Buried Biker (23 page)

“I’d say you should lock him up, and he’d be likely safer in the county jail than he would be out on the streets. Or in prison.”

“Why would you say that?”

“’Cause some people are pretty pissed at him.” I thought about Old Buckles, who had plenty of his buddies both on the street and in the prison system.

“Like you?”

“I’m not gonna do anything to him.” At least nothing that might be traced to me and get me locked up again.

“Suppose I told you he wasn’t in such good shape when we found him?”

“I’d say he deserved whatever happened to him.”

Montgomery grimaced. “I almost hate to tell you this, Jesse, but…”

Belkins cut in. “Jesse Damon, I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Harvey McGillian, also known as Razorback.”

Carrying the bedding that I’d been issued, I was escorted to my assigned cell. K-pod again. High security. No surprise there. Once again, the cell had only one other occupant. They must be low on high-security inmates. My cellmate was lying on his bunk, his face to the wall. Maybe asleep. He didn’t move when the door slid open, and I stepped in. I put my stuff on the top bunk on the other side, trying to be quiet so I didn’t wake him up.

The door slammed shut. I’ve never heard any other sound like that, the definitive clang of a cell door closing behind me, the lock snicking tight.

The CO sat at the desk in the unused dayroom, his feet propped up and his radio at hand. He looked sleepy, but I wasn’t fooled. He was monitoring everything that went on in the cellblock.

The cell was at the end of the row. Since I’d been processed before the jail went into nighttime lockdown mode, they’d had access to the whole range of sizes in stored jumpsuits, and I’d been issued a one that more or less fit. At least I didn’t have to keep grabbing the neck of it to keep it from slipping off my shoulder.

After I’d made my bed and stashed the contents of my hygiene kit, I sat on a bottom bunk, rereading my charging papers. Like I wasn’t sure what they said. The distinctive scent of the carbonless copy paper tickled my nose.

Confused thoughts churned in my head, none of them helpful. How was Kelly? What kind of evidence did they have that made them think I’d killed Razorback? How likely was it that the state’s attorney would seek the death penalty? Why did Black Rose insist that I’d had sex with her? What lies had Aaron told them?

My stomach churned, too.

There was that jail cell trauma welling up inside me again. Reading the charges over and over again didn’t help. Especially worrying was the bit about first degree murder and reserving the right to file a capital case. I’d been through similar situations before, but it didn’t get any easier with repetition. Bile rose in my throat. I hoped I could keep from throwing up.

My cellmate stirred. He stretched and rolled over, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands like a little kid waking up from a nap.

His face was bruised and swollen. Was that a requirement for being assigned to K-pod?

He sat up and looked at me. His face contorted in fear.

It was Cappy, the guy who’d given me a hard time the other day when I’d been locked in the holding cell.

He leapt to his feet and clutched the bars at the front of the cell. “Hey, CO!” he called.

The CO at the desk hardly moved. “What’dya want?”

“I want out of here!”

A collective laugh went up from the inmates in the surrounding cells. An elderly, cracked voice from further on down the row shouted, “So do we all, my boy. So do we all.”

“I mean it! First chance he gets, this guy’s gonna hurt me! Maybe kill me!”

With a mighty sigh, the CO swung his heavy boots onto the floor and straightened his belt. He grabbed his radio and made his way down to in front of our cell.

“Now what’s going on?”

“He’s threatened to kill me! You need to get him out of here.”

The CO peered at me. “You threaten him?” he asked.

As anyone who’s ever had to appear in court without access to street clothes knows, it’s not easy to look innocent when dressed in a jail jumpsuit, but I tried my best. “No, sir. I didn’t say nothing at all to him.”

“Make a threatening gesture?”

“No, sir.”

“I can call for someone to rewind the tapes and take a look,” he warned.

“Go ahead and do that, sir. I just been sitting on the bottom bunk here. He’s been asleep. I haven’t said a word to him.”

The CO turned his attention to Cappy. “What did he say to you?”

“That I was gonna be sorry. That I’d better hope I was released before he was put in the general population.”

Scratching his head under his hat, the CO said, “That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Neither one of you is in the general population.”

“I know. But he’s my cell buddy now! That’s even worse. All he’s got to do is wait until I’m asleep, and he can strangle me.”

“Weren’t you just asleep now?”

“Yeah.”

“And he didn’t try to strangle you, did he?”

“No. But he might.”

“And you might try to strangle him. What’s the difference?”

Cappy looked genuinely frightened. “I’m just a two-bit minor criminal. He’s a murderer. And a sex offender. And Lord knows what all else.”

The CO shook his head. “Why don’t you just wait until he’s gone to sleep before you fall asleep yourself? Then he won’t be able to strangle you.”

“You’re not taking this very seriously, are you?” Cappy asked.

“I’m trying to understand. He’s just sitting there. I haven’t heard a peep out of this cell, except for your whining.”

The inmates in the surrounding cells, who had been listening intently, starting making peeping noises and laughing. The CO smiled, but Cappy just shook his head violently.

