The legs of a cripple.
For twenty years, T-Nail did solid time. He hustled for the Folk Nation while inside. Drugs. Booze. A numbers racket. Even paralyzed, he commanded Respect with a capital R. He had homies who had his back, and everyone owed him favors.
Even though he was paralyzed, he was feared.
Because of that fear, no one messed with him. Not the People, or the chollo sets, or those Aryan ass crackers with the Nazi ink. Everyone showed respect. T-Nail smoked up when he wanted. Got his drank on. Ran his game and ran it tight. It wasn’t freedom, but T-Nail got by.
Ceptin’ for hoes. His dick was as useless as his legs.
In one way, it made the time easier. Didn’t have to resort to no homo shit to keep his wick wet. Been so long, he couldn’t even remember what coming felt like.
Or what walking felt like.
“‘Sup, homes.”
His cellie, a lifer from the Maniac Latin Disciples, came into the cell with an exaggerated p-walk. But he wasn’t pimpin’.
“You got it,” T-Nail stated what he already knew.
“Cost a carton of squares,” he said, grinning, “but I got the goods.”
He pulled a rusty old length of iron pipe out from inside his pants, holding it out to T-Nail like he was about to knight him.
“Cool.” T-Nail hefted the iron bar. The weight was good. Solid. This would work.
“You… you sure you want to do this?”
“You shading me?”
T-Nail searched the man’s face for defiance. He only saw fear.
“No, man. No way. But this shit is hardcore.”
“I’m hardcore.”
“For real. You… you need help?”
More fear there. And something else. Unease. This man had seen violence. Done violence. But he didn’t want to be involved with what was coming next.
T-Nail shook his head. “I got this.”
“Okay. Shit. You doin’ this now?”
“No time like the present.”
“Well, damn. Been a pleasure doing time with you, yo.”
The Mexican offered a fist bump. T-Nail returned it.
“Gimme two minutes, then call the bulls,” T-Nail said.
“You got it, homes.”
“Don’t leave me hangin’. There’s gonna be blood.”
The Mexican pounded his chest, threw up a gang sign, and left T-Nail alone in their cell.
T-Nail pulled up his left pants leg. He stared at his withered, toothpick leg, letting his revulsion grow.
Can’t walk.
Can’t fuck.
Been locked up for two dimes.
Long time.
Half a lifetime.
No possibility of parole.
T-Nail used his hands to lift his leg up to the bed. He stretched it out, putting the ankle on the frame, and thought about his trial.
You did this to me.
You cop bitch.
Shot me with that teeny tiny little gun.
Didn’t have the guts to kill me. To put one in the brain pan. To put me down for good.
Naw. You went and crippled a brother.
Crippled him, then locked his ass up and threw away the goddamn key.
She got to testify in disguise. Dressed in a wig and sunglasses. In a goddamn court of law. Didn’t have to give no name. Some bullshit about protecting undercover officers.
For twenty years, T-Nail had called in countless favors to find out who she was.
For twenty years, he paid and bribed and threatened everyone he could to get a name.
But the cop bitch was a ghost.
Until last week.
Got your name now, bitch.
Got your name, your record, your address, your blood type, your family, your whole damn life. I finally know who you are.
And I am gonna make you suffer.
T-Nail raised the rebar.
He didn’t hesitate.
He never hesitated when it came to violence.
Didn’t matter if he was nailing some snitch to the wall, or doing it to himself.
What needed to be done, got done.
He brought the bar down with all of his strength, right below his knee.
WHACK!
Heard his own bone snap. Watched it bend inward at a forty-five degree angle.
This gonna be you soon, girl. ‘Cept you gonna feel it.
WHACK!
His leg bent further.
Gonna do all sorts of creative shit to you.
WHACK!
The flesh on his shin split, and the broken bone peeked through, sticking out an inch.
You and your husband. Phineas.
WHACK!
The blood was really spurting now, pumping with his heartbeat. T-Nail tucked the rebar under his mattress, then reached down and grabbed his ankle.
