Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 08

by Justice

  “You owe me, Teresa. You took my son from me. That means you got a debt to pay.”

  I was starting to feel dizzy. Sparks of light pinpricked my brain and I made a big push to breathe deeply. If he noticed my distress, he wasn’t worried about it. He was back to studying his hands. His nails were short and clean. No pinkie ring.

  I waited, too frightened to speak.

  Softly he said, “But I’m a decent man, Teresa. Despite what you heard about me, I’m a fair person. You owe me. But I’m willing to let bygones be bygones, for Christopher’s sake. Because I really do love my son.”

  I licked my lips and waited for him to continue.

  “I want Christopher happy,” he said. “And that isn’t going to be easy, girlie. Because he’s going to a shithole. As pens go, Piedmont ain’t all that rotten. But it isn’t the best place for him. There aren’t enough blood brothers and way too many niggers. I wanted to transfer him back east, but he didn’t want it. Kids. Try to do them favors…”

  His eyes went back to my face.

  “Christopher’s a very strong boy. Resilient is the fancy word for him. He’ll do okay wherever he is. But that don’t mean I don’t want the best for him. You should too if you love him.”

  I felt my eyes well up with tears. I managed to stave them off. “Yes, of course.”

  His eyes took on a menacing squint. “My sonny loves you very much, Teresa. Too much in my opinion, but I can’t control his heart. So you know what he’s doing? He’s doing time for you. Least we can do…both of us…is try to make his time at Piedmont as good as possible. You with me?”

  “I’ll do anything you want.”

  He seemed to be examining my face. Apparently I met with his approval because he gave a slight nod.

  “Glad to hear you say that. Because I’ve arranged something for him…for you and him. Just the two of you. You understand what I’m saying?”

  I didn’t and my face must have reflected my confusion.

  “Time alone with him, Teresa. I expect you to be nice to him, girlie. Real…real…nice.”

  The light bulb went on, but I didn’t respond.

  “You do understand me, don’t you?”

  “I think so.”

  He threw back his head in frustration, a mannerism I’d seen in Chris. “You think so? Do I gotta spell it out for you?”

  Quickly I shook my head no.

  “Good. So we understand what’s expected?”

  I nodded.

  Donatti smiled. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  Again I shook my head no.

  “So here’s the deal, Teresa. Christopher’s being transferred in a week. Give him a month or two to settle in. When he does, I’ll send someone by here to drive you to Piedmont. He’ll call you a couple days before. Give you time to work around your parents. You don’t tell them nothing. This is between you and me!”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Now I got some very important advice for you. So listen up.”

  I waited.

  Donatti said, “I’m gonna try to get you in as a paralegal. Maybe it’ll work, maybe it won’t. Either way, you’re a natural beauty and that’s a big problem. When you go to the hole, you wear an old-lady dark, loose dress with long sleeves and a high neck. Nothin’ bare showing, little girl, not even your feet. Wear some old slippers with socks or something. They won’t let you in if your shoes got laces. Are we together so far?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. No makeup, no perfume, and braid your hair up. You keep your mouth shut and your eyes plastered on the ground. If I get you credentials, you show them at the desk, then some guard’ll take you through to my sonny. Now it’s true I’m calling the shots. But in real terms, you’re gonna be at the mercy of some guard I bribed. Which means he’s got the principles of a turnip. If he happens to get it in his mind to hit on you, if he backs you into a corner, just let him do whatever the hell he wants. I’ll make him sorry later. But that won’t help you in the short run, will it?”

  Slowly, I shook my head.

  “Remember, you’re going to a place that houses nothing but cutthroat son of a bitches who haven’t been with a woman in a very long time. You make a wrong turn, Teresa, you’re gonna be history.” Donatti moved in close. “You think you can handle that?”

  I whispered a yes.

  “Look at me when you talk.”

  I managed to meet Donatti’s eyes. “I can handle it.” My eyes remained on his, locked in ocular combat. “I can handle it, sir, and I will handle it. This is not a punishment for me. It is a privilege.”

