"Your dad taught you to hit women?" She grins. "Or better yet, you had a daddy? You weren't some five minute pump your mamma got between shifts on the pole?"
"Telling you, bitch!"
But he blinks, distracted. The young one's eyes go wide and he squeaks, cringes. A boom on the window behind Colleen. Feels it. She spins to look. There's blood, spattered and smeared, from an old prisoner's head. Ri'Chess holds him there, drops him. He slings blood off his hand while the big Frankenstein-looking monster comes over, picks the man up.
The young con goes, "Holy shit, man. Pops already old. Why he got to do that?"
The beard shakes his head. "No rules no more."
Colleen thinks about making a break for it. These two are distracted and she's motivated. She's got her keys and her life and it's out of her hands now—Lafitte, the old woman and the kid, all out of her hands.
But she can't turn away. The giant takes the old man's corpse to the fire, sets it gently across the flames. Ri'Chess turns to the crowd of confused, freezing men and shouts. Colleen hears the echo, wonders if he can pull this off. If he can, she's safe. Worth sticking around.
It's not even a full minute before all heads turn to something or someone on the upper floor. They swarm for the stairs, Ri'Chess waiting behind, crossing his arms, pleased as punch.
The young one: "Aw, shit, they got him now."
A hulking shadow in the doorway. Can't be the monster. He's inside with Ricardo. The shadow has a gun. Colleen ducks under the console right as the gun burps out a few semi-auto rounds, then another—the beard and the young wannabe go down easy. Colleen watches the shadow lean against the doorjamb and take heaving breaths. The AR-15 in his hand is the same one he'd taken from her earlier. The big Indian says, "I need a doctor."
"I told you."
"S'alright." He's really weak. "S'okay."
Colleen stays put. If he wants to shoot her, that's all there is to it. She can't stop him. She's got nowhere to hide.
So she says, "Can I have the gun back, please?"
He stumbles into the room. He looks like he's going to fall, but catches the console before he does. The gun clatters to the floor and Colleen flinches, waiting for it blast a few more rounds, but it doesn't. She grabs it quickly and scoots fast out from under the console. She stands, holds the rifle on the big Indian but knows he's not a threat, not like this.
"I'll take you out with me, okay? If no one's here yet, you can wait in my car with me."
"You sure? I'll get blood in it."
"It's fine, come on."
Colleen blinks and glances through the window to find Ri'Chess staring right at her, the grin making him look like a Buddha statue. The monster is pushing through the crowd of men on his way to where they've got Lafitte trapped.
It's him. She moves to a cleaner part of the window. There are prisoners on both sides hemming him in on a walkway that connects both sides of the upper floor. With him, the old woman in an orange inmate shirt and the boy. Lafitte's son, oh god, his son. It doesn't really hit home until she actually sees the kid up there surrounded by all this trash. There's another inmate with them, looks like he's helping. The others, all shouting, taunting, lunging but holding back. Waiting for the big man to get there.
He's quiet when he finally makes it. Lays a thick hand on the old woman's shoulder, pulls her towards him. She shouts out, "Jesus!" but is powerless to stop him. Then he reaches for the boy. Lafitte pulls him back, but not before the big man wraps his fingers around the boy's arm. The woman shrieks, the boy cries, "Mamaw, no! No! Let me go!" And Lafitte rushes forward, kicks the beast square in the balls.
Barely registers but gives Lafitte enough time to grab his boy back, and now he's stretched between the two. One of the cons runs at Lafitte from behind, jumps on his back and tries a chokehold. Lafitte hold tight while his friend grabs the attackers face, rakes his nails over his eyes, punches his skull with his other hand. The attacker falls, and Lafitte's friend wails away as others start the beatdown on him.
Lafitte pounds on the big man's arm over and over while still trying to hold on. The boy leans back, frantic, crying, bracing his feet on the railing and trying to pull free. Another couple of inmates come over and drag the woman off to the side, get another couple of hands on the kid.
Colleen's so close to the glass that her breath fogs it up and it breaks the spell. She forgets the big Indian and runs out of the control room and into the cellblock, runs over to Ri'Chess to get a better look.
By this time the boy has climbed the railing trying to slip the grip of the two cons, his jacket slipping off over his head. Lafitte tries to grab hold of his jeans. But it's too late. Colleen flinches.