You and your daughter. Samantha.
He pulled, hard. The fractured bone came up six inches, jutting out of his flesh like a bloody white spear.
I’m gonna hurt you more ways than you can count, Jacqueline Daniels. You’re going to feel pain on a world record level.
“Guard!” he screamed. “Broke my muthafuckin’ leg!”
Then he waited to be taken to the infirmary, holding his leg above the knee so he didn’t bleed to death.
Many times, in the past twenty years, T-Nail had thought about dying.
But now…
Now he finally had something to live for.
“Shoulda killed me when you had the chance, bitch.”
PHIN
There was baby shit everywhere. The sink. The floor. The walls. It was an apocalypse of feces.
Phin’s face pinched. “Jesus, McGlade. It looks like a cow exploded.”
Harry had his son sitting in the toilet. Not on the toilet. In it, like it was a bathtub. McGlade was bouncing him up and down, trying to rub Junior’s butt on the seat to scrape some of the mess off.
“Father to father, here’s a tip: Prune juice and bran flakes shouldn’t be mixed.”
“Who could have guessed.”
Phin had brought the mop with him, and got to work on the floor. All he succeeded in doing was smearing it into long, brown streaks. He was amazed that anyone, anywhere, ever had more than one child. Phin loved Sam, but he was so past the poopy diaper stage, and had no desire to revisit it ever again.
“So, what’s going on with you and Jack?”
“She’s been… tense lately.”
“I told you. You gotta use lube if you want to get anywhere near her backdoor.”
“Enough with the butt jokes. Especially while I’m mopping up after your child.”
“Sorry. I do it for attention. I was adopted, you know.”
“I know.”
Harry flushed the toilet. Junior must have enjoyed the swirling water, because he cackled in obvious glee.
“You know what you guys need? A vacation. Get away from everything. Have some quality time together. Dump the kid and take off.”
Phin had suggested that to Jack, several times. Drop Sam with her mother, go someplace. Reconnect. Rekindle the romance. Enjoy one another.
But Jack hadn’t wanted to leave Samantha. Samantha came first. Always. So Phin focused on being a good parent, a good provider, a good protector, even as their marriage eroded.
“Jack doesn’t trust Sam with others.”
“Why not?”
“Luther Kite.”
Luther was the latest in a seemingly endless string of maniacs who had it out for Jack. His whereabouts were unknown.
“I hate that guy. But no one has seen him for, what? Two years? Maybe he crawled into a hole and died.”
“Convince my wife of that.”
“Okay. You want me to do that now, while you finish up with Junior?”
“No.”
“So take Sam along. Find some resort that has one of those kiddie jails.”
“Kiddie jails?”
McGlade nodded. “Like casinos. You drop your k
id off in some hotel-run daycare, you and Mom can get your freak on, booze it up, zone in on the baccarat action, then pick up your bundle of joy at the end of the day.”
“Aren’t those daycares run by stoned teenagers who don’t give a shit and just plop the kids in front of a TV for eight hours?”
“That’s a stereotype,” Harry said. “Sometimes the TVs don’t work.”
“So anyone could walk off with my child.”
“No. You and the kid get matching wristbands.”
“You think a wristband is going to stop a determined criminal?”
“They’ve also got locks and stuff. Probably.”
“What about guns?”
McGlade frowned. “I’m pretty sure the hotel babysitters don’t have guns.”
“Someone comes in with a gun, points it at the stoned teenager, demands to take a child.”
“You’re dark, man. You think of some really dark shit.”
“It’s a bad idea, Harry.”
“How about fatso? You trust him?”
Harry was referring to Jack’s other ex-partner, Herb Benedict.
“Herb’s on vacation.”
“Where’d he go?”
“Nowhere. It’s a staycation. He’s catching up on The Walking Dead.”
“Is the new season out?” Harry asked. “I tried to record it, but my DVR is full of clown porn.”
“I don’t know. I’m not really into zombies.”