  Donatti pursed his lips as he continued to stare at me. “Good answer. You really love my sonny, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s too bad. Because he’s marrying someone else.”

  “I know.”

  “Pity,” he said without emotion. “But that’s life. Sometimes it’s good. And sometimes it sucks. Like I told you, my man’ll call a couple days in advance. Expect it.”

  He stood and so did I. But he motioned me back down. “I can see myself to the door. I’m not as old as I look.” He said, “Off the record, Teresa. You think he did it?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Why not?”

  I looked down, then back at his eyes, remembering how he liked eye contact when I talked. Just like Chris. It made me wonder. In actuality, how dissimilar were father and son? “He didn’t do it…because the murder was too messy.”

  Donatti stared at me. “That’s a reason?”

  “It’s a good one if you know Chris.”

  “You saying I don’t know my own son?”

  I shook my head no. “I’m just…Christopher is very neat, that’s all.”

  Slowly he nodded. “You got a good eye, little girl.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “You’re a tough one. Tough, but you don’t know it. It makes you appealing. That and your face. You got one hell of a face on you. Goddamn edible. You want to keep it that way, you be good to my boy. No complaints, you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “You won’t hear from me again directly unless something goes wrong. Make sure it don’t happen.”

  He closed the door. I felt an unimaginable relief as if I had suddenly found shelter from a blistering rainstorm. I prayed the refuge wasn’t temporary.

  32

  Time passed quickly, time dragged its heels. An overcast June and July suddenly burst into a smog-choked, sweltering August. It seemed as though the call would never come. Then when it did everything happened too quickly. I made hasty arrangements with a voice on the phone line. Two days later, nine A.M. sharp, I was picked up by two men in dark suits. Neither spoke as they flanked me, both gently guiding me with a soft hold on my elbows. I was led to an air-conditioned midnight-blue Lincoln with smoked-glass windows, ushered into the back with its plush leather seats. I was offered water or soft drinks, which I declined, before I was whisked away.

  I dressed just as Donatti had told me. If my escort’s face was a mirror reflecting my sex appeal, I was in good shape. He lowered his shades for a millisecond, then slipped them back on. His attitude said I was a stick of wood. Most of the time I kept my eyes on my lap. But I did manage an occasional glance out the window.

  The prison was about a three-hour drive away. A medium-security correctional facility, Piedmont was built about twenty-five years ago. It was located one hundred and fifty miles northeast of Los Angeles, erected inside an isolated pocket of hell-hot desert and water-starved scrub. The ride was long and monotonous—endless miles of blacktop passing through Joshua trees, gnarled oaks, and chaparral, which eventually gave way to tumbleweeds and pincushions of cacti. In another time, I might have fallen asleep, lulled by the breeze of the car’s air-conditioning, rocked by the Lincoln’s suspension. But I was too nervous to doze.

  As the hours passed, I grew hotter and hotter. My backseat companion must have noticed me wiping my damp forehead. Without a word, he turned up
the blower. It cooled my skin but did little to relieve the internal heat. He reached under the seat, pulled out a small cooler, and handed me a can of Coke. Someone must have instructed him to take good care of me. I took a couple of sips, then elected to cool off my hot cheeks with chilled aluminum.

  Three hours later, we were in the county of Piedmont. There were no residents or businesses to speak of—the county was the prison. There were lots of posted warning signs along the roads. The unsuspecting should beware, though I couldn’t imagine anyone traveling these sinkhole roads unless they had business with the prison. Indeed, the only vehicles we’d passed in the last hour had been a blue prison bus with metal-grate windows and black-and-white sheriff cars.

  The Lincoln signaled right, exiting on a well-worn turnoff to the prison. The road was two lanes—a streak of pitted asphalt. On either side was an endless bleak horizon.

  The sun was close to its high point, the outside heat pouring through the darkened windows. Despite valiant efforts from the Lincoln’s cooling system, the desert proved victorious. The inside temperature had turned tepid. My dark clothing was ringed with moisture despite liberal applications of morning antiperspirant.

