Once more, she needs him.
"Get us out. We need to get out now."
He nods. "I know. Give me a minute."
Lafitte calls over some bruisers, asks them if they'll go out into the halls, hold off the guards. Damned if they don't all say yes without blinking an eye. Five guys, all the race gangs now working together, take their orders and get to it. Then he heads over to a few senior Native Mob guys, starts talking.
Colleen feels the weight of the shots getting to her. The punishment now pulsing all over. She's glad she had it tough growing up. She knows how to take a punch, knows how to give one back. That's what she has that Mrs. Hoeck's Jesus doesn't. Self-reliance. In Granny's head, it's either a miracle or it wasn't meant to be. She probably thinks the Lord called Ham home early to keep him from suffering an even worse fate at the hands of these devils.
Bullshit. If that's the way God calls home a ten-year old, then fuck God.
She reaches inside the vest as best she can, tries to rub the edges of one impact zone. She knows what she'll find when she takes it off—broken skin and a dark spider web radiating out from a purple bruise. Worse, she thinks about the visit to the doctor, the HIV and pregnancy tests after her time with Ri'Chess. Can't even forget him after he's gone. Asshole.
Lafitte comes back, passes her by and goes right to his boy. He kneels beside the office chair and bows his head. Can't be praying. That can't be it. Then Mrs. Hoeck, the crazy bitch, lays one hand on Ham's head, the other on his father's, and begins praying out loud.
Who does that? I mean, not even five minutes ago she was telling Colleen...don't even. Don't analyze.
When she gets too loud, Lafitte pulls away from her grasp and removes her hand from Ham's head. He pushes her back, and it's okay. She quits speaking in tongues and holds her hands behind her back. Lafitte grabs his boy behind his neck, holds his forehead to Ham's, and stays like that for what feels like too long.
Colleen looks around. A lot of eyes watching. She's surprised no one's up on her. All it would take is a handful to get the gun from her, hold her down, start a train. All these guys, look at them. They're cowed. Almost relieved to be standing around, talking to each other in small groups, trying to keep warm around the fire. All of them, Ri'Chess' old crew and the Mob and the Aryans, getting all "Small World" in here. Guess the main thing any of them want in prison is to feel safe. That's all.
She loses herself in shivering, hugging herself tighter and tighter but getting worse, it seems until a hand touches her shoulder and she yips and loses her breath. But it's Lafitte saying, "Time to go."
She pulls it together. He doesn't even look at her funny. The dude is dead to fear. Dead to hate. Might as well just be dead, period. Is this a fate worse than being dead? She thinks she'll call Rome once they are free and clear, tell him she's out of the bounty. It's not worth it to her anymore. Maybe to Rome, since Lafitte did shoot his wife intentionally. Self-defense, since she shot first, so he says. The security tape couldn't tell for sure from that angle. But today has given Colleen what she needed to lay it down.
She falls in behind Mrs. Hoeck, Lafitte, and two Indians.
*
A fake wall. Someone in here is a fantastic artist, because Colleen would've sworn it was real—the texture, the perspective, the dirt. From outside the cell, no way to tell. But don't the guards get suspicious? Have they ever been in here? Don't they have cameras? Another case of someone getting paid off, and Colleen wonders what the point of prison is if the guards are helping.
One of the Indians, an older man named Theodore, pulls it back. He tells Colleen, "We would usually need to put up the other one first." He points to some sheets of paper under the bunks, all taped together. "It's the bars. Good enough for the cameras."
"How long, you know, like, to get through?"
He shakes his head. "We're pretty sure someone on the construction side did it after we had the picture in place. One of ours."
Native Mob on the construction team. Guards bribed. Maybe Ri'Chess was getting played by these guys the whole time. As long as he thought he was in charge, he would keep his mouth shut. Almost as if these guys aren't prisoners at all. More like they got "transferred" to a new job location on the inside.
Colleen asks, "Do you think you can keep it going after all this? Because someone's going to find it after today, that's for sure."
The other Indian, Sam Fox, younger and tougher, says, "That's built in. We always have a Plan B. Give us a week, we'll be back up to the usual numbers."
