by Nesly Clerge
“Shit, man. What are you getting yourself into?”
“I’m just curious. Do you know anything or not?”
“Basic stuff. Bianchi took over when his father, Marco, kicked it.”
“I know. I’m looking for more.”
“He’s got two degrees. One in—”
“I know about them. What else?”
“His only son planned to follow in his father’s footsteps but was murdered. Rumor was one of Bianchi’s soldiers did it. The guy ended up with his body in the Hudson River and his head at Fresh Kills landfill on Staten Island. I don’t know if Bianchi did the deed or ordered it, but however that went down, he was convicted.”
“So he might be innocent.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“What else?”
“You getting involved with this guy?”
“We’ve had a few conversations, but I’m not involved with him as such.”
“Watch yourself. The guy’s no slouch when it comes to intelligence, in every sense of the word. He’s hardcore. His way of thinking and acting is in his bones.”
“No worries.”
“Yeah, right.” Jim hesitated. “I know it’s not my business, but is everything okay between you and Jeffrey?”
Starks gripped the phone. “We’re fine.”
“If you say so.”
Starks tucked the phone away and leaned back in the chair. His chest heaved as a sigh escaped him. There was only so long he could avoid the Jeffrey matter. Sooner or later he’d have to talk to his former friend, especially as he hadn’t yet figured out how to disentangle himself from the man, and it looked like it would have to be sooner. The main issue was whether to use him or abuse him in the meantime.
CHAPTER 49
STARKS’S SHIFT ENDED at four. He was still pissed at Gabe, but found his feet aimed for the workroom. The thing to do was turn around and forget that metal door even existed. It took several knocks before Gabe opened it; his expression made clear his lack of surprise.
Gabe sat at the small table and gestured to the chair opposite him.
Once seated, Starks said, “Why is it that I never see you outside this room? Not in the yard, chow hall, or even walking around.”
“I go where I want to go.”
“Where’s your cell? When do you shower? Where do you eat?”
“Why so nosey about my business?”
“Do you get special privileges? Is that why you’re allowed to isolate yourself?”
“Only privileges I get are the ones I pay for.” Gabe grinned. “That’s another thing we have in common.” He waited for Starks to speak. When nothing was said, he asked, “What can I do for you?”
“You were insulting the last time. So was I. I’m big enough to apologize.”
“For me to feel insulted, I’d have to believe you were right. Since you felt insulted…” He waved a hand.
“I can’t catch a break with you.” Starks hesitated then said, “You’re right that I sometimes make decisions and act based on how I feel. Not all the time. I’m usually more methodical.”
“Maybe that’s how you were before your world got inverted. That’s not how you’ve behaved in here. What I want you to get is that high-strung people may be feared, but they’re not respected. They’re like some bird that squawks too much and too often and needs to be silenced. Emotions have their place, but not when they cloud judgment.” Gabe leaned forward and pointed a finger at Starks. “You don’t walk around like a man in charge. You walk around like a man always on the defensive. Nobody’s gonna respect that. It’s weak. Maybe they’ll go along short-term—people are attracted to flashy things—but they won’t go the distance.” He rested back. “Weak people make others feel afraid. People who’re afraid tend to strike out because they want the feeling to go away.”
“Isn’t it smarter to have people fear you? Don’t you want that, especially in here?”
“Depends on who it is and the situation. Most of the time, I prefer to work it so that loyalty or at least respect exists instead. Easier to get people to do what you want them to. Fear makes them reckless. It makes everyone reckless.”
“So you scare them into respecting you.”
Gabe shook his head. “You can’t force someone to respect you. You want respect, you gotta demonstrate how well you can handle yourself. That way, you don’t have to work so hard for it. They may not like you. They may not be loyal to you, but respect can go a long way. You,” he pointed again, “keep demonstrating a serious lack of self-control.”
Starks flung his arms up. “Here we go. All right, let’s hear it.”
“You wouldn’t be in here if you’d handled the matter of your wife’s boy-toy smarter.”
“To use your words, pot and kettle, old man.”
“I’m here ’cause I was framed.”
“Me too.”
Gabe’s laugh reflected genuine amusement. He sobered and said, “Your lack of self-control cost you. It’s still costing you.” He held up a hand. “We’re not talking about me. You destroyed your life. And what’s he doing? He’s walking around. Probably still banging somebody’s wife, if not yours.”
“I doubt he’s banging Kayla. She’s pregnant with her boyfriend’s kid.”
Gabe blew out a puff of air. “She’s a ball wringer, all right. Back to my point. You could’ve handled it differently.”
“I thought if anyone understood, you would.”
“I do. All those men, and you targeted him, for whatever reason. Okay, so he was the guy you zeroed in on. You could’ve had a P.I. follow them and take photos. The photos could’ve been sent to the man’s wife and to the wives of all those other guys your girl was boffing at the office. You gotta pick your revenge and be smart about it. You follow?”
“There are a couple people in my life who deserve revenge.”
“Your friend, for one, right? Let me tell you something about that. The way things are set up, he’s your primary lifeline. You still need him. A smart man uses his enemies until he no longer needs them.”