“I’m gonna sue this damn jail if anything happens to me,” he said. “And sue you, too.”

“Is that right?” the CO said.

“Yep.”

“If he strangles you and you’re dead, how can you sue anybody?”

Cappy looked confused. “My people’ll sue.”

“Right.” The CO turned to me. “You gonna strangle him when he’s asleep?”

“No, sir.”

“You plan to make any threats?”

“No, sir.”

From the cell next door, someone shouted, “If he don’t shut up,
I’ll
strangle him.” A chorus of agreements chimed in.

“Do you have a keep-away order from each other?” the CO asked.

“No,” Cappy conceded.

“And you’re not co-defendants?”

“No.”

“Then why the fuss? Just shut up and chill here.”

“But I can’t be locked in with him!” Cappy insisted.

“In jail, you don’ get to choose who your cell buddies are.”

I could attest to that. Over the last twenty years, sometimes I’d lucked out and had somebody somewhat decent, sometimes I’d been locked in with slobs or idiots or someone with a mean streak.

The CO went back to his desk. Cappy curled up on his bunk and started sobbing. Loudly. I tried to ignore him.

A little while later, the lieutenant on duty showed up. The CO must have called him. He came to the door of our cell.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded.

Cappy went to the front of the cell, his eyes red. “I’m scared,” he said. “This guy told me I’d better not be around where he could find me.”

“Oh? And why was that?”

“I dunno.”

“What did he say he was going to do?”

“Nothing specific. But he did say that he was headed to prison and didn’t mind picking up some new street charges. He said if that was going to happen, he’d just as soon make it worth his while.”

“What did he mean by that?”

“I think that he was gonna kill me.”

“And pick up murder charges?”

“I think he’s
got
murder charges now.”

The lieutenant looked over at me. Once again, I tried to look as innocent as possible, despite the jail jumpsuit. “You got a problem with this guy?” he asked.

“Just that he’s making a lot of noise and trying to get me in trouble,” I said. “I got enough trouble as it is.”

Nodding, the lieutenant said to Cappy, “Pack your stuff.”

“Pack my stuff? Me? What’d I do?”

“You’re creating a fuss. I’m gonna have you moved to an isolation cell.”

“You’re moving
me
? Why not him?
He’s
the one doing the threatening.”

“Not so’s I’ve noticed. Pack your stuff up.”

“Not fair.”

That made me smile. If someone offered
me
an isolation cell, I’d jump at it. Especially if I was going to cry like a baby. That would offer some privacy, at least.

The lieutenant sounded like he was talking to a little kid. “It doesn’t
have
to be fair. You’re concerned for your safety. You got jumped down in medium security. So we moved you to a higher security level. Now you’re afraid you’re gonna get hurt here, too. So we’ll put you in protective custody, where nobody can get to you.”

“I don’t
want
to go to protective custody.”

“You wanna stay here with him?” The lieutenant nodded toward me.

“No. I want
him
moved.”

“Not gonna happen,” the lieutenant said. “Pack your stuff.”

“No.”

“Don’t give me a rough time. Pack your stuff and let’s go.”

When he turned so I could see his face, his eyes were wild, and his face flushed. His breath was coming in labored gasps. “You can’t make me,” he said.

I cringed. Wrong thing to say to security staff in a correctional institution. In my experience, that kind of challenge brought out the macho in the staff and led to things that were never good. The lieutenant nodded to the CO assigned to the unit, who got on his radio. He was undoubtedly calling for whatever this jail used as a cell extraction team.

I could only hope the team wasn’t a bunch of cowboys who relished an opportunity to use the training they got in quelling disturbances.

“Hey, can you guys get me out of here first?” I asked.

I didn’t get any response from the lieutenant, who had moved away from the cell door, but Cappy moved so he was blocking the door.

“I thought you
wanted
me out of here,” I said to him.

“This is all your fault. If I’m gonna get grief over this, you’re gonna get some, too.”

I had a feeling he didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. I unsnapped my jumpsuit, pulled off my -T shirt, and redid the snaps. Then I put the shirt in the sink and ran water over it.

“What’re you doing?” Cappy said, his breathing ragged and heavy.

“To cover my face,” I said. “They’re gonna be using pepper spray. And maybe Tasers.” I hung the wet shirt on the end of my bunk. I wasn’t sure I’d have time to use it, but I wanted it to be available in case they used pepper spray. I then took a wait-and-see stance.

The sound of cadenced marching boots reached us from the hallway. The cellblock door opened, and a team of five entered, all wearing body armor and each member holding onto the shirt of the person in front of him. The first in the line had a clear plastic shield.

Following the team was a CO carrying a video camera. Of course the entire procedure would be taped both to use in debriefing and training, and in case of a lawsuit. Two more came behind him, each pushing a restraint chair.

Two chairs. My heart gave a lurch. Not good. That meant they were coming after
me,
too.

All the other inmates were pressed against the fronts of their cells, watching. Glad the team wasn’t coming for any of them. When the team got inside the dayroom and stopped their march, the sudden silence reverberated off the cinderblock walls of the cellblock.