Divine Justice

by David Baldacci

  Oh, you already have, lady.

  CHAPTER 65

  STONE AND KNOX were kept in the restraints for nearly six hours and slept the whole time. The guards who came to take the pair back to their cells seemed chagrined that they’d navigated the ordeal so easily.

  They were dressed back in orange jumpsuits and hauled back to their cells. Each man had to exercise considerable self-control in the face of the guards’ taunts. Knox had to bite the inside of his lip while Stone just stared straight ahead unblinking and telling himself that an opportunity would present itself if he were patient.

  An hour later, they were strip-searched again, cuffed and shackled and led to the cafeteria, where the cuffs were taken off so they could eat.

  Knox’s belly was rumbling as they sat down at an unoccupied table. They stared around at the sea of other prisoners. Quickly counting, Stone arrived at nearly five hundred inmates, with well over three-quarters of them black, while all the guards he could see were white.

  Some of the prisoners stared back at them with an array of expressions that ranged from curious to indifferent to hostile. Only a few people were talking. Most focused on their meals. Knox looked down as his food was slid in front of him.

  After the attendant walked off he said to Stone, “I wonder if they have a nice cabernet to go with this slop?”

  “Humor, Knox, I like that. Helps the time go by. What do you see out there?” He indicated the inmate population.

  “Sorry asses just like us, only we haven’t committed any crime. Correction, I haven’t committed any crime.”

  Stone took a bite of his food with a limp Styrofoam spoon that was the only utensil provided. “You’ve seen the insides of prisons before, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah, but not as an inmate.”

  “So what’s different? Think about it.”

  Knox looked around. “Well, they seem a pretty quiet bunch to be the baddest asses in the land.”

  “That’s right. Subdued, beaten down, scared. Anything else?”

  Knox stared at one group closest to them. Four men, all black, who sat there idly prodding their food and not bothering to even look at each other.

  Knox squinted at them, following their lethargic movements and glassy eyes. “And drugged?”

  “And drugged. We know they have enough pills to do the job.”

  “Do you think that’s where the pill shipments are coming? Here?”

  “No. That stuff was all for street sale probably in New York, Philly, Boston, D.C. and other big cities up and down the East Coast. They probably just use a little overflow to knock these guys down.”

  “Drugging prisoners involuntarily? That’s got to violate about a million rights.”

  Stone suddenly bent down and started shoveling food in his mouth. Sensing why, Knox immediately did the same. The footsteps came up behind them and stopped.

  “Manson, are the new prisoners adapting to our routines?” Howard Tyree said to the burly guard standing next to him.

  Manson had an eye patch over his right eye. And as he glanced up Stone knew why. Manson was the one he’d hit in the eye with his belt.

  This is just getting better and better.

  “It’s taking some work, but we’ll get them where they need to be, sir.”

  Stone watched as Manson curled and uncurled his fingers as he stared at Stone with his one remaining eye. The man’s look was one of unconcealed homicidal intent. He lifted his billy club out of its holster and stuck its end against Stone’s jaw and pushed.

  “This one here will take a little extra work, but we’ll get him to understand our ways.”

  “Good man,” said Tyree.

  When Manson pulled the club back he did it in such a way that a jagged edge of the wood tore at Stone’s face. It started to bleed, but Stone didn’t make a move to wipe it away.

  Tyree said, “You know, at most supermax prisons the prisoners eat in their cells and recreation time is only done one inmate at a time. But here at Blue Spruce we’re a little more liberal than that.” He surveyed the deadly quiet room. “Here, we allow our inmates to experience some human touches. A nice meal together, some camaraderie.”

  Tyree placed a hand on Stone’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. Stone would’ve taken the bite of the rattlers in the mine over this man’s repulsive touch. Yet he didn’t flinch and Tyree finally released his grip.

  “And because of our compassion and understanding on points like that,” Tyree continued, “sooner or later they all learn our ways. But I’d be the first to admit that the route can get bumpy at times.”

  As he walked along with a wall of guards every inmate stared down at his plate, as though it was the most wonderful cooking they’d ever seen.

  These guys are not only drugged, they’re terrified, thought Stone, because they know this guy will kill them, and there’s nothing they can do about it.

  He can kill me too. And probably will. Unless Manson gets to me first.

  Only when Manson and Tyree had left the room did he wipe the blood off his face with his napkin.

  CHAPTER 66

  AFTER THE MEAL they were allowed thirty minutes outside. Outside being a floor of concrete in the middle of the prison courtyard with a sheet of razor wire as a roof and a lone and netless basketball hoop and patched ball as apparently the sole recreation.

  So much for the liberal human touch, thought Stone.

