Lights Out (10 page)

“I’ll remember that the next time I’m out on the town. Now, let me see that arm before I have an orderly come over here and punch you in the balls.”

“You’d do that?”

“Want to find out?”

“Here.”

“Thank you kindly.”

“How’s it look?”

“No pus. No inflammation. Looks like you avoided an infection. Congratulations. Your assailant didn’t know how to really mess you up.”

“Guy was a bitch. How could he possibly pull some real hardcore shit off before I break off his arm an’ stick it up his ass?”

“Oh, plenty of ways. Rubbing shit on the blade is a good one. That’ll infect you real nice. The Cong back in Vietnam used to do that with their booby traps. Lost a lot of soldiers to secondary infections.”

“Rubbin’ shit on a blade. That’s disgustin’!”

“Some would say the same thing about violence in general.”

“Yeah? Those homies are called bitches.”

“See? There’s that banter I love so much.”

“Shit. So, when am I gettin’ back to my cell, man?”

“Couple of days. I want to make sure that thing stays clean.”

“It’ll stay clean! Just let me get the fuck up outta here!”

“Why the hurry? At least here you’re not in lockdown.”

“I don’ give a shit. I wanna head back.”

“Seriously, Tree. Why?”

“I can’t tell you, man. You’ll think I’m crazy or some shit.”

“Try me.”

“Naw.”

“I’m serious.”

“Fine.

“Doc, man. Last night, I swear to God I thought I heard somethin’ sneak through here, hissin’ an’ shit.”

***

“Hey.”

“What is it, Sweeny? You know I can’t be seen with you.”

“I know. I’ll make it quick, all right? Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Fine. What’s up?”

“You’re working solitary now, right? They put you in to replace the dead hack?”

“Yeah, they did. Can you believe that?”

“Sure, I can. Fortune favors the bold, right?”

“Exactly.”

“So tell me, how late does your shift go?”

“Midnight.”

“You fucking kidding me? What are you doing here already?”

“Overtime. They’re searching for those bodies.”

“Found anything?”

“Fuck me if I know. I’m walking around half-asleep.”

“I get that. Well tell me, how much of your shift do you get alone?”

“Pretty much anything after six. There’s a camera in there, but I hear it doesn’t work worth a damn. That’s why they don’t know who was in there a few nights ago.”

“That’s good to hear. That’s real damn good to hear.”

“I’m glad. You need something?”

“Yeah, I do. The whole brotherhood does, in fact. All you got in solitary is Hall, right?”

“Yeah, but you know how that place is. It doesn’t stay that empty very long.”

“Yeah, well I want it to be real empty by the time your shift’s over. Think you can manage that?”

“The niggers started it, huh?”

“No other explanation. They let Hall live while they killed a proud Aryan brother. There’s no way in hell we’re letting something like that slide.”

“No way. Absolutely.”

“So, you can pull it off?”

“Don’t even think twice, Sweeny. Hall is one dead motherfucker.”

“Those are some great words to hear. Listen, before you head out, you want to pass a message on to a few Brothers.”

“Anything for the Brotherhood, Sweeny. You know that.”

“That’s good. Now, come here. I got a little plan for that nigger Diggs.”

Three

Anton Ribisi sits in the passenger seat of the luxury car. It’s a Lexus, and he likes the way the leather seat makes crinkling sounds underneath his weight. He feels a sharp twinge of envy. When he was a young soldier coming up, he sure as hell didn’t get to drive around in a Lexus. It’s unfair what these new guys get away with nowadays.

He watches out the window, waiting for the signal. Anger simmers in his heart like a black poison. Unlike his previous emotion, he lets this one bubble. He’ll need it. Anger can be a tool just like any other emotion, and Anton knows this. You learn to control it; you can use it. Some of the dumbfucks working beneath him need to learn that. Some of the dumbfucks above him do, too.

Carlo appears from behind a tree. The younger man nods, his face grim, and Anton shoulders open the car door. He steps out slowly. No need to hurry for the inevitable. Besides, keeping the guy waiting will just make it a better example. So he stretches once both feet hit the forest floor and the door shuts behind him. The air is cool, and the orange and red leaves of autumn drift down slowly from above. He watches them circle and twirl, and only once he’s seen a few of them touch the soft ground does he decide to follow Carlo. Not like he doesn’t know where he’s going, but Carlo’s waiting for him just the same. You wait for the boss. That’s a goddamn rule.

