The Baddest Ass (Billy Lafitte #3) (19 page)

Echoes of men laughing, rapping, singing. Echoes of men beating each other. An occasional gunshot, but Colleen wonders who has all the guns now. Too many doors lead to empty rooms, still unfurnished, waiting for the official "opening day". But there has to be an infirmary, and there has to be wheelchairs. She wonders if there might be sick inmates in there, stocking up on hypodermic needles and god knows what drugs. Could be worse than what's going on in the cellblock. Really.

More doors, more darkness, more emptiness. Louder echoes.

And it is too fucking cold

Another door, another empty room. Maybe soon it will have a desk with a phone and a computer and a red alarm button underneath in case there's an emergency, and a nice spinning office chair…

Yes. That'll do. An office chair. Colleen retraces her steps back through the long hallway, past the dead guards, past the entrance lobby where that bitch prison guard is long gone, and back to the office where Garner had tried his little game. There it is, the nice spinning, rolling office chair, knocked onto its side. That and a few zip ties, got to be some around here, especially with all the dead guards in the hall. They're all good.

*

The woman is in the same position, singing a different hymn, softer now. She strokes her grandson's hair over his ear. The smell from the shit of three dead men and a little boy is blooming. Colleen wishes Zee had made it. They could use him right about now. She says, "Look, see? We can take him with us now. Ma'am? See what I found?"

The old lady has that frightening angelic look all the Jesus people get when they're freaking. "You're sweet, dear. Bless you."

She rolls the chair closer. "Can I, then? Let me move him?"

When the woman stands up, Colleen pushes the chair against the bed and works without thinking too much. She grabs the boy's legs first, and the snapped one surprises her. She hadn't noticed how bad…never mind. She pulls him by his thighs instead to the edge of the mattress. She slips her arms under his shoulders, pulls him up to her. Her cheek rubs against the cool blood that's drying on his head. She bounces with him, one two three, and then lifts, aims his butt for the chair and nearly falls over getting him there. Ham's head lolls and Colleen steadies the kid, a hand on his chest.

She turns to Grandma, who watches with her hands clasped, fingertips kneading one palm. "Can he hold on like that?"

Colleen nods to the zip ties she set on the ground. "Pass me those and we'll see."

*

They roll out with Granny manning the chair and Colleen taking the lead with her rifle. Ham's hands are tied together behind the chair's metal back post, and his feet are double-tied on top of the base above the wheels. His snapped leg bone is flopping, but it's not in the way. Just unnerving. Granny didn't want to do it at first, but Colleen convinced her. She may have pointed her gun when she said it, but she said, "Ham would've wanted you to," but no, Ham probably wouldn't have wanted this at all. So embarrassing.

"We're going to move quickly." And she just goes, not feeling so cold anymore.

Motherfucker can take some motherfucking pain, Ri'Chess has to give that to him. He thought this would've been over by now, but Lafitte keeps slipping the holds and absorbing the hits. Jean Robert can't get a handle on him. Couple of cons even try to cheat, knock Lafitte down to his knees and hold him, but still he comes up with his veins bulging, growling like a werewolf.

Ri'Chess can put an end to this, he knows. The girl ain't here, so what's it matter? Dead is dead. But he's gotten into it, now. Never seen Jean Robert struggle so much before. You know how it is? In a video game when you know all the cheat codes and your guy's like unbeatable, right? That's what it's usually like watching Jean Robert do slap near anything. How much more can Lafitte take? Already looking like that Mel Gibson Jesus flick, the one with Jesus getting the shit kicked out of him. And that was just, what, some Roman soldiers? This here is Jean Robert, and that's like all the soldiers and some scary shit, too.

And he thinks, damn, what if Lafitte
wins
?

That's just before Jean Robert catches the man on his way to the floor with a bad foot to the jaw. A piece of tooth flies out. Lafitte is facedown, out cold, looks like. This is it. This is the end. Jean Robert looks over at Ri'Chess like
Now?
And Ri'Chess nods back
Now.

