The Baddest Ass (Billy Lafitte #3) (6 page)

The woman behind Colleen, a soft grip on her elbow, points it all out. "You have an hour. The clock starts as soon as we close the door. Do you have any questions? Can we bring you anything?"

Colleen shakes her head. Still blinking, looking around, but never focusing on the inmate. She's talked to him before, never in person, though. Just listening to him breathe makes her cringe.

"All yours." The young guard steps aside for his partner, then follows her out and shuts the door a bit too hard. The locks whirr and clamp into place, and there they are.

Ricardo Dulles.

Ri'Chess.

Time to do the act.

"Baby." Colleen takes a step towards the loveseat. The man can barely fit on it. His fat oozes out and finds the lowest point it can. Only half his ass is on the cushions. Knees wide. Prison sweats still too big for him. But he smells wonderful. He gussied himself up for this. Oh yeah, Mr. Clean. Even a bit of aftershave. Maybe a guard took pity on him. His face is smooth and his teeth are white, and his cheeks are tight and shiny.

"Stop," he says.

Colleen stops. Grins. "You okay?"

"Been so long, baby. Don't you remember?"

"Sure, sure, you know I do."

"Then we going to do this right. Let me watch you take it off."

She hugs herself. Shit. "So cold in here. I wanted to talk first. Maybe we can slip into bed." Easier to fake it under the covers. Come on, man, don't pull this.

Shakes his head. "We talk enough. I got no idea when we'll get to do this again, and it's been a long time, you know that? Do it for me. Ain't nothing wrong with it."

She knew it. Why wear the lingerie if she hadn't intended him to see her in it? Get it moving. The clock's ticking. She says "Okay, baby. Yeah. I'll give you a show."

She props an arm against the wall and lifts her leg, reaches for her boot.

"Naw, naw, sweetie. Let's save the shoes for last."

Can't help but curl her lip a little. She stands up, goes for her belt. Off. She eases her fingers from her stomach to the top button of her blouse. Drops her chin. One button, two…

Distracts herself from Ri'Chess sucking air through his teeth by remembering what she knows about him. Dulles was on a "business trip" to Minneapolis when he was nabbed, five years prior. Business being he wanted to cut a deal with a Somali gang that was moving some pretty heavy dope. Heard they had mighty fine heroin streaming in too. Then he realized the Somalis weren't doing jackshit, whole thing was bluster. They had nothing. He popped a guy right there. Just
bang
and done and out. Who would've thunk someone would drop a dime? Never in L.A. But someone across the street, smoking a cigarette outside his restaurant, called it in. The cops got Ri'Chess as he was returning his Escalade to the rental car garage. They turned him Federal when he promised to give up a lot of names and routes and etc re: the West Coast operation. Not the good kind of Federal time, but good enough for him. After a couple of lame-ass attempts on his life, they decided to send him and his inner circle up here. In fact, the company who ran this joint practically begged for him. Sure, we can handle max security. Might get more business if they could pull it off. Mo' cons, mo' money.

She hates herself doing this striptease, even getting into it some, not for his sake but for the guys and gals watching. Maybe she'll blow them a kiss later. The blouse is unbuttoned. She shrugs it off her shoulders and lets it drop.

"Oh yeah." Ri'Chess shifts his pelvis. Hand to his lap. "Now those pants."

Colleen unzips. Goosebumps. She's shivering. There's warm air blowing from the vent overhead, but that makes it worse. Her pants fall and she has to step on them, one foot then the other, to pull the boots through. She nearly falls and then sits on the bed, yanks them off, now inside out. She stands. Bra, g-string, thigh highs. And leather boots.

Ri'Chess pats his leg. "Come on over, baby. Right up on my lap here."

She puts a little runway sway into it, then is standing before the big man. She thinks he wants her to take a seat, but he reaches up, fingertips on her waist, and she gets it. Facing him. Straddles his legs. Puts her knees up on the cushions. Now he reaches and wraps around her waist, pulls her in, and goes for a kiss.