The jacket comes off and the boy goes over the railing. His sneaker catches between the bars and he swings up under the walkway. The leg goes crack and echoes loud and sick, even above the old woman's wailing, which feels like the worst possible thing, something to make you piss yourself. Shock, pure shock. The boy hasn't even had time to feel it yet when his foot slips loose and he falls down, headfirst, to the floor below.
"Oh my god!" Colleen doesn't care where she is or who's around her. She runs. Flat-out runs. Beneath the boy's head is a splatter of blood shooting out a good five feet. He's not moving. Before she makes it to him, Lafitte lands on the floor beside his son, scoops him up. His eyes like she's never seen before. He huffs, moans like an ape, his face dangerously red.
He finally notices who it is. Or does he? He's on pure instinct. Backs away.
"Follow me out. We'll get him help."
No response. The grandmother's wail stings louder: "Ham! Oh Jesus, no, please, Jesus! Ham!"
Colleen checks around her. Slowly but surely, the prisoners are closing in. "Come on, Billy! We can hold them off. Help is on the way."
He goes down on one knee. Keeps clearing his throat. Hugs the boy to his chest. He frees one hand and holds it over the boy's open mouth. Colleen doesn't notice until now that the kid's eyes are open, unblinking. The smell of blood and piss hits her, turns into a taste on her tongue, metal and acid.
"Oh shit."
Lafitte cups the boy's chin with his fingers. "Breathe for me, kid, come on, breathe."
He lays his son flat on the floor, leans over for mouth to mouth.
Colleen turns. The advancing wall of cons stops. She braces the gun against her shoulder, runs it along the line, back and forth, shouts, "Get the boy's grandmother down here now or a bunch of these fuckers are dead."
Nothing for a moment. A moment too long. Colleen takes aim and pops off a guy, headshot, one bullet. Drops. The whole line takes a step back.
"I've got a shit ton more."
Behind the mass of men, Ri'Chess calls out, "Yeah, send her down. But you take Dee El's traitor ass off and make it hurt before he dies. Motherfucker."
The wail bounces its way down the stairs and through the crowd of inmates as if they are nothing until she falls beside Ham and Billy and says, "Wake him up, Billy, please. Jesus, shaballa, I, hunda la kai, la hey um. Oh my Lord, my Jesus…"
The tongues and prayers ease to a whimper as Colleen backs up, steps over them. Billy is working the boy's chest now. But his son is a rag doll that's been chewed up by the family dog.
His grandmother wails again, those tongues of fire, rocking back and forth, one hand on her grandson's forehead, trying to shake life back into him.
In spite of all the burned flesh and plastic, the blood and the stink of over a hundred men, Colleen can't get the blood and piss out of her mouth. And then there's the shit. The poor kid. Whatever deal she had with Ri'Chess, it's done. Not going to happen.
Lafitte stops trying. Hands covered in blood, he places his over the grandmother's on Ham's forehead. Her prayers cease mid-tongues and Billy's voice sounds like gravel in a blender. "He's done."
Colleen cringes and waits for another alarm blast from the grandmother. She can barely hold it together herself, but knows she must. Tears would blur her aim.
The grandmother doesn't belt out another one, though. She's quieter, a low hum like a gospel song on her lips. And then she says, "God damn you, Billy Lafitte."
Amen.
Chapter 19
The sea of orange shirts parts as Jean Robert clears the way for Ri'Chess. He keeps it cool on the outside, but inside it's like, Fucking kid, man, why'd they have to kill a fucking kid?
If the asses in charge had been smart, they would've made getting this lady and the boy out right away. Hell, if he'd known, he'd have put a stop to them idiots giving her a hard time. Just a bad snowstorm, that's what they should've told her. Those bangs you heard? Transformers blowing. Now let's escort you to your car.
But they didn't do that and now, shit, he's got a dead kid and his Jesus-loving grandmother. Now she's got to die, too, and they got to get rid of the bodies because there ain't going to be no free ride like he was thinking when the SWAT shows up, a couple of dead civilians fucking his plans raw.
He steps up to the spot where the kid's blood is all over and the white girl is playing soldier and Lafitte is like some wounded animal on the floor, hovering over his kid.
"Look, y'all. There's nothing more you can do here."
