A
tkins locked Jake and T.J. in separate isolation cells.
He would abide by Sheriff Barnes’s edict; he’d leave them be until the problem with the two fathers blew over, but once it did, Atkins would hand them over to Big Baby to play with until he tired and killed them. When he did, they’d ship his ass off to Pelican Bay or some other hellhole to live out the rest of his life.
Atkins returned to the guard locker room, which included a break room with a television, two leather couches, Ping Pong table, and kitchen. He was alone. He set the AR-15 rifle in the corner and sat on one of the couches still trying to decompress. His arms were scraped and scratched, his clothes still damp from the afternoon thunderstorm. He’d shower and change as soon as he calmed down.
The radio in the room that monitored all of the individual guards’ radios crackled. Atkins recognized the voice of the guard at the front gate. “This is the front gate, over.”
“This is transport inbound with two prisoners. Approaching front gate. Over.”
That would be Bradley, bringing in Bee Dee and Henry. Atkins hadn’t yet decided what to do with the two of them, but he envisioned each on the obstacle course. “Ten-four. Gate will be open. Over.”
He stood to meet the bus but the radio crackled again, this time a different voice, heavily accented.
“Hey, this is De la Cruz.”
Atkins shook his head. No matter how many times he told the fucking Mexican, he still didn’t understand the concept of saying “over” to signal he had finished speaking.
The civilian at the front desk responded. “This is base, over.”
“I come to get the horses, but they no here.”
A pause ensued, no doubt the civilian waiting for Cruz to say “over.” When he didn’t, the man said, “Repeat De la Cruz. Over.”
“I say, I come to get the horses, but they no horses here. No one here.”
Another pause. Atkins picked up the receiver in the break room and broke into the conversation. “De la Cruz, this is Atkins. What do you mean, ‘no one there’? Over.”
De la Cruz’s voice became more animated. “I mean no one here, man. They all gone. The mule, she come back when she hear the truck, but the horses I no find. And no peoples either. Just the mule.”
Atkins thought of the inbound bus. “Hang on.” He switched frequencies. “This is base, over.”
“This is the front gate, over.”
“Do not…” Atkins let his voice trail.
The guard at the front gate said, “Base I lost you. Did not hear transmission. Over.”
“Nothing. Never mind. This is base, out.”
He changed frequencies again. “De la Cruz?”
“Yeah this still De la Cruz.”
“Find the horses,” he said. He set down the receiver, retrieved the rifle from the corner, checked the magazine, and pulled open the door to greet the bus.
The guard at the front gate looked up at the sound of the approaching bus, gears grinding, engine revving. The radio inside the bus crackled.
“This is the front gate. Over.”
“This is transport inbound with two prisoners. Approaching front gate. Over.”
“Gate will be open. Over.”
Sloane sat behind the wheel, Bee Dee kneeling at his side, speaking into the radio. Bee Dee dropped to his stomach as the gate swung inward. As Sloane drove past, he raised his left hand in mock salute to further shade his face. Not that it mattered. The guard in the booth paid little attention, giving a perfunctory wave.
“Drive to the side of the Administration Building,” Bee Dee instructed. “It’s the first one, right there. Park with the sun at our backs. It’s wicked this time of day.” With that Bee Dee got off the floor and sat in the second seat, in case anyone watched their approach. They’d expect him to be seated, hands cuffed to the bar across the seat. Henry sat across the aisle, hands also propped up on the bar. The guard, Bradley, and the bus driver lay in their underwear, shackled to the floor at the back of the bus, Molia’s Trojan horse. It had been their best chance to get inside Fresh Start. They weren’t leaving without Jake and T.J.
After surprising the bus driver, Molia took his and Bradley’s uniforms. He cut up one of their T-shirts to gag them. Then he slipped the black hoods intended for the boys over their heads and zip tied them to the floor.
“Where is everyone?” Sloane asked, looking out the bus window at the barren yard.
“Lockdown,” Bee Dee said. “They’ve locked everyone in the dorms. That means Jake and T.J. are back.”
“Tell me about the guards again,” Molia said.
“One to each dorm. Those three buildings over there. One at the front gate. That leaves Atkins and the captain,” Bee Dee said. He looked out the window. “Shit, that’s him. That’s Atkins.”
“I thought you said they don’t carry guns,” Molia said. “That’s an automatic rifle.”
