False Witness (20 page)

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Eddie, a naturally lean fellow who worked out religiously, was better suited to the muggy interior of the laundry than most of his colleagues, but it was still uncomfortable. The Badlands’ air circulation system was mediocre at the best of times, and it had only gotten worse as the temperatures rose into the low thirties. Prisoner comfort wasn’t high on the priority list – they weren’t in the Badlands for jaywalking, after all – but that meant the guards had to put up with the same discomforts while on the job.

The laundry consisted of six drum-style stainless steel washing machines, six large front-loading dryers, and an eight-by-ten wooden table for folding in the middle of the room. A couple of old-school steam pressing tables sat dormant and dusty on the side opposite the washers (Eddie wondered why the hell maximum-security prisoners had ever needed their sheets pressed). The facility was much larger than it needed to be these days – it was designed in the 1940s as an industrial laundry, but the advent of technology had seen the clunky, oversized equipment become smaller and smaller over the years. As old equipment was moved out, more and more empty spaces were created.

Hodge surveyed the room as Eddie led him around the perimeter. The ugly man appeared bored by the process, which pissed Eddie off. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be playing tour guide himself, thank you very much.
Breathe,
he told himself.
At least you want have to save him from an assassination attempt. Today, anyway.

They reached the corner that stood diagonally opposite the security camera mounted on the wall behind the platform at the front door. A vertical bulkhead projected out from the wall, creating an alcove that effectively made the eight-foot-square corner into its own doorless room. The camera could sweep up to seventy degrees, but this corner was forever outside the viewing area of its electronic eye. Even if it wasn’t, the room’s artificial light fell far short of the alcove, leaving it in perpetual shadow.

Eddie flinched when he saw a couple of ancient condoms shriveled up on the concrete floor. “This is it,” he said flatly. “This is as dark a corner as you’re going to find in the Badlands. Do whatever you want in here; the camera won’t see it.”

“Perfect,” said Hodge. He glanced at the old rubbers, then winked at Eddie. “Anyone I know, officer?”

Hot blood filled Eddie’s cheeks once again. For a fraction of a second he thought about killing Hodge right here, while the room was empty, where the camera couldn’t see them. Choking the ugly man with his baton, crushing the thick cartilege of his trachea into pulp as he spat a bloody mist into the air and clawed at his bulging eyes. He could get away with it. It was self-defense. Hodge was a cop-killer; no one would care. Hell, they’d give Eddie a fucking medal. Fuck Jason Crowe and his video file!

But even as the urge struck, he could see a change in Hodge. A sudden tensing of the muscles in his jaw, a flash behind his steel gray eyes, a barely noticeable crouch. Eddie had been in enough martial arts matches to know that, somehow, the ugly man could sense Eddie’s fury and was instantly prepared to respond. In that moment, Eddie knew –
knew
completely, without question – that Hodge could kill him there and then, without hesitation, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. In that moment, Eddie, whose entire self worth was tied to his ability to inflict pain on others, understood how an animal must feel when faced with a larger, fiercer predator.

Rage rushed out of him in a shaky breath, and he watched the spark in Hodge’s eyes fade along with it. The animal look was quickly replaced with the ugly man’s signature half-grin.

“Too bad,” Hodge said amiably. “Woulda been fun.”

Eddie didn’t respond. His breathing was all over the map.
Remember your training!
He took a deep breath, let out another quivering exhale. It was starting to work when Hodge dropped a leathery hand on Eddie’s shoulder and his heart rate skyrocketed again.

“Relax, officer,” Hodge cooed. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I like you.”

Eddie blanched.
What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

“In fact,” Hodge continued, “I’m gonna share a lesson with you today. Teach you something.”

“I don’t – I don’t get what you mean.”

“You will. Just watch and learn.”

They left the alcove and moved towards the center of the room, just as the rest of the laundry shift was walking in. Eddie put on his trademark scowl, hoping to hide how rattled he was, and climbed the stairs to the platform by the door where he would spend the next five hours.

The next ninety minutes or so were uneventful. Eddie watched as Hodge and the rest of the crew – made up of Billy Trinh, one of the greeners from Trinh’s table, two inmates he didn’t recognize, and the tall Aryan from breakfast – fed the big machines with sheets, uniforms, underwear and socks. The temperature was high but tolerable for Eddie; the crew had stripped down to their undershirts, as was the norm on hot days. They spoke little, preferring to spend their down time leaning silently against the folding table, arms crossed.

