The Baddest Ass (Billy Lafitte #3)

by Smith, Anthony Neil

  "We're going to move quickly." And she just goes, not feeling so cold anymore.

  Chapter 22

  Motherfucker can take some motherfucking pain, Ri'Chess has to give that to him. He thought this would've been over by now, but Lafitte keeps slipping the holds and absorbing the hits. Jean Robert can't get a handle on him. Couple of cons even try to cheat, knock Lafitte down to his knees and hold him, but still he comes up with his veins bulging, growling like a werewolf.

  Ri'Chess can put an end to this, he knows. The girl ain't here, so what's it matter? Dead is dead. But he's gotten into it, now. Never seen Jean Robert struggle so much before. You know how it is? In a video game when you know all the cheat codes and your guy's like unbeatable, right? That's what it's usually like watching Jean Robert do slap near anything. How much more can Lafitte take? Already looking like that Mel Gibson Jesus flick, the one with Jesus getting the shit kicked out of him. And that was just, what, some Roman soldiers? This here is Jean Robert, and that's like all the soldiers and some scary shit, too.

  And he thinks, damn, what if Lafitte wins?

  That's just before Jean Robert catches the man on his way to the floor with a bad foot to the jaw. A piece of tooth flies out. Lafitte is facedown, out cold, looks like. This is it. This is the end. Jean Robert looks over at Ri'Chess like Now? And Ri'Chess nods back Now.

  It's going to be nasty. It's going to be the slow crack of the man's neck, same thing that Lafitte tried on that punk West, but in that case he only went so far as to paralyze him. What Jean Robert is going to do—going to paralyze, then terrorize. Going to take Lafitte's body, still hearing and seeing and breathing and shit, and going to put it on that fire.

  He will burn alive and he won't be able to move or scream or beg or anything. Burn, motherfucker, burn.

  Jean Robert straddles his prey, leans over and lifts Lafitte by his head. All it will take is a twist. But that's not what happens and Ri'Chess loses track.

  He knows he didn't just watch Lafitte turn his whole broken, beat-to-shit torso and fire a punch into Jean Robert's crotch, did he? Yeah, goddamn it, he did. Because then the crowd rushes in and starts cheering on Lafitte like they done forgot the point. Ri'Chess pushes through the crowd until he's on the edge, watching Lafitte flat on his back, head still in Jean Robert's hands, going to town on the Haitian's junk. Speedbag hits. It can't hurt that bad, can it? That freaky-assed nigga's cock is like a battleship chain. But Jean Robert can't finish the job. It's getting to him.

  Each punch gets a loud, "Go!" from the inmates. Lafitte's like some wrestler on TV, finally working up to the ultimate punch that will get Jean Robert to let go. He sends the man staggering, not much but enough for Lafitte to slip from the grip and get up on his knees. Woozy, man. Tipping over already. But he catches himself. Jean Robert circles back to him and puts a knee in Lafitte's back, sending him right back to the floor. But when Jean Robert goes for his head again, Lafitte turns and bites his fingers, rips the pinky and ring fingers clean off Jean Robert's hand. Spits them on the floor.

  Doesn't matter how big you are. That happens, you've got to respect the pain a man feels. Getting his dick punched might've been nothing, but he's looking at two bloody stumps now, bones sticking out, and that might cause even the largest man to faint.

  Lafitte gets back on his feet and walks around. Ri'Chess is surprised the man can see through those slits of eyes—and he's bruised and bloody and, shit, he don't know he lost, does he? Ri'Chess even steps out there with both of them in the clearing, goes up to Jean Robert, who is holding his half-a-hand, wincing, and says to him, "You be alright. He ain't got it in him. A couple more minutes, we'll go get you bandaged up—"

  That's the moment Lafitte loops his own shirt around Jean Robert's neck and starts twisting. Twisting hard and fast and tight before either Ri'Chess or Jean Robert realizes how deep this well can go. Jean Robert can't breathe, flailing. Lafitte bends the man backwards, bringing him down to Lafitte's level. Dude turning paler than he already is while Lafitte flames up all over.

  Gagging.

  Ri'Chess holds up his hands and shouts, "Enough!"

  Lafitte keeps it tight.

  "It's over, I said! It's done! You think you get to walk out of here? Never was gonna happen. No matter what you do."

