The Starks Trilogy (Book 1 & 2)

by Nesly Clerge

  A CO surveying the area walked in. The three Hermanos went to the table and began folding clothes. Ponytail guy, who Starks was fairly certain had to be Hector Sanchez, positioned himself in front of a dryer that had seven minutes left to spin.

  Starks walked to the one unused of the ten commercial-sized washing machines and tossed in his laundry. Jackson added soap powder while Starks inserted coins into the slots. Five machines made a racket as their individual wash cycles engaged. Starks leaned against the washer; Jackson followed suit. They spoke to each other as though having a chat while they waited.

  The guard walked the room. After one pointed glance at each of the men, he left.

  The three at the table positioned themselves behind Sanchez. Starks, Jackson, and Sanchez walked toward each other, stopping when there was a distance of three feet between them.

  “Hector Sanchez, I’m Starks.” The dark eyes he looked into were flat, emotionless. This wasn’t a man to assume too much about. And acting arrogant with him in the wrong way could be fatal.

  Sanchez puffed out his chest. “I know who you are. What I want to know is what you want from me?”

  “It’s what you want from me.”

  Sanchez glanced at his buddies and laughed; they joined him. “What you got that I want?”

  “You know I killed Bo.”

  “So what?”

  “Some of your soldiers helped me.”

  “They didn’t help you. They helped him.” Sanchez pointed at Jackson but kept his eyes focused on Starks.

  “And he was helping me. The question you should ask yourself is this: how did a guy like me take out Bo.”

  Sanchez grimaced and replied, “Like I give a shit.”

  In one fluid motion, Starks had the knitting needle in his right hand. The three Hermanos bolted forward. They and Sanchez stared at the needle then at Starks and began to laugh.

  Sanchez said, “Jackson, you didn’t tell me your cellmate was a bufo… a clown.”

  “No, man. He’s serious.”

  Sanchez cocked his head. “No stab wound with that could make Bo as infermo as he was. No matter how far you stuck it in.”

  “It’s not the knitting needle.” Starks pointed to the tip. “It’s what’s on it. My secret ingredient. Once it hits the bloodstream, you’re dead in forty-eight hours. And those are the worst fucking hours of your life, unless you’re lucky enough to lose consciousness.” He thrust the needle forward a few inches. “You jab it in. The pain from what’s on the needle—or anything sharp—renders the person unable to fight.”

  Sanchez eyed the needle; he rubbed the fingertips of each hand together. “Maybe I take that from you.”

  “You could. But you’re not going to do that.”

  “You don’t know what I’m gonna do or not do, poco.”

  Starks held the needle as though ready to strike. “Anyone tries to get it away from me and we’ll all be dead. I have another two hidden on me.” He nodded toward Jackson. “He has a couple on him, as well.”

  “How do I know you’re not full of shit? Maybe there’s nothing but your spit on there.”

  “You can try it out. If it doesn’t work, you can kill me.”

  One of the others moved up. “We will. No one fucks with los Hermanos.”

  Sanchez silenced the man with a look. “Okay, homes, how I’m gonna do that?”

  “Test it on Mike Lawson. He’s in PC.”

  “Weasel didn’t do nothing to us. You got a problem with Weasel, you deal with it.”

  Starks smiled and nodded his head a few times. “Right. Not your problem. Tell me, how many times have you and your soldiers had random cell and body checks done since Lawson’s been in there? If they haven’t started yet, they’re about to.”

  The men looked at each other.

  Starks continued. “I have it on good authority that Weasel’s in there because he’s a snitch. He’s telling everything he knows about everyone,” he wagged his finger at Sanchez, “and that includes you. Every time he gives them something useful, they reward him. They’re feeding him rib-eye steaks in there, cooked just the way he likes them. You say it’s not your problem? Fine with me.”

  One of the men kicked a washing machine. “Cabron!”

  Sanchez turned to the man and said, “Calmate.”

