The Baddest Ass (Billy Lafitte #3) (13 page)

"They won't believe you. Stick with me, though, I'll back up your story. We'll both get out of here. Blame the warden. Blame the system. I don't care, we'll both get a better deal."

"Mm mm." Ri'Chess closes his eyes and hums like his grandma used to when she knew he was fibbing. "Again, Mr. Garner, sir, that all depends on you being good to your word, and let's face it. You ain't. You ain't now and you certainly wouldn't be after this here, would you?"

Could be he really was that dumb as to just now be figuring out what's about to happen. Could be. Or to think that he can bargain his way out. What sort of cop is so arrogant as to think he can tell a lifer, now, to trust him and then let him have the run of it all? Like a steak opening a lion's cage, right?

Garner's still chirping. "They won't believe you. Somebody here will talk. You'll get sent someplace even worse than this. You'll
die
for this. You know I'm right."

Ri'Chess laughs. He imagines how Buddha must've sounded when he laughed. Bet it's pretty close. The men standing around him know better than to join in because this is Ri'Chess's moment. This is how it all turns their way. "Mr. Garner, you ever eat the food our fine cafeteria serves up for the men? I don't mean the specials they fix you, but the actual convict-made, convict-ate meals off the line?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. Just raises his hand and snaps his fingers. Two trustee cooks in their spattered aprons and funny paper hats fast-walk out of the back with a big goddamn pot between them, steam flowing behind. Sloshing the white cream of mushroom goop over, dripping like curdled milk down the stainless steel before going splat on the floor.

"Almost every day, boss. Every day. Some sort of big ass vat of oozing diarrhea. They were going to make this one into hot dish. Again. Goddamn, this some bad motherfucking shit." Ri'Chess rubs his nose. "Good
god
, man, you letting them feed this to us? You ever tasted it?"

Garner wrenches his neck back to watch the trustees. "You want better food? It's yours. Gourmet, even. Fried chicken, even! Whatever you want. Barbecue? Sweet potatoes?"

Even Jean Robert smiles at that one. Everybody except the two men straining with the pot laughs—one of them, little white boy got twig arms, but goddamn if every muscle in them ain't working hard to keep holding on—and one of the soldiers says to Garner, "You racist even when you about to die. That's stone cold, man. Gotta respect."

"I'm sorry, okay? Come on. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I didn't. I'm really trying here, guys. This wasn't all just for me, but for you, too."

"Enough," Ri'Chess says, slices his hand across his neck. "I didn't say nothing about fried chicken and collards, Massa. I
asked
you if you tried this hot dish. Have you?"

"My mom always cooked a great hot dish."

"Was it this one? You getting on my nerves now, boss."

"No, okay, no, no, I haven't. I've never eaten this food, okay? You want me to taste it, I'll taste it. Okay? Just…yes, I'll taste it."

Ri'Chess shrugs. "If I were you, I'd've said no. But hey, it's your funeral."

Another nod and the two trustees with the pot of bubbling cream of whatever stumble over and upend the whole pot on Garner's face. He doesn't even get a chance to scream because they aimed right for his mouth. Now he's thrashing his head, and the two men holding the cop's arms are getting splashed on and yelling "Shit!" because it burns and shit.

Ri'Chess yells out, "No, y'all doing it too fast! I said slow!"

Because then there's none left and Garner is spitting it every which way and hacking, trying to get a scream out, his back going rigid and arcing as they hold his arms and legs. The goop slides off his face, taking strips of skin with it, everything blistered and torn and angry red.

The guys with the pot set it on the next table. Sheepish. The little white boy said, "It was heavy and hot, that's all. I'm sorry. We've got more in the back, you want to try again."