  Lafitte keeps it tight. Ri'Chess hopes Jean Robert will pass out and drop. Lafitte can't hold on then. He'll have to let go and the Granite Man will get his game back. Lafitte sounds like he's growling, but it gets louder and he clears his throat, spits on the ground. "How many of you want to see this piece of shit die? How many of you has he raped or beat up?"

  "You gonna listen to him? A traitor? Who you more scared of, Lafitte or Jean Robert?"

  "I ain't never made one of you suck my cock. I ain't never put you in the infirmary unless you tried to put me there first!"

  "All of you!" Ri'Chess is losing his words. Goddamn, Jean Robert's going lavender. Lafitte gives the shirt another twist and the Haitian starts slapping his chest like he's done with.

  Lafitte takes a step back, drags Jean Robert with him. "Every motherfucker who had a hand in killing my boy is going to die, you hear me? Every fucking one of you, starting with this ass-raping son of a whore right here."

  Is this panic? Is this what it feels like? Ri'Chess shouts, "You win, okay? You win. We can talk about this. Let him go and you win. You walk out alive, I promise you. And you want to kill the others, fine, but not Jean Robert, man, you can't do that."

  He hears some titters in the crowd. Some laughs. Hears someone say like a woman, "No, don't hurt my bitch, please."

  Lafitte says, "You serious? You'll let me live?"

  "Swear to God."

  "You'll bring me the ones that killed my boy?"

  "You know I will."

  Eye to eye. Give in, motherfucker. Let my man go. It's so easy. Just like that.

  Lafitte nods. "Okay, okay."

  Ri'Chess sucks. Cold fucking air, tastes like the burning plastic.

  Lafitte loosens the grip. Jean Robert heaves in a huge breath and grabs the shirt around his neck. But Lafitte slams his hand down over Jean Robert's forehead and eyes and Ri'Chess sees it happen and can't do a thing but yelp because Lafitte tightens his face and his arms and slams Jean Robert's head to the floor with a sound like a bowling bowl breaking in two. The bone under the Haitian's scalp splits and slides like an earthquake. And Lafitte keeps on pounding it until you can hear the broken plates crunch against each other. The Haitian's limbs shiver with their last bit of electricity.

  Ain't no one shouting anymore. The bastards who got in the way upstairs with Lafitte's kid? They fucking run. They're gone.

  Ri'Chess knows. "Like that, then?"

  Lafitte stands and nods. "I didn't start this."

  "Fuck, like hell you didn't! Just being here is all you had to do. You start it wherever you are, wherever you go. Let me tell you, whatever you think you're about to do, it's not going to help. You're the first one they'll shoot. Not even going to give you a chance. We set up all this to make it easy to get you out of our hair, and watch—one motherfucking SWAT cop going to plug you in half-a-second. I swear."

  "Alright. We'll see. You won't get to, though."

  Shrugs. "I don't know why you want to do that. I got nothing now anyway. I can't fight you. Look at my fat ass and tell me it's a fair fight." He steps backwards and the crowd parts and Lafitte walks towards him and it's all in slow motion.

  Lafitte points towards Jean Robert's body. "That fight wasn't fair either, was it? Except it didn't go how you thought it would." He wipes Jean Robert's blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Ri'Chess feels this going bad, and where are his niggas? Where the fuck? It was Jean Robert keeping them loyal all this time? Or, what, go along to get along? Ain't one man got balls to help him out here? What happened to all the fucking guns?

  Lafitte keeps advancing. "This is supposed to be my goddamned punishment, that's fine. I'm okay with it.
I sit in this place, I think about everyone I had to kill, everyone who got dead cause of me. I fend off people trying to kill me. I get that. It's fucking boring. It's fucking terrifying. But you…shit, I don't know what your deal is."

  "You are a terrorist, man. You turned against your own people."

  "Whatever. Like these people matter to you. You do what you will then toss them, no matter race or family or sex, it's never about them. It's all about you."

  There's a couple of "That's right" and "Amen" from the cons.

  "They know what they deserve!" Ri'Chess sweating now. Wheezing. "Someone got to be me up in here. If it ain't me, it's someone worse. They know that! You ain't me!"

  "Yeah, I sure as shit ain't."

