The Baddest Ass (Billy Lafitte #3) (14 page)

All it takes. A hand clap and the bodies at the door part again. Zee says, "Ma'am?" to Mrs. Hoeck and waves ahead of him like he's leading her to a table. She doesn't like having these…men…behind her, but Billy crowds in at her back, comforting her as they're ushered through a gauntlet into the cell block, the smell of burning plastic and human flesh stronger now. She tries not to look towards the fire but can't help it. Heaps of burning everything—metal chair frames, plastic dripping from them, black smoke curling like damned souls, bed sheets, books and magazines, pages scattered around the rim of the blaze, where both white men and Indians huddled, wrapped in whatever sheets and jackets and any other clothes that haven't already been sacrificed to the fire. And there in the thick of the flames, what looks like it was an arm, leading to what once was a face.

She's about to scream. Panic attack. But Billy's there, hand on her shoulder urging her to the ground. "Down. Low. We can't be seen."

So she kneels onto concrete so cold it burns her knees, but she bites her tongue and shrinks within Billy's embrace, with Ham's breath in her ear, and feels for the first time that they might have a chance of making it out alive. Faith works, she thinks. Faith works it works it works it does…

The vest is a fucking terrible idea. Colleen feels like she's in a lifejacket, floating on the lake near her aunt's house they went to a few times every summer. The one where she and her cousins played
Show me yours, I'll show you mine
and tried to pee on frogs. Her pits are sweating, too, the drops turning to icicles as they drip. No, just feels like it. The gun is slippery. She can't help but make noise. Go too slow and she'll lose the trail. Too fast and she won't be ready for any surprises. She just hopes she can keep from shooting the old lady and the kid. Goddamn, so much easier when it was cut-outs on a gun range.

Lafitte's mother-in-law. Wow. His son. She knew about his family, of course. But it was like some TV drama. She never expected to see them in real life. She had no idea he was still in contact, even. In her mind, Lafitte has been forsaken by all. Stupid, Colleen. Stupid. Even the worst of the worst has
somebody
. Except you. No one for Colleen. Not anymore.

She hears voices ahead around the corner. Not close enough to hear words. But someone. Wild guess: men. Another wild guess: they were approaching a cellblock. Shit. If Lafitte gets in there…she thinks about turning around, going back, giving up. One gun against how many cons? Desperate cons? Now or never? How many can she kill before they get to her?

Not enough.

She slows down. New plan. At least try to get the mother-in-law and kid back, take them to safety. No matter what sort of punishment they want to throw at her for the whole mess, they won't be able to deny her the hero thing. It will go a long way towards saving her ass.

She thinks she hears a woman's voice. Just a blip. The flashlight. She clicks it off and flattens herself against the wall. Lets her eyes adjust. The walls are clinical white with red stripes on some, green on others, so even though she can still see pretty well, the gray blends together and confuses her eyes. The noise around the corner ratchets up a notch, then falls much quieter, as if everyone has gone away. Shit.

Just go, Colleen. Go and point your gun and bark and demand and don't let them have a moment to think about it. Keep barking, keep moving, shoot a few fuckers if necessary—self-defense—and just do this.

A deep, frigid breath through her nose. Here we go.

She swings out into the corridor and marches right into a man as wide as the hall. Scrambles back. He's placid. Doesn't make a move. Just stands there gazing down at her, heavy lidded.

He says, "You're it? That's it?"

"On the ground! Now!" She's back far enough to point the rifle without him being able to grab it from her hands. "Hit it!"

As if he doesn't even hear her. Still standing, cracking his knuckles. "What?"

"On the ground! Now now now! Do it!" Shakes the rifle.

He shrugs. "I don't want to."

"I'll shoot. I don't have time for this."

"I've been shot before."

"Get
down
.
Down!
" Colleen pushes the barrel down, as if he doesn't know what that means. "Get. Down."

He takes a step towards her. "I'm not going to do that."