It's going to be nasty. It's going to be the slow crack of the man's neck, same thing that Lafitte tried on that punk West, but in that case he only went so far as to paralyze him. What Jean Robert is going to do—going to paralyze, then terrorize. Going to take Lafitte's body, still hearing and seeing and breathing and shit, and going to put it on that fire.

He will burn alive and he won't be able to move or scream or beg or anything. Burn, motherfucker, burn.

Jean Robert straddles his prey, leans over and lifts Lafitte by his head. All it will take is a twist. But that's not what happens and Ri'Chess loses track.

He knows he didn't just watch Lafitte turn his whole broken, beat-to-shit torso and fire a punch into Jean Robert's crotch, did he? Yeah, goddamn it, he did. Because then the crowd rushes in and starts cheering on Lafitte like they done forgot the point. Ri'Chess pushes through the crowd until he's on the edge, watching Lafitte flat on his back, head still in Jean Robert's hands, going to town on the Haitian's junk. Speedbag hits. It can't hurt that bad, can it? That freaky-assed nigga's cock is like a battleship chain. But Jean Robert can't finish the job. It's getting to him.

Each punch gets a loud, "Go!" from the inmates. Lafitte's like some wrestler on TV, finally working up to the ultimate punch that will get Jean Robert to let go. He sends the man staggering, not much but enough for Lafitte to slip from the grip and get up on his knees. Woozy, man. Tipping over already. But he catches himself. Jean Robert circles back to him and puts a knee in Lafitte's back, sending him right back to the floor. But when Jean Robert goes for his head again, Lafitte turns and bites his fingers, rips the pinky and ring fingers
clean off
Jean Robert's hand. Spits them on the floor.

Doesn't matter how big you are. That happens, you've got to respect the pain a man feels. Getting his dick punched might've been nothing, but he's looking at two bloody stumps now, bones sticking out, and that might cause even the largest man to faint.

Lafitte gets back on his feet and walks around. Ri'Chess is surprised the man can see through those slits of eyes—and he's bruised and bloody and, shit, he don't know he lost, does he? Ri'Chess even steps out there with both of them in the clearing, goes up to Jean Robert, who is holding his half-a-hand, wincing, and says to him, "You be alright. He ain't got it in him. A couple more minutes, we'll go get you bandaged up—"

That's the moment Lafitte loops his own shirt around Jean Robert's neck and starts twisting. Twisting hard and fast and tight before either Ri'Chess or Jean Robert realizes how deep this well can go. Jean Robert can't breathe, flailing. Lafitte bends the man backwards, bringing him down to Lafitte's level. Dude turning paler than he already is while Lafitte flames up all over.

Gagging.

Ri'Chess holds up his hands and shouts, "Enough!"

Lafitte keeps it tight.

"It's over, I said! It's done! You think you get to walk out of here? Never was gonna happen. No matter what you do."

Lafitte keeps it tight. Ri'Chess hopes Jean Robert will pass out and drop. Lafitte can't hold on then. He'll have to let go and the Granite Man will get his game back. Lafitte sounds like he's growling, but it gets louder and he clears his throat, spits on the ground. "How many of you want to see this piece of shit die? How many of you has he raped or beat up?"

"You gonna listen to him? A
traitor
? Who you more scared of, Lafitte or Jean Robert?"

"I ain't never made one of you suck my cock. I ain't never put you in the infirmary unless you tried to put me there first!"

"All of you!" Ri'Chess is losing his words. Goddamn, Jean Robert's going lavender. Lafitte gives the shirt another twist and the Haitian starts slapping his chest like he's done with.

Lafitte takes a step back, drags Jean Robert with him. "Every motherfucker who had a hand in killing my boy is going to die, you hear me? Every fucking one of you, starting with this ass-raping son of a whore right here."

Is this panic? Is this what it feels like? Ri'Chess shouts, "You win, okay? You win. We can talk about this. Let him go and you win. You walk out alive, I promise you. And you want to kill the others, fine, but not Jean Robert, man, you can't do that."

He hears some titters in the crowd. Some laughs. Hears someone say like a woman, "No, don't hurt my bitch, please."

Lafitte says, "You serious? You'll let me live?"

"Swear to God."

"You'll bring me the ones that killed my boy?"