“They’re all a bunch of fucking liars.”
“Everybody lies. We’d’ve eliminated our species long ago if we all told the truth all the time. You think I’d’ve ever told my nana her minestrone was too salty? Break her heart? No. I ate two big bowls and washed it down with a lot of Chianti.” He jabbed the table with a finger. “We decide which lies we have to tell. We decide which lies told to us we’ll let slide and which we won’t or can’t. The trickiest lies—the most dangerous—are the ones we tell ourselves. No one’s responsible for that but us. You should think about that.”
“You think I’m lying to myself?”
“I know you are. It’s up to you to figure out what about and why. Some lies are okay to believe. Others can get you killed.”
“Everything used to be simpler.”
“Reality isn’t what it used to be.”
Starks scraped his chair back and stood.
Gabe said, “You’re leaving already?”
“The lies we tell ourselves. It’s something to ponder.” When Starks reached the door, he paused and faced around. “I’m sorry about your son.”
Gabe’s face contorted. He turned away. “No parent should ever have to…” He cleared his throat.
“I know.”
Gabe focused moist eyes on Starks and studied him. “Something else we have in common?”
That night, Starks lay in his bunk. Gabe had a point. But it wasn’t always easy to recognize self-inflicted lies for what they were, at least not right away. Nor was it as simple a matter as the old man’s comment might lead a person to believe. Maybe believing that was a lie as well.
Every lie he’d ever told was to protect himself—and others, especially when he believed that whatever he’d done or was going to do was either right or was his right. Was that an example of lying to himself? He’d had a right to keep Kyle’s existence a secret in order to protect himself and his fam
ily. He was sure of it. It would have ruined everything to admit he had a son with another woman. Of course, others would have said if he hadn’t done what he shouldn’t have, there would be nothing to lie about. It boiled down to a philosophical difference. Didn’t it?
Gabe said the most dangerous lies are the ones we tell ourselves.
What am I lying to myself about that Gabe seems to be aware of and I’m not?
Gabe Bianchi’s life and success were a result of knowing how to lie, when, and to whom. His incarceration—a failure—was the result of someone being a better liar than him.
Fuck it. The old guy was messing with him.
Starks doubled his pillow to fit under his neck. He lay in the semi-darkness, listening to Jackson snore.
CHAPTER 50
STARKS AND JACKSON stood at attention immediately outside their cell door for the first count of the day. The guards started on their side of the corridor, ticking off names and handing out envelopes to a fortunate few.
“I never get any mail,” Jackson said.
“In my experience,” Starks replied, “it’s overrated.”
When the guards paused in front of Starks, one of them said, “Visitor’s waiting for you. Must’ve wanted to get the worm.”
“Any idea who it is?”
“Guess it’ll have to be a surprise. Wait until count’s over.” The guards ambled to the next cell.
Jackson said, “I hope it’s not your attorney. Seems whenever he sees you, it’s bad news, and that’s followed by one of your bad moods.”
“It can’t be him. They would have taken me to a private room. I always worry that whoever it is might bring bad news about my kids.”
The comment had been made so easily, the words and the sentiment so familiar, and he wondered whether he should mentally segregate Blake from Nathan and Kaitlin, since they were his blood.
The count ended about fifteen minutes later. Starks tossed a sandwich to Jackson. He peeled the wrapper from his own, took a bite and said, “Might as well get this over with. See who wants to dump the latest pile of poop on my head.”
“It could be good news, you know.”
“I suppose anything’s possible. Later.”
Starks paced himself on his way to the visitation room. A little past the halfway point, he tossed the unfinished sandwich into a trash can. Once at the entrance, he hesitated then stepped forward. It was early enough in the morning that only a few inmates had visitors, making it easy to spot Jeffrey seated in one of the beige plastic chairs at the round vinyl table they’d sat at before, when their friendship was solid. That friendship was a façade, he reminded himself, because Jeffrey was a deceiver.
He wanted to tell that to the women visitors trying not to pay attention to his former friend. Taller, more muscular, café-au-lait-skinned, better looking Jeffrey, who had always turned heads and attracted women. He’d never resented how Jeffrey looked until now, and felt the contrast of his new “inmate” appearance down to his bones.
As though a mental message traveled between them, Jeffrey looked up eagerly, saw Starks standing in the doorway, but then quickly looked away; he hadn’t recognized him.
Starks’s heart pounded, his tongue felt thick. He scrambled to recall any bits of wisdom from his conversation with Gabe. His mind was blank. He wended his way around the tables.
Jeffrey noticed and looked straight at him, realized who he was and stood up. He held out his hand. “Bro, good to see you, but damn. I thought some whack-job was heading for me. What the fuck’s happened to you? And, you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Which question would you like answered first?”
Starks pulled out a chair across the table from Jeffrey. Jeffrey’s ignored hand dropped to his side. He lowered himself into the chair. “Your choice.”
“I’m happy to see the look is effective. That was intentional. What happened to me was Kayla and how she’s fucked everything up. As for what’s going on, not much. What’s going on with you?”
“Last time I came here, a guard said you told me to go fuck myself. I’m wondering what that’s about. I’m wondering why you haven’t called me since then to explain.”