“Then don’t ever sleep with Harry Jr.’s mother,” Harry said, giving himself an invisible rim shot with sound effects.
“I won’t.”
“Seriously. Don’t. It’s not a jealousy thing. Sex with her is truly awful. Toss a bologna sandwich on your bed and have a go at that. It’ll have more enthusiasm. And be warmer.”
“Duly noted.”
“Salami works, too.”
“What can I say or do to get you off the topic of having intercourse with lunch meat?”
Harry rubbed his nose on his sleeve. “So that’s it? You hide in the house with your daughter for the next twenty years?”
Twenty years? At the current rate, Phin didn’t think the marriage would last until spring. Jack froze whenever he tried to touch her. She couldn’t relax. Not even at night. Sam had a perfectly good bedroom, but she still slept in their bedroom, which put an even tighter damper on their sex life. Jack would spend the night tossing and turning, wake up tired and pissy, and Phin couldn’t think of anything he could do to help her.
“Do you love them?” Harry asked.
Phin didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Are you happy?”
“I’m happy they’re safe.”
“It’s not what I asked.”
He shrugged. “Right now, it’s all I got.”
“Fair enough. I know a good cryonics lab. Got a deal with them to freeze my head and my junk when I die. You can freeze Jack and Sam for a hundred years, thaw them out when the world is a better place.”
Harry took Junior out of the toilet, wrapping him in the last clean towel. Phin tossed the other dirty towels, and the mop, into the bathtub to wash later.
“Or, there’s another alternative,” Harry continued. “You go somewhere no one knows about. No credit cards. Pay cash for everything. No cameras at every stop light. No Internet. Somewhere no one can find you.”
“No place like that exists.”
“Actually,” McGlade said, his smile as wide as a zebra’s ass. “It does.”
T-NAIL
Jesus,” the prison doctor winced at T-Nail’s leg. “You did this falling?”
T-Nail shrugged. “Doing some chin ups. Landed bad.”
“This is… this is one of the worst compound fractures I’ve ever seen. I don’t know if the leg can even be saved.”
“So cut that shit off.”
“We’re not equipped for that here. I… I’m calling the hospital.”
“Doc, I ain’t in no pain, but I’m kinda light-headed.”
“Let me check your O2 levels.” He clipped some electronic gizmo to T-Nail’s finger. “You’re hypoxic. We’ll get you started on oxygen.” The doctor put a mask up to T-Nail’s face, looping the elastic around his ears. “Just breathe normally. We’ve got the bleeding under control. You’re going to be okay. They’ll be able to take care of you in the ER.”
T-Nail looked at Chalmers, the guard who brought him here. “Looks like we’re going for a ride, Chalmers.”
The oxygen mask hid his grin.
JACK
A cabin in the Wisconsin north woods,” I repeated.
“It’s more than a cabin, Jack,” Harry said. “It’s the only house on a private lake. No one else is around for miles. I bought it a few years ago, when I had some dealings with several shady characters who shall remain nameless, and I thought I might need a safe house.”
“You got involved with the Mafia.”
“If I go into detail about my business dealings it could end in subpoenas and/or concrete shoes for you. Let’s just call them shady characters.”
“So you bought a hidey-hole.”
“This place is entirely off the grid. Wind turbine power. No phone. One road in, one road out. Great security. All set up under a fake name.”
“Sounds like prison.”
“Far from it. There’s hiking. A hot tub. Pool table. I’ve got a million DVDs and games up there. Private lake is a few hundred meters away, and you can fish. Food for a month. And a full security package. Cameras. Weapons. It’s really secure. The cabin could weather a siege if it needed to. But it won’t need to, because no one knows where it is.”
“Why haven’t you ever told me about this?” I asked.
“Deniability,” Harry said. “That way, if someone tried to find me through you, you couldn’t give them anything. They could torture you for weeks and weeks, but I’d be safe.”
“You’re always thinking.”
“I know, right?”
“What if I needed to call someone?”