Ri'Chess rocks in his chair until the momentum carries him up. He steps over to Garner's side, careful to avoid all the shit on the floor. The boss is still with it, sort of. His eyes are wide but blistered. He's finally cleared his mouth and nose and is taking in quick loud breaths.
Ruh ruh ruh
. His neck, his cheeks, his ears, all a pulpy mess. Chopped mushrooms and onions slide down his cheeks. Cream soup streaked with red. Can't even tell if the man realizes where he is anymore. Good. It isn't what Ri'Chess expected, but he's glad he got to see the motherfucker suffer this bad. He looks up at the two cooks.

"Yeah, why don't y'all try that again? Slow this time."

If Billy is cold, he's not showing it. Short, thin sleeves on the guard's shirt. Mrs. Hoeck imagines the even colder body of the man he took it from. She's glad Ham never took his coat off. In all the hubbub, it would have been left behind like her pink fluffy one, which she very much wishes she had now. The only thing keeping her from shivering is her silent prayer, over and over,
You sent him to me, now help him lead us out.

Hard to think of Billy as an angel, but the Lord works in mysterious ways and this is one time where He's having to work with what's available. Too sudden of a supernatural intervention—an instant clearing of the snow and eighty degree weather, or all the prisoners going to sleep just as a helicopter shows up—would fly in the face of faith. While the old Bible types needed such shows of the miraculous to get them on board, God now preferred more subtle methods.

Billy keeps ahead of them when they come to corners, takes the rear on long stretches, always circling. Then another open door, this one with a sheet shoved hard into the crack so that the lock couldn't catch when the power came back on. Echoes of shouting prisoners from every corner make Mrs. Hoeck flinch and lose her train of thought. The prayer reduced to
Dear Lord dear Lord dear Lord.

The door ahead, with its wire-enforced glass, looks more like the inside of a hospital than a prison. To the left is a glassed-in control room, able to keep an eye inside and out at all times. A big man appears at the door. He fills the entire doorway, then steps into the hall, fills most of that too. Fat but hard. Young, barely out of his teens. He's an Indian, Mrs. Hoeck knows, a Lakota, because it's part of her blood, too. Several generations back, not so prominent anymore, but you could still see it in the faces of her nieces, nephews, and cousins.

He nods to Billy as much as he can, too much neck fat in the way. "Lafitte."

"I need in."

"We can't do that."

Past this wall-of-man, Mrs. Hoeck sees faces drifting in and out of view at the glass. More Indian men, taking turns looking at Lafitte and his family. The cellblock behind them is smoky, a fire in the middle of the floor. The smell of melting plastic, scorched hair, and…she doesn't want to know what else, but she knows. Closes her eyes.

"Billy…"

He reaches back without turning and pats her arm.
Quiet
. "Zee. You know what's going on."

"Not about us. When they come for you, they won't find you with us."

"Is Al on board with that, too?"

Zee steps out of the way, lifts a hand towards the door. "You think he'd still be in there if he could be out here?"

"Like I'd know."

Shrugs. "He's long gone. First thing his people did was shank him. He didn't even light up that good. No fat on him."

Mrs. Hoeck gags, holds her hand to her mouth.

Zee says, "Sorry, ma'am." To Lafitte. "It's no go."

"Idiot, I'm not hiding out. I'm trying to get
them
out. I've got to go through E Block."

Zee stares like he heard Billy all wrong. "No one's in E Block."

"I know better. I'm going through E-block, and I'd rather it be nice and friendly."

The crowd at the glass begins to rumble, talk to each other, nod their heads. Going to be some sort of showdown.

Ham crowds closer to his grandmother, and she feels his shame. In front of all these men, in front of his own father, he can't help but grab hold of Nana for a lifeline. Like any man in here wouldn't tug on their own mommies' skirts all over again, though, if given the chance.

Zee steps closer to Billy and makes a show of peering in his eyes like he's a doctor. "You feeling alright, bro? Are we going to have some sort of problem here?"

"No problem."

"Then why don't you go out the front door like the smart bitches do?"

Billy spanks Zee softly on one of his cheeks. "I know that you know that you guys have a free pass through E Block. Same pass I'm using to get my people out."

"Shit, you talking about? Why would we still stick around—"

"Because you're making more money moving shit in here than if you were out on the Rez. More customers. Better food, too."