  Some of the prisoners slowly jogged in tight circles, one bounced the ball, yet most just stood there staring down at their shoes. Up on the tower walks were the guards, their AK-47s, shotguns, and sniper rifles at the ready and clearly visible to every man down in the pit. Stone noticed that there was a blue line that ran around the concrete field.

  “You cross that line, put one toe over it, the man up there shoot you.” This came from a small, twitchy inmate with a bristly gray mustache, wild hair and eyes that didn’t promise much of anything behind them.

  “Thanks for the scoop,” Knox said. “They forgot to mention that in the orientation class.”

  Twitchy looked at Knox and laughed. “Hey, that’s a good one. That’s a damn good one.” He looked at Stone. “You boys ever getting out?”

  “Doesn’t look that way,” Stone answered. “You?”

  “Life, life, life,” Twitchy said in a singsong voice. “Three life sentences to run consecutively instead of concurrently. That’s a big-ass difference. Oh yeah, I found that out. Both begin with the letter ‘c’ but that’s where the similar shit stops, man.”

  “I can see that.” Stone methodically eyed the position of each tower walk, and the shooting angles available to the guards up there. He came away impressed with the design of the place. It wouldn’t take great skill to kill any man down here before he even had a chance to piss on the concrete, much less make a break for freedom.

  “Is that what most people are here? Lifers?” Knox asked.

  “Everybody I know is, and I been here eleven years. Least I think it’s been eleven. Used to keep a calendar but I ran out of wall space. It ain’t matter. No parole for old Donny boy.”

  “What’d you do, old Donny boy?” Knox asked, the distaste clear in his tone though Donny boy seemed oblivious to it.

  “Killed me three little kids,” he said as matter-of-factly as though he were merely giving his date of birth. He blew his nose in his cupped hands and then wiped them on his thighs.

  “And why the hell would you do that, Donny boy?” Knox asked as his fingers curled into a fist.

  “’Cause the bitch told me to, that’s why. They was her kids from her second marriage, man. Insurance money. Least that’s what she said. Seduced me. That’s right. Gave me some ass. High on shit when I killed ’em too. You’d think that’d be a defense, wouldn’t you? But hell no it ain’t. I was robbed, man, robbed. I mean, where the hell is the accountability?”

  “Accountability?” Knox said incredulously.

  “Yeah, man. Lawyers, judges, bitches giving ass to make y
ou do shit. Nobody wants to take responsibility for nuthin’ no more. It’s a damn disgrace. God bless America but we need to get our shit together in this country.”

  Knox clenched his teeth. “Did she get three life sentences?”

  “The bitch? Hell no! Blamed it all on me. And she’s married again and sitting pretty with all that insurance money, while my ass rots in here. Called me a maniac at my trial. And we had cocktails together, man. I swear to God.”

  “Sounds like you needed a better lawyer. But then again I think you’re right where you need to be, Donny. Now why don’t you go find another corner to hang out on?” Knox said, taking a menacing step toward the man.

  Before Donny could move, Stone hooked him by the arm even as one of the tower guards stared down at them, his hands perched on the trigger guard of the AK.

  “Hey, Donny, you been in many prisons?” Stone asked.

  “Me? Hell yeah. This here’s my fourth one. And my second supermax,” he added with pride.

  “Why’d you get sent to Dead Rock?”

  “Hit a guard. They ain’t like it when you hit them, but they sure as hell don’t mind busting our asses, do they?”

  “Yep, life’s real unfair,” Knox exclaimed.

  “I bet you’re a guy notices stuff. Notice anything weird around here?” Stone said.

  “Notice stuff? Man, we only get one hour out a day. Half for chow, half for this recreation shit. Twenty-three hours and two meals in the old eight-by-twelve after that. Ain’t much time to notice stuff.”

  While they were talking the man bouncing the ball let it get away from him. It rolled past the blue line. He went to get it.

  “Oh, hell,” said Knox, who had just noticed this. “Hey, buddy!”

  The man either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. He crossed the line and the bullet hit him right in the back. He went down, face first. Stone and Knox started to run toward him, but other shots were fired and they pulled up.

  As they watched, two guards sauntered over and picked the man up. There was no blood, Stone noted.

  Donny said, “They use those damn dummy bullets if it’s your first time. Hurt like hell. Knock your ass out, but it ain’t kill you. Now, if it’s your second time, well, you ain’t gonna be around for a third time, get my drift?”

  They returned to their corner as the unconscious man was carried away.

  Stone continued their previous conversation. “What about the prison library? Classes? Workshop? You notice anything there?”

  Donny snorted. “What, you been watching reruns of Escape from Alcatraz? Look around, man, ain’t no Clint Eastwood ’round here. They been promising a library the whole time my ass has been here and I ain’t seen one damn book yet. Supposed to have GED classes on TV too, but they say it keeps breaking down. Ain’t no workshops. Ain’t no nuthin’. Get a shower three times a week for five minutes and they stick a damn poker up your butt every time they do that, like you gonna pull a bazooka out your ass somehow and blow ’em away. I’d rather stay dirty. Ain’t like I got nowhere to go.”