  He faced Starks, glancing at the needle then back at the man who held it. “It don’t work, I cut you.”

  “That’s only fair,” Starks replied. “How are you going to reach Lawson?”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “When you’re ready, let me know a day in advance. I’ll provide what you need.”

  “I give you this: you got pelotas grande.”

  Starks turned to Jackson who said, “Big balls.”

  The two inmates who’d left earlier hurried into the room. One of them said, “CO’s coming.” They returned to folding laundry.

  Starks and Jackson assumed their prior positions at the washer and the four Hermanos left seconds before the guard who’d been there before returned.

  The guard’s gaze was hard when he passed by the washing machines. Starks smiled and said, “How ’bout those Red Sox.”

  “Up yours, asswipe.” The guard made his exit deliberately slow.

  “It’s the charm of the place and the people,” Starks said, “that keeps me coming back.”

  Jackson shook his head. “I think you like playing with fire, man.”

  “Wrong. In here you have to fight fire with fire, as the saying goes.”

  “Yeah, but looks to me like you’re really starting to get into looking for timber to ignite.”

  Starks and Jackson entered the corridor of their cellblock. An inmate leaning against the wall next to his cell shook his head as they approached. “Y’all missed the count. Tier one ticket, man.”

  Starks asked, “What’s a tier one ticket?”

  Jackson faced him. “Different offenses get different punishments. Tier one means temporary loss of some privileges.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” Starks said to the inmate. He pulled on Jackson’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  When they were almost to their cell he said, “Don’t worry about it, Jackson. I’ll take care of it.”

  Jackson stomped into the cell. “I think you’re developing delusions of grandeur or something.”

  Starks put his folded laundry on top of his desk, pulled his chair out and took a seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. “No delusions. Reality.”

  Jackson sat at his desk, keeping his back to Starks. He opened a book; no pages moved during the next ten minutes.

  Both men’s head swiveled toward the door when someone cleared his throat. CO Roberts said, “Starks, Jackson, you missed the count.”

  “Officer Roberts,” Starks said. “We apologize.” He gestured at the folded clothes and towels. “We,” he pointed at himself and Jackson, “lost track of time and didn’t hear the call with all the machines running. It won’t happen again.”

  “It’s better for everyone if it doesn’t.” The CO nodded at both men then returned the way he’d come.

  Jackson pointed at where the guard had stood and asked, “He’s a recruit, right?”

  “Yes. But we need to be more careful. Last thing we want to do is create problems for our soldiers because of what we do.”

  “How’d you know Sanchez and his guys were getting searched?”

  Starks grinned. “It was a calculated guess. Keep in mind how the fight in the chow hall got started. Enough people saw one of Hector’s gang was involved, and that others with him joined in.”

  Jackson nodded. “What about Lawson? Was the steaks and rewards stuff the truth or were you bullshitting?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Listen, man, you’re keeping shit from me. I’m your fucking right-hand man. Or I thought I was.”

  Starks placed a hand on his cellmate’s right shoulder. “Look at me, Jackson. You are. Anything you need to know,
I’ll tell you. Anything I don’t tell you is for your own protection. You got that?”

  Jackson’s shoulders sagged. “Trust doesn’t come easy in this place.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Trust can’t be bought but certain guarantees can be.”

  CHAPTER 95

  STARKS FOUND AN opened box of new books for the library on the office desk. He took a seat and began the task of entering the titles into the computer. Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention; three COs were heading his way.

  He propped an elbow on the chair arm and waited for the men to walk in. He nodded at the first guard. “Officer Roberts. How can I help you?”

  “These are the other two I told you about. Bill McKay,” he pointed to a tall, slender man with blond hair and blue eyes, “and Mikey Camello.” He pointed to the guard with wavy black hair and brown eyes, who was a foot shorter than McKay. “I briefed them,” Roberts added.

  Starks remembered Camello. He scanned the CO’s faces. “We have an understanding?”

  The two guards nodded.

  Roberts said, “We’re all on the same page.”

