The Baddest Ass (Billy Lafitte #3) (17 page)

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.

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 his 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.

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?"

She nods. Her voice is shaky. "We take the children down there."

"It's got to be a wonderful place to grow up."

"Amen. Young man, I can't believe you found your way into such a place as this. Why are you here?"

Dusty grins and squeezes her fingers. "Oh, let's not dwell on the old me. People make mistakes."

She should know better. Something in the back of her mind tells her so. But it's as if everything in the real world has suddenly been separated into very distinct layers. She is three different people, and she cannot make the one understand the other. The grieving grandmother is numb. The physical woman is trying to get away from the noise and the smells. The spirit is praying, but it's not stupid. It knows the nice young man is leading her away for the wrong reasons. Maybe she doesn't care. Maybe she hopes Jesus will lift her from pain right before it happens. Maybe it will be more of a joy to be with her grandson in Heaven than to survive here in this place.

She hears Dusty say to Redfish, "Do you even know the way?"

"Naw, man, I just heard it's in the basement."

"I'm not going down there. That's crazy. Colder down there than up here."

"All I know is this kid is heavy. We need a room, like, now."

Kid is heavy
. Mrs. Hoeck turns her head. The black man has a child slung over his shoulder. The child is wearing Ham's shoes. Or shoe—only one. How did a child get in here? What is going on?

Dusty says, "Ma'am?" She turns her head to him. "You don't worry about a thing, alright? You rest easy."

Dusty goes on ahead, trying several different doors. All locked, but he bangs his shoulder into each. One finally gives. He stands in the doorway and says, "Perfect." Then waves Mrs. Hoeck over. He guides her into the room. It's a bedroom, sort of. There's a bed inside, rumpled sheets. It smells like sex in here, and there are condoms in a basket, tissues around the trashcan. Dusty leads her over to a loveseat and helps her settle into it. Such a nice young man. She barely registers Redfish bringing in the child and slinging him onto the bed like a sack of red potatoes, ready to be boiled along with the crawfish. She looks forward to that, going home and having a crawfish boil with her family. With Ginny and Savannah. Little Savannah. She'll need to buy her a pretty dress for her brother's funeral. Oh Lord oh Lord oh Lord.