She peeks through the opening into a cell with no bars, facing a row of cells with no bars. No power in there, either. Plastic tarps, dust, the smells of a hardware store. She sniffles. There's the echo of howling wind.
"And we just…walk out?"
A nod to Lafitte. "He'll figure it out. Very easy. You've got to remember, for every man thinking about how to secure cons, we think about how to get out even more."
Then explain why there hasn't been a line here patiently taking their turns going through the wall? Right? Or is it too cold?
Lafitte offers to shake their hands, but they refuse. Won't say why. Not happening. They stand there. Sam Fox says, "You owe us, Lafitte."
Lafitte finally drops his outstretched hand and says, "Get out."
They leave the cell so Mrs. Hoeck and Ham can slip inside. The chair is too big for the hole, through which they all have to step sideways to get past. Lafitte grabs each zip-tie, twists and snaps until Ham is free. Lafitte lifts the boy in his arms and tells the women to move on into Block E.
Colleen steps through and can't help but admire what's going on. Hell, even with unfinished floors and walls and power and heat, she can tell this place is going to be cozy. Even better than her first apartment. Hell, better than her childhood bedroom back on the farm. The block is three levels, the cells wider, the plumbing pipes already sticking out of the ground. It even looks like there's a cable TV jack in each cell, but that's got to be bullshit, right?
A thin hand wraps around the top of Colleen's arm, and she turns to Mrs. Hoeck, hugging close to her side. Lafitte is behind them, carrying Ham as if he weighs nothing, but Lafitte's flared nostrils give it away. He's at the end of his rope, but he's got to do this.
Then there's the hole. A half-finished hallway that is supposed to lead to the admin building, but that stops raggedly almost halfway and is wrapped from the outside by thick clear plastic. But of course in this wind the plastic has split and pieces are flapping madly, letting in a growing dune of snow that nearly blocks the way out into the yard, where a double-thick twenty-foot tall fence, razor-wire on top, is all that stands between them and a short walk to the parking lot. Or in any other weather, a short walk. This is a full-on Canadian frost bitch, with snow flying west to east like glass and the piles up to their waists and deeper.
"Shit," Colleen whispers.
Lafitte steps past them and goes on ahead. "We'll see what we can do."
There should be a cut in the fence that allows them to pull it back far enough to let the smugglers in and out with the goods, like, any time of night. But it looks like the snow piling against it would takes hours to dig through, and that's only if they happened to have a shovel.
"Shit," Colleen whispers again.
Lafitte sets his son in the hallway and says, "Be right back" before heading back to the other cellblock. Colleen watches as the boy's body becomes flecked with snow while they wait. Have the guards made it that far yet? Is there a massacre waiting for Lafitte? She's about to tell Mrs. Hoeck they need to hide when Lafitte comes running back through the passage with a ball of sheets. He runs past and says, "We have to hurry."
Faint gunshots and shouting from behind them. Ahead, nearly lost in the whine of the wind, sirens on their way. Colleen knows what he's going to do. Lafitte bounds outside and is nearly knocked over by the wind. He tries to high-step it up the slope of snow but goes in up to his neck. He keeps fighting until he's got his hands on the fence a
nd climbs it fast, the sheets whipping around like he's about to lose them but he presses them to the chain-link with his knees. Up top, he slings the sheet over the razor wire and watches it fly straight like a flag, nearly carrying him off. One-handed. He's got it by one hand. Colleen is stunned. He doesn't know when to stop. The man is, fuck, he's like one of Nate's guns. The baddest of all the asses, this one. Short and beaten senseless and hated all-around, and look at him. He is finally able to use the wind to his advantage and get the sheet over, but it catches on the wire, tears to shreds as he tries to twist it into a cord that would help them slip over the top. The only way for all of them now, going over the top. It's not going so good, but he climbs down anyway, his hair and face caked in snow and ice. To Colleen, "Help me get him over."
He goes to Ham, slings him over his shoulder and acts like it doesn't hurt, but she can tell his jaw is tight, on the edge of exploding his teeth. Like Colleen has a choice anymore. She hands off the rifle to Mrs. Hoeck and goes to help Lafitte. He tells her that they need to get him over the fence, just like that, and she's supposed to know what to do.
