The Baddest Ass (Billy Lafitte #3) (9 page)

Colleen remembers the little boy and his grandmother in the waiting room. Who were they here to see? Were they still in the building?

"Everyone knows?"

"If they didn't know, we let them have a snow day. There's not even a doctor here right now. The inmates do all their own cleaning, cooking."

"Aren't they going to notice? Just, like, leaving them alone?"

"They're used to it. We're an electronic panopticon. Big Brother. We can swoop in at any time. They learn what gets our attention and what doesn't. New age prison based on the oldest idea—we're always watching, but you can't see us."

The moment she says
Yes
, he'll clink the cuffs on. There's no other way this makes any sense. He could be just looking to trap Rome, too, if she punches in his phone number. Stall, Hartle, stall.

"Can't be done. Can't just snap my fingers. I'm going to need to get back home. If you're serious, he'll still be here next week. I'll call you."

"It's now or never." He holds up two fingers. "We either seal the deal now, today, quickly, please, or you leave here in handcuffs telling a wild story that all of my staff will refute, especially considering the video and audio of you with Ricardo. Since, you know, it really does screw up any defense you might have."

Motherfuckers. Goddamn it. God. Damn.

She sniffs. The heat has thawed her. She's dripping from her nose, her hair, her chin. "I…"

Nothing else. What's the point? She couldn't figure out this disaster of a trip with two days to plan
and
with Rome's help, so how's she going to think her way out of this alone?

Garner rolls his chair closer to her, past the cardboard onto the rug, and says, "It's okay. I swear. You would have done the same thing to get what you wanted. Now, all you have to do—"

Then the lights go out. The heater goes out. Frantic scratching and beeping on Garner's walkie-talkie.

"Not yet! Not yet! Jesus!"

"Why the hell—"

"—Whole fuckin' gym's going to light up. Get 'em up—"

Garner shouts, "I told you not until I gave the word!"

"I thought you said—"

"—are still here. Repeat, the visitors are still here! Are you crazy? Right in front of—"

Gunshots. Two.

Garners shouts, "Who did that? Who shot that gun? We're not ready!"

Colleen's eyes haven't adjusted yet, so she hears but can't see Garner get up, slam into the card table and trip, bringing the whole thing down. She pushes out of the way as he scrambles for the door, still shouting, "We're not ready!" He flings it open and it slams into Colleen's shoulder. Blind, but she's got to take it. Garner's still in the doorway. She picks up the folding chair and slams it into his back, then again. Just howls now. Drops to his knees. She gives him another on the head and he's writhing and Colleen searches blindly for his keys, cell phone, whatever.

Bouncing flashlight beams in the hallway. She doesn't have time. Shit. Out and down the hall, crouching, moving at rat speed. Where? Back the way she came? More radio screech. Doppler effect, stretching away.
"Garner's down. The Bitch is out! Get it back on!"

When they get the generators going, she'll be found. Stupid to run. Just going to be worse for her. But…they knew. They let it happen. They
let
him do that to her. It doesn't matter what will happen later. Toss her in with the beasts and in general pop and let her rot. But if she gets out now, they've got to keep their mouths shut, right? It goes both ways. The only way to win is for the guards to keep her here. Ain't happenin'.

Until she remembers the old woman and the boy and closes her eyes and flashes green behind her eyelids thinking, like, she should do something, right? Make sure they're okay.

Can she remember the way back to the waiting room, even?

No gun. No keys. No light.

Colleen opens her eyes and makes up her mind: the parking lot.

He was supposed to turn off the power when he was told to. And someone on the radio had said Garner was talking to the Bitch right then and there and that it would probably be okay in a few minutes to power down, hold off on turning it back for a few minutes, they'd tell him when the bastard had been taken care of, the scene staged just so. Then one of the guards in with Lafitte shouts "He's freaking out here. We've got to do this now."

"I thought Garner said—"

"Shit, man, now! Now!"