  Camello grinned at Starks. “Simmons had a talk with the inmate that confronted you yesterday. He shouldn’t bother you anymore.”

  “Let’s hope he listens.”

  “We got ways to make him listen.” Camello’s grin widened.

  Starks kept his focus on the man. “How was the problem handled?”

  The guard laughed. “Threw his ass in the SHU. Did it personally. Told him if he can’t treat you right, he needs to keep his trap shut and walk his sorry ass in the other direction.”

  “He must’ve taken that well.”

  “All I care about was that he took it.”

  “He’s probably going to tell others when he gets out.”

  “Nah. Told him any peep outta him gets him more time in there.”

  Starks’s eyes narrowed. “Won’t his being in the SHU be suspicious? If he didn’t do anything, won’t people question why he’s there? Anyone getting that kind of punishment is supposed to go before the council first.”

  “The council doesn’t have to know.” Camello stopped smiling. “Let us worry about what we do. You just keep the green coming our way.”

  “I’m setting it up tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow’s a lucky day, then.” Camello scratched his crotch.

  Starks had always been able to handpick employees who were the best. In here, he had to settle for who he could buy. Services for payment was one thing, loyalty was another.

  He made a mental note to keep that reality foremost in his mind.

  CHAPTER 96

  JEFFREY WAVED AT Starks, who joined him at the table in the visitation room. He extended his hand, which Starks shook, and said, “You’re looking good, bro.”

  “It means a lot to me that you got here this soon.”

  “Before you tell me what’s on your mind, Cathy’s calling me every day. She wants to see you. She’s annoying the hell out of me. I tried not answering her calls, but she calls back every five minutes until I do. She knows her name isn’t on the list and she begged me to get you to add it.”

  “No way. Tell her that when she killed my son, she killed any feelings I had for her. I don’t want to see her face. I don’t want to hear her name. Tell her to keep taking the money as she has been and leave me, and you, alone. Tell her if she doesn’t—if she talks about me to anyone at all, I’ll cut her off.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “I promise you that her lifestyle, which she likes not having to work for, is way more important to her than I am. She’s making a show, and I don’t appreciate it. The last thing I want is for her to come here weeping and wailing. The woman has no sense. She was a mistake. I bury my mistakes.” Starks covered his face with his hands. “Oh God. I don’t mean that my son with her was a mistake. He was never a mistake.”

  Jeffrey stretched a hand out but didn’t touch his friend. “I knew what you meant. I’ll take care of it.” He waited for Starks to compose himself then asked, “What do you need me to do?”

  “I don’t think I could take any of this if it wasn’t for you.” He cleared his throat. “I know I keep asking for favors, and this is probably the biggest one I’m going to ask.”

  “Bigger than fifty grand to the nurse? Which, by the way, I still don’t get.”

  “You don’t need to get it. As for this new deal, it has a long-term aspect to it. And it’s imperative that it’s handled right.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “You don’t know what it is yet.”

  “Doesn’t matter, and you know it.”

  “I don’t have size going for me in here. I don’t have real clout, either; though, I’m doing what I can to help that wind change direction. There’s one thing I have, and it speaks everyone’s language.”

  Jeffrey leaned back. “Good thing our money grows on trees.”

  “I know this is adding up but it’s necessary. First, arrange a ten grand payment with Ted—cash, two stacks, five thousand each. He knows what to do with it.”

  “What’s second?”

  Starks scanned the area. He leaned toward Jeffrey. Lowering his voice he said, “I need protection. A lot of it.”

  Jeffrey’s eyebrows rose. “What’s going on in this fucking place?”

  “Keep your voice down.” Starks made sure no one’s attention was on them. “More than you could imagine. But this time it’s because Mason’s solution—no pun intended—worked.”

  “I wasn’t sure when you were going to… Want to share details?”

  “Another time.”

  Jeffrey raked his eyes over his friend. “No obvious scratches or bruises on you. And, you obviously didn’t get caught.”

