Inside (29 page)

“Who is this?” a voice responded.

Buzz! Her heart nearly seized in her chest. Fear urged her to hang up, but she couldn’t. That wouldn’t be doing Virgil
any
favors. Getting back in the shower with the water running, she closed the door so the noise and echo would help camouflage her voice and pretended to be someone much coarser and bolder. “Who’s
this?
” she snapped back.

Her answer got no response, but Buzz was still listening. She could sense him on the other end of the line.

“Where’s Simeon?” she asked.

“Sleeping,” Buzz said, and then he was gone.

Peyton stood shaking in the shower long after Buzz hung up. Had he fallen for her act? Or had he recognized her voice?

What was he going to do?

Rex had no answers. He’d returned to Los Angeles because that was the only city he could call home, but he couldn’t go to any of the houses or bars that were familiar to him. The Crew owned or frequented those places, and he knew what would happen if he showed his face. No doubt they’d already put out an order to shoot him on sight.

He did have one thing going for him. He hated his family and everyone knew it, so it was unlikely that gang members would threaten them. Virgil was his only family, really, and The Crew had been after Virgil
before
Rex defected. What he’d done wasn’t going to affect anything.

Maybe it was time to go legit, he mused. Should he try to change his life? He’d flirted with that idea for years, wished he could figure out how. That had to be what Virgil was doing. But Virgil had the advantage of a clean slate. Rex did not. Beyond that, he had no way
to make a legal living. He was driving a stolen car. He’d just killed two men from his own gang. And he was probably wanted as an accomplice in the marshal’s death in Gunnison, as well as the Eddie Glover shooting—thanks to Ink. From what he could see, he didn’t have a chance of cleaning up.

Which was why, once it grew late, he found himself driving past the illegal club Horse operated at Sixtieth and Vermont. It wasn’t the drugs, prostitutes, slot machines or illegal firearms that attracted him. It was the sheer familiarity of the turf. He’d felt so alone since Gunnison, so adrift. And that made him just a little reckless. He kept thinking about walking into Horse’s club, confronting him and anyone else who was there. He knew he wouldn’t make it out alive. Everyone inside would be packing heat. But at least he’d go down like a man. Maybe he’d open fire, take a few of those bastards with him. He sure as hell didn’t want to run for the rest of his life….

He was sitting at the curb across the street, letting the engine of the stolen Sentra idle while he wondered who might be inside and whether or not he had the balls to do what he’d been contemplating, when a Honda Civic pulled up and Shady’s girlfriend stumbled out. Rex recognized Mona instantly. He’d always felt sorry for her. Shady kicked her around, passed her off to his friends, called her the most terrible names.

The driver of the Honda didn’t seem to realize he was there. He was too busy screaming that Mona better not have given him herpes or he’d come back and take his twenty bucks out of her hide. Then he tossed her panties out on the street, along with her money, and sped off.

Teetering on high heels, she tried to collect the cash but fell over when she reached down and didn’t get up.
She sat in the middle of the road, her tight skirt too short to hide her bare ass, staring up at the black sky as if she wished it would swallow her. And then she started to cry.

Shady had turned her out. She wouldn’t be down here, hooking for Horse, if he hadn’t. But she wouldn’t last long here, either. She was too much of an addict to make a good prostitute.

She’d hit rock bottom. It was the most pathetic sight Rex had ever seen, and he’d seen a lot of sad things in his life. He told himself he had no business watching her. That he should drive off and forget all about Mona, Shady, Horse and the others. But her sobs were so gut-wrenching he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Leaning out the window, he whistled to catch her attention.

Her head popped up and, hiccuping as she looked over at him, she made a weak attempt to pull down her skirt. “You should get out of here,” she warned when she recognized him. “Horse’ll kill you if he sees you.”

Apparently she’d heard about his situation. “I know.”

She wiped her face. “So…why are you here?”

“Same reason you are.” He had nowhere else to go. It was the story of his life. He’d been scrabbling around, looking for a place to belong, since he could remember.

“What do you want?” she asked, curious enough to be distracted from her heartbreak.

To start over.
To get out. Like Virgil. If only he knew how…. “Climb in. I’ll take you to a shelter.”

She raised her chin. “What if I don’t want to go to a shelter?”

“You have to go somewhere, right? You won’t survive here much longer.”

She knew it, too; he could tell. “I have a sister,” she admitted after a lengthy silence.

“Will she help you?”

“Maybe. I haven’t ever given her the chance.”

“Then don’t you think it’s time you asked?”

Slowly she climbed to her feet and came around the car.

“Where we headin’?” he asked once she’d strapped herself in.

She toyed with the twenty her last john had paid her, the only thing she had to show for her years with The Crew—besides a debilitating drug habit and possibly, likely, an STD or two. “Beverly Hills.”