“Something’s wrong,” Bee Dee said. “Atkins knows.”
“Maybe it’s just because of the lockdown,” Molia suggested.
Bee Dee shook his head. “The guards never carry guns unless they’re outside the perimeter.” He looked and sounded worried. “Something’s not right. Atkins knows something.”
“How?” Sloane asked.
“I don’t know, but he knows.”
Atkins watched the bus slow at the gate, turn, and enter the compound. The afternoon sun, low in the sky and radiant after the rain, reflected sharply behind the bus. Atkins raised his hand to deflect the glare, but even with sunglasses he could not completely shield the shimmering light. He stepped to the side to see at an angle, but it only partially deflected the glare and he could not see inside the windshield. Everything appeared as it should.
Except for the horses.
Bradley would not have left the horses and mule unattended. He would have waited for De la Cruz. At the very least he would have tied them securely to prevent their running off. Horses were pack animals, and the ones at Fresh Start knew when they were returning to their stable and what awaited them. They always stepped a bit quicker on the trail down the mountain, trained to expect fresh hay and a bucket of oats in the trailer on the drive back to the stables. So even if the horses had gotten loose somehow, they would not have wandered far, and they would have come back, as the mule had, at the distinct sound of the diesel truck’s engine.
Something wasn’t right.
The bus door opened. Atkins couldn’t be certain who stepped off first. It could have been Babcock, who had signed out as the bus driver, but he turned his back, facing the bus door. Atkins lowered his right hand to the stock of the rifle as Bee Dee stepped down off the bus, belly belt in place, hands cuffed. Henry followed. Bradley stepped down last. At least he looked to be the right size, similar build. But he had his head turned watching the inmates and Atkins couldn’t be certain.
Bee Dee and Henry shuffled forward, directly toward him.
“How’d it go?” Atkins called out, seeking to engage. “Any problems?”
The guard in the back waved a dismissive hand. As he did, the chain fell from Henry’s hand and he stumbled over it, falling to the ground. He wasn’t cuffed.
Atkins swung the rifle up. “Freeze! Freeze!”
The line halted. Atkins stepped forward, cautious, gun under his chin, locked and loaded. He aimed at the man at the front of the line. He wore a guard’s uniform but now, closer, without the sun blinding him, Atkins could see that the man was older. Heavier through the chest. “Drop your weapon. Now.”
The man dropped the weapon and raised his head. “Take it easy.”
“Son of a bitch,” Atkins said, momentarily stunned. He recovered and used the gun to motion the detective to the side. “You, in the back, step up, slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Sloane stepped forward, hands raised.
Atkins shook his head, disbelieving. “I’ll be God damned.” Then, as if struck by a thought, he said, “Wade.”
He stepped back, gun still aimed, and motioned for Molia and Sloane to cross in front of him. When they did, he turned his head, disregarding Bee Dee and Henry.
The kick was both sudden and violent.
Overbay kept an intercom on his desk to monitor the transmissions throughout the day. At the moment he was listening to the chatter between the bus driver and Atkins, as well as the transmission with De la Cruz. Something was amiss. He heard it in Atkins’s voice.
He unlocked the top drawer of his oak desk, removed his master set of keys, and started from his office, stopping to consider the locked gun safe. He opened the safe and chose his hunting rifle. Halfway down the hall he peered through the wire-reinforced windows into the isolation cells. Jake paced in his cell, like an animal in a cage at the zoo. T.J. sat on the edge of the metal framed bed bolted to the wall, head in his hand, his gaze directed at the floor. Overbay would deal with them in due course. Continuing down the hall he pushed open the Plexiglas door, then stepped out the heavy metal exterior door. He stopped when he saw Atkins aiming an automatic weapon at two men. Atkins motioned the two men forward, turning to follow as they complied.
That’s when Bee Dee sprang.
A blur of red, so fast Overbay almost couldn’t process what he was witnessing, Bee Dee struck with a vicious kick. Atkins’s leg crumpled and he dropped with an anguished cry of pain. Just as quickly, one of the men relieved him of his rifle, swinging the butt and striking Atkins hard under the chin.
Overbay raised his rifle but as he did a shadow crossed the ground. He looked up expecting it to be one of his guards. Big Baby had stepped from the foliage onto the path.
