Los Angeles County Jail

Los Angeles, California

 

Andres sat in a corner of the commons trying to keep to himself as he’d been doing since he’d been brought in. He saw Lobo yesterday. The five boys he’d been arrested with had mostly managed to post bail. Lobo said there were complications with his bail, but Isaac’s lawyer was working on it. He’d be out in a few days, he said.

Andres watched the other inmates around him, wondering how much longer it would be before someone recognized him, before someone tried to pick a fight or did something that would force Andres into action. He’d avoided confrontation thus far, keeping to himself and not really talking to his cellmates. But he couldn’t do that forever.

He wanted out. He wanted to hold his little girl and lay eyes on the woman who filled his every waking and dreaming moment.

Gray.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what her brother had said, that he thought she was in love with him. Robert knew Gray better than anyone. Was it possible he was right? Did she feel the same way for him that he’d been feeling for her these past eighteen months? Was it possible that this was more than lust, more than convenience, more than a man having feelings for the woman who looked so beautiful holding his infant daughter?

He desperately wanted to see her, wanted to ask her if it could be true. But he was also afraid to ask, afraid to pursue this. What if he was wrong? What if he made a fool of himself in front of a woman who only cared for him as much as was required in order to care properly for his daughter?

It was so frustrating for him. Was it supposed to be like this? In the past, whenever he’d wanted a woman, all he did was go up to her, drop a few suave lines, and either take her off to his bed or move on to the next pretty thing. But that wasn’t enough with Gray. She was…different.

Gray required delicacy. She required finesse. She required gentleness, consideration. Concern.

He’d never cared that much for a woman.

Love was a romantic device, a charming line to get a woman to trust. Andres’ experience had taught him that sex was a physical need, that love was a joke. It all led to the same place, a dark grave after a lifetime of struggle. No one was truly happy in this world, were they?

But when he thought of Gray, something new burned in his chest. Something like hope.

Andres leaned forward and ran his fingers through his hair, staring at the ground as image after image of her perfect face floated through his mind. He needed to get back to her.

He needed to stop being so obsessed by her.

He needed to fire her.

He needed to hold her and keep her close and find out if this thing could really happen.

No. Keeping her close would only put her in danger. If he really cared about her, he had to let her go.

Right?

“I know you.”

Andres turned his head sideways, annoyed by this sudden interruption. Another inmate was standing a few feet back from him. He was tall, sickly thin, his black hair greasy and hanging down in a face that was covered with such intense acne that it was difficult to tell if he’d ever been handsome.

“Go away, man.”

“I know you. We’ve met before.”

Andres focused on the floor again, his thoughts returning to Gray when the guy reached over and tugged at his shoulder.

“I know you!”

Andres stood. “Back off, man!”

Recognition suddenly flared in the other guy’s eyes. “I know how I know you! You picked up a buddy of mine a year ago. Grabbed him off the streets and made him disappear! I saw you! Saw what you did, you and your partner!”

Andres glanced toward the group of inmates who were gathered around the television. None of them seemed to have noticed what was happening just yet. But they would.

“Keep it down, kid,” Andres hissed.

“You’re a fucking cop! I saw you testify at his trial!”

Andres threw the first punch without thinking about it. He had to shut this kid up before anyone heard what he’d just said. He had to protect himself from the truth.

The kid’s eyes widened as he fell back a few steps. But then open hatred filled their dark depths. He charged at Andres, head lowered. He hit him full force, his head against Andres’ bread basket, right where a football should land after a good throw by a knowledgeable quarterback. The blow forced the air from Andres’ lungs, but he managed to keep from falling back more than a few steps. He grabbed a handful of the kid’s greasy hair, tugging his face out of his stomach and landing a couple of good punches against his jaw.

The kid struggled free, but came after Andres again immediately. The kid threw a punch, but Andres dodged it and threw one of his own. Then another and another. He grabbed the kid by the front of his shirt and kept hitting, aware that he had to shut this kid up before he screwed everything up by telling the other inmates what he knew. He had to put him out of commission for at least twenty-four hours.

So he kept punching.

He didn’t see the kid reach into his pocket, didn’t think that he was aware enough to keep fighting. He didn’t see the sharpened end of a spoon, didn’t realize he’d walked into a cheesy prison movie. And he didn’t see the sharp end of the spoon slam into his side.

“Break it up!” guards screamed as they came rushing their way. A couple of Sur 13 inmates had noticed them, too, closer than the guards. One of them yanked the kid away from Andres, inadvertently pulling the shiv free at the same time. He got the kid onto the ground, and the two of them began their own assault on him, beating him until his face swelled in a dozen places and he was no longer a threat.

Andres stumbled back, his hand slipping to the bloody stain growing on his shirt.

The kid was no longer a threat, but had he made the whole point moot anyway?