by Nesly Clerge
“Seems like you’re daring him.”
Starks smoothed shaving cream onto his face. He was quiet during the first few strokes of the razor. “I never was any good at being a follower. Maybe it was one of the stories my grandfather told me. When he was a boy, he worked a summer on his grandfather’s farm. Used a plow pulled by a mule. Said after the first five minutes of following the mule, he realized he didn’t care for the view. That’s what it’s like for me if I’m not in the lead.”
“Is that your plan, to be the leader in here?”
Starks positioned the razor and dragged it down his cheek. “My original plan was to mind my own business, be as invisible as possible, and get out early for good behavior. That lasted about a week. Boen Jones decided I was his target. He was twice my size. And he made it clear he wasn’t ever going to let up. I had a choice: Be tormented by him every damn day, which would give other inmates permission to do the same, or stand up for myself, even if it meant dying. I’ve done things—had to—that I never imagined myself doing. I’ve discovered what I’m capable of, when I’m forced into a corner.”
Kane nodded. “Since you got here.”
“Since before.” Starks rinsed the razor and his face. “Might as well face the fact that while you’re here, you may discover what you’re capable of, as well.” He caught Kane’s odd expression reflected in the mirror before the boy turned away.
What the hell is that about?
They stayed in the cell, reading in silence. Dinner was a couple of sandwiches and sweet rolls from Starks’s commissary stock.
Book in hand, Starks moved from his desk to his bunk and back, unable to settle in one place. Wherever he sat, he positioned himself to watch the corridor, to watch for Jackson so he could ask him the questions that beat against his skull. But Jackson didn’t return, not until a minute before it was time for the electronic doors to slam shut and lock them in for the night. And when he did pass Starks’s cell, it was a brief, cursory glance he aimed his way. As though concern about whether his crew would diminish or disappear wasn’t enough, there was also this matter to worry about.
Starks resolved to catch Jackson first thing in the morning and learn why he was avoiding him.
CHAPTER 81
SUNLIGHT SQUEEZED THROUGH the narrow window. Starks watched the thin strip of illumination edge its way across his blanket. Like my life, he thought, reduced to a sliver of what it used to be and should be.
He got up from his bunk, stretched, and started his morning routine. One thing was on his mind: pin Jackson in place so he could find out what was going on.
Kane yawned and sat up. He peered out the window and said, “Clouding up again. I wonder if it’s ever going to rain.” After a moment he added, “Ever noticed how waiting for rain has a feeling to it? It’s like a kind of tension you hope is going to end soon so you can feel normal again.”
The overhead lights flickered then went to full illumination. Starks said, “Like something hanging over your head.”
Kane swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and grinned. “Like waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“When the apple is ripe, it’ll fall.”
“Make hay while the sun shines.”
They laughed. Starks grew somber and said, “When the iron is hot, strike.”
Starks tossed two packages of sweet rolls to Kane and opened one for himself. “I need to stock up soon.”
“Especially since you’re sharing with me.”
“No problem.”
The sound of cell locks being released echoed through the block; the doors squealed open. A familiar voice announced the count. Starks and Kane took their positions outside the cell. Starks looked left. Jackson was there, staring straight ahead.
Starks whispered to Jackson, “I want to talk to you.”
Still not looking at Starks, Jackson said, “Later.” He sped off as soon as the count was done.
Starks said, “Let’s go shopping, kid.”
They left the commissary carrying a bag crammed with foods and toiletries for their use, as well as two more full bags. Rather than returning to the cell, they went into the yard. COs Roberts and Simmons were two of the guards on patrol duty; they and Starks acknowledged each other.
Starks sat with Kane on the bottom riser. His crew milled about in the yard, talking, nodding, and, he was sure, lining up phone customers. He waved at Tank, pointed to the members, and indicated they were to join him.
Tank rounded up the crew. He made it to Starks first and said, “They’re all in.”
“Good work, Tank.”
“Didn’t have to work for it. They get it.”
The crew lined up in front of Starks. He thought about making a small speech, thanking them for their loyalty. Instead he said, “The stuff in the bags next to Kane is for you guys. A treat for my crew.”
The inmates rummaged through the items, grabbing what they needed or wanted. Wrappers and bags were ripped open and contents consumed. At least for now, his crew was content.
Guards’ radios crackled loudly. The COs listened and responded, each of their expressions grave.
“Something’s wrong,” Starks said. His crew grew quiet. Each of them scanned the yard to see what was going on.
An announcement ordering lockdown blared from the speakers, ordered inmates to return to their cells immediately and in silence. Starks stood on the next riser up and searched for Roberts in the crowd of complaining inmates swarming toward the door. Roberts, as were the other guards, shouted for inmates to be quiet and get inside.
Tank said, “Don’t look good.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Starks replied. “Everyone get to their cells. Watch your back in the crowd.”
Starks and Kane turned the corner into D-Block. Guards yelled, “All the way into your cells. Move it and shut it.”
Starks put the bag from the commissary on his bunk and sat next to it. “Sit down, Kane.”
Kane perched on the edge of his chair. “What’s going on?”