So he switches it all off with a flourish like a conductor at the computer keyboard. Down, down, down. All the power and the lights and the security cameras, and the backups had been "damaged" by the blizzard earlier. And for the grand finale, he punches the button and throws his arms out in a triumphant finishing move and knocks his walkie-talkie off the table. It flies farther than he expects, bounces hard off the wall and cracks open on the ground, batteries going every which way.

He gets on his knees and tries to find them with only the laptop monitor's light to help. Looks like one battery rolled into a heating vent hole that the builders hadn't covered yet. Can't even get his hand in past his wrist. And it's gone anyway. More batteries. Where the hell can he find more batteries or another walkie?

They told him not to leave the control room, but how can he know when to light it all up again without a radio? So he unplugs the laptop and carries it with him to the door. "Guide the way, O Toshiba Satellite."

He opens the door. The hallway is not empty.

Three of them, two black and one white, all in hairnets. The two in front lunge. He feels the blades—paper cuts on the way in until the fuckers twist and yank them out again. Twenty, thirty, more, and one pushes his chin up and stabs him deep in the throat.

The worst is the blood pouring down his throat, into his lungs, not being able to cough it up as they take the computer from him, shove him to the ground, and head back into the control room. One of them…awful thing to realize when you're dying…one of them has a walkie talkie.

The trustees close the door. Then it's quiet again except for his grunts, and those don't last long.

When the lights go out, Ri'Chess plays along. It's his cue. Garner had wanted a "convincing riot", enough to let the authorities know how much of a mess it all was, more than any one man's fault. Worse. It was the government's fault for letting them open when they weren't ready yet.

His top soldiers stand around his bunk, waiting, and once the lights go, Ri'Chess takes a deep breath, takes his time, and asks for a little help getting himself up. Kind of sleepy after fucking that white girl. Wasn't even sure if she swung his way, you know. Farm-raised girl. Tomboy. But damn, hand him over any pussy at this point and he'd think she was all Pamela Anderson and Beyonce rolled up in one. He got what he wanted. She had no idea, stupid bitch. No idea that
she
wasn't going to get what she wanted. Not from him, not from Garner, and sure as hell not from Lafitte. They might kill that biker's ass dead, but Miss Red won't enjoy it. Garner says catching her and Rome, whoever that is, in the act,
plus
killing Lafitte, is a public service, like the Peace Corps or some shit. Anyway, how much would this Rome guy pay to keep his name out of it? More than seventeen grand, amen.

Ri'Chess says, "Y'all tear it up" and his men go apeshit. Motherfuckin' wild in that gym. Sheets on fire. Bunks pushed over, the metal twisted, some pieces broken off, ready to use against whoever tries to stop them. They also start wrapping their blankets around themselves, then pulling on the thermal longjohns, getting their coats. Temp is dropping fast, and the fires will only burn so long.

Should be happening all over the prison. Every cellblock. Ri'Chess knows Garner put the bug in Al's ear over in the Aryan wing. Same with Jorge in the Spic camp. This cop crazy. Crazy motherfucker. Like he's going to get away with it. If anyone could, though…

Not if Ri'Chess can help it.

The lights going out is one thing. The lights staying out is what he counts on. And after about ten minutes, the walkie talkie in his bunk squawks. All the brothas nearby stop, calm the fuck down, and turn. Ri'Chess has one of his fetch it for him. Says, "Yeah?"

Answer: "We're in."

That gets a shout. A nice loud one. That gets the blood going. That's the deal.

Ri'Chess had gotten his own message out to Al and Jorge. They'd spread it even more. Goddamned Garner got smug, thought the cons owed him something. For what? For letting them do in the open what they would've done in private at any other lock-up? Fuck that. A con is a con and a cop is a cop and that's it. Fuck if Ri'Chess is going to let a few favors turn him into a cop's bitch. Get some trustees in the right place at the right time—cafeteria guys got a lot of freedom—and the whole place is now theirs.