He felt his eyebrows go up. “No kidding?”

She grinned at him. “No kidding.”

They had some trouble with the address. She got confused and couldn’t remember it right. But eventually they located her sister’s house and he waited while she went to the door. When the woman who answered hugged her, Rex knew it was going to be okay. At least for now. He was about to take off when she came hurrying back to the car.

“Do you want to stay here for the night?” she asked. “My sister’ll let you crash on the couch.”

“No, thanks.” He preferred to remember her at this moment, didn’t want to stick around in case her situation didn’t look quite as good in the morning, when she needed a fix.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay, well, I appreciate the ride.”

“Good luck.” He shifted into Drive, but she didn’t step away.

“You know, I’m not sure whether to tell you this.” She fiddled with her skimpy, bralike blouse. “I’ve been thinking about it for the whole ride, but…”

“What is it?” he prompted.

Her chest lifted as she drew a deep breath. “They found Skin.”

Rex almost couldn’t believe his ears.
“What did you say?”

“It’s true. I heard Horse talkin’ about it earlier.”

“How?”

“Some big muckety-muck inside the CDC ratted him out. Rick Walrus or something like that. They were all laughing about how fast he offered Skin up.”

The bastard… “So where
is
Skin?”

“Pelican Bay. He’s informing on the Hells Fury. No one knows why. The cops cut him some sort of deal, I guess. But whatever he was hopin’ to get out of it…it won’t happen. Shady and Meeks are on their way to Crescent City right now.” She shivered. “I know it can’t be good news for you, considerin’ what they’re gonna do. I’ve heard you talk about Skin, and I can tell you respect him. But…I thought you might wanna know.”

“Thanks,” he said. No words could convey the depth of feeling that engulfed him when he pictured Virgil locked inside Pelican Bay with no clue that one of the “good guys,” whom he was supposed to be able to trust, had just sold him out.

R
ick Wallace hadn’t been picking up his cell phone or returning the messages she’d left, so Laurel wasn’t expecting it when he answered.

“Mr. Wallace?” she said, startled by his hello.

“Yes?”

She cleared her throat. “This is Laurel Hodges.”

She got the impression he wasn’t happy to hear from her. “Who gave you this number?”

“
You
did. Don’t you remember? You said if I ever needed anything to give you a call.”

“Oh, right. That night in Gunnison.” He sighed loudly enough that she could hear. “That seems so long ago.”

He sounded stressed. She felt guilty for bothering him, but she couldn’t believe that he was dealing with any more than she was. And this wouldn’t take more than a second. “Not to me,” she said. “I feel as if a tornado’s picked me up and is still whipping me around. I have no idea where it might drop me, or when.” Although two men from the U.S. Marshal Service had taken her to a different safe house, this one in Albuquerque, New Mexico, the man who’d stayed with her had told her it wasn’t a permanent location. The government was still working on the details of her new
identity, which made everything even more difficult for her because she couldn’t settle anywhere. They’d left her waiting on pins and needles. And with no work, no friends, nothing except her children to distract her, she was going crazy, especially during naptime when the house was quiet. The marshal spent most of his time in his bedroom.

“I’m sorry, but I’m late for a meeting.” He didn’t seem to care about her plight. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m calling to check on my brother. If you won’t give me any way to reach him directly, you have to at least give me periodic updates. I’m in an unfamiliar house in an unfamiliar city. The Crew killed the last marshal, and I saw one man gun down two others. I think it’s understandable that I’d be a little rattled and need some reassurance to help me adjust to all this upheaval.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. You can’t call me every day. I’m busy. I’ve got a lot going in
my
life, too.”

Was he joking? Could it be anything close to what she was going through? Was someone out to kill him and his family? She doubted it. “Then give me another number. Someone I can talk to now and then. That’s the only way I can get through this. If I know Virgil’s okay, I can go on. But when I’m not sure—”

“We’ll let you know if anything happens to him,” he broke in. “No news is good news, as they say.”

Judging by the curtness of his voice, he was hoping to brush her off, but she wouldn’t have it. “That’s not good enough, Mr. Wallace. If I can’t hear from Virgil himself, I have to hear that he’s making progress so…so I can believe he’ll put an end to this for all of us.”

“I’m not at the prison,” he said. “I have no idea
what’s going on there. I’m not as involved in this as you might’ve thought.”

“Then who is? Will you give me the warden’s number? There can’t be any danger in that. How hard could it be for him to tell me that my brother’s fine?”

“You don’t understand. I can’t—”

She tightened her grip on the phone. “Don’t say that,
please.
You don’t know how frightening it is wondering if I’m really as alone as I feel! If I have to, I’ll call you day and night until—”

“Stop. I get it.” He grunted in frustration, but when he spoke again, she was glad she’d pushed. “Call Peyton Adams. She’s at Pelican Bay State Prison.”