  Off in the distance, I could make out a speck of gray. As we drove farther, the speck grew and grew, eventually materializing into a concrete, impenetrable mountain jungled by vines of laser-hot barbed wire. If I looked up and squinted, I could make out the turrets of the guards’ towers rising into the sun’s glare. My head was pounding, I felt sick to my stomach.

  We parked as close as we could to the entrance. As soon as the car door opened, I was smothered by a relentless, broiling heat. I was helped out of the car, but I felt light-headed. I must have stumbled because both men tightened their grip on my elbows. Slowly, I was led to the prison.

  Once inside, I was aware of the drop in temperature but that was all I was able to take in. Sweating and shaky, I didn’t notice much because my eyes had been bleached by the hot, outdoor light. Once they did adjust, I kept them focused on the floor tile. I have some fuzzy recollection of showing some papers, of signing into a logbook. Then I was handed over to a female prison official dressed in khakis, a gun riding her hip. She took me in back, into a supply closet, and closed the door, leaving both of us in pitch darkness. Then she turned on a dim, bare light bulb.

  My eyes hadn’t left my feet.

  She frisked me thoroughly over my clothes. Then she reached up onto a high supply shelf and pulled down a suit of prison blues and a pair of paper slippers and told me to change my clothes. I wasn’t looking at her face, but I know she was watching me as I disrobed. Then she frisked me again, examining every crevice I had. But that was as bad as it got. Satisfied, she told me I could get dressed, then to put my hands behind my back. When I did, she handcuffed me. The cuffs were loose. I could have wiggled out of them, but I said nothing. She clutched my arm and opened the door to the supply room.

  She poked her head outside. Another guard—this one male—was standing watch. The two of them sandwiched me just like Donatti’s men. Same walk, different uniforms. They told me to keep my head down. I obeyed without question.

  They led me down a series of poorly lit corridors that stank of urine and grime. Eyes on my feet, I had no idea where I was going. My sense of direction was scrambled. I was vaguely aware of solid-steel meat-locker-type doors on either side of me. I could hear things in the background—angry shouts, screams, curses in several languages, and even laughter.

  Abruptly, we stopped in front of one of the doors. The female guard took out a ring of keys and opened it. The portal was as thick as a bank vault’s. Suddenly I was pushed inside. My handcuffs were removed and I was instructed to wait. The door slammed shut and I was encased in semidarkness. I was happy to be alone. But I was also terrified of being left alone.

  For a brief moment, I was seized with panic. The shakes came on in waves. I forced myself to relax, managed to block off an anxiety attack. I couldn’t even fathom what Chris must have gone through the first couple of days…the fear and depression…the singular lack of freedom.

  This was it for him for at least five years.

  I grabbed my body as if it were a life preserver and looked around. A hermetically sealed padded cell, except there was a beam of light from a small, single-grated dormer window above. The pen couldn’t have been larger than six by eight. But at least I could stand. That was good because I was too scared to sit.

  I strained to hear something…anything. But all I could make out was the sound of my own breathing. To keep from going crazy, I started counting mentally. Three hundred and fifty-two beats later, the door reopened. The same guards escorted someone else in blues. But unlike me, this body was taller than either of the officials.

  They told him to face the wall, which he did. One of the guards whispered something in his ear. He nodded, then his handcuffs were taken off his wrists and he placed his hands atop his head. The guards told him to hold the position until the door closed. When it did, he dropped his arms to his sides and turned around.

  Chris.

  At least I thought it was him.

  I had known a lanky teenager. What I now saw was a developed man. His upper body was fuller, his biceps pronounced under his short sleeves. His hands had somehow enlarged in two months. They were big, his smooth musician’s knuckles roughened by some sort of manual labor. His thick golden hair had been nearly shorn to the scalp, leaving only peach fuzz. His cheeks and chin had been obliterated by a reddish-blond lawn.