"Climb up beside me. On top, help me push. Needs to be two-handed, not one."
She follows him into the path he's already made through the snow, still a bit thick for her. The shit's stinging her cheeks and eyes and she can barely keep her eyes open and she just now notices how Lafitte's hands are torn to shit because his skin froze on the fence. She's not wearing gloves, either. But this has got to happen. Just got to.
He starts up again, as if his son weighs nothing at all. Colleen grabs the fence and has to let go. It burns. She thinks for a second it must be electrified, but realizes it's just the cold. Something this cold, your body confuses it with hot. She takes a deep breath, full of snowflakes, and makes another grab and moves as fast as she can. Like bee stings on her fingers and palms. She can barely see. She squints and catches Lafitte using his sheet-rope to pull the razor wire to the side, as flat as he can, making a gap that doesn't really help, but there's not much more they can do now.
Lafitte is struggling. The pain, the wind, the weight, he's been good at glossing it over but now it's all coming out. She reaches up and holds some of Ham's weight off his shoulder. He shouts at her to push him up while he holds tight to the rope with one hand and works his other hand so he can grasp Ham's jacket and pull him bit by bit onto the gap up top.
"Goddamn it! Push!"
Colleen grits her teeth and tries harder. The boy's shattered leg blows in the wind and she's afraid to touch it for fear of making it fall off. But she does what she can, pushing on his backside until Lafitte has the boy on top of the fence. He grabs the links with both hands, takes heaving breaths. And then with one more push and a loud grunt he shoves Ham over and they watch him rag-doll head first into the snow bank below.
A shriek from below rattles Colleen. She forgot about Mrs. Hoeck, waiting in the hallway. She rests her cheek against the fence and closes her eyes and forgets for a second why that's a bad idea. But she unsticks her face and her fingers and heads down to help Mrs. Hoeck. It's got to be up and over for all three of them. At the bottom she tries her best to not look in the direction of the dead boy half-buried upside down in the snow.
*
By the time Colleen makes it down the other side, she can't feel her cheeks or hands or even her lips. The slices from the razor wire stung like all hell, but froze over almost immediately. They had all been bitten, no matter how hard they tried to avoid the barbs. Lafitte went over first and stayed on top to help Mrs. Hoeck, who they thought might give up halfway through. Colleen gave her hell the whole time, keeping her moving. That was what mattered. Keep moving. Keep moving. Still not sure where the guards are, or the SWAT team, or anyone. Eerie, off on their own. If she didn't know any better, Colleen would have said that somewhere along the way, they had died and this was Hell. Just like that.
As Colleen climbs off the fence, she glances through and realizes the rifle is on the other side. She's defenseless now. Lafitte digs Ham from the snow. Achingly slow. Mrs. Hoeck stands beside him, quiet now, hugging herself tightly as Lafitte scoops up Ham and then fights to stand again. Colleen doesn't help. She doesn't know the next move. She can make out where they've started to stake posts for the outer fence, but of course it's not there yet. The whole place is a disaster, not at all thought through. She's surprised they didn't put the prisoners in tents and build the jail around them—because this is pretty close to that.
Lafitte begins walking, Mrs. Hoeck huddling close behind him. Colleen trails along. The new cellblock is huge and casts a shadow over them that chills her even more. A wall to her left, and miles of snow to her right. She follows the path Lafitte leaves, dredging an easier canal for them, but it's still knee deep. The sirens are becoming clearer as they near the corner of the cellblock. Nearly there.
Soon as they round the corner, the wind hits them square on and it takes Colleen's breath away for a moment. It's still a long walk to the parking lot, but they can just make it out. One more fence to climb, it looks like. Mrs. Hoeck falls down. Bellows. Colleen tries to run to her but can't high-step through the snow. She stumbles and zig-zags until she's beside the woman.
"I can't. I can't do it again."
"It's one more," Colleen tells her. "You can do it for your grandson. You know you can."
Lafitte looms over them. He shouts, and Colleen can barely hear him over the wind. "There's a hole there. They told me where the hole is."
"You hear? It's a hole. We don't have to climb."
