Third Grave Dead Ahead
Page 18
While Neil had never believed in what I could do back then, he’d since changed his mind when our paths crossed again. As he was the deputy warden of the prison where Reyes Farrow had spent the last decade, I’d had no choice but to look him up in my quest to find the man most likely to win the Sexiest Son of Satan on the Planet award. And because of an incident that happened when Reyes first arrived here ten years ago that involved the downfall of three of the deadliest gang members the prison population had to offer in about fifteen seconds flat, Neil was beginning to believe there really were things that went bump in the night. Whatever Neil saw left an impression. And he knew just enough about me to believe I knew what I was talking about. Poor schmuck.
He turned and started walking away, which I thought was really rude. But I followed nonetheless.
“He just wants to talk?” I asked, hurrying to catch up. “Did he ask you to call me? Did he tell you why?”
He led the way past the security posts before answering. “He asked for a one-on-one with me,” he said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “So I went to the floor, you know, fully expecting to die since he was so angry at being bound by a mutual acquaintance of ours.” He cast a quick glower over his shoulder. “So I get to his cell and he says he wants to talk to you.”
“Just out of the blue?”
“Just out of the blue.” He led me through a couple more checkpoints, then into a windowless interview room with a table and two chairs, like the kind they used for meetings with lawyers. It was tiny, but the bright white cinder block walls made it seem less so. It looked like the only