“We’ll know soon enough.”
Silence pervaded the block, broken only by footsteps thumping down the corridor. Two COs not on Starks payroll stopped at the cell. Starks sighed.
“Starks, Spencer wants to see you.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Call me CO, Officer, or sir.” He motioned for the other guard holding the shackles to move up. “Assume the position.”
“What does Spencer want with me? And, what’s with the shackles? Officer.”
“Spencer will tell you. Shackles were his orders.”
Starks held out his wrists and said to Kane, whose face had drained of color, “I’ll be back. Wait for me here.”
The CO said, “Don’t count on it.”
CHAPTER 82
INVESTIGATIVE OFFICERS BENTLEY and Kratz stared at Starks from behind the table in the council room. Spencer glowered. The guards hustled Starks toward the table, yanking him to a stop two yards from its edge.
“You’re in the shit now, Starks,” Spencer said.
Starks remained silent, wondering which of his ventures he was being busted for and how it had happened. Trevor came to mind. Or Sanchez. Or maybe Jackson’s ambitions had finally pushed him to cross the line. Sweat started to pool in his armpits.
Spencer pointed his pen at Starks. “Darren Williams.”
“What about him?” Maybe this was round one of Crazy D’s revenge.
“You’ve had problems with him.”
“No more than anyone else; he’s that kind of guy. You’re going to call every inmate in here he’s pissed off? You won’t sleep for months. So, what exactly is the problem?”
Spencer sneered. “Listen to him. Calls it a ‘problem.’ Why don’t you tell me how you managed to separate Williams’ head from his body. And why the hell you put his head in a dryer and gave it a spin. You’ve ruined an expensive piece of equipment.”
Starks’s mouth dropped open.
“Don
’t pretend you’re shocked, Starks, unless it’s because you’ve been caught.”
“I’m not pretending. Nor do I know anything about this. Why are you trying to pin this on me?”
“A suspicious, brutal death of an inmate you’ve had run-ins with and who, in front of us, promised to get you. Should I keep going?”
“You can keep going until you run out of air. It wasn’t me. I have to assume it happened sometime this morning. I can account for my whereabouts. Every second. I was in my cell until after the count. Then I went to the commissary—which you can check easily enough—then into the yard where COs saw me, including Officers Roberts and Simmons. At no time was I in or near the laundry room. And I certainly didn’t have time to decapitate anyone then clean up. Look at me. See any indication of a fight? You think Crazy D would’ve gone down without one?”
Kratz cleared his throat and leaned in. The three men at the table conferred in voices too low for Starks to hear what was being said. Spencer’s complexion grew florid. He sat erect, and his chest heaved with each breath. “Get him the hell out of my sight.”
One guard grabbed Starks roughly, shoved him forward, while the other CO held the door open.
“Are you going to remove these restraints?” Starks asked.
“Not until your cell.”
Starks shuffled along the corridors, aware of nothing he saw, but playing a film on the screen in his mind of Ethan matching the rotation of his head with the clothes spinning in a dryer.
Then he recalled there was another person at Sands whose victim’s head had been found at a landfill.
CHAPTER 83
THEY TURNED INTO Starks’s cell block. Left and right, inmates paid attention. Several of them nodded at Starks, making it obvious they believed he’d taken out Crazy D, which meant, somehow, word had spread. Their supposition about his involvement could prove to be partially accurate, one way or another. The truth was something he had to find out as soon as he could.
One of the guards unlocked Starks’s cell door. The other said, “Assume the position.”
Kane was on his bunk, huddled in the corner, head down on his arms that wrapped around his knees pulled close to his chest. Starks found it remarkable then got angry that the young man stayed like that despite what was going on. As though that position would block an attack. He called out.
Kane raised his head. His mouth opened then shut when Starks subtly shook his head. Once the door was relocked, with Starks inside, the guards left.
“Relax, Kane. I’m not in any trouble.” Starks ran the cold water tap, splashing his face and the back of his neck.
Kane cleared his throat. His voice quivered when he said, “Everyone’s heard what happened. And we know who—”
“Don’t!” Starks marched to the bunks. “No one knows anything about this. Do you understand me?” Kane nodded. “You don’t talk about it ever, with anyone. Are we clear?”
Kane inched back and said, “Sure. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m trying to protect you. You’re so fucking naïve, it boggles me.”
“Geez, I’m sorry.” Kane chewed a cuticle. “How long do you think we’ll be in lockdown?”
“No idea.”
Inmates began to shout. A guard yelled for them to shut the fuck up. Starks positioned himself at the entrance to see what was going on. Guards went cell-to-cell and ordered inmates to approach the barred door one at a time. Each man removed his shirt and pants and rotated in a slow circle. Kane was flustered when it was his turn, but managed not to lose it. The request wasn’t made of Starks. When the inspection was completed and guards exited the corridor, voices broke out at full volume.
Four hours later the cell doors opened again.
Starks said, “Let’s see if any of the guys went to the yard.” Instead of turning right, Starks turned left. Jackson wasn’t in his cell.