  “You could say it was a well-executed plan as much as a well-planned execution.”

  Jeffrey was quiet a moment. “I’m glad it worked but I thought it was supposed to solve the problem.”

  “It solved that one. But he had followers. Word’s out they want me.”

  “And your new plan is what?”

  “I’ve put five guards on payroll, I guess you’d call it. Cash only.”

  Starks filled Jeffrey in on the details. “I don’t want you to put yourself in jeopardy. I need someone reliable to meet with one of the guards, away from the prison, on a weekly basis. He’ll take care of paying the others.”

  Jeffrey scratched his head. “I see.” He watched a guard saunter in their direction then turn and exit the room. “Jim’s our guy. He’s the best person for this. He has connections. He’ll know who can do it right and keep his mouth shut. Of course, both will have to be compensated.”

  “Keep everyone happy.” Starks moved to the edge of his chair. “This has to be done fast. I promised the payments would start within a week. That was a few days ago. If they don’t get paid pronto, it’s my ass.”

  Jeffrey leaned back and smiled.

  Starks studied his friend. “Why are you grinning like that?”

  “We used to think what we got up to was risky. This is a whole other level, bro.”

  “I’m on an elevator that already went down as far as it could go—short of dying, that is. I didn’t care for the view.”

  “You always said, ‘If you don’t like where you are, move up.’”

  CHAPTER 97

  THE NEXT MORNING, Starks strolled into the weight room. Other than the push-ups and lunges he did in his cell, he’d been neglecting his strengthening exercises for too long. It wasn’t only about neglect, though, it was also fear of damaging something inside. His outer scars were obvious but he didn’t know what the healed tissue was like under the skin. The crappy food he was forced to eat was giving him the start of a flabby roll around his middle. It was time to get back into the program and strengthen his body. Hard muscles were more difficult to insult with fists. He’d take it slow and easy to start.

  For several moments, he stood with his towel around his n
eck, shaking his head at the disorder of the weights. No way could he have an effective workout until everything in his confined area was in its place. One by one he shifted the weights until their measured numbers were in ascending order.

  He decided to start with the bench press and had just gotten into position when Luke Roberts walked up.

  “Jackson told me where to find you, Mr. Starks. You have a visitor.”

  “I wasn’t expecting anyone. Do you know who?”

  “Just that whoever it is, is waiting in the visitors’ room.”

  “Thanks.”

  Grateful that he hadn’t worked up a sweat, Starks started toward the visitation area, thinking it had to be his mother waiting to see him. Lost in thought about how that conversation might go, Starks was surprised when the inmate who’d confronted him before blocked his way again. He’d wrongly assumed the guy was still in the SHU.

  The man glared at him in silence.

  Starks placed his hands on his hips. “If you have something to say, say it. I’m in a hurry.”

  “Yeah, I got something to say. Fuck you.” He curled his hands into fists and altered his stance to one ready to strike.

  Starks twisted his lips into a wry smile. “You need to back down. Now. Or maybe you’d like to become the old man who lived in the SHU. Look around, asshole. See who’s watching you.”

  The inmate held his stance, letting only his eyes survey the area. Simmons and Camello had their eyes fixed on him and their hands resting on their tasers. “This ain’t over. You gonna get what you deserve.”

  Starks walked around the man. After he turned the corner, he wiped his forehead on his shirtsleeve and took a few deep breaths to calm down. He had to look composed when he saw his mother.

  He entered the visitation room and stopped, looking around slowly for his mother’s face. It wasn’t his mother at a table to the far right of the area, but Emma. He had put her name on the list of approved visitors, in case he eventually changed his mind, but he’d been adamant that she should stay away.

  Emma leapt to her feet, waving, as he wound his way through the tables toward her. The short, low-cut dress she wore had every man in the room staring at her cleavage and shapely legs. He remembered the feel of those legs wrapped around his back. The memory of what he could see, smell, feel, and taste between those legs rushed over him.