Another voice from behind Zee. "Enough, Ohanzee. Calm your whale-ass down."

Mr. Hoeck looks past Zee and sees a man part the bodies by the door and step through. He might be white, he might be Indian. He might be anything. He's the most wrinkled man Mrs. Hoeck has ever seen besides that missionary to India who claimed to be ninety but had the moves of a fifty-year-old.

"Calls himself ‘Shadow'. More like a blackout. His mom named him Trevor. Listen, Billy, you can't come in."

"I'm passing through."

The old man shakes his head. "No, no you're not. The Native Mob don't want you in here. It'll mess up their business."

He finally sees Mrs. Hoeck and Ham, makes a noise in his chest. "What's this?"

"They were visiting. I think the cops fucked up, cut the lights too soon."

"Then why are they still off?"

"Because I'm still here." Billy crosses his arms. He's shivering, if only a little. Finally. "I can't take them back through the front. Garner's not going to let them leave now. They've already been nearly killed, so I want them out. Me, I'll stay. But I want them out and to their car and on the road and sending help for the rest of us."

"Shit, you don't think we've been calling already? We got a signal, finally. Help's on the way. Just hold tight."

"I don't think anyone knows they're here."

The old man turns his head, shouts out to Zee, "Wanna get this lady a phone, please?"

Billy says, "Why can't I just take her through?"

"You do that, someone's going to figure out how you did it. And that means the business stops. And that means unhappy mugwumps. Very fucking unhappy. This shit's bad enough. It'll be lucky if they just leave us be. But as long as they don't know about our revolving door in E Block, that's the way we'd like it to stay, my boy."

A hand breaks through the crowd at the door, and another man takes the phone in it, steps over to Zee, who takes it and waddles to the old man, who hands it to Billy. "Let her call."

A nod. He turns to Mrs. Hoeck and hands her the phone, then kneels by his son. "Going to be okay. You've been strong, man, very strong. Bump me."

Billy holds up his fist. Ham stares at it. Buries his head deeper into his grandmother's dress. His father says, "No, no, look." He takes the boy's hand, rolls the fingers into a fist, then barely taps the knuckles. "Like that. Do it like that."

He lets go. Ham keeps his fist up, one eye now turned towards Billy, who says, "Now, here you go."

Ham gives his dad a fist bump.

"Yeah, that's real cool. You're a cool guy."

"I'm scared."

"I know, I know. So am I. Every day I'm scared. But I'll tell you a secret. Want to know?"

Ham nods. His eye a bit wider now.

Billy leans towards the boy and whispers, "Every guy in here is scared. We just don't show it is all."

Mrs. Hoeck detaches Ham from her leg and takes a few steps. She slides the phone open. It's nicer than her own, which is in her purse, which is in reception. "Do I just…I just…do I call 911?"

Zee's going to show her how to dial when they hear hard steps echoing from the way they'd just come. Clanking and rustling, metal and boots.

Ham melts into Billy this time. He picks the boy up and turns to the old man. "Come on, Lyle. Really."

He takes a deep breath. "Should let them have you."

"It's cops. Nothing's going to happen to any of you."

"It's not cops who are the problem. Not today."

"What?"

Lyle stares down the hall. They can make out a lone flashlight beam bouncing around. "We can't risk it. They'll tear us up. He's got more power here than the Warden, than Garner, than Al did…shit."

Mrs. Hoeck watches Billy. He's holding Ham like a natural, even though the boy has grown well past an easy size to hold. He looks confused. Eyes back and forth between Lyle and whoever is chasing them. If Mrs. Hoeck were forced to choose, she realizes she'd go with Billy. Good God, sweet Jesus.

Billy loses the scrunched eyebrows. "Ri'Chess."

Lyle keeps staring. The footsteps quiet down. Whoever it is knows they've been heard. Going to sneak up. Flashlight beam disappears. The old man shakes his head, then turns to Zee. "Let them in."