"Listen!" Holds up his hands. Like a movie or something. Thinking of Forrest Whitaker, James Earl Jones, those cats. Like either of them could survive in here. "We're gonna get the doors open soon. Now, I won't be mad at y'all who want to run on out of here. I know, I know. But you need to realize, that storm out there means you'll freeze before you get anywhere. Next town's fifteen miles. I'll bet the cops are already on their way. So if you think you bad, mothafucka, start running. But you want to have some fun, stick with me and let's tear this place down!"

Big shout. Hooting, football game style. This is it. He really doesn't mind the handful or so of guys heading for the exit, waiting for the doors to open. Shit, he knows most of them will be right back here tonight, so let them have some fun. A good story to tell the kids when they visit one day, that time Daddy escaped, sort of.

He lifts the walkie talkie. "You got it yet?"

"Almost."

"Doors first. Lights when I tell you, but that'll be a while. Need to take them by surprise."

"We on it."

Ri'Chess heads over to the gym doors. Even if there is a cop out there and he's carrying a gun the way Garner warned they would be tonight, the man ain't going to shoot all of them. Over sixty strong. The crowd parts when they see Ri'Chess at the back. but he shakes his head, says, "Get the bitches up front. And any of you wanting to make a run, you right behind them."

The middle-managers do their job, get everyone organized. Ri'Chess stands in the back, his man Jean Robert by his side. Barely speaks English, let alone his native French. Did some nasty-ass things in his life, especially back in Haiti, which makes him the perfect soldier. After all, prison life is much better than what he'd had on the island. So Ri'Chess knows Jean Robert isn't going nowhere. Motherfucker not even wearing a shirt in this weather. Never did. Looks like a corpse already anyway.

Ri'Chess turns to Jean Robert, cranes his neck. "Ready?"

A nod. Nostrils flare. That's all Ri'Chess needs to know. He says, "Open, sesame," into the walkie talkie.

Buzz from the electric locks as the bolts move out of the way. The gym doors open and all the cons rush forward. Yes, there go some gunshots. But only a handful before they stop. Just enough time for a con to wrestle the gun from the cops' hands and—

There it is
. The shots that mean the cops are dead. Jean Robert marches on ahead as the crowd clears and leaves two dead cops in their wake, crotch shots and head shots. Ri'Chess lags behind. Shit, man, he wants to soak in as much as possible while he can. He steps over one of the cops, half-a-face left, and spits on him. What a great fucking day this has been so far.

Gunshots.

Mrs. Hoeck had asked about guns when she called. Obviously, since she was bringing her grandson along. She was assured that only the tower guards and those in the public areas had guns. The guards who worked with the inmates did not. It was too big a risk. They instead carried non-lethal deterrents like pepper spray, but even that had to be hard to reach. Men with nothing to lose make big moves. The key is to make it difficult enough for them that help arrives before they can score.

But what she hears now, just on the other side of that wall, are gunshots. Billy wouldn't have the gun, of course, so that meant…

She pulls Ham close to her and hits the floor. Arching over him. Praying in tongues. The guard with her takes hold of her arm, jerks it nearly out of the socket. "C'mon! C'mon!" Lots of radio squawking and yelling. Mrs. Hoeck holds tight to Ham and stays on that floor because if the guards have guns and are trying to kill Billy…God help them.

The guard is on the radio, shouting, "I need help! I can't make her leave! What happened?"

Gunshots have gone quiet on the other side of the glass. Mrs. Hoeck lifts her head. Hard to see, but the guard is right there in her face, hands on his knees. "We need to go now. It's dangerous to stay. Get up!"

Ham struggles. Too strong for her to hold him steady anymore. He breaks free and wanders down the room, stares into the glass.

A light clicks on. Flashlight beam on Ham's face from the other side. Then the guard breathes
Shit
and gets his own out and on, heads towards Ham. He's on the radio again. "Robin Hood and Little John, you shot him? You fucking shot him?"