was squeezing him between her thighs, tiny yelps coming from her mouth, coming faster, building into one loud long moan.

  Afterward, they lay quietly, Eric massaging her shoulders and back. “You’re pretty strong for a lawyer,” he said.

  “Gardening. Not much use for a lawyer out here, though I do arbitrate disputes. Like a family court. But gardening, growing food, that puts things in perspective.” She turned around and gently pushed him flat onto his stomach. “Your turn.” She began massaging his shoulders. “You’ve got a lot of scars.”

  He lifted his head, a shocked expression on his face. “Where?”

  She slapped his buttocks. “There, if you don’t quit kidding me.”

  Eric closed his eyes and let her fingers ease some of the tension from his muscles. The skin had scabbed over where it had been scraped and gouged from falling out of that tree. The swelling from the beating had gone away, though the knob under his eye was still a little yellowish. The blisters on his neck from Dodd’s torch were healing nicely. The bite on his ear from D.B.’s attack was even getting better. But that damn tooth. It was starting to throb again.

  “You have a dentist among your citizens?”

  She shrugged. “Riva used to be a dental assistant when she was first out of high school. She’s been doing what she could for people. Mostly pulling teeth, I’m afraid. You have a problem?”

  “No. Just curious.”

  “Ever made love to a black woman before?”

  “Why? Do I get more points on my Scoreboard?”

  She laughed. “I’m curious, that’s all.”

  “You ever made it with a history professor with a toothache before?”

  She laughed again. “Oka
y, okay. I’ll shut up.”

  They didn’t speak for a while. Then Maggie said, “About Nestor.”

  Eric grunted.

  “I don’t know what he told you.”

  “About what?”

  “Us. Him and me.”

  Eric closed his eyes. “Right there, by the neck. That feels good.”

  She kept rubbing. “You have to remember, this is a small island, not many men. A lot of women. A lot of loneliness.”

  “I’m not judging.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m telling you.” She stopped rubbing. “He really can be quite charming. Until you get to know him. Anyway, the men here, even the unattractive ones are pretty valuable. You know, physically.”

  “Sexually.”

  “Yes, sexually. We try to keep something of a rein on sexual activity. It causes a lot of headaches. Fights, pregnancies in some of the younger girls who didn’t want pills or didn’t take them regularly. All kinds of hassles.” She looked around the room. “That’s what these buildings are for. The teenagers. They reserve them and then they can spend the night alone with someone. At least that way we can monitor the situation, maybe prevent a few unwanted pregnancies.”

  “And the adults?”

  “They do what they want, though we do encourage them to set some example. It’s hard. A couple of the men here are married, living with their wives. Yet they get pressured every day. Their wives have had to become pretty flexible, very understanding.”

  “Very,” Eric said.

  Maggie kneaded his shoulders, not saying anything for a minute. “That’s all I wanted to say. Just so you know the facts.”

  He flipped over and wrestled her down on top of him, kissing her. She straddled his hips and kissed back, hard.

  Outside the window, D.B.’s voice, sounding remarkably like a female version of Willie Nelson’s, sang, “Mamas don’t let your babies grow up to be warlords.” Then the sound of laughter like a hundred crickets in the night.

  * * *

  TWELVE

  When he stepped out into the morning light, she was waiting for him.

  “I’ve got it,” she said. “I finally figured it out.”

  Eric rubbed his eyes, squinted up into the sky. The Halo glowed a burnt amber as if there were some roaring fire somewhere behind the thick layers. “What time is it?”

  “Who knows?” D.B. shrugged. “Morning, that’s what time.”

  “Thanks.” Eric yawned, buttoned another button on his shirt. Fog from the bay gave the island a smoky look, but it was much colder this morning than last night. Though last night he’d had Maggie’s slick warm body tucked close to his. She’d slid out of bed about an hour ago, while it was still dark, dressed quietly, and sneaked out, careful not to wake him. But he was already awake, watching her dress, letting her think he was asleep. He didn’t try to stop her. He could think of at least a dozen reasons why she wouldn’t want others to see her with the man they called the Warlord.

  “She’s gone,” D.B. said cheerfully. “Tiptoed out about an hour ago.”

  “That right?”

  “Dressed in a hurry too. Had her panties stuffed in her pocket.”

  “My, my.”

  D.B. patted Eric on the back. “Don’t worry, she looked pleased. Satisfied. Good job, Doc Rock.”

  Eric shook his head and walked off. D.B. stayed right at his side, taking extra steps to match his long strides. The young guard from last night had been replaced by a woman in her sixties, her long gray hair tossed about in the cold breeze. Eric nodded at her and she smiled at him. A few months ago, she’d probably spent most of her day shopping, sending birthday cards to her children and grandchildren, having lunch at the club. Now she leaned up against that tree, the shotgun cradled in her arm, a rosy redness to her cheeks, a glimmer in her brown eyes.

  “You see her?” D.B. whispered. “Looks like my grandmother. Jesus.”

  Group of women and children were heading across the island toward the main prison cell blocks.

  “Where’s everybody going?” D.B. asked.

  “Breakfast.”

  “Great! I’m starved. What do you think they serve around here?”