  Lafitte reaches for Ri'Chess' shirt and grabs hold, but Ri'Chess freaks out and wiggles and pulls and gets himself free somehow. He starts to run, but he won't get nowhere, and he knows it. Why run? Pure instinct? Is that all he's got left, like a lemur or something? Men laughing at him now. Shit. The door isn't all that far away. He's going to find the SWAT team and hand himself over and get protection. Lafitte doesn't even have the strength to catch him. How about that?

  Then something slams into his back and sends him sprawling. Fucking bad is what this is. One of those plastic chairs. Lafitte hurled it at him. Direct hit. Now Lafitte's got hold of Ri'Chess' ankle and is trying to drag him deeper into the crowd. Ri'Chess can't help it, he's bawling for his momma and thinks any man in there would do the same in the same situation.

  Any man except motherfucking Billy Lafitte, that is.

  Got some other men now coming over to help, grabbing the other ankle. Some of his niggas, and some Native Mob squaws, and some white bitches. A regular United Nations of betrayal right there. Makes Ri'Chess laugh while he's crying. Makes him think this is all one big joke.

  Until the others come for his arms and torso and lift him off the floor, his belly dragging on the cold hard surface. His feet getting warmer. He knows where this is heading. Warmer still. He thrashes and screams "God no please god no!" But here it comes, not just warm but hot, now, hot hot hot.

  Feels them swinging. Hears them counting down from three.

  They let go and he thinks he can scramble with his arms and legs, but they thought of that already and have got a guy there to punch him in the face as he goes by right into the fire.

  Loses his momentum.

  What's next, oh for the love of all the motherfuckers he's ever done wrong, does he wish he could take it all back and wake up and do good and love Jesus, because this right here, this is every bad thing you've ever felt times a million and every little nerve-ending telling you to run and get out and get away and FIRE FIRE FIRE and you can't. You too fat. Everything you touch trying to push yourself up burns your palms away and you can't see nothing because it already got your eyes, and all your breath is pain and fucking more pain and FIRE FIRE FIRE

  And by the time you dead, you don't even get a chance to enjoy not feeling shit no more.

  Ri'Chess just more fuel for the fire, that's all.

  Chapter 23

  Not far to go. Colleen moves dead guards and cons out of the way so Mrs. Hoeck can steer her grandson past. His foot slips from the zip tie and drags on the ground, but they have to keep moving forward. Moving on, almost out of the darkness.

  The woman has opened up to Colleen, more accepting of their situation. She still seems too much like one of Colleen's own junior high teachers—not at all like her grandmother or aunts, who weren't religious and tried to wear tight clothes and heavy make-up twenty years too late, sometimes less if you counted the cigarette damage. So Colleen can only think of her as Mrs. Hoeck instead of calling her by her first name. She deserves the formality, too. Still stoic after all that has happened to her.

  The sounds that had been eerie and echoing before are now louder and more distinct—gunshots, more screams. Colleen hopes it means the SWAT invasion has begun and they'll be swept out into waiting ambulances with warm blankets and hot coffee. Something so she can feel her toes again.

  "When we find them, I'm dropping my gun. You need to lift your hands above your head. Just say ‘I'm a woman' or something. Don't make it too loud."

  "You're very nice, sweetie. And don't worry, I understand."

  "Understand what?"

  "I know, I've heard. You sound like the one who has been trying to kill my son-in-law. I understand, and I don't hold it against you."

  "You don't, though. My fiancé. I mean, I watched him die because of, um, because…" It's what she has been telling herself for years. It was all Billy Lafitte's fault. And maybe she knows better, somewhere down in her chest, yeah, she knows better, but considering everything else he's done, the truth doesn't make it any better. It was probably Colleen's fault. She was driving. Really, wasn't it?

  "I know, I know…" Mrs. Hoeck pets Colleen's arm. "If you never tell anyone, and I have to ask the Lord for forgiveness on this every day, I want to see him just as dead as you do."

  "Ma'am?"

  "I've always wanted it. Even when he was a policeman married to my Ginny. I kept hoping the call would come in one night. Officer down. And it would be him. He has always been bad news. He's hurt my family in so many more ways than he's hurt yours. You knew my son, didn't you? Graham?"