That
was where they’d taken Virgil? Wallace had just told her? She hadn’t expected him to give her that much. “And the number?”

“Wait, scratch that. Whatever you do, don’t call the prison or speak to the warden. Let me get you Peyton’s cell phone. Hang on.” She didn’t get a chance to ask who Peyton was. She didn’t care as long as this person was close enough to Virgil to keep her informed.

“I should never have gotten involved in this…. I’ll be damn glad when it’s over,” she heard Rick mutter. Then he recited ten digits and hung up.

Peyton had never dreamed she’d hear from Virgil’s sister. When the call came in, she’d just gotten out of a budget meeting and only answered because she hoped it was Virgil. She had to warn him that the HF was doing what it could to check him out—at least, she thought that was what the call from Buzz signified. And because Buzz’s phone probably wasn’t the only one in the prison, Virgil could be calling from any number, even numbers with area codes from faraway places. There were pay
phones on the tiers, but the men had to sign up in order to use them, had limited access and every conversation was monitored.

“Who are you?” Laurel asked once she’d identified herself and was sure she had someone named Peyton on the phone.

“I’m the chief deputy warden.”

“Oh, now I get it.” Peyton wished
she
did.

“Is Virgil okay? I’ve been going crazy worrying about him. I just…I need someone to tell me that everything’s fine.”

Peyton ducked into the women’s restroom. She’d been walking through the bull-pen area, wasn’t quite at her office, and didn’t want to pass Shelley. She was afraid something in her conversation would pique her assistant’s interest. Shelley had already been watching her a little more closely than usual today. As hard as she strove for normality, her agitation would give her away.

At least the bathroom, which was empty, afforded her a small amount of privacy. This late in the day, most of the support staff were packing up to head home. Shelley would be going, too. Hopefully soon.

“He’s fine,” she told Laurel. “Well, as fine as can be expected.” She considered mentioning his injury but decided to put it off for the moment, in favor of satisfying her own curiosity. “I have to admit I’m surprised to hear from you. How did you get my number?” Last she’d heard, they weren’t revealing Virgil’s whereabouts to anyone, even Laurel.

“Rick Wallace gave it to me,” Laurel said. “I hope that doesn’t upset you. He didn’t want to. But I wouldn’t take no for an answer. He doesn’t know what it’s like
waiting and wondering. I’m not even in a familiar place, you know?”

“I know.” Peyton tried to imbue her voice with understanding. She certainly sympathized with Laurel and was well aware she’d been through hell. But her mind wasn’t on what she was saying. Virgil had made it clear that he didn’t want Laurel to know where he was, that he didn’t want any link between them. He was afraid The Crew would exploit it in some way. So why had Wallace suddenly coughed up this information as if he was no longer worried about that? And why hadn’t he returned her calls today? She’d wanted to talk about getting some information on The Crew. The police must have a few details about the leaders, at least. Maybe they even had pictures. After what had happened to Laurel, Peyton thought it might be wise to learn a little more about Virgil’s adversaries. That could help protect him. At a minimum, they should send descriptions to the local police, tell them to be on the lookout. It was such a simple thing to do and as far as she was concerned, should’ve been done already. She’d said as much in her last two messages to Rick, but she’d received no response. It felt almost as if he was…avoiding her.

Was he embarrassed about the way he’d behaved? He should be. But he wasn’t that hard on himself. More likely, he was wrapped up in his divorce.

Why did he have to split up with his wife
now?

“Virgil’s my only family,” Laurel was saying.

“He’s worried about you, too,” Peyton told her.

“I know. Can you tell him I’m okay? I mean…I’m not
really
okay. Some days it feels like I’m losing it.” She chuckled awkwardly. “But I’ll hang on. I’ve managed this long.”

“How’s the marshal treating you?” Peyton asked.

“Fine. He doesn’t say much. He does routine checks every hour or so but spends the rest of the time in the bedroom, watching movie after movie.”

“Why does he go to the bedroom?”

“Because I don’t want my children to see the violent movies he watches, especially after what they’ve already seen.”

Peyton stared at herself in the mirror above the sink. “How are Jake and Mia? Are they okay after witnessing the shootings?”

“You know their names?”

“Yes. I’ve seen their picture, too. They’re beautiful children.”

“They’re coping. I’ve told them what they saw wasn’t real, just some actors pretending. They’re young enough to buy it. I think. They also believe we’re on vacation for a few weeks. That’s the only thing I could come up with.”

“This will all be over soon, okay?” She wished there was more she could say to comfort Laurel, but there wasn’t.

“Do you
know
that?” Laurel asked hopefully. “Or are you just saying it?”

“Like you, I’m praying for it. We have to have faith, right?”