"You know I will."

Eye to eye. Give in, motherfucker. Let my man go. It's so easy. Just like that.

Lafitte nods. "Okay, okay."

Ri'Chess sucks. Cold fucking air, tastes like the burning plastic.

Lafitte loosens the grip. Jean Robert heaves in a huge breath and grabs the shirt around his neck. But Lafitte slams his hand down over Jean Robert's forehead and eyes and Ri'Chess sees it happen and can't do a thing but yelp because Lafitte tightens his face and his arms and slams Jean Robert's head to the floor with a sound like a bowling bowl breaking in two. The bone under the Haitian's scalp splits and slides like an earthquake. And Lafitte keeps on pounding it until you can hear the broken plates crunch against each other. The Haitian's limbs shiver with their last bit of electricity.

Ain't no one shouting anymore. The bastards who got in the way upstairs with Lafitte's kid? They fucking run. They're gone.

Ri'Chess knows. "Like that, then?"

Lafitte stands and nods. "I didn't start this."

"Fuck, like hell you didn't! Just being here is all you had to do. You start it wherever you are, wherever you go. Let me tell you, whatever you think you're about to do, it's not going to help. You're the first one they'll shoot. Not even going to give you a chance. We set up all this to make it easy to get you out of our hair, and watch—one motherfucking SWAT cop going to plug you in half-a-second. I swear."

"Alright. We'll see. You won't get to, though."

Shrugs. "I don't know why you want to do that. I got nothing now anyway. I can't fight you. Look at my fat ass and tell me it's a fair fight." He steps backwards and the crowd parts and Lafitte walks towards him and it's all in slow motion.

Lafitte points towards Jean Robert's body. "That fight wasn't fair either, was it? Except it didn't go how you thought it would." He wipes Jean Robert's blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Ri'Chess feels this going bad, and where are his niggas? Where the fuck? It was Jean Robert keeping them loyal all this time? Or, what, go along to get along? Ain't one man got balls to help him out here? What happened to all the fucking guns?

Lafitte keeps advancing. "This is supposed to be my goddamned punishment, that's fine. I'm okay with it. I sit in this place, I think about everyone I had to kill, everyone who got dead cause of me. I fend off people trying to kill me. I get that. It's fucking boring. It's fucking terrifying. But you…shit, I don't know what your deal is."

"You are a terrorist, man. You turned against your own people."

"Whatever. Like these people matter to you. You do what you will then toss them, no matter race or family or sex, it's never about them. It's all about you."

There's a couple of "That's right" and "Amen" from the cons.

"They know what they deserve!" Ri'Chess sweating now. Wheezing. "Someone got to be
me
up in here. If it ain't me, it's someone worse. They know that! You ain't me!"

"Yeah, I sure as shit ain't."

Lafitte reaches for Ri'Chess' shirt and grabs hold, but Ri'Chess freaks out and wiggles and pulls and gets himself free somehow. He starts to run, but he won't get nowhere, and he knows it. Why run? Pure instinct? Is that all he's got left, like a lemur or something? Men laughing at him now. Shit. The door isn't all that far away. He's going to find the SWAT team and hand himself over and get protection. Lafitte doesn't even have the strength to catch him. How about that?

Then something slams into his back and sends him sprawling. Fucking
bad
is what this is. One of those plastic chairs. Lafitte hurled it at him. Direct hit. Now Lafitte's got hold of Ri'Chess' ankle and is trying to drag him deeper into the crowd. Ri'Chess can't help it, he's bawling for his momma and thinks any man in there would do the same in the same situation.

Any man except motherfucking Billy Lafitte, that is.

Got some other men now coming over to help, grabbing the other ankle. Some of his niggas, and some Native Mob squaws, and some white bitches. A regular United Nations of betrayal right there. Makes Ri'Chess laugh while he's crying. Makes him think this is all one big joke.

Until the others come for his arms and torso and lift him off the floor, his belly dragging on the cold hard surface. His feet getting warmer. He knows where this is heading. Warmer still. He thrashes and screams "
God no please god no!
" But here it comes, not just warm but
hot,
now,
hot hot hot
.