Spearmint mouthwash even. He presses hard. He bumps her teeth with is own. His hands are on her ass-cheeks now, giving them a squeeze.
Fuck
. She breaks away from his mouth and moans and whispers into his ear, "What went wrong?"

"Easy, now, can't we—"

"You want the money, right? You willing to give it up for this?"

He sighs, nuzzles her neck. "Like...got this boy, see? Had to get someone up in..." Tongue gliding along her collar bone. "...up in PC..."

Colleen palms the back of his head and pulls him tight to her. Stops that licking bullshit. Even colder now. "I'm not stupid. I
know
that part. I'm the one who told you that part."

"Shit, take it easy, now." Muffled.

"What. Happened?"

"Boy got his neck snapped. Did what we wanted, got in close to Mr. Taliban like you said, got under his wing. But this kid was taking too long. And Lafitte, shit, he knew. Motherfucker smart."

"No plan B?"

He pushes her away and lays his hands on her breasts, nice little rubs. "Hey, it's hard enough. I live in a fucking gym. My only eyes in there think they better than me."

"Better?" She processes. Seethes, "You've got
guards
in on this?"

"It's cool, it's cool. They want him gone just as bad as you."

Colleen lets him work his fingers under the wire, flip the bra up and over. Lets him lick her nipples. Because, shit, if one guard knows, they all know, and they're not stupid. They know why she's here. Her stomach goes tight, tight, tight. She coughs.

"What do they know?"

"
Hm?
" Still on that nipple, bit of teeth.

She plants a palm on each side of his head and makes him look at her, nose to nose. "What do they know? You tell them you might get paid?"

"Aw, now, you
know
I'm getting paid. Don't start acting like that ain't happening."

"You haven't done the job."

"Yet. Not yet. It'll happen."

"Idiot. You...you don't get it." She had to get out of here. Had to call Rome. If they'd even let her out. She unstraddles Ri'Chess but he tries to hold on, and as she gets up on both feet he yanks her wrist so hard she thinks it'll snap. No, it's fine, it's fine.

But then she's bent over awkwardly, Ri'Chess's face right there, him saying, "I'm not no shithead, Miss Bitch. I ain't told no one more than they need to know, even you. Now if you want to keep it that way, we've got some things to do right here and now and I don't have much time."

"Out of your goddamned—"

"They either come in and rescue your flabby ass and I spill what I know about you and your man, or you best start making me feel pretty good."

"Fuck this, fuck you, and kiss the money goodbye."

"Like you was ever going to pay me anyway. I take what's in front of me."

She tries to pry away his fingers. "The money's real. I'm telling you."

"Ain't that. But Lafitte, that motherfucker's unkillable, is all I'm saying."

"Let go."

"Only if you're taking those panties off."

How long until the guards show up at the door? Would she be able to get out of here before anyone believes Dulles?

"Only if you promise to try again. Do it right next time."

Eye to eye, the man nods then nods some more and his eyes go wide as he releases her. She rubs her sore wrist. "Goddamn."

"Say what you got to. I don't have to hear it."

Colleen does it fast. No show this time. Matter-of-fact yanks them down, steps out of them, tosses them on top of her other clothes. Same with her bra, even though he didn't ask for that. Just stands there, arms crossed, letting him take her in. She never shaves down there. Trimmed it some for this, but she's no Playboy bunny. He's still nodding, finally takes it out of his pants, not as big as she had feared, but still bigger than Nate by, like, three inches. Doesn't matter. Size, schmize. Nate was a real man. Nate knew how to work with what he got. Nate died because of Lafitte. That's the truth. That never changes. And this is the man who's going to kill Lafitte. Colleen has to believe that. She has to. Same as Rome believes it, she has to. There's nothing left in the tank. There's no refueling until this one's done.

She steps over to the basket of condoms and lube. Rips two packets off the string, throws them at Ri'Chess.

