Averi looked surprised but she completely understood that Shelly wanted to be there for her father.
“It’s okay. Tim will understand. You showed up. That’s all he wanted,” Averi explained.
“Whoa,” Randy said with a jagged edge to his gaze. “Is your brother picking you up?”
“No, I’m just going to catch a cab. There’s some right outside the gate,” Shelly said.
Randy continued with a nervous look on his face. “Are you sure, I can drive you real quick…”
Shelly waved away Randy’s offer with a nonchalant look upon her face.
“I’m fine. I’ll see you guys later,” Shelly said bluntly.
Grabbing her bag off of the credenza, Shelly waved and quickly left, leaving everyone else in a haze of confusion. Cheyenne gave Averi a perplexed glance.
Averi shrugged. “No clue, Chey. I know she’s stressed. She’s had a really rough month.”
“She’s spazzin’!” Randy admitted with a confused look on his face. He was happy that for once, someone else was snapping other than himself.
Shelly Carmichael stepped out of the Alamo Dome as she zipped up her jacket. There was a chill in the air, so she walked briskly down the long walkway that led to the parking lot. A taxi queue waited just outside the front gate.
A street lamp flickered overhead causing Shelly’s nerves to fray even further. She’d have to talk to Dr. Tasco about getting a better prescription for her anxiety. Her stress had been high ever since the Seventy Devils attacked Hall Ranch. They were all lucky to be alive after the melee that occurred.
Shelly wondered if the crowd inside the Alamo Dome was beginning to disperse, because she could hear the sound of a car engine approaching from around the west wall of the sports arena.
Suddenly, the jumbotron outside the Alamo Dome changed it’s display. Tim’s smiling face beamed down over San Antonio with the words ‘Tim “Silent Storm” Ford Rocks Comeback Fight Against Jax “Judgment Day” Carter!” in big bold letters.
Shelly smiled as she continued her way across the parking lot. She was proud of Tim. He had come back after an injury that put him out of commission for over three years. Shelly couldn’t help but be nervous that he would get hurt again.
The sound of screeching tires broke Shelly from her thoughts. Careening around the corner of the Alamo Dome was a white Lexus with tinted windows. They barreled towards her and came to a screeching halt. As the passenger door opened, Shelly soon realized that the worst of her worries were nothing compared to what waited just feet in front of her.
“Tim!” Averi called out as she flagged down her brother.
She waited in the hallway just outside the pressroom. The noise emitting from the room was deafening as Tim, Jax and Colt emerged.
Averi swarmed on her brother, clasping his cheeks as she planted a kiss on his face.
“Proud of ya, Timmy!” Averi gushed happily.
“He did real good,” Colt admitted with a laugh. “Couldn’t ask for a better comeback fight.”
Randy punched his brother playfully in the arm and shook hands with Jax. Jax nodded at him and Cheyenne who stood back a ways with Matthew in her arms. She looked happy for Tim as she smiled back at everyone. Tim peered around with a perplexed look upon his face.
“Hey, where’s Shelly?” Tim asked, looking concerned.
Averi replied, “She stayed through the end of your match and had to go. She got a call. Mr. Carmichael is out of the hospital.”
“Oh, wow…” Tim said, looking surprised. “I’m shocked they let him out of the hospital only a few days after surgery. He was pretty banged up.”
“C’mon guys… Chey and I have a dinner planned. Steak, baked potatoes and green beans. Oh, and Shelly made your favorite, Tim. Peach cobbler,” Averi explained.
Randy licked his bottom lip. “Oh, my God. I’m in heaven,” said Randy, who had kept his hunger at bay with his popcorn. He only had a few handfuls before the bucket fell to the floor after his fit of excitement.
“C’mon, Jax! You, too!” Cheyenne called.
As they walked down the hallway towards the exit, Colt took Matthew from Cheyenne and tugged on Averi’s waist, pulling her to his side. Averi gave Colt a kiss on the cheek and let him guide her towards the exit.
Shelly’s palm perspired as she watched the man step out of the car. Nervously, she backed away, clutching the handle of her purse. The man in the black suit moved fast. Shelly turned on her heel as she tried to run, but the man cut the distance in three long strides. Twisting his long fingers into Shelly’s red curls, he pulled her close to his face. His voice was like velvet.