White girl keeps the rifle steady on him. "Ever lost a child? Any of you? Stay back."
He holds up his hands, calm now, calm. "What you want? I bet we ain't got five more minutes before this party is broken up. Tear gas and flash bangs and all that. So do we sit here like we at a funeral, or do we get down to business?"
A wink at Jean Robert, who marches over to Lafitte. Colleen starts to swing her gun but stops, keeps it on Ri'Chess. Smart girl.
"Yeah, you know it won't do nothing."
Jean Robert tries to lift Lafitte by his arm, but gets a growl. He tries again and Lafitte launches for the big man's bicep with his teeth. Breaks the skin before Jean Robert shoves him back on top of the boy. Jean Robert stares at his wound. Tiny bit of blood. He wipes it off.
Ri'Chess motions to Colleen, Over here, and she takes small steps towards him, keeping the gun up. He leans in, talks real low and mumbly.
"I done told you, you're safe with me. Quit playing gunfighter and let's get this done. Jean Robert can squash the man's skull fast or slow, however you want it."
"His son just died."
"That ain't on me, right? You knew it had to happen. And the lady, too, now. We got to get both them out of here and just leave Lafitte stone cold, you with me?"
Girl got survivor's eyes, she does. No time for being sentimental. Ri'Chess sees she's not up for being the hero. She's up for living. She nods. "No one's going to rape that woman, that's part of the deal. She needs to go fast and easy."
"Easy, peasy."
"Do it somewhere else. I'll go with her."
That raises the hair on RI'Chess's arm. Why she want to see that? Just gone all bloodlust on them now? He shakes his head. "Naw, you got to trust me. We don't have time. I'll put some guys on it who understand."
He calls out for Dusty and Redfish. Couple of guys come out of the crowd. Dusty's a white guy, middle-aged with a paunch, but beefy. Wouldn't be able to tell him apart from a banker, a lawyer, a writer. Redfish is black but kind of red, too, and tight like he's been boiled. Short, quiet, blinks a lot. And both of them are hardcore murderers. The type that done it more than once but not like some psycho. They did it because they had to. Robberies, some drug shit for Dusty, gang killings for Redfish, one of those Somali fuckers from the Twin Cities. Those guys don't play.
Ri'Chess says to them, "Need you boys to take Granny and the little guy out, someplace quieter. You know what I mean? Someplace warm?"
They nod. They should be thinking about the incinerator. Hotter than this fire here, leaves nothing behind except the bones, but shit, might take the suits a long time to ever figure that out.
Jean Robert sneaks behind Lafitte, who has gone feral again, hovering over his son's body. Jean Robert wraps his arms around Lafitte and lifts him like he's a balloon. Screaming. Gnashing. Kicking. But Jean Robert holds fast. He's holding a bawling toddler, not Lafitte. He's holding a mad kitty.
Dusty wraps a comforting arm around Grandma and says, "I'm so sorry for your loss. This is just terrible. Let's get you out of here."
She resists, not that she can really keep Dusty from leading her wherever he wants her to go. "Ham," She says. "Ham, Ham, Ham."
Dusty very gingerly turns the woman's body from the scene. Keeps the arm around her, takes her other hand in his other hand. "He's coming with us. Don't you worry about a thing. We'll clean him up, just like he's sleeping."
He nods at Redfish, who steps over to the kid's body and lifts it, cradles it at first, but then slings the top half over his shoulder. He starts out behind Dusty and Grandma, blood dripping from the kid's head, a trail of splatter across the floor.
Ri'Chess hopes they don't fuck this up.
Lafitte is calmer because Jean Robert's hold on him is tight, cutting off some blood, sleepytime.
Ri'Chess turns to the cracker chick and says, "Your call, sweetie. How do you want him done? Want to shoot him yourself? Want Jean Robert to crush him slowly? That would be fun to watch, I think. Or that old-fashioned burning you wanted, we can do that."
She's watching the old lady being led away. She's watching a young boy bleed onto the floor, the last bleeding he'll ever do. No more skinned knees or bloody noses. Ri'Chess wonders what she's thinking. He snaps his fingers and gets her blinking, back to the here and now.
"What's it going to be?"
