guy with a tattoo of a snake crawling up the back of his bald head. A biker. He glanced back over his shoulder at Karl. A swastika had been inked onto his cheekbone. Prison tat. Aryan Nation.
“Hey, you Nazi limp-dick!” Zigzag called. “Here’s your honey. A chil’ rapist, just like you, you fuckin’ pervert. Master race, my ass! Why don’t y’all just fuck each other!”
Snake looked at the inmate but said nothing. He never even broke stride. In the next step, he swung his hands sideways, caught his guard just under the chin, and clotheslined him, the blow yanking him off his feet and knocking him backward into Bull. Bull stumbled back into the bars of a cell, and a roar went through the place. The inmates were cheering and shouting.
Karl froze for a precious instant as Snake came at him, eyes bugging, chains rattling. Too late, he turned to try to lunge toward the door.
Snake’s clenched fists came down before his eyes, arms closing on either side of his neck. The links of the handcuffs caught Karl just above his Adam’s apple, and he made a raw, retching sound as Snake yanked him backward off his feet.
Black lace crept in on the edge of Karl Dahl’s vision. He couldn’t breathe. As he tried to raise his hands to claw at the hold on his throat, Snake slammed him sideways into the bars of Zigzag’s cell. His temple cracked against the iron once, twice, three times, and blood ran down through his right eye.
The black gangster spat in his face. Karl could no longer hear the shouting, only a loud, whooshing roar inside his head. He seemed to have no command of his arms or legs, flailing like the limbs of a rag doll in the mouth of a rabid dog. His body was nothing but limp weight, hanging him on the bracelets of his killer.
He was vaguely conscious of the red light flashing over the door to the outside hall, the door swinging open.
Snake beat his head against the bars again and again.
The guard called Bull was coming at him, swinging a baton.
Blood sprayed through the air as the baton connected with something—some
one
.
Karl fell to the floor, tangled in the arms and legs of his attacker, still choking.
The last thing he remembered thinking was that his father would have just stood there and shaken his head and said he should have done it himself years ago.
8
“YOU THINK SOMEBODY tried to kill her?”
“I can’t comment at this time. It’s not my job to speculate.”
Kathleen Casey made a loud raspberry.
Liska looked at the nurse sideways as she took a long drink from a can of Red Bull, raised her free hand, and lazily raised her middle finger.
Casey gave a weary chuckle. The press had cleared out as soon as they had realized they were never going to see or hear from Judge Moore. Liska and Casey had slipped into the lounge for a moment’s solitude.
“I hate the press,” Liska said. “It’s always like trying to explain to a group of four-year-old children why the sky is blue.”
“Because it is,” Casey said.
“But
why
?”
“Because God made it that way.”
“But
why
?”
“So he can weed out all the bad children who say ‘But why’ and send them to hell.”
Liska cocked an eyebrow. “Do I have to send Children and Family Services to your house, Casey?”
“Too late. I already got rid of the bodies,” the nurse said, then winced. “Bad joke, all things considered.”
An ambulance siren wailed in the distance.
Liska pushed her drink aside on the table and shook her head. “I think about what that Karl Dahl did to those children, and I can’t help but think of my own boys when they were that age. They were so innocent, so trusting. So vulnerable.”
She still thought of them that way, as far as that went. Kyle, her serious one, was almost thirteen, as he liked to point out every third day of the week. Almost a teenager, which still qualified him as a child, Liska reminded him.
R.J., her youngest, was still a little boy. He had inherited his father’s charming
“Hey, you Nazi limp-dick!” Zigzag called. “Here’s your honey. A chil’ rapist, just like you, you fuckin’ pervert. Master race, my ass! Why don’t y’all just fuck each other!”
Snake looked at the inmate but said nothing. He never even broke stride. In the next step, he swung his hands sideways, caught his guard just under the chin, and clotheslined him, the blow yanking him off his feet and knocking him backward into Bull. Bull stumbled back into the bars of a cell, and a roar went through the place. The inmates were cheering and shouting.
Karl froze for a precious instant as Snake came at him, eyes bugging, chains rattling. Too late, he turned to try to lunge toward the door.
Snake’s clenched fists came down before his eyes, arms closing on either side of his neck. The links of the handcuffs caught Karl just above his Adam’s apple, and he made a raw, retching sound as Snake yanked him backward off his feet.
Black lace crept in on the edge of Karl Dahl’s vision. He couldn’t breathe. As he tried to raise his hands to claw at the hold on his throat, Snake slammed him sideways into the bars of Zigzag’s cell. His temple cracked against the iron once, twice, three times, and blood ran down through his right eye.
The black gangster spat in his face. Karl could no longer hear the shouting, only a loud, whooshing roar inside his head. He seemed to have no command of his arms or legs, flailing like the limbs of a rag doll in the mouth of a rabid dog. His body was nothing but limp weight, hanging him on the bracelets of his killer.
He was vaguely conscious of the red light flashing over the door to the outside hall, the door swinging open.
Snake beat his head against the bars again and again.
The guard called Bull was coming at him, swinging a baton.
Blood sprayed through the air as the baton connected with something—some
one
.
Karl fell to the floor, tangled in the arms and legs of his attacker, still choking.
The last thing he remembered thinking was that his father would have just stood there and shaken his head and said he should have done it himself years ago.
8
“YOU THINK SOMEBODY tried to kill her?”
“I can’t comment at this time. It’s not my job to speculate.”
Kathleen Casey made a loud raspberry.
Liska looked at the nurse sideways as she took a long drink from a can of Red Bull, raised her free hand, and lazily raised her middle finger.
Casey gave a weary chuckle. The press had cleared out as soon as they had realized they were never going to see or hear from Judge Moore. Liska and Casey had slipped into the lounge for a moment’s solitude.
“I hate the press,” Liska said. “It’s always like trying to explain to a group of four-year-old children why the sky is blue.”
“Because it is,” Casey said.
“But
why
?”
“Because God made it that way.”
“But
why
?”
“So he can weed out all the bad children who say ‘But why’ and send them to hell.”
Liska cocked an eyebrow. “Do I have to send Children and Family Services to your house, Casey?”
“Too late. I already got rid of the bodies,” the nurse said, then winced. “Bad joke, all things considered.”
An ambulance siren wailed in the distance.
Liska pushed her drink aside on the table and shook her head. “I think about what that Karl Dahl did to those children, and I can’t help but think of my own boys when they were that age. They were so innocent, so trusting. So vulnerable.”
She still thought of them that way, as far as that went. Kyle, her serious one, was almost thirteen, as he liked to point out every third day of the week. Almost a teenager, which still qualified him as a child, Liska reminded him.
R.J., her youngest, was still a little boy. He had inherited his father’s charming
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