“What are you doing out of your dorm? There is a lockdown in effect. Return immediately.”
Big Baby shook his head, smiling his queer smile.
“You listen to me, Clarence. If you want things to continue as they are, you will get back to your—”
The hand gripped Overbay about the throat with such force it buckled his knees. Big Baby relieved him of his rifle, tossing it in the bushes. “I don’t like to be called Clarence,” he said.
He applied greater pressure, choking and dragging Overbay farther off the path. Black and white spots blurred Overbay’s vision. When the pressure eased Overbay collapsed to his knees, gasping and choking.
“You listen to me,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “As of this moment your privileges have been revoked. If you don’t return immediately to your dorm I will see that you are shipped out of here to—”
Big Baby had stepped behind him, his massive hands gripping him about the head. “No more punishment,” Big Baby said. “No more rules,” he said and snapped Overbay’s head hard to the left.
Bee Dee sprung, boot raised. Atkins turned, but not quickly enough. Bee Dee’s boot struck the side of Atkins’s left knee, as if breaking a stick propped against a curb, and Atkins’s leg caved inward with a sickening pop. He folded, screaming in agony. Just as quick, Molia knocked the barrel of the rifle into the air, ripped it from Atkins’s hands, and swung the butt up under his chin, snapping back Atkins’s head and drawing blood from the guard’s chin and mouth.
Bee Dee removed the handgun from inside his uniform and pressed it against Atkins’s temple. “You got him?” Molia asked.
“I got him.”
“Which dorm?” Sloane asked.
“I know.” Henry snatched the key ring from Atkins’s belt and raced across the yard, Molia and Sloane following.
Atkins grimaced in pain, spitting blood. He looked to have bitten his tongue. He looked up at Bee Dee, eyes enraged, jaw clenched, blood dripping down his neck from the gash in his chin, staining his uniform.
“Surprise,” Bee Dee said.
“Give me the gun, Bee Dee, and I’ll say they forced you into this.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re going to jail for the rest of your life. You know that, don’t you?”
Bee Dee smiled. “Funny, I was just about to say the same thing to you, you sadistic son of a bitch.”
Atkins chuckled. “You can’t win, Bee Dee. Overbay’s probably already taking them out the back. You’re too late.”
Bee Dee looked to where Sloane, Molia and Henry had run, realizing his mistake. Jake and T.J. wouldn’t be in their dorm. They’d be in the isolation cells. And Henry had taken Atkins’s keys.
Atkins laughed. “You can’t beat me,” he said. “I told you, you’re too fucking stupid.”
Bee Dee smashed the gun against the side of Atkins’s head, knocking him to the ground. “Wrong.” He pulled a zip tie from the pocket of his coveralls and bound Atkin’s hands behind his back, then he bound the guard’s feet. With the way they had positioned the bus, the guard at the front gate could not see what had happened and would not come to Atkins’s aid.
Bee Dee ran for the Administration Building, hoping he wasn’t too late.
Sloane followed Henry across the yard to one of the cement block buildings. Mike Tyson, the boxer, had once said everyone had a
plan until they got punched in the mouth. Then the plan went out the window. Molia had a plan, and his Trojan horse had worked. It got them into the facility, but Atkins approaching the bus carrying an assault rifle had been the punch in the mouth that destroyed the rest of the plan. Fortunately, Bee Dee had countered.
Bee Dee had explained on the bus that his real name was Daniel Neuzil. A DEA agent out of Iowa, Neuzil had worked undercover narcotics in local high schools because he could pass for sixteen, though he was actually twenty-eight. The DEA had grossly underestimated the scope of the corruption in Winchester County when it sent Carl Wade undercover to gain information on what it suspected to be a sophisticated marijuana operation. It took more than a year for Wade to work his way into Victor Dillon’s inner circle, but when he did, what he found had appalled and horrified him.
“He put in an immediate request to get a DEA agent inserted into the facility as a guard,” Neuzil explained, “but with law enforcement jobs scarce in a bankrupt state the list of correctional officer applicants was daunting. It was faster to get an inmate inside.”
Neuzil explained that it had not been difficult. “They created a fictitious crime, the theft of an automobile, and the Department of Justice had a judge in Sacramento sign an order incarcerating me along with a request for a transfer to Fresh Start. Winchester County was more than willing to take Sacramento’s money.”