“Not a fucking sound,” he warned.
Shelly wanted to scream. She wanted to call for help. For Tim. Her fear stifled her, though. Shelly’s high heel shoes scraped against the asphalt. With a brutal shove, Shelly was forced into the back seat of the car. A single hoop earring fell to the asphalt and as she kicked her attacker, an aqua blue Jimmy Choo heel flew onto the pathway of the sporting arena. Retaliating against her, the well-dressed man whipped Shelly across her face. As the car careened out of the parking lot, Shelly’s world faded to black.
CHAPTER TWO
Riot!
Ephraim J. Waikes Penitentiary looked like a star from the aerial view of WKVI’s helicopter as it hummed overhead. The seven cell blocks pointed out, while the round administration building took center stage. There were three recreation yards, each shared by multiple cell blocks. The only cell block not having access to the yard was J block, which was were the death row inmates were kept. Situated in the countryside, there was nothing but Texas plain as far as the eye could see. The news chopper wasn’t hovering over the prison to admire the layout of Waikes Penitentiary, though.
The piercing wail of a siren bellowed into the morning air. Red lights shined over the guard tower and along the perimeter of the thirty-five foot tall, electrified, security fence. Several guards ran from their posts clear across the recreation yard, charging towards an unseen danger.
Shawn Hall slumped his head back against the wall of his cell. His skull pounded with a migraine that had rocked him since he woke up that morning. He sat on the upper level of a metal frame bunk bed, while his cell mate, Tyrone Pickins, rapped poorly but loudly on the bottom bunk. Shawn banged his head against the concrete wall out of frustration. Surely, that wasn’t doing anything to help cure him of his migraine. Shawn’s eyes peered out the tiny barred window of his cell. The sun rose high in the sky, casting a thin band of light through the slats of his window. Pulling his eyes back, he glanced at the wall at the foot of his bed. Names were scratched into the paint. Some old, some new. He never really paid much attention to it before. They were just assholes that had come and gone before him. But then he saw the name. Two words that caused a maelstrom to stir within his heart.
Black Horse.
Casting a wayward look towards the corridor outside his cell, Shawn slid a razor blade from under his bed sheet. Leaning over to the wall, Shawn sliced the blade against the wall, striking out Tom McClain’s alias. Just above it, Shawn scratched into the wall the word ‘asshole’.
Quickly, Shawn shoved the blade back under his bed sheet and enjoyed a private smirk. There wasn’t much reason to smile these days, but knowing that he was the one to take out his sister’s murderer… it brought Shawn a sense of deep satisfaction.
Tyrone, Shawn’s cell mate, began beat boxing loudly. He knew this got on Shawn’s nerves, so he did it at an obnoxious noise level.
“Shut the fuck up with that shit!” Shawn griped.
“Don’t hate on my art, bro,” Tyrone spat with an angry look in his eyes.
“Art,” Shawn said as he sniffed miserably. “It’s garbage. And I’m not your bro.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Pig,” Tyrone said, knowing he’d get a rise out of Shawn.
He moved quick for an older guy. Shawn, at age 54, launched himself from his top bunk. Gripping Tyrone by his throat, he barked,
“-the fuck you call me?!”
Tyrone smiled broadly as Shawn glared at him. After a moment, Shawn let go, spitting at Tyrone’s feet.
“Problem?” Officer Hayes asked Shawn and Jerome with a charged look upon his face.
“Yo, can I get a new cellmate, this brass asshole is a real drag,” Jerome complain.
“Oh, yes sir. Right away, sir. Would you like a fucking mint on your pillow?! Where the hell do you think you are, Pickins?! The Hyatt?!”
Jerome rolled his eyes as Shawn laughed quietly behind him.
“Shut up, man!” Jerome barked.
“So you can dish it, but you can’t take it. Sign of a true pussy,” Shawn spat coolly.
Suddenly, the door of their cell clanged open loudly as Officer Hayes glared at them.
“Step out of your cell. Time for work detail.”
“Finally. I can go bang out some license plates and not listen to your bullshit,” Jerome said casting a hostile glare at Shawn.