"Goddamn it!" She fires a few at the ground. Ricochet. He flinches, hops on one leg. But he stays up. "Just, please, get on the ground. I need to find the old lady and kid."

The big guy shakes his leg like he's shaking off a bee sting. "You're just going to hurt them. I'm not going to let you. So give up and go back. They'll be safe until the police get here."

"You saw them. They're back there. They came this way. That's right? I'm right, I know it."

"Listen, go back where you came from."

"I'll give you another one!" Pushes that gun towards him. Yeah, that'll show the motherfucker. "I swear."

The big man crosses his arms. "Don't point that at me."

Colleen is pissed and squeezes the trigger before he's done talking. Gets him right in the gut, but it's like a gnat biting a bear. He steps too close, and she's going to fall, but he catches her, takes the gun and flings it behind him.

"Fuck, that hurts, bitch. What the hell?"

"Let me go!"

"Calm down, alright? Shit, just,
ouch
, bitch."

Instead of fighting and kicking, Colleen holds on. She feels like this guy's not going to hurt her. And for the first time since Garner's office, she feels warm. She's forgotten that feeling. In the big Indian's arms, she gets drowsy, cozy.

He pushes her away and she blinks awake, another noseful of icy air. He's looking down at his stomach, two blotches of blood soaking his shirt. He keeps touching the bullet holes. "Goddamn."

"Oh my god, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I told you—"

"Naw, naw." He shakes his head. "It just hurts. It's hard fat. I've been shanked worse. But now I've got to get them patched up, and there ain't any nurses here today. Maybe they'll send some ambulances."

"Shit, how about…let me past. I need to get the boy and his grandmother out of here."

"We'll all be fine. Got to wait, right?"

Whatever she was going to say next gets lost in the noise coming from the hallway around the corner. Almost like a wave slamming a beach, rolling, roiling, roaring.

The cavalry? Finally? So close, she was so close. She closes her eyes. "I think they're here."

The big guy takes a step back. "Yeah, no. I don't think so. That's not them."

"Sure it is. Who else would it be?"

Louder and louder and Colleen leans back to peek around the corner as the echoes are overtaken by the right then and now shouts and thumping, running, hooting, hollering. Black men. A lot of them. Eyes gray and glowing. Going to sweep right the fuck over them.

She doesn't even think. Just grabs the big Indian and hangs on for dear life. He wraps his arms around her, tight tight tight.

He says, "This ain't good."

And then the pummeling. Men trying to get around him and Colleen, shoving, bottlenecking. Slamming into them, and others slam into them and so on and Colleen feels the man start to sway, fighting to keep his balance. Her feet are tripping on his, but he's holding on. She begins to slip, cheek sliding down his chest, his stomach. He's groaning now, loud, straining to hold her up. They're trampling on her legs now. Surrounded by a flood of men, no up no down no left no right.

The big man takes a few more hard hits and just as he's able to wrench Colleen back up to her feet, he stumbles back and goes down like timber, backwards, trying to stay up but landing hard on his back. His head
thwacks
the concrete floor—a sick sound, louder than it should be.

Colleen pushes herself up to his face. Blood pooling under his head, eyes lolling about, drool. She slaps his face.

"Shit! Look at me!"

Feet flying past her, some too close of a call. Guys jumping over. She's trying to get the Indian to focus.

"Shit! Come on!"

She's about to give another one when her scalp flares like someone's stuck a live wire to it. Something lifts her as if she's paper. Hand to the top of her head. Another one there already, gripped on tight, keeps lifting her until she's dangling. Goddamn huge, this one, the way she'd think a Blackenstein would look in real life—skin weirdly pale but still dark, more scars than she's ever seen on a chest and neck and face. Oh god oh god fucking zombie monster. Oh god. She tries prying his fingers from her hair.

Then out from behind him steps that goddamn, motherfucking…goddamn it! Goddamned Ricardo. Goddamned Ri'Chess. Looks up at her and says, "What the fuck you still doing here?"