  “Whatever it is, it’s got to be better than what we’ve had the past few days.”

  D.B. wrinkled her nose at the memory of the grasshoppers.

  As they walked, they saw the extra guards standing high in the guard tower, several with guns and bows on the roof of the main cell block, mostly staring out to sea, watching for Thor’s fleet.

  “That’s what I figured out,” she said, pointing at all the guards. “Look at all those gun-toting women standing around.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My song. I’m going to write like a ballad about this place and sing it wherever I go. A troubadour, like we talked about.” She gestured excitedly.

  “I remember.”

  “I’ve even got the title of the song. Get this: ‘Amazons of Alcatraz.’ What do you think?”

  “Catchy.”

  “Yeah, it’s supposed to be. Gotta hook your audience right away. I’ve got some of the music written in my head, but I’m having trouble with the words. Maybe you can help me. If we ever get back and Kenny Rogers records it or something, I’ll split the bucks with you.”

  Eric smiled, put his arm around her. “We’ll work on it over breakfast, okay?”

  “Great!”

  “Fifty-fifty on those royalties, right?”

  She shook her head adamantly. “Sixty-forty. It was my idea. Besides, I don’t even know if you got the knack yet.”

  “Boy, I need an agent just to have breakfast with you.”

  “It’s a tough world.”

  “I told you it was better than grasshoppers.”

  “Just barely.” D.B. jiggled her bowl of fish soup. Chunks of fish bumped with the bits of tomato. “I saw this same soup in a movie once. Only it was being served to prisoners in a Siberian work camp.”

  “Just eat it.” Eric tilted the plastic bowl and slurped the contents. No one had silverware.

  “So when do we start?” D.B. asked, slurping her own soup.

  “Start what?”

  “Helping these people. Planning how to get the doctor here. Setting up some defenses.”

  “I didn’t agree to do any of that.”

  “Well, no, not exactly. You said you’d think it over.”

  “Right. That’s what I’m doing now. Thinking it over.”

  “But after meeting that Nestor creep and after,” she paused, lowered her voice, “last night with that woman. I mean, I thought that meant ...”

  “You thought sleeping together was like shaking hands on a deal?”

  She nodded.

  “It doesn’t work that way, kid. I think Maggie would be insulted if she knew you thought that.”

  “I don’t think so. I think she’d be more insulted to know that you fucked her and now you plan to leave her here to die.”

  “I didn’t say that. I said I was still thinking it over.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Riva Tulane’s sharp voice preceded her as she worked her way through the crowd of eaters lined along the tables. She wore her blond hair up in a bun. Sweat covered her face and arms. It only made her more beautiful. She plopped her bowl of soup across the table from Eric and D.B. “Been in that damn kitchen for the last two hours cooking these smelly things.” She sniffed the bowl and winced. “Christ, it’s a wonder they don’t lynch me for making this.”

  “Where’s the rest of the trinity.”

  “You mean Maggie?” She gave him a sly look.

  “I mean Maggie and Lynda.”

  “Lynda took the first fishing shift. Two boats and a dozen lines. You’re eating what they caught. Maggie’s got the second shift. You’ll be eating that for lunch. Only difference is that there’ll be more tomatoes in it.”

  “Swell,” D.B. said.

  There was a minute of silence while they each sippe
d their soup. Then Riva asked, “Well, what’s your decision, bucko? You helping us or what?”

  “I haven’t decided,” Eric lied.

  “What’s to decide? You come over here and eat our food, fuck our women, then tip your hat and slink off.”

  “That Maggie’s attitude too?” Eric said.

  Riva laughed. “Maggie? She’s too trusting. Whatever happened between you two last night, she won’t mention it to you again. Wouldn’t want to unduly influence you. Me, I’d shovel the guilt on so thick you couldn’t move.”

  “Tough guy.”

  “Tough enough.” She pushed her bowl away, her face suddenly grim. “I didn’t get to be a household name by playing nice. That’s one thing ole Nestor Tulane taught me. To get where you’re going, you do what it takes. Whatever it takes.” She looked away for a moment. When she spoke, she was barely audible, as if she were speaking only to herself. “Maybe. I listened too well.”

  Eric finished his soup, then finished what D.B. didn’t want.

  “Anyway,” Riva said, her voice loud again, cynical. “You’re no better than he is. At least we know what kind of jerk Nestor is. But you just wander around using us. Not that I mind you humping Maggie. Hell, I wouldn’t have minded a bit of midnight passion myself. You’ve probably noticed the slim pickings around here. That’s one of the reasons a lot of the women back Nestor’s plan to negotiate with Thor. At least they’ll be around men. They don’t know what kind of men they’ll be dealing with. But you know, don’t you, Warlord? Yeah, you know.”

  “He said he’d think about it,” D.B. yelled, more angrily than necessary.

  “Yeah, that’s what he said. But I’ve got a sneaky feeling he’s already thought about it. And made up his mind. Right, bucko?”

  Eric stacked D.B.’s bowl on top of his own. “Nice chatting with you, Riva.” He was about to get up when he saw Nestor Tulane elbowing his way through the diners toward him. Nestor’s broad face was tight with anger. Several of his toadies followed in his wake.