His eyebrows knitted together. “She told me her shift didn’t start till three today.”
When Hans’s glare deepened, Ben took a step back.
“Get in, Ben.” Suddenly a gun materialized in Hans’s steady hand. “Get in or I will kill your mother.”
As he stared down the barrel of the gun, fear sliced through his heart.
Honk, honk!
His heart was in his throat, his stomach at his feet. The city street grew silent around him, and his vision narrowed. All he could see was the circle of the muzzle aimed at his forehead.
“Get the fuck in the car,
now
.”
His mind whirled. Could he make it far enough away from the car to avoid getting shot? But then how could he protect his mom?
An extra-long honk made him jump and look over at the SUV. All the street noise returned, rushing his ears, and he knew he had to decide. Him or his mom. He flung open the car door and scrambled inside.
Hans stared at him a second before he put the car in drive. “You came this close to me blowing off your head, kid.” He kept the gun trained on him as he steered. The auto-lock for the doors clicked as the car moved forward.
Breathe
, he told himself. His hands shook and tears burned his nostrils. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing down the remnants of his lunch. “Is…my mom…okay?”
Hans snorted. “For now. As long as you do what I tell you.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“No questions.”
Ben swallowed and sank back in the seat. Were they headed to the interstate? The silence in the car pressed down on him. “Who are you?” he finally asked.
“I am Hans. You know that.”
“What’s your
real
name?”
Hans looked over and his eyes traveled up and down his body.
Oh, shit
—was he going to take him somewhere and rape him? Rape him, then kill him?
“Too smart.” Hans shook his head, his eyes back on the road. “You are a Barberi for certain.”
No, I’m not!
“They’ll know something happened to me when I’m not at swim practice.” The smirk on Hans’s face rankled him. “They’ll send the police out looking for me.”
Hans chuckled. “Yah, like they care about you. Your mother hates you, don’t you know that? You disappear, and she is one happy woman.”
Ben’s stomach clenched. His mom didn’t think that, did she? He wasn’t just a burden, was he?
“But you will live if you do what I tell you.” Hans turned right, going north on the Dan Ryan. “Ashley will have to take you back—too bad for her.”
“Please.” Ben heard the quiver in his voice. “Please tell me where you’re taking me.”
Hans cuffed him on the ear and sent his head right into the passenger window. His vision clouded and his brain buzzed with pain.
“Shut the fuck
up
,” Hans said with a sneer.
Trembling and fighting nausea, he didn’t say another word for the next fifty minutes north.
***
They’d passed the outlet malls when they finally exited I-94, but Ben remained clueless about their destination. It wasn’t until he passed a green road sign that he knew.
Gurnee State Penitentiary—2 miles
His head still throbbed, but he was sick of the silence. “Why are we going to Gurnee?” When Hans didn’t answer, he added, “Is my uncle back in there?”
“
What?”
Hans stared at him, eyes flaring. “Of course not. Don’t scare me like that.”
Why would Uncle Grant being locked up scare him? And if he wasn’t going to visit Uncle Grant, why were they going to the state pen? Wait—did his mom tell Hans about him dealing drugs? Would he be handcuffed? Would he just leave him there, in prison? His mind raced with possible scenarios—getting arrested, thrown in a cell, making license plates in a hot, dark room with a corrections officer standing over him yielding a whip…
Grandpa Barberi
. He closed his eyes.
You’re a fucking moron to forget about him.
But he’d never met his grandpa, so it had been easy to forget he existed. Not that Uncle Grant ever forgot about his dad. Dr. Hunter’s words came back: “
Your grandfather was out of control when he drank, and he beat his sons. Grant’s had a long road to recover from the abuse.
”
Seemed like his grandpa had lived on in his father’s thoughts too. “
I think that’s the way Logan showed his love to you, Ben…He made sure he didn’t repeat his father’s abuse.
”
“Why does Grandpa want to talk to me?” he asked, wondering if his grandpa wanted to
hit
him too.
“I am not supposed to say—that is for you two to sort out. My job is to get you there.”
“He’s paying you to drive me here?”
He didn’t answer.
Ben remembered something from a few years ago. “Wait a minute. I’m a minor—I need my mom’s permission to visit a prisoner.”
Hans gave him an incredulous look. “How the fuck you know that?”
“I wanted to visit Uncle Grant when he was in prison. But my mom wouldn’t let me.”
“She
will
let you visit your grandfather, though.” He patted his jacket. “I have the letter right here, with her name on it.”
“She
will?”
Why would Hans threaten his mom’s life if she’d allowed this? “You’re lying.”
Hans lunged for him, but this time he was ready. He ducked and tucked his body against the passenger door.
Hans didn’t try again. “I do not want blood on you for the visit—the COs might get suspicious.” Ben slowly sat back up, and Hans smiled. “The ride home is another matter.”
“So you’re taking me home after this?”
“Safe and sound, as long as you do not fuck up.” The car slowed as they neared the Gurnee entrance, and Hans turned to him. “Listen to me, boy. Visiting hours end at five. You will go in there, talk to Barberi, and come right back to the car.”
“You’re not going with me?”
“No. You mention me or my gun, my people kill your mother.
Anything
goes wrong, your mother dies. Got it?”
Ben gulped. “Yeah.” The life of his one remaining parent was in his hands.
Sweet
.
Hans rolled down his window as he pulled up to the guard station, and a rotund CO stepped out. “State your business.”
“I’m driving the boy to see his grandfather, sir.”