Mrs. Hoeck shakes her head. "But then it's over. The ambulance takes him away. They'll shut him up in the morgue. That will be it, see? I can't see it through to the end. I want to stay here, now, and be with him in Heaven. Let me go. They'll find me later."
Colleen thinks Fuck this shit and slaps some red onto Granny's cheek. "No, you don't get to do that! You're a Christian, right? I saved your ass, so you get to help me now. I need you when I get outside that gate. You've got to tell them how I helped you. You've got to help me, do you understand?"
"I can't…leave me, please, it'll be so much nicer."
"It's suicide. You'll be killing yourself, and there's no goddamned Heaven for suicides, I don't care who you are. So get up." She slaps the old lady a couple more times. "Get up!"
Lafitte joins in, shouting "Get up, damn you, get the fuck up!"
"Get up!"
"Stand up right now! This boy's fucking dead, and he needs you to get him out of here. You've got to go, and you've got to live, and you've got to take care of Savannah and Ginny and keep them all the hell away from me, so get the fuck up."
Colleen pulls on the old woman's arm while Lafitte lays into her. If she's going to stay, Colleen might as well, too. They've put up with too much, come too far. "Fuck, woman, be pitiful later. Get up!"
Mrs. Hoeck relents, probably more from the badgering than what they had to say. She stands, and she's gasping, trying not to cry. Colleen drags her along behind Lafitte and Ham, and the parking lot comes into view. It's a madhouse.
Colleen's SUV is completely covered on the driver's side, same as the few other vehicles in the lot. Mrs. Hoeck makes a sad noise and points to a car, her rental, Colleen supposes. It's been smashed—all the windows, all the doors, the tires slashed. One of the prison vans has slammed into the rear of it, too. Someone tried to get out, couldn't drive in the snow.
There are plenty of cons out here, scurrying around, creating new paths through the snow, not many braving a run. Quite a few head back inside. A couple guards that gave up on herding them all stand huddled beside a transport van. They've dug it out and cleared the side door, and it's running, belching out thick white exhaust, the heat probably on high. It looks to Colleen like a handful of cons are sitting inside. Nearby, another huddle of inmates in coats all watch the same thing—out there, half a mile down the Interstate, smeared by the whiteout, flashing blues and reds. State cops, firetrucks, SWAT vans. What's holding th
em up are snow plows. Big ones. Cruising along, three wide and staggered, scraping the road clear.
Lafitte says, "Shit."
"What do you care? Just, come on." Colleen pushes out ahead of him, pulls her keys from her pocket. Fingers numb, shivering, she tries to steady the fob. The cuts from the razor wire on the webs between thumbs and forefingers open up again as she flexes. Finally presses the unlock button twice and sees the ghostly tail lights answer. The guards take notice. Lafitte outside the walls. That's…goddamn, that's something big, isn't it? One of the guards pulls out a cell phone and starts texting. The other starts towards them. Good. This is good. Just what Colleen wants, let them see her rescue the old lady. But with Lafitte helping…what? Will that count against her? Has she got brain freeze now? Shit.
The passenger side snow is not as thick, and Colleen opens the back door, fluffy shit going everywhere, and gets out of the way so Lafitte can lean over and lay his boy across the backseat. He lingers for a moment before ruffling the kid's hair. He steps back.
Colleen tells Mrs. Hoeck to get in the front, but she says she wants to stay with Ham. She ducks inside the back, lifts Ham's head and rests it gently on her lap. Lafitte closes the door. The guard is there now, a good six feet back, shouting, "Jesus, Lafitte, stop! You can't go anywhere!"
He shakes his head. "Where the hell am I going to go? That's my son right there."
"Hands behind your head!"
"Did you fucking hear me?"
"Do it! Don't make me…"
But he's scared and Lafitte knows it and the Tazer barbs fire, stick to Lafitte's skin. He goes rigid but he doesn't go down. His lip bleeds. Bit clean through. He's still able to force his hand to grab the wires and yank out the barbs before charging the guard and knocking him on his ass. Colleen wonders how many times they've tazed the man. How many, over, and over again. How has he learned to take it like that?
He turns to Colleen. She's scared. The one time she's actually scared with Lafitte.
The Baddest Ass (Billy Lafitte #3) Page 15