Spit in his face? Kick him in the teeth? She can't do either one. All she can do is scream until the dead-looking man sets her back on her feet and punches her in the face so hard she forgets how mad she is.

That woman is balled up on the floor of the control room after taking a beating from Jean Robert, a couple of other baddies Ri'Chess keeps close, and a few backhands from the man himself. Out the windows he's watching a glorious race war—shit, ain't that he cares about a man's race so much as he does whatever it takes to get what he wants. And this is what he wants. A riot worthy of the history books. A riot to get his ass out of North Dakota, for fuck's sake, and get him some TV time. This here's got to be worth more than Garner would've given him. More fun, anyway.

Even feeling himself get hard over the end of the motherfucking world out there and this bitch getting her ass beat in here, he decides not to take another run at her. Yeah, it would be a hell of a lot better the second time, the crying, the bleeding, the swollen lips on his cock. Nothing like it. Been a long time.

He's got more important stuff on his mind. Like getting to be the one that takes out Lafitte. Like being the hero, help his cause along. Like making sure Al's dead, just like the old man promised he would be, so that the Aryans can pick another idiot figurehead who would keep to stoking up white pride rather than getting involved in the overall power structure. Let the old man run the showboat part, but for Ri'Chess and the Native Mob, it was more important to keep the money coming in, keep everybody happy. Best case, it won't matter anyway, and Ri'Chess be
gone
. Worst case, he's running things from solitary until they can grease the new cops.

But first he kneels by the bitch on the floor, who ain't crying, neither. Which he can't claim to be happy about. Yeah, she can take a beating. He wants to see someone do that, he can watch ultimate fighting. But here she is, Ri'Chess thinking the Feds would have already locked her up or tossed her in a van bound for the Twin Cities. Didn't make no sense at all.

"Tell me something," he says. She ignores him, so he prods her shoulder. "You, I'm talking to you. Let me see you're listening."

She turns her face barely. He can see an eye staring back. Cheeks all puffy and purple. Bottom lip fat with a black cut on it. Bruises, bruises, everywhere.

"They let you go? And you stayed here? Maybe you're on a manhunt, that's what I think. You want to do the job yourself so you won't have to pay up. That right?"

A little mumbly, but he understood her: "Fuck. You."

"That's cute. Like that's got any power around here. Fuck is a comma. Saying
fuck you
is like saying
excuse me, please
. Think about it, saying
excuse me, please
might be even more shocking. People be scared of you, pulling out the
please
and
thank you
and shit."

Colleen catches her breath. Swallows, probably blood, and says, "Please."

Ri'Chess smiles. "You're one funny bitch, I tell you. But listen, you and me both think Lafitte's in here, right? He thinks I don't know about the secret exit? Shit, I
am
the secret exit."

Colleen lets the air out of her lungs, closes her eyes. Letting it hit her like she couldn't have already guessed. Everybody makes the same mistake, thinking Ri'Chess just a gangsta for his own kind, thinking that's all he's capable of, when he's really holding all the strings. Every last one of them.

"Let's forget about all this bad blood between us. You're still a businesswoman, got some business. What if I promise you a way out, no more pain, if you and your friend stick to the original deal? I kill him, you pay me, and look, I'll even throw in some story about you trying to stop me, help you out back home. How bout you were here to warn me? That'll work. Not like Garner's around no more to rat you out."

"What?" That gets to her. She unfolds, pushes up on one elbow. "What about Garner?"

"I
said
…he ain't around no more. Stepped in something slippery, fell, a very sad story. You got to be careful round here."

She takes in a noisy breath through her nose, clears the drain. "He's dead?"

Ri'Chess shakes his head and sighs, turns to Jean Robert. "Why's it all got to be so literal? People don't pick up on subtlety no more?"

Colleen wipes the blood from under her nose. She winces. The nose is going a little purple, starting to swell. "You're just talking the seventeen, that's all?"