*
Absent from the crew waiting on the bleachers were Jackson and Ethan. Tank saw Starks and said something to the crew. All heads turned in his direction. He was a yard away when they all began to talk at once.
“Was it Ethan?”
“Couldn’t be. Right, Starks?”
“That re—guy’s not smart enough to do that.”
Tank said, “What about it, Starks? Think it was Ethan who chopped Crazy D?”
It was understandable that they were uneasy. The attack had been beyond what even he had anticipated. “I think you can relax. It would take someone far larger and more powerful than Ethan to do what was done. It would take several people, in fact.”
Some of the men laughed in relief. Comments were made about how ridiculous it was to consider scrawny Ethan as the culprit.
Starks needed to find him. “Where is Ethan? Anyone see him after we were let out?” No one had. “Where’s his cell?”
Tank answered, “B-Block.”
“Unless any of you have a reason to leave, wait for me here.”
Alone in his cell, Ethan sat cross-legged on his lower bunk, doodling on the window glass with his finger. Starks made his presence known.
Ethan turned around slowly, grinning as though lost in a world no one but he could see. Starks pulled up a chair and sat. Neither of them said anything for several moments.
Starks spoke first, keeping his voice at a level only the two of them could hear. “Looks like Crazy D won’t be a threat anymore.”
Ethan’s grin stretched wider. “The sonofabitch was so easy.”
Stunned at the smooth delivery of that sentence, Starks stayed still and speechless.
Ethan chuckled and continued. “I convinced him I was desperate to give him a blowjob. That I believed the nectar of his loins would give me super powers; though, I used different words, of course.” He laughed. “You were right about his arrogance.
“I’d reconned enough to know that no one ever goes to the laundry room until about nine thirty. Crazy D showed up minutes after the count, eager to humiliate me. Had me beg. I stripped and stuffed my clothes and shoes into the same dryer where I’d hidden the knife I’d procured from… but that would be telling. I left the dryer door open and wagged my penis and ass at him, pleading in full stammer, even called him my master.
“The bastard doubled over with the hilarity of it all. That’s when I severed his revolting swastika in half. It’s not that simple to do, you know. Then I clean myself with bleach and soap powder at the sink—I’m going to itch and burn for a week.” To emphasize this, he scratched various parts of his body with a ferociousness that left marks on his arms, neck, and face.
Starks released the breath he’d been holding. “What did you do with the knife?”
Using animated gestures, Ethan said, “I taped it to my calf, got dressed, and went to the chow hall for a breakfast of pig slop. When I was done, I pretended to scratch my leg—though, as you see, it’s no pretense. The tray was put into position so I could hide the knife, which I deposited into the food scraps. I stuck my hand in, pretending to rummage around, making sure the knife descended farther and farther down. I retrieved a half-eaten roll, which I ate to the disgust of inmates and guards.”
Several silent moments passed then Starks said, “That was a clear, concise, stutter-free report.”
“Ethan Greene, at your service.”
“I was right to reserve my assessment of you.”
Ethan’s posture went rigid. “What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t entirely convinced you were as affected as you made out to be. Especially not after your clever demonstration in the chow hall.”
“It was practically harmless. Those two had blood in their urine for a week and a backache. They recovered easily enough with bed rest and antibiotics.”
“It was slick. I’ll give you that. You’re proficient in your—is disguise the right word?”
“Drama training. However, I’d appreciate it if we kept my charade a secret between us, say, in payment for a favor performed with finesse.”
�
��The only way anyone will learn the truth is if you tell them. I persuaded the crew it was impossible for you to have done it; that all they had to do was consider your size to see how improbable.”
“Good thinking, Starks.”
“I’m relieved you’re on our side.”
“Make no mistake, I’m on my side. But you didn’t judge me. Even though you had doubts, you showed compassion in a wasteland, and you entrusted me with an important task. Now, I have a favor to ask.”
The words didn’t come easy, but Starks was obligated to say them. “Name it.”
“Whenever you need a similar performance, do think of me. An actor needs practice to keep in good form.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Starks stood and extended his hand, which Ethan shook. Ethan returned to his bunk and resumed scrawling nothing on the glass. Starks headed back to the yard. He wanted to get Kane and return to their cell.
There was something he was certain of: Ethan was talented.
Useful.
Insane.
CHAPTER 84
THE EVENTS OF the morning delayed lunch by a couple of hours. Starks and his crew crowed around the chow hall table for sandwiches of stale bread and one thin slice of bologna with dried edges paired with plain, unsalted boiled macaroni. The lack of conversation in the room had its own electrical current. Brutality was common in maximum security prisons, especially because inhabitants had done something brutal to get there. But what had happened to Crazy D seemed to rattle even the hardcore prisoners. Particularly because no one, aside from two inmates and the victim, knew with absolute certainty who was responsible.
Starks glanced around the room for Sanchez, but neither he nor any of his men that Starks knew were there. He wondered if they were being questioned by the council. Wondered if the atrocity would cause Sanchez to break code and point a finger at him, without realizing his alibi was sound. No. If Sanchez suspected Starks, he’d deal with the matter personally. Starks looked over at Ethan, who continued his performance complete with jerky movements; he winked at Starks.