“Don’t think so, Pickins… You’ve been reassigned to the laundry detail.”
Shawn laughed loudly.
“I wouldn’t look so pleased, Hall. You’ve been reassigned to the mess hall.”
“As long as I don’t have to see his ugly grill, I don’t care.”
Shawn cast a vicious glare up from the stock pot of boiling stew. It smelled vile and it looked like it had just been ejected from someone else’s stomach. He stirred the pot as he listened carefully to the hushed conversation that was occurring between two inmates in the doorway of the pantry just a few feet behind him.
“Not now…”
“When?!”
“Once Stone Cold moves from that pot he’s stirring…”
“Careful, he might be old, but he’ll snap your neck in a heartbeat.
“I ain’t scared of him…”
“You should be… He’s the one who offed Black Horse.”
“Fuck. Well we secured the key.”
“Is it in there?!”
“Yeah. Hayes dropped it in there.”
“How’d you convince him to give up the key?!”
“He owed me a favor.”
Shawn stepped aside, not looking for a fight. He was more interested in hearing the private conversation behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Gunnar Rhoades emerge from the pantry with Rex Lynch, two well-known members of the Seventy Devils MC. Shawn gave a nervous glance at the pot he was just stirring. From the sound of the conversation he overheard, Officer Hayes had dropped a key into the stew. Gunnar said Hayes had owed him a favor. What did the key unlock? What favor had Rhoades done for the corrections officer? Shawn wasn’t sure that he wanted to know.
The lunch crowd began to shuffle in. Warden Shaw filed past the prisoners who stood in the lunch queue and peeked inside the box that contained the stew.
“Beef stew, today, Warden…” Rex Lynch said with a smile. Rex had a California coolness to his appearance and attitude. His blond hair was shorn neatly, and he had a smile that made it hard to believe he was responsible for no less than four counts of murder and grand larceny charges. Something about his missing tooth tainted that image.
“No thanks, Lynch. I’ll enjoy my prime rib in my office.”
“Rhoades… What’s in the pan?” the Warden asked in a charming tone. He truly tried to give off the impression that he cared.
“White rice.”
Shawn sat at the opposite side of the kitchen, watching Rex and Gunnar very carefully. Rex had a firm grasp on the handles of the pot. His knuckles whitened as he talked to the Warden.
“Hey Warden,” Rex spoke up. “When can we get a taste of prime rib?”
The Warden turned on his heel and smiled at Rex. “Oh, Lynch. You don’t like the slop you serve? Maybe you should think the next time you pull the trigger.”
Rex’s rage quivered under the surface.
A few voices rang out over the crowd as a fight broke out. Michael Malloy and Dane Polk nodded at Gunnar just seconds before slamming a metal cafeteria tray over J.D. Rookwood’s head, sending the man dropping to the ground. The other inmates yelled out, some in anger, others in excitement. J.D., who stood at five feet eleven inches, was not the tallest man in the prison, but he was the largest. All of his four hundred and seventeen pounds dropped to the floor with a thud.
As the commotion broke out, Warden Shaw turned around. The smile on Rex’s face broke. It was like he took off a mask. His congenial smile and bright eyes were replaced with a look of deep hostility. The devil within him was showing his horns. Everything happened so fast. Shawn watched from the corner of the kitchen as Rex lifted the pot from the burner. With wide eyes, Shawn watched as the boiling stew poured over Warden Shaw’s head and shoulders. The man screamed in pain, but his cries for help could barely be heard of the shouts from the men. This time there was no sounds of disdain, no protests from the prisoners. Rex continued to tip the contents of the pot onto Warden Shaw as his skin blistered from the heat. Several corrections officers tried to control the men, but the mess hall had erupted into complete anarchy. Fists flew, barbaric hand-made weapons found their way into an enemy’s flesh and the prison guards were caught in the middle of the melee.
Shawn watched as Rex picked a bronze key from beside the Warden’s unmoving body. As insanity broke out, Rex and Gunnar slipped out of the mess hall unnoticed. No one’s fool, Shawn tracked their movements, following their shadows.