"Sorry, baby, but I don't do—"

"Yeah you do. It's still a compromise. I'm not your whore. You wear both of them. I'm going to put them on, too. Make sure you do it right." Same matter-of-fact as the panties, she farts some lube into her palm. A good pile of it. She slathers it on her pussy, all over and inside. Another squirt. Another slather.

"Hey, now, baby, you sure about all that? Use too much, how am I going to feel anything?"

Still slathering. "You might like it a little, but hell if you're going to like it a lot."

He sighs. "I can live with that."

Colleen gave up on figuring what she can and can't live without a long time ago. She sucks in her cheeks, carries the lube over to the bed, sits down. "Let's get it over with."

It had to be done. She had heard the still small voice tell her so. He was going to get out of hand. He was going to be just like his father. She had told her husband already that the belt and the shouting was only going to encourage the boy. Just like his father. She told her husband what the still small voice had told her, and how she had agonized all night at the church in prayer, alone, until she felt the Lord's peace lay across her shoulders like a blanket and confirm that this was the only way. Her husband knew better than to doubt her when she heard the voice. Maybe the rest of the time he was head of the house, just as the Bible had instructed, and his wife would support him on a great many things. But when she brought up what the Lord had told her and she refused to be moved, in spite of her husband's yelling, slamming doors, and icy-eyed "You will not", he knew he would lose every time. Forty years now. Every time.

So Mrs. Hoeck booked two tickets to Fargo. She told the boy's teachers that he would miss a few days of school. He said he didn't want to go, but then she told him he had no choice and that was that, and no matter his flailing, just like his grandfather, he knew he would be going along with her. It had been so long since Ham David Lafitte had seen his father that he couldn't even remember being in those photos, or even being in the hurricane, or seeing the stories about his dad on TV, since his grandparents didn't own one anyway and he never watched the news at friends houses. Just cartoons and video games.

*

The last half-hour into Fargo is rough. Blizzard on the way. They'd just missed the cut-off. In fact, at the car rental counter the young lady with too much eye make-up tells Mrs. Hoeck she had better plan for a longer stay. Otherwise she might end up under a cheap blanket on the airport floor. Ham says, "Cool." So far he has been better than usual. His first ever flights, from Gulfport to Memphis to Minneapolis to Fargo, and he had been soaking it in—window seat, free soda and pretzels, sensory overload at each airport. Anything to distract him from what's to come.

In the car, Ham wants to listen to "hip-hop"—he says it like that now, not rap anymore—and Mrs. Hoeck is okay with it for a while. Unlike her husband, she knows boys will be boys and that you don't win a boy like Ham to the church by prying all of the world out of his hands in one go. Remember Graham, she had told him, spending his teenage years in trouble, robbing and drinking and smoking, until he finally cleaned up his act, eventually became sheriff. Only to be killed because, well, as much as she hated to believe it, because of her own ex-son-in-law, Billy.

Still she forgave him. She had no choice. The still small voice had told her to, for the sake of the children, Ham and Savannah. For the sake of their mother, "resting" in a facility after three suicide attempts. Why forgive? Because. Just...because.

It's a mix CD. Ham burned it himself. Yes, only ten and he can do that sort of thing the same way she'd made cassettes from albums and the radio, but now with computers. Computers are the end of the world. Wait and see.

When she feels the tires slip, she grips the wheel tighter and takes in a sharp breath. She can even understand the lyrics now—fuck motherfucker bitch—and spins the volume down. "Language."

"Just Tyler the Creator. It's just words."

"What happens to boys who say those words to teachers?"

Because Ham has done it. And Ham ended up in the principal's office until Mr. Hoeck could pick him up. Suspended for the rest of the day, home with Grandpa. From what it looked like when she got home from the store, the limp was from a thigh whippin'. She doesn't like the way her husband tries to discipline the boy, since it's different these days, but Ham would get over it. She hopes.

Under his breath, "They get to go home."