  I found the strength to look at his eyes. They were as unreadable as ever. I took comfort in that familiarity. Anything I could grab. He massaged his wrists.

  “Are you all right?” he asked me.

  The same voice. I felt better. I said, “I should be asking you that.”

  He didn’t answer me. His eyes hadn’t left my face.

  I said, “How are you…managing?”

  He spoke quietly. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now. Nothing except you and me.”

  He was leaning against the back wall. I was standing next to the closed door. But the cell was so small, we were within touching distance. Even so, I made the first move. I came to him, slipped my arms around his waist, hugged him tightly. Coiled steel. For once, he didn’t tense in response to my touch. He closed his eyes and drew me into his embrace.

  From that moment, what we did became a series of blurs—tossed clothing, heavy breathing, hard kissing, a tangle of hot, wet bodies followed by searing, stabbing pain as he pushed his way inside my body. It all happened so fast that I didn’t have time to formulate an expectation. I wouldn’t have known he had climaxed except for the change in his breathing. Afterward, he managed to sit up and flip me onto his lap. My legs were still around his waist. He gripped me tightly as he thrust himself deeper into my body. I grimaced, biting my lip to keep from screaming. I had to let it out some way so I raked his back. He stopped, but didn’t pull out.

  “Hurt?”

  “A lot.”

  “I won’t move then. Kiss me, Terry.”

  I did. We kissed over and over, my nose tickled by his facial hair. His lips traveled from my mouth to my sweat-soaked breasts. True to his word, he didn’t move. But the lack of motion didn’t stop him from growing inside of me. But it was a pain I could deal with. And because he wasn’t actively hurting me, I began to relax. As I did, I could feel my body opening up. He felt it, too. He pried his mouth away from my nipples and looked at me expectantly. I nodded, and he began to rock inside of me.

  This time the pain burned more than stabbed and sliced. Probably because I was lubricated with wetness from my own once virginal body as well as from his seed. It took him a little longer, but he was still quick. Both times couldn’t have taken more than five minutes apiece.

  He remained inside me when he was done. I knew he wanted more, but I was in too much pain to comply. He didn’t push it, but he didn’t back off. He continued to hug and kiss me, exploring my body wit
h calloused hands. He held my face and kissed me hard. I broke away.

  “Chris, we have to talk.”

  He shut me up with another kiss. “Later.”

  He started to move inside of me. I clutched his arms in agony, making deep red fingerprints on his triceps. He stopped moving.

  “I need you,” he said. “But I don’t want to hurt you anymore. Do it with your mouth, okay?”

  I smiled weakly and nodded. He wiped himself off, using his prison shirt, then directed my mouth to his groin. I’d never done this before even with Daniel. I closed my eyes and hoped for the best. It must have been good enough because he had no trouble climaxing, pushing my mouth away before he came. Even in this state, he was showing me consideration. It brought tears to my eyes. Afterward, he finally allowed me respite. Slumped against the wall, he brought me back on his lap, but left my loins unencumbered.

  He was still breathing hard, his eyes on the ceiling. “God, it was worth everything.” His gaze lowered to my face. “Worth…everything.”

  His chest heaved as he spoke. “You all right, Terry?”

  I told him I was fine.

  He kissed me softly, then hard, his tongue dancing inside my mouth. He cupped my breasts as we kissed, rolling my nipples between his fingers.

  “Just pull the plug now,” he said, between kisses. “It can’t get better than this. I can’t believe you actually came out here to this pisshole.” He suddenly stopped kissing me. “Or didn’t my uncle give you any choice?”

  “He didn’t,” I said. “But I would have come anyway. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. I love you so much, it hurts. Kiss me, baby doll. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.”

  I brought my mouth to his, ran my tongue across his teeth, felt something sharp against my taste buds. I broke away and looked at him. “What happened to your front teeth?”

  “Accident—”

  “Oh, God—”

  “Nah, not here. My uncle did it. It doesn’t matter.”