“Right. I get it. Okay. Will you do me a favor?”

“I’ll do anything I can.”

“Tell Virgil I love him. I—I didn’t tell him on the phone when we talked. I…couldn’t.”

“I can do that. Sure.”

“And…can I call you again? Just to check in and make sure everything’s fine?”

“Of course. Call whenever you feel you need to.”

“Thank you,” she said, and they hung up, but Peyton
didn’t immediately go to her office. She leaned against the sink and tried to imagine what would make Rick Wallace tell Laurel where Virgil was.

“Wow, you’re working late again?”

Shelley stood in the doorway. Peyton smiled as pleasantly as possible but she resented the interruption. “I won’t be here much longer.” She’d just found some fabulous information online about The Crew. A cop in Los Angeles had posted a website dedicated to L.A. gangs, their signs, colors, philosophy, known leaders, even a bit of their history, and he’d included a whole page on The Crew.

“Okay, well, I’m heading out,” Shelley said. “But before I do, I thought I’d see if you wanted to deal with this.”

“With what?” Peyton asked.

Shelley walked in and plopped a stack of messages on her desk.

Peyton shoved away from her computer. “What’re those?”

“They’re all from the same guy. Rosalee delivered them to me before she left for the night. She said he’s been trying to reach the warden all day long.”

Rosalee was the warden’s assistant. “And Fischer wouldn’t talk to him?”

“He’s been too busy. And let’s face it. This guy’s probably a family member of one of the cons, all in a tiff about how we’re violating his constitutional rights by not serving enough pudding for dessert.” She laughed. “But he said it was urgent and he was so insistent, Rosalee asked me to see if you’d be willing to talk to him the next time he calls.”

Peyton wasn’t particularly interested. She had too
much going on already. Virgil and his safety took precedence over everything else. But Shelley’s comment about talking to this guy
the next time he called
struck her as odd and made her look through the messages. There were at least ten slips in the stack, but not one included a telephone number.

“He wouldn’t leave his contact information?”

“Said he doesn’t have a phone. He’s calling from
pay phones.
” She rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that pathetic? He’s probably on drugs. Everyone has a phone these days.”

If he was on drugs, wouldn’t he have given up after two or three attempts? Peyton glanced at the times the calls had come in. Almost once an hour all day long. That was too regular, too consistent, for someone who was high and not thinking straight. “Did he say what it was about?”

“No. Wouldn’t give her any idea. What a nutcase, huh?”

“Rex McCready.” Peyton read the name aloud. She didn’t recognize it. Or…did she?

Swiveling back to her computer, she scanned the webpage she’d just pulled up and, about two-thirds of the way down, spotted the name—Rex “Pretty Boy” McCready.
Pretty Boy.
The man who’d saved Laurel and her children. The name must’ve registered even though she’d barely had time to skim over what she’d found before Shelley interrupted.

Holy hell…
What did he need? Why was he so determined to get hold of the warden?

He wouldn’t have called unless he had a good reason. He was a wanted man.

He obviously knew Virgil was here. Why else would he call? And if
he
knew Virgil’s whereabouts, so did The Crew. Was that what he was trying to tell them?

If so, it was okay for the moment. The Crew wouldn’t be able to reach Virgil while he was inside.

But gangs sometimes formed alliances, if it was in the interests of both groups. And The Crew would know Virgil’s name wasn’t Simeon Bennett. They’d know he wasn’t a legitimate con here because he’d been exonerated and released from ADX Florence. All they had to do was share that information with the HF, and together with what Weston already suspected, they’d
all
know the truth.

Pulse racing, Peyton dropped the messages and looked up at Shelley. “What’s today? It’s Thursday, right?”

“Yeah, it’s Thursday,” she said, nonplussed. “Is something wrong?”

Yes, something was wrong. Thursday was visiting day for the SHU.
Shit!
What were the chances?

“I need you to do an errand for me before you go.”

Shelley didn’t seem happy to hear this. She had her purse on her shoulder and her car keys in her hand. “What?” she asked hesitantly.

“Go over to visitation and get me a list of everyone who came to the prison today. Ask specifically if anyone requested a meeting with Detric Whitehead or Weston Jager.”

“That’ll be a pretty short list. Can’t you just call over there?”

Peyton didn’t have time for any argument. An inmate was most vulnerable when he was in the yard or the dining hall. And it was the dinner hour. “I want a list of
all
visitors, and I want you to get it and bring it to me
now.
If you don’t move your ass, you can find yourself another job.”

The sharpness of her response made Shelley’s eyes
flare wide. “Okay, jeez. I wasn’t saying I
wouldn’t
do it. I was just saying, if you’re only looking for a list of SHU visitors, there probably aren’t more than two or three,” she grumbled as she trudged off.