WKVI’s news chopper narrowed its camera on cell block C as smoke poured from the windows. Flames shot up, and as prison personnel ran towards the fast spreading fire. With a bird’s eye view, the cameraman watched as two men fled from a door on the opposite side of the prison. A third followed behind them at a distance. They ran towards the electric perimeter fence. The man leading the trail lifted a panel on the fence and inserted a key into the lock. The watch tower guard took a shot with a rifle.
Boom!
Again.
Boom!
Each of the shell cases hit the dirt by the men’s feet, and before the guard could launch another blast, it was too late. The gate had been de-electrified. Cries screamed out from the burning building as four dozen men fed, running the same direction as the other three had. The guard shot several down, but he wouldn’t be able to stop them all. As smoke billowed into the air, thirty-eight men tasted the sweet decadence of freedom.
CHAPTER THREE
Trouble
Cheyenne Ford stood before her full length mirror in the renovated bathroom of the home she shared with her husband, Randy, at Hall Ranch. She pulled her black blazer taut and secured the buttons as she regarded her reflection. The front of her hair was pulled away from her face and she applied her makeup in a subtle but striking fashion. Finally, she felt like she was ready. Her heart raced in her chest as the anxiety for her job interview rattled her.
“Don’t be a coward. You’ve got this,” Cheyenne said to herself in a confident tone. She gave herself a final once over before she turned and walked away.
Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor of the hallway as she walked towards the bedroom she shared with her husband. She sneered at the dirty gym sock that Randy has discarded in the hallway. Rolling her eyes, she picked it up and tossed it in the hamper just three feet away.
“God…” Cheyenne griped.
Cheyenne rolled her eyes as she tromped into her bedroom. Randy snored loudly as he slept, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts and his wedding band. Randy slept diagonally across the bed, hugging Cheyenne’s pillow.
“Randy…” Cheyenne called as she jostled his leg.
He snored even louder as he rolled over in bed. Even as he snored, Cheyenne couldn’t help but laugh. The boy was sexy as sin.
“Randy!” Cheyenne called again. Getting frustrated, Cheyenne tapped Randy’s ass three times.
“Baby,” Cheyenne continued. “Don’t you have to be on the job site…” Cheyenne asked.
Randy groaned, “No… Don’
t want to go to school!”
Screwing up her face, Cheyenne glared at Randy.
“Randy! I am not your grandma! Get up!”
Randy’s hands flew up to his face as he came back to the land of the living.
“Why are you yelling? Don’t you love me?” Randy asked groggily.
Cheyenne laughed to herself, “You did not just ask me that. Don’t you have work?”
Randy replied, “At ten. I’ll be over at MacArthur’s Grill laying down new floors.”
Finally, Randy opened his eyes and glanced over at Cheyenne. He looked utterly confused.
“Baby… why are you dressed up?” Randy asked as his eyes burned over her silhouette.
“For the eight millionth time, Randy… I have a job interview with Father Mulholland for a parish secretary position.”
“Oh, well… Why?” Randy asked, his confusion growing like a wild fire.
“What do you mean, why?” Cheyenne asked, looking at Randy as if he had sprouted another head from his shoulders. Cheyenne’s calm was quickly fading.
“I got this. I pull in enough,” said Randy dismissively.
“Randy… This is not the dark ages. I am not your little wife on the prairie…”
“Well, yeah… You kinda are…” Randy quipped as a devilish smirk crossed his face.
“I’m not sitting around here all day. It’s better if I keep busy. Averi works days at Dr. Tasco’s. Shelly has the bar and nail salon. I’m the only one here during the day.”
“Alright…” Randy replied defensively, clearly not expecting a lecture, but suddenly his seriousness faded into laughter. “So does this mean that I can be a house husband?”
Cheyenne laughed loudly, throwing her head back in amusement. “Hell no. I’m out. I’ll be back later.”
“No, baby! Don’t go. C’mere!” Randy pleaded as he snapped out of bed. He grabbed Cheyenne around her waist, and refused to let go. Moving her hair from her left shoulder, Randy kissed her neck.
“Randy! You’re gonna make me late!”
“Good! I’d make cute babies.”
Love, Lies, & Crime: Anthology Page 17