Starks shook his head. “Some of these guards are incompetent. Nobody told me you were here.”
Jeffrey’s shoulders relaxed. “I tried telling him it was a mistake.” He chuckled. “That’s a relief. I didn’t know what the hell was happening. So everything’s okay with you?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Why haven’t you called?”
“A lot’s been going on. It’s easy to lose track of time.”
“Jim said he told you about the issue with the payments, which is one of the things I’d intended to explain. But forget all that. I have current stuff to tell you.”
Starks’s voice was even. “Are my… are the children okay?”
“They’re fine. Although, you need to know I’m pretty sure Kayla’s been using their child support for lavish weekends away, spa days, and redecorating the house. And we’re not talking cheap. She also bought a Jaguar. Bret’s driving her Ferrari.”
“Wish I could see Kayla’s face when she gets the shock.”
“Want to tell me what you mean?”
He was surprised Jeffrey didn’t already know, but kept this to himself. He trusted Parker to handle the matter the right way. “Later. What else?”
“Get this: Margaret Hessinger wants to talk to you. Seems Ozy isn’t taking her divorcing him well. She thinks she can maybe learn something from you she didn’t hear during your trial. I can’t imagine what, though.”
“Tell the lying bitch to hold her breath. If she expects any help from me, she’s out of her fucking mind. What else?” Starks rested his forearms on the table. He linked his fingers and squeezed them together hard. His feet jiggled up and down under the table. He avoided looking at Jeffrey.
Jeffrey cracked his knuckles. “Kayla lost the baby.”
Starks’s expression went flat and his body still. He stared at his hands.
Jeffrey continued. “It happened a little over a week ago. The nanny told me things aren’t going well between Kayla and Bret since it happened.”
“Not my business, unless it affects the kids.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have more to say about that. Aren’t you relieved, or something?”
Starks’s face turned a deep shade of red. “Stop the act, Jeffrey.”
“What?”
Jeffrey’s confusion was almost convincing, which enraged Starks even more. “I can’t do this any longer.”
“Do what? What’s got into you?”
“You. And Kayla. You still plug her when she’s pregnant, or do you take a break?”
“Have you gone fucking crazy?” Jeffrey studied Starks for a second then asked, “Are you on any new meds?”
“Did it start during college, or were you sticking it in her during high school? Did you do it anywhere other than in the basement of my grandfather’s house?”
Jeffrey sat fixed in place, his eyes and mouth opened wide.
“Thought I didn’t know about it. Thought you’d covered your ass well enough; that I’d never find out.” Starks leaped up. His chair flew into the chairs behind him. He rushed around the table, launching himself at Jeffrey. “I’ll fucking kill you, you fucking snake. All this time you’ve been lying to me.”
Two guards rushed forward. One of them pinned Starks’s arms behind his back while the other one radioed for backup. Starks kicked the table over.
Jeffrey’s chair crashed to the floor as he jumped back. “You’ve got it wrong, Starks. I swear to God I never… It was Phil Wright.”
“Fucking liar.”
“I know about the basement. But it was Phil, not me. I swear to God. I’d never do such a thing to you.”
Starks struggled against the guard restraining him, ignored the shouted order to shut up and calm down. “Parker told me your college buddies said it was you
.”
“They’re a bunch of pricks. They got irritated at how much you bragged about Kayla saving herself for you and only you. They were jealous twits who could barely get dates, much less laid. Phil told me what he’d done. I beat the crap out of him, but I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t think you could handle it. I figured you’d get rid of me before you’d ever get rid of Kayla.”
“Liar!”
“Those guys said they were going to tell you that you were in love with a slut and didn’t know it. I threatened to do to them what I did to Phil, or worse, if they ever said anything to anyone, especially you. Or if they ever so much as looked at Kayla again.”
“You didn’t tell me, because it was you. Sure, maybe Phil had a go at her. Maybe they all did. But you took your share of her. In my house. In the same bed where I made love to her. I trusted you, you traitorous sonofabitch.”
Three guards rushed in, one of them with shackles. Starks struggled and tried to avoid them. Two guards took his arms, two took his legs. They attempted to drag him from the room. Tables were pushed aside, chairs toppled. Inmates and visitors scattered to the far walls and stayed there.
Starks yelled, “Fucking liar. It was you.”
Tears welled in Jeffrey’s eyes. “For God’s sake, Starks, you have to believe me. Call Phil. I’ll get his number for you. Please, Starks. Call him.”
Starks watched Jeffrey collapse against the wall, his body wracked with sobs, his face etched in anguish.
He could imagine Gabe shaking his head at how easily he’d lost control. And barring him from ever visiting the workroom again because he was a simple-minded lost cause. The old guy was right: He was like a quiver of arrows shot without aim. If he didn’t learn how to handle his emotions, especially his temper, he was going to fuck everything up to hell and back. Especially his chance to survive. But how much was he supposed to take from people who betrayed him?
Jeffrey’s screams for guards not to hurt him was the last thing Starks heard before the voltage of two Tasers knocked him twitching and drooling to the concrete floor.