She still doesn't look quite all there. He considers making a grab for the gun. But she's trained, ain't she? She's not that slow. Look at her, beat bloody like she was, standing here now taking on the whole cellblock. Goddamn, that's a turn-on.
"You hearing me?"
She keeps her eyes on the old woman, but she says, "I've got to see him struggle. No fair to snuff him out. Let him fight Jean Robert. A good fair fight."
"Shit, you kidding me?"
"That's what I want, that's what you promised, to give me what I want."
She readjusts the rifle for a better grip. His eyes are drawn there. She's holding it all wrong, out in front of her instead of braced on her shoulder, but it would spray a good many of them if she let loose. She should know better. Something tells Ri'Chess she's hoping he doesn't, though.
She nods at Lafitte. "Let him have a few minutes. Then let them go at it, hand to hand. No holds barred."
Why not? Still a bit of time before the assault cops show up to tear gas and flash bang and make them all piss their pants. By then the old woman and the kid will be taken care of, their remains hard to find. Lafitte will be dead, and this bitch will be another log on the fire. It's not about money anymore, if it ever really was. Fuck that shit. Ri'Chess is going to be famous, motherfuckers! That's worth it all, especially behind bars. Even the cops will treat him like a celebrity. It's a win-win.
Ri'Chess waves at Jean Robert and says, "Set the man down, son, and let him get his breath back. You hear me, Lafitte? You've got to fight. Give it your best, but we all know how it's going to end."
Lafitte is on his knees, huddled, hugging himself. Everyone can hear him breathing—ragged and strained. The noise dies down. All these cons aren't sure what they're seeing, Ri'Chess can feel it. Almost like they want to cheer Billy on. Face it, there's no fun in watching a big gun like Lafitte go out at his worst.
They wait quietly. They give him time. They don't taunt him. Ri'Chess feels some of his authority slipping away. Even Jean Robert looks pained as Lafitte heaves there on the floor. Why would the bitch cop want it this way? After all Lafitte has done to her, why give the man another chance? That's some weird shit.
The men edge in closer, tighter, a natural oval, some toeing-up close enough to touch Lafitte, but they don't dare. They wait. And after a few more minutes, Lafitte's breathing quiets and he pushes himself up from the floor. He stands, his back to Ri'Chess and Jean Robert. Rolls h
is shoulders. Then he turns, limping now, and steps over to Jean Robert. He holds out his hand. The Haitian takes it, all gentlemanly, and that's that.
Lafitte launches a quick punch to Jean Robert's throat.
Jean Robert shakes it off. Yes, he shakes it off! He grabs Lafitte by his ears and pulls him down, slams his face into Jean Robert's knee.
Lafitte comes up, nose busted and streaming, shouting, "Shit!" But he doesn't fall. Jean Robert comes at him again, but Lafitte ducks low, grabs the big man around his thighs, and pushes him back to the wall, crushing a couple of slowpokes along the way.
Aw, it's going to be good, isn't it? Ri'Chess looks over to smile at the woman cop, but goddamn, that bitch is done gone.
Chapter 20
This one with the glasses, he is as gentle a Southern gentleman as there ever was. He is tall, a little on the portly side, but speaks to her like a preacher might. Mrs. Hoeck thinks this because she has nowhere else to go in her mind that doesn't bring up the horror. Just this man's sweet voice, the cold of the hallway, and the warm, sweaty hand leading her along.
"He was a beautiful young man, and I'll bet he never felt the end of the fall. No, that young man fell right into heaven, a bunch of fluffy pillows waiting for him. Never felt a thing."
"Yes, Lord, yes, just like he promised."
"Trust in Him, yes ma'am."
They pass the control room outside the cellblock, and Mrs. Hoeck sees the big Indian Zee inside, holding himself up against the console but severely hurt, she can tell. He looks at her now, and his face falls. It takes her back to watching Ham slip and hearing the sound he made when he hit the floor and she takes a gulp of air that gets stuck in her throat. She chokes and staggers, but Dusty is there to hold on and keep her going. He pats her on the back until she can catch her breath again, then lifts her gently and says, "I've been to Mobile myself. I'm originally from North Carolina, but I've been all over God's good South. Yes, I really love those beaches down by you, those Gulf Shores. Beautiful. Do you get down there sometimes? To see the Gulf?"
The Baddest Ass (Billy Lafitte #3) Page 12