Finally, after the third load had been deposited in the washers and the second load had been folded and sorted, Eddie saw Hodge, Trinh and the Aryan head for what he now thought of as the Dark Corner. He glanced at the camera above him; it was a reflex, one he hoped no one in the surveillance room had noticed. Odds were good that eyes were on the mess hall and the yard.

Not knowing what else to do, Eddie moved to the left edge of his platform in an attempt to keep an eye on Hodge. The irony was palpable: the place in the Badlands where he had been sure Hodge didn’t want to be was the place Hodge himself most wanted to be, with the people he should have least wanted to be with. Eddie wondered how closely he would need to follow whatever business arrangement Hodge was concocting, wondered more keenly how he would broach the subject of getting a taste for himself. Did he have it in him to be on the take? Why not? He deserved
something
in return for the shit sandwich he was being forced to eat.

Meanwhile, Hodge’s unlikely companions were talking animatedly in the Dark Corner while the ugly man listened, his arms crossed over his expansive chest. Eddie couldn’t make out what they were saying, but Billy Trinh didn’t seem overly impressed with the Aryan, who didn’t seem to care much. The three other men on laundry detail were making a show out of not noticing what was going on in the Corner, which Eddie had expected; the most successful inmates were the ones who made a habit of keeping their attention focused firmly on their own business, especially when the grown-ups were talking.

No sooner had Eddie’s thoughts turned to what he might do with some extra cash – maybe a trip to the Dominican, to one of the special “no-tell” resorts he’d read about online – than he heard and saw temperatures rising in the Dark Corner. Billy Trinh had positioned himself with his back to the stained concrete wall and adopted a defensive stance. Hodge remained cool, while the Aryan stripped off his undershirt, the kind Eddie and his friends called a wife-beater.

“You’re fuckin crazy, Hodge!” he heard Trinh shout. “Don’t you know who I am?”

Eddie’s pulse started to race as Hodge finally unfolded his arms and began to move toward the Asian. “Don’t care who you are,” the ugly man drawled. “Just care what you know.”

Trinh’s eyes darted from Hodge to the Aryan. “Sanchez!” he yelled to the outer room. “Get in here!” The Latino greener, whom Eddie assumed was Sanchez, paled noticeably, but continued to ignore the Corner.

“Your boy is smart,” said Hodge, continuing to advance on Trinh. “You be smart, too. Just give me the name and this is done.”

Trinh yelled something in Vietnamese and pushed off from the wall, his arms and shoulders rippling. He brought his right foot up in an arc aimed squarely at Hodge’s ugly head. Hodge ducked low and to his right, simultaneously driving his left fist forward like a piston. It connected with the inside of Trinh’s thigh, knocking the Asian’s leg back and throwing him off balance.

What is it with these guys and legs?
Eddie thought stupidly as he watched Trinh hit the wall from which he had pushed off seconds earlier. He was obviously in pain, but the fury in his eyes said the fight was far from over.

“Name,” Hodge said calmly. He could have been ordering a meal in a restaurant. “Last time.”

Trinh launched himself at Hodge again, this time with a volley of blows aimed at the ugly man’s head and midsection, as Hodge advanced on him. Trinh managed to land several shots, raising welts on Hodge’s left eye and the right side of his neck, but Hodge continued to force him back to the wall. Finally, Hodge twisted his massive torso and drove his right elbow squarely into Trinh’s nose. Eddie heard the wet crunch even from his vantage point almost fifty feet away.

Another scream in Vietnamese, another furious attack from Trinh. Feet and fists swung blindly, some landing, others countered by Hodge. Eddie had never seen anything like this in all the time he’d spent in the controlled chaos of the karate arena. Blood rarely touched the surface of the mat; here, it was everywhere. And Hodge seemed to be laughing it all off. He was like a juggernaut moving relentlessly towards the wall. To Eddie, the battle seemed to last hours, though in reality it had been less than a minute since Trinh had thrown the first kick. Finally, Hodge slammed a jackhammer fist into Trinh’s abdomen, lifting the Asian off the floor and raising a watery
yurk
sound from his mouth. Trinh staggered for a moment before Hodge ended things with a piledriver kick to the chest.

