minutes, and hopped out again. The judge had driven me right to his house. I was in the suburbs ten miles from the nearest cop.”
“Wait,” said Carlos, “how’d you get into and out of the trunk?” It seemed to Josh like Carlos was an alright guy. Carlos slid his yogurt to Eli, who slid him three cigarettes.
“Getting out’s easy: the car had an escape latch. Getting in, well... I’m pretty good with locks.”
“But how did you know the lock on the holding cell would open?”
“I jammed it. Give me a little piece of paper and something skinny like a pencil and I can keep pretty much any lock from catching.”
Josh got to know the members of Santos’ inner circle. Santos was the leader. He had a buzzcut and a few days of stubble, and his skin was totally free of tattoos. Carlos had a moustache and bulged with mass generated by years spent with prison dumbbells. Eli was a smaller, wiry guy with slicked-back hair and sleeves of black tattoos. Delman had a cleanly shaved face and a rapidly receding hairline. They kept mentioning someone named Charlie who wasn’t at the table. Josh deduced that Charlie was in the hole. Santos, Carlos, Charlie, and maybe a few other guys in C pod had been a very close unit on the outside, and managed to get locked up together. In Pittman, they had recruited heavily, branching out to include anyone of any ethnicity, as long as they were loyal and could handle themselves in a fight. Josh couldn’t figure out how many people answered to Santos, but it sounded like a lot.
After everyone had gotten comfortable and all the food was eaten, Santos cut off the conversation. “Josh, we need to talk.”
“OK?”
“Some new information has come to light, and we might need to ask you a favour sooner than we expected.”
“Oh. Like what kind of favour?”
“We’re gonna need some help killing your cellmate.”
Josh was floored. Hadn’t they just gone over the fact that Josh was a nonviolent offender, and would be useless in a fight?
“I’m not really-“
Santos laughed. “Settle down. I don’t want you to kill Leo. Truth is, he’d kill you for trying.” The rest of the gang laughed. “What I need,” Santos continued, “is for you to use that very special skill set you just bragged about to help us with a problem.”
“My skill set?”
“Good with locks? Able to get past the guards, go places other guys can’t? You just told us all about it and I’d hate to find out you were exaggerating.”
“No, I have the skills, just—“
“Well we’ve got a problem with Leo where none of us can kill him but we’re all jonesing to watch the fucker die.”
“So where do I fit in?” Josh had completely lost his calm, persuasive persona again, and was back to being a scared inmate out of his depth in a new place.
“That’s easy,” said Santos at his most calm. “We need you to get us a gun.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Late that night, a few hours after Josh lay down to sleep, Leo climbed down from the top bunk. Leo moved quietly, and so carefully his bed didn’t even squeak. Very calmly, he crossed his thumbs at the first knuckle, fanned out his fingers, and slipped both hands around Josh’s throat.
Josh woke in terror as Leo’s surprisingly powerful hands closed his airway. He gagged for breath and thrashed against his cellmate. Leo threw his leg over Josh and pinned him down, then relaxed his grip.
“Settle down,” said Leo, who was little more than a silhouette over Josh. “If I wanted to hurt you I’d have gouged your eyes out.”
Josh said nothing.
“I saw your choice in company today at chow time. Santos Vega? Fucking asshole? Not someone I approve of my new cellie hanging out with.”
“Sorry.”
“And if I should happen to see you hanging out with Santos in the future, you might just wake up without an eyeball or two, you get me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Leo climbed off of Josh and let him go. Josh climbed to his feet, wheezing.
“Now
“Wait,” said Carlos, “how’d you get into and out of the trunk?” It seemed to Josh like Carlos was an alright guy. Carlos slid his yogurt to Eli, who slid him three cigarettes.
“Getting out’s easy: the car had an escape latch. Getting in, well... I’m pretty good with locks.”
“But how did you know the lock on the holding cell would open?”
“I jammed it. Give me a little piece of paper and something skinny like a pencil and I can keep pretty much any lock from catching.”
Josh got to know the members of Santos’ inner circle. Santos was the leader. He had a buzzcut and a few days of stubble, and his skin was totally free of tattoos. Carlos had a moustache and bulged with mass generated by years spent with prison dumbbells. Eli was a smaller, wiry guy with slicked-back hair and sleeves of black tattoos. Delman had a cleanly shaved face and a rapidly receding hairline. They kept mentioning someone named Charlie who wasn’t at the table. Josh deduced that Charlie was in the hole. Santos, Carlos, Charlie, and maybe a few other guys in C pod had been a very close unit on the outside, and managed to get locked up together. In Pittman, they had recruited heavily, branching out to include anyone of any ethnicity, as long as they were loyal and could handle themselves in a fight. Josh couldn’t figure out how many people answered to Santos, but it sounded like a lot.
After everyone had gotten comfortable and all the food was eaten, Santos cut off the conversation. “Josh, we need to talk.”
“OK?”
“Some new information has come to light, and we might need to ask you a favour sooner than we expected.”
“Oh. Like what kind of favour?”
“We’re gonna need some help killing your cellmate.”
Josh was floored. Hadn’t they just gone over the fact that Josh was a nonviolent offender, and would be useless in a fight?
“I’m not really-“
Santos laughed. “Settle down. I don’t want you to kill Leo. Truth is, he’d kill you for trying.” The rest of the gang laughed. “What I need,” Santos continued, “is for you to use that very special skill set you just bragged about to help us with a problem.”
“My skill set?”
“Good with locks? Able to get past the guards, go places other guys can’t? You just told us all about it and I’d hate to find out you were exaggerating.”
“No, I have the skills, just—“
“Well we’ve got a problem with Leo where none of us can kill him but we’re all jonesing to watch the fucker die.”
“So where do I fit in?” Josh had completely lost his calm, persuasive persona again, and was back to being a scared inmate out of his depth in a new place.
“That’s easy,” said Santos at his most calm. “We need you to get us a gun.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Late that night, a few hours after Josh lay down to sleep, Leo climbed down from the top bunk. Leo moved quietly, and so carefully his bed didn’t even squeak. Very calmly, he crossed his thumbs at the first knuckle, fanned out his fingers, and slipped both hands around Josh’s throat.
Josh woke in terror as Leo’s surprisingly powerful hands closed his airway. He gagged for breath and thrashed against his cellmate. Leo threw his leg over Josh and pinned him down, then relaxed his grip.
“Settle down,” said Leo, who was little more than a silhouette over Josh. “If I wanted to hurt you I’d have gouged your eyes out.”
Josh said nothing.
“I saw your choice in company today at chow time. Santos Vega? Fucking asshole? Not someone I approve of my new cellie hanging out with.”
“Sorry.”
“And if I should happen to see you hanging out with Santos in the future, you might just wake up without an eyeball or two, you get me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Leo climbed off of Josh and let him go. Josh climbed to his feet, wheezing.
“Now
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