His soldier leads him deeper into the trees, where the sunlight doesn’t quite touch. Anton bundles his coat around his shoulders a little tighter, fighting the chill. He watches Carlo lumber around the trees, and he wonders how the lug hasn’t managed to get himself shot yet. His back is as wide as a thousand bull’s-eyes. You could shoot from Kentucky and slot him in Florida.

The thought, amusing as it may be, disappears when they reach the tiny clearing. He sees Benny first, his shirt rumpled and dirty, a crust of blood decorating the flesh beneath his shattered nose. Dried mud clings cracked to the man’s face, and Ribisi knows he’s been blubbering again. The thought makes him sick, makes him want to puke right in the traitor’s face. It would serve the fuck right.

He strolls up to Benny, looking down at him. The little bastard struggles, but Sal keeps him in one place, a meaty paw wrapped around the back of his neck. Benny’s wife is another matter. It takes two men two to hold Anna Moreno down, she’s bucking so hard. She almost wrenches an arm free, but Tony switches his grip, and now she’s stuck like a fly on paper. The terror in her eyes, in her screams, is unreal, and Anton almost feels sorry for her. She looks so pathetic, the curls of her hair hanging loose and wet with sweat, her mascara running down her tear-streaked face. She played a part in this, though. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“I’m sorry, Anton!” Benny screams. His voice sounds like a little girl’s, and his lips shake like they’re made out of Jell-O. The guy’s seconds away from pissing his pants, but Anton can’t be bothered to care. “I wasn’t gonna do it, boss. Honest!”

“That’s a goddamn lie, Benny. You think I’d buy that for an instant? You think you know anything about me, you should know I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere. I knew you were working with the Feds before you knew.”

He points to Anna. “And I knew it was her who came to you with it, her who got pinched in the first place.”

“Fuck you,” she says.

He glances at her, admires the obstinate look on her face. Such a change from the fear he saw only a moment ago. When he leans in the slightest bit, the façade crumbles and she starts crying. Still, points for the attempt.

“You could have come to me, Benny. We could have worked something out, and all of this could have been avoided. You went along, though. Maybe you thought you could get away with it. Maybe you were just afraid of what might happen to your marriage otherwise. Truth is, it doesn’t matter anymore. Ship has sailed and all that. You were gonna flip, try to help those pieces of shit take me down like a common hood. If you think that’s something I’m about to let slide, you’ve got a hard lesson to learn.”

Benny strains against Sal’s hand, shuffling forward on his knees. “It was her, Anton! It was her the whole goddamn time! I was just afraid to come to you, but I wasn’t going to help her. That’s bullshit. I’m not a fucking rat, Anton! I swear on my mother’s grave!”

Anton shakes his head. “You leave your wife, the mother of your children, at my feet. You’d give her up to save your own ass, and in the same sentence you have the balls to swear on your mother’s grave?”

Benny’s eyes widen. “It
was
her! I fuckin’ swear!”

Anton nods. “I want to believe you. I’m almost there, too. Really, I am. You need to prove it to me, though.”

“Sure, boss. Whatever you say. Just tell me what I have to do.”

He nods to Carlo, who hands him the baseball bat. He hefts its weight in his hands, a smooth, solid hunk of rock hard wood. He takes a few practice swing at the air, admiring the look of horror that shines in Benny’s eyes. Once he’s done, he switches his grip and offers the bat to the traitor before him.

“Do her,” he says.

Benny almost chokes on his own gasp. “What?”

“You heard me. You want to prove you’re loyal, you take care of her. You do it right here, right now. Don’t ask me anymore questions. Just step up to the plate.”

Anna screams again, and this time it’s so loud Anton can’t believe she doesn’t rupture something in her throat. She gets an arm free from Tony, but Sal grabs it an instant later. He twists it behind her back, and Anton holds his poker face when he hears the dry snap of bone.

The sound makes Benny scream.

“I can’t!”