  Of course she knows this. Why it hasn't connected in her brain while she's been here today, blame the fear, maybe, but of course if this is Lafitte's ex's mom, then she is also Graham's, the Sheriff who had taken Billy on thinking the fresh start would settle him down after his downfall over Katrina. Instead, Billy "pied-pipered" the Sheriff off to death in a motel in Detroit thanks to some homegrown wannabe terrorists.

  "I knew him. Graham was kind to me. I'm so sorry."

  "Billy killed my son. He has killed my daughter's soul and she's nearly killed herself over him. And now, my boy, my sweet boy." The woman brushes her hand through Ham's hair.

  Colleen doesn't answer. She steps around a corner, cautious now, and hopes they hurry up. She can't listen to any more of this.

  "You should have killed him when you had the chance back there."

  The same voice that had been singing hymns, but colder. Smoother. Maybe she dressed the way Jesus wanted, but her heart is hiding plenty.

  "They'll take care of him. We won't have to worry about it."

  "But you should have. I could have seen it."

  "He didn't kill Ham. He was trying to save him."

  "If that's how you're thinking, you should keep your mouth shut. You don't have it in you."

  "Neither do you."

  Mrs. Hoeck mumbles, "Praise God for that." Colleen hears it anyway.

  Stomping and clanking up ahead, coming closer at the far end of the hallway, right by the entrance lobby.

  "Quiet, and wait for me, okay? I'll be back." Colleen waves her hand low and eases ahead, her gun pointed at the ground. She doesn't want any misunderstandings. So close. So so close.

  The troops round the corner and they have flashlights so Colleen can only blink and shield her eyes. "Help us, please, we're two women with a young boy who has been killed. We're visitors."

  One of the men ahead says, "That her?"

  She hears the voice of a familiar woman—the guard she'd ambushed in the lobby. "Yeah, that's the bitch."

  Oh shit.

  The shots come fast, two together, and knock Colleen on her ass. Fucking sting against the skin, pain radiating, but the vest keeps her alive. She's able to lift her own rifle and let it loose, bam bam bam bam bam bam. And again bam bam bam bam bam. She scuttles until she's on her feet again, so fucking cold and shouts at Mrs. Hoeck, "Back! Back! Back! Go!"

  The guards scatter and retreat, giving Colleen time to trace back. Not sure why. Holing up in the bedroom is no longer an option. And what chance does she have in the cellblock? Got to think. They're way ahead of the guards, who aren't going to come charging in blindly. Block E. That's the thing. They've got to get into Block E and make it out. Sh
e's got to find an Indian willing to tell her. She's got to avoid Ri'Chess and Jean Robert and how's she going to feel about Lafitte if he's lost? Will he be dead? Tortured? How's this going to go?

  Her chest hurts, both from the cold and from the punch of those two slugs. Any other time, she would've needed time to recover, lay there and grit her teeth. But the adrenaline is keeping her up and alert. She's nearly shoving Mrs. Hoeck down the hallways and around corners, through doors, until the final entryway into the cellblock. She can't quite believe it.

  Lafitte, alive but looking like a slab of beef, stands next to the fire. Most of the men are standing there. Two large husks burning on top must be Ri'Chess and Jean Robert. Quiet, all of them. Lafitte sees Colleen and his mother-in-law come through the door, and he breaks from the group, limps to them. Colleen lifts her rifle.

  "Stay back."

  He takes a few more steps anyway. "You gave me a chance. You didn't have to."

  "More than you gave—"

  "Stop it. Whatever." He shakes his head, then points to Mrs. Hoeck and Ham. "You did good, finding them, but why'd you come back?"

  "Guards are coming, whoever's left. They've got a posse ready to take us all out. Tell these guys to go back to their cells."

  "They can handle the guards."

  "I'll bet they've got grenades. Look, they already shot me." Slaps the dents on her vest. "They could've killed me. They would've. Same with Granny."

  He shrugs. She tries to picture him in uniform again. He's shorter than she remembers, but maybe his ego made him look taller. The smirk is gone, but the lines so many years of smirking left on his face are there. It's almost built-in. He'll never lose whatever it is about him that makes you want to root for the guy in spite of how awful he is. Maybe in the end, he didn't kill Nate or Graham or Ham, but by knowing Lafitte, you feel death closer than it should be. You feel that every life he's taken, or every one that has been taken near him, should've been Lafitte instead. And yet he lives.