Hans’s relaxed posture amazed Ben, who felt sweat bead at the back of his collar. He realized Hans had put away the gun without him noticing.
Pay better attention!
“Let’s see some ID, gentlemen,” the guard said.
Hans dug into the inner pocket of his jacket to extract an envelope and what looked to be laminated ID cards.
“I don’t have a driver’s—” Ben began.
“I brought the boy’s social security card,” Hans interrupted, keeping his face turned to the guard. Behind his back his right hand made the shape of a gun.
The CO looked up from the folded paper. “Why isn’t his mother with him?”
“It is in the letter, sir,” Hans said smoothly. “She works during visiting hours. She just wants the boy to see his grandfather.”
Ben tensed when the CO stuck his head in the car. “You okay with this, Benjamin Barberi? You want to see your grandfather in here? You sure?”
Hans didn’t turn around, but he could feel his intensity all the same. He wished he could somehow communicate he’d been kidnapped, but it felt too risky. He met the guard’s stern gaze. “Yes, sir. I’m here to see my grandpa.”
The guard remained stooped forward for a long moment, then stood and handed the papers back to Hans. “Proceed to the visitor lot, on your right.”
“Thank you.”
As the car moved forward, Ben wondered how the guard up in the tower ahead kept warm all winter long.
“You waited too long to answer him,” Hans hissed.
Ben’s heart thumped louder, and he braced for Hans to hit him again. How could he get away?
“Do I need to take out my gun again, hmm?”
“No.” His teeth clamped together. “I just wanna get out of here.”
“You and me both, kid. Gurnee does
not
bring back happy memories.”
“You were a prisoner here?”
Hans’s silence answered his question about how he knew his grandpa. But why did Grandpa Barberi want to see Ben? How had he screwed up
this
time?
Hans backed the car into a space at the far end of the lot. “Take this.” He shoved Ben’s social security card and the letter into his hands. “Leave the backpack. Once Barberi’s done with you, you come right back here, got it?”
Ben nodded.
“Remember, anything goes wrong in there, anything happens to me before we get back to Chicago…your mother dies.”
“You already told me that!” His breath hitched as he watched the man’s hand curl into a fist. He cringed and waited to get slammed.
But Hans only closed his eyes and growled, “Go.”
Ben scuttled out of the car. He scanned the grimy limestone exterior of the prison until he found a door marked
Visitors
at the end of a sidewalk. As he moved, his skin tingled with the sensation of eyes watching him from above.
Man up, Barberi.
There was a woman with a little girl in front of him, apparently in line to enter for visiting hours. Dangling from the mother’s hand, the tiny girl had white-blond hair in pigtails and a smudge of something on her cheek. She squirmed. “You gonna visit your daddy too?”
Ben looked to her mother, but she seemed preoccupied with her phone. He kneeled down to be eye-level with the girl. Little children shouldn’t have to endure this—their fathers gone, locked up, missing out on soccer games and birthday parties. “I’m visiting my grandpa,” he said.
“My gwampa’s died.”
Her huge eyes blinked at him, and he suppressed the urge to respond
And
my
dad’s dead.
“I’m sorry,” he said instead.
“C’mon, Cora,” the mother’s voice broke in. Ben looked up at her eyes, full of suspicion. As he stood, she yanked the girl inside.
He was next. Nausea swirled through him.
“You,” the guard said, and Ben looked up. “Step inside.” Ben swallowed and followed directions. “ID,” the guard said, and Ben handed him his social security card. “How old are you, kid?”
“Sixteen.”
“Minors have to be accompanied by their guardian. No visitation for you.”
When the guard grasped his elbow to escort him out, he blurted, “Wait! I have a letter from my mom.” The guard paused. “She’s working now but she really wants me to see my grandpa. I-I-I want to see him too. Please, sir.”
The guard looked down at his ID card. “You’re Barberi’s grandson?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re sure you want to see
him?”
“I’ve…I’ve never met him before.”
The guard stared for a moment then led him toward the line for the metal detector. He handed the social security card to another guard behind the desk and nodded at the envelope in Ben’s hands.
“Let’s see it.”
Ben held his breath as the guard read the letter. He bet Hans (or whoever the hell he was) had forged his mom’s signature somehow.
From behind the desk, the other guard held up the social security card. “Looks legit, Marty.”
“Thanks, Jim. This letter does too.” Marty handed the letter to Jim then turned back to Ben. “Okay, Benjamin, anything in your pockets before you go through?”
“Do I get my ID back?”
“Not until after the visit, kid.”
He nodded and walked through the metal detector. He’d heard of these in airports, but he’d never taken a flight before. And maybe Hans would kill him before he ever had that chance. Or maybe Grandpa Barberi would beat him to it.
All too soon he sat in front of an empty metal cage, listening to murmured conversations around him. Why did other visitors get to sit in open booths? When two guards led a chained older man through a steel door at the back of the room—his deep black eyes trained on Ben the entire shuffling trip—he understood. His bladder shriveled from the mere approach of his grandfather: the man who’d terrorized his dad and uncle. The man who’d killed a seven-year-old boy.
The guards plopped that man down on a chair in the cage. “You got ten minutes, Barberi,” one said. “And any outbursts like before, you lose visiting privileges for a year.”
Outbursts?
“Thank you, officer,” his grandfather said in a flat voice, looking straight at Ben. His hair was gray, his skin tan, his body almost as tall as Uncle Grant’s. His grandpa waited for the officers to back out of the cage and lock it before he spoke another word.