“It’s her or you. You said it was all her fault, didn’t you? If that’s the case, then it means she doesn’t give a shit about you. If she did, she wouldn’t have been walking around with a grand worth of goddamn crystal in her purse, and she wouldn’t have offered you up the second she got caught with it. She’s never seen you as anything more than a meal ticket, a way to get out of whatever pile of shit she’s fallen into this time.”

“That’s not true,” Anna says between choking sobs. She snaps her head back and forth, her hair whipping along behind it. “I love you, Benny! I’d never hurt you!”

“I know, sweetheart!”

“But she did,” Anton says. “She tried to fucking ruin you. What were your choices? You could have lived in witness protection as some worthless asshole, or you could have ended up where you are right now. Either way, your life is completely fucked, Benny, and every last ounce of it is because of her. She hurt you, Benny. It wasn’t me. Fuck, I still want you in the crew. You’re a good earner, one of my best. I’d fucking hate to lose you. But I need to know you’re loyal. I need you to show me.”

Benny sinks toward the ground, his body seeming to shrink beneath his horror. “I can’t,” he whimpers.

“Then she gets to watch me kill you.”

Anton raises the bat over his head with both hands. Anna lets out another shriek, and Benny tries to twist away. Sal clamps down on his neck, though, and he has nowhere to go. Instead, he cries out.

“Okay!”

Anton pauses. “Okay what?”

Benny squeezes his eyes shut, pushing out a fresh supply of tears. When he opens them, he looks up at Anton, holds out his hand.

“I’ll do it.”

Anton smiles. “Good boy, Benny. I figured you’d pull through in the end. You always been smart that way.”

The man nods weakly, and Anton hands him the bat. Anna lets another ear-piercer loose, and this time something does break in her throat. The sound goes from a shriek to a pained rasp. She hangs her head and cries, and Anton motions for Tony to let her go. She collapses to the forest floor, shaking her head and curling into a ball.

“No, no, no. Don’t do it, Benny. Please.”

But Benny doesn’t reply, not when his blubbering says everything that needs to be said. He steps in front of his wife, a woman he’s shared a home with for twelve years by Anton’s memory, and plants his feet like a lumberjack.

“Batter up,” Carlo says through a grin, and Anton shoots him a look that lets him know he’d better shut right the fuck up. Like a good soldier, Carlo does what he’s supposed to.

Anna gives her husband a final, pleading look. “Don’t do it, Benny. Please, God, don’t do it!”

Benny closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

The first crack from the ball bat just makes her scream again, and the next six only make her scream louder. As the eighth comes, however--Benny swinging with all he’s got because he can’t stand how fucking horrible it is anymore--she goes quiet. After another three whacks, her body begins to twitch and writhe among the dirt and leaves. Nine more swings, and she lies perfectly still, her face all but unrecognizable.

Benny pants between his sobs.

“It’s okay,” Anton tells him. “You did good, Benny.”

“Thank you, boss,” the traitor finally says, still looking at the pile of flesh that used to be his wife.

Anton draws the pistol out from under his coat and presses the barrel to the base of the traitor’s skull.

“You’re welcome.”

He pulls the trigger.

***

Ribisi couldn’t tell who was calling his name. He only knew they had woken him up and he was a little pissed off about it. Rubbing his eyes once and then opening them, he found Father Albright standing at the bars of his cell. The anger faded quickly.

“Good morning, Father. Sorry about that. Looks like you caught me asleep.”

“I’m sorry I woke you. I can come back.”

“Don’t worry.” He climbed off of his cot, and stuffed his feet into his slippers. “I’m up now, might as well stay that way. Welcome to my porch.”

“Warden Timms won’t let me take appointments for counseling or confession, so I’m seeing inmates like this. It’s a way I can help.”

Anton checked his reflection in the mirror. He turned on the water, wet his hands, and slicked back what remained of his hair. “I never take appointments with you, and I haven’t gone to confession in years. Always seemed like bullshit to me.”

“I’m aware of that, Anton, and I never thought you’d be interested in either of those.”

Ribisi sat down on the edge of his bed and clapped both hands on his knees. He looked up at Albright, waiting for him to continue.

“I just spoke with Omar Marquez a few moments ago, and he wanted me to bring a message to you,” the priest said.

“A message?”

“A request.”

“Now that is interesting.” He stood, paced back and forth along the short length of his cell a few times, and then approached the bars. “Is it a good one?”