Eddie’s eyes were saucers.
What am I supposed to do
? As if reading his mind, Hodge locked eyes with him from the Dark Corner and shook his head.
Stay put.
What the fuck was going on? This was supposed to be business. Eddie was supposed to get a taste!
It was supposed to be business!

As Billy Trinh dropped to the floor, the Aryan – who had watched from on the sidelines thus far – took his wife-beater and wrapped the Asian’s arms behind his back. He held the shirt secure with one hand while the other reached into his shoe. Adrenaline drove a fountain of pennies into Eddie’s mouth as realization set in: the Aryan was pulling out a shank.

Hodge absently wiped blood from his mouth and eyes, his face and torso gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat from his exertion and the heat of the room. He surveyed the area: the three other inmates were still doing an excellent job of being lost in their own thoughts. The Aryan was breathing heavily, his eyes swimming. Eddie stood on his perch, paralyzed by indecision.

Hodge grinned wide and motioned for Eddie to join them. As Eddie left the platform and wandered, his hand on his baton, toward the Dark Corner, Hodge knelt next to Trinh. The Asian was panting. His shattered nose made wet slurping sounds as he tried to breathe through it. As Eddie arrived, Hodge knelt down beside Trinh, until their faces were as close as they could be without actually touching. Blood streamed from their wounds to mix and pool on the polished concrete flood.

“Your liver’s done,” Hodge said quietly. Trinh gasped and spat blood and phlegm without any real strength. “And your nose don’t work anymore. You’re either gonna suffocate here or you’re gonna die in the infirmary, but either way, you’re done. Gimme the name and baldy here’ll make it quick.”

The Aryan’s mad eyes gleamed as he brought the shank – a filed down toothbrush, the least dignified weapon Eddie could imagine – into Trinh’s field of view. Trinh’s head dropped in defeat. Eddie had seen it a few times in his years at the Badlands. Inmates were like a pack of wolves: if you took on the leader and lost, you rolled over and exposed your belly.

“I dode no de nabe,” he wheezed.
I don’t know the name
.

Hodge frowned. “What
do
you know? Think.”

“By brudda zed it wad a woban.”
My brother said it was a woman.

Who was a woman? Eddie wondered. This was all about a woman? That’s just plain fucking crazy.

Hodge’s eyes narrowed. “A
woman?
You sure?”

“Yuh.”

“He didn’t know her?”

“Nuh.”

“He didn’t know her but he trusted her? Pull the other one, Billy.”

“Jee ad cash.”
She had cash.

Hodge chewed this for a while. “All right, Billy,” he said with a gentleness that stunned Eddie. “Just one last thing and then it’s over.”

Trinh’s skin had taken on a dull yellow hue. Jaundice. Christ, Eddie thought. How did Hodge know the man’s liver was ruptured? He could barely string together a full sentence, but he knew anatomy?

The Asian nodded slowly, his eyes on the floor.

“When?” Hodge asked.

“De day abder.”
The day after.

“After what?”

“Abder your boys gilled Ballizer.”
After your boys killed Palliser.

“Huh,” Hodges breathed.

The big Aryan was shucking and jiving now. His eyes danced like those of an addict awaiting a major score. “Hurry up!” he hissed. “Let’s fucking go-go-
go
!”

Hodge spared one more glance at Trinh and straightened up. The Asian’s face had slumped almost to the floor, his skin all but glowing yellow now as toxins rushed into his bloodstream. The Aryan, still behind Trinh, lifted the man’s slumping torso upright. He looked Eddie straight in the eye as he clenched Trinh’s luxurious hair in one hand, and drew the toothbrush blade across Trinh’s throat in a vicious sawing motion. Blood spewed from the ragged wound down the front of Trinh’s shirt. The smell was awful.

Time slowed as the reality sunk in for Eddie. He had just stood by, transfixed, as two men beat another into incapacity. Now he was watching that man bleed to death right in front of him. His instinct throughout was not to rescue Billy Trinh, but to simply stand by and let it happen. Hodge hadn’t needed to give him instructions; turns out it was his nature to watch others suffer all along.

“Bye-bye, slant eye!” the Aryan hooted. “Now
I’m
the king of the castle and
you’re
the dirty asshole!” He dropped the corpse to the floor and locked eyes with Eddie again. “Hodge says you’re his pet. Guess that makes you my pet, too, eh?”