“That kind of defeats the purpose of a safe house, Jack. Cell reception is spotty, but there is partial coverage. If you really need to make a call, there’s a town half an hour north, near the Minnesota border. Spoonward. Population under five hundred. Quaint, in a Mayberry RFD kind of way. But with 4G and WiFi. Buy a disposable cell at the Walmart, and you’re off the grid.”
I batted it around between my ears. A change of scene would be nice. Getting away from society. The tranquility of the woods. A chance to actually relax.
Phin raised an eyebrow. “What do you say, Jack?”
“I’m on the fence.”
“Also, there’s porn,” Harry said. “Lots of porn.”
“I’m not sure your porn is a selling point.” Phin glanced at me. “Besides, I don’t think we’ll need it.”
I kept my face neutral. If porn helped us rekindle our spark, I was all in. I hadn’t felt sexy in a long, long time.
“Do you have the Marriage Saver App on your tablet?” Harry asked.
“I don’t want to know what that is,” Phin said.
“But I’m going to tell you anyway. You brought up porn.”
“No, you brought up porn.”
“The Marriage Saver App,” Harry pressed on, “is a video showing a close-up likeness of a celebrity, moaning. You strap your tablet over your partner’s face while having sex. So it seems like you’re with someone hotter.”
“Nice,” I said. “Sounds like the perfect way to connect.”
“Got one that looks like Scarlett Johansson?” Phin gave me a playful wink.
“I do,” Harry nodded. “Both with long hair and short hair.”
Two could play this game. “How about one that looks like Robert Downey Jr.?”
“I’ve got all of The Avengers,” Harry said. “The Samuel L. Jackson simulation swears at you for five minutes then pulls out a gun and threatens to blow your fucking cock off. I’m not into dudes, but I’ve used it on a partner once or twice. Th
e man’s star power arouses me.”
“If we go, what about Samantha?” I asked.
“I’m more than willing to watch your daughter while you’re gone,” Harry said.
“No. Seriously.”
Harry frowned. “I’m sensing you don’t think I’m a responsible parent.”
I pointed to Junior, sitting on the floor. “You’re letting your son play with your gun.”
“I took out the bullets. I think. And he’s not strong enough to pull the trigger.”
“You’re a terrible human being,” I said.
“Yeah, I know. How about Tangi? I have custody of Junior for the rest of the month, but maybe I could get her to watch the kids for a week.”
“Your baby mama?” Phin asked. “She’s as irresponsible as you are, Harry.”
“That’s impossible.”
“She left your child in the back of a cab,” I said. “And forgot about him for five hours.”
“Those Persians returned him.”
“She let him stick a fork in an electrical outlet.”
“That was my watch. And I have a circuit breaker. He just got a strong shock.”
“Didn’t Junior swallow dishwashing soap while she was drying her hair?” I asked.
“Yes. But dishwashing soap isn’t poisonous. And she told me his puke was pretty much all bubbles. It practically cleaned itself up.”
“You two shouldn’t have had children.”
“And yet, we did, and he’s fine.”
Junior had taken off his towel and had his head caught under my couch.
“Not happening,” I said.
“How about Mom?” Harry asked, pulling his son free.
“Mom is on one of her cruises.”
“One of those Viagra buffet things? Where all the old people have nonstop sex?” Harry frowned. “Why do they even stop at ports? No one gets off the ship. They all stay in their rooms and play with each other’s wrinkles. It’s one big geriatric booty call. Didn’t she break a hip on the last one?”
“Let’s change the subject,” Phin said. “I don’t like picturing your mother having sex.”
“Why not?” I asked. “Because when a woman gets past a certain age, she isn’t a sexual being anymore?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Maybe it’s the sound,” Harry said. “All those brittle old bones creaking and popping. It’s like squeezing a bag of chips.” He hooded his eyes. “So I’ve heard.”
Rum Runner - A Thriller (Jacqueline Jack Daniels Mysteries Book 9) Page 3