  He popped a piece of gum in his mouth and chewed it hard with the few teeth he had.

  “Visitors, phone calls home? Lawyers?”

  Donny chuckled. “At Dead Rock you got to earn your visits. Get a max of two a month. You screw up the least little thing, guess what, you ain’t getting no visitors. And guess what else? From what I hear ain’t been nobody earn a visit at this place in the last five years. I sure as hell ain’t. Not like there’s many folks lining up to come see me, but still. And you got to call collect if you even get near the damn phone. And not even my damn momma is gonna pay for a collect call from me. And ain’t no lawyers coming up here. Ain’t no more appeals for these boys. Everybody’s forgotten us. We ain’t anybody no more. We Dead Rock. Gonna die here, just the way it is. Better get used to it.” He swallowed his gum and hacked up some phlegm.

  Stone looked around at the other prisoners. “People seem a little mellow here.” He eyed Donny. “Little too mellow.”

  Donny cracked a smile and drew closer. “You noticed that too? Most of these boys ain’t never caught on to that crap.”

  “So what drug do they use?”

  “Ain’t know, but it’s pretty strong.”

  “Do they put it in the chow?”

  Donny nodded.

  “Which meal?”

  “Lunch or dinner, but that’s the thing. You never know which one.”

  “So why do you seem so chipper?”

  Donny’s eyes twinkled. “I could let you in on my little secret, but what you gonna gimme me for it? Now that’s the sixty-four-zillion-dollar question.”

  Stone started to say something but Knox broke in. “Tell us and if I ever get out of here, I’ll take you away from old Dead Rock.”

  “Right, shit you will. And besides, you ain’t never getting out of here.”

  “I’m a fed, Donny. Assigned to look into corrupt prisons. You think this place is corrupt?”

  “Sure as hell is. But if you a fed why would you be getting me out of here?”

  “Feds can do anything, Donny. You help me, Uncle Sam helps you.”

  Stone added, “And it’s not like you have a lot to lose by doing it.”

  Donny considered this. “Okay. Not that I believe you’re a fed, but what the hell.” His voice sank lower. “Any meal you get, don’t eat the damn carrots, just flush ’em down the toilet and then practice your dumbshit look for the boys with the billy clubs.”

  A guard started to move their way and Donny skittered off.

  Knox said, “Well, that was informative but not particularly helpful except for the carrots. You believe him?”

  “Maybe.” He gazed once more up at the walls. “They designed this place well, Knox. I don’t see many weaknesses.”

  “Day gets better and better.”

  A horn sounded and the prisoners started shuffling in.

  Stone said, “The only way I see—”

  The shot hit the cement right next to him, shards of concrete splattering up and slicing Stone and Knox in the lower legs. Both men grabbed at their calves even as another shot hit close to them. These were clearly no dummy bullets.

  “Get your hands up!” screamed a tower guard through a bullhorn as the shooter stood next to him, his scope crosshairs dead on Stone’s brain.

  They both whipped their hands in the air as the blood trickled down their pants and into their shoes.

  “What the hell—?” said Knox.

  “Ain’t walking fast enough, boys,” Donny cackled over his shoulder.

  “What the hell happened to the dummy bullet for first offense rule?” Knox snapped as they hustled after the group.

  “Apparently, that doesn’t apply to us.”

  “Yeah,” Knox snarled.

  A female nurse came to their cell later. They were stripped, searched and then shackled while she stood and watched surrounded by guards.

  Through the open door and into the hallway outside, Stone could see a video camera bolted to the wall. He gauged that whenever a cell extraction was done the camera was perfectly positioned to, at best, capture a nice shot of the guards’ backs while they pounded the crap out of the unseen inmate.

  Invisible for sure.

  The nurse cleaned their injuries and bandaged them up while the guards made snide comments about sissy wounds.

  Neither Stone nor Knox said a word.

  However, when the nurse was finished Stone did say, “Thank you, ma’am.”

  He was instantly hit in the mouth with a toweled billy club, the blow felling him. “You don’t talk to the lady, asshole,” screamed Manson the one-eyed guard as he leaned down into Stone’s bleeding face.

  The nurse smiled graciously at her defender as they headed out.

  Knox helped him to his feet. “We’ve got to get out of here, Oliver, or we’re dead.”

  “I know. I know,” said Stone as he wiped fresh blood off his face, and then he froze.

 
The guard was looking in at him, his hand curled around the cell door as he was closing it. He wasn’t a young punk one-striper. He was older, and gray hair peeked out from under his cap as he stared at Stone. Right before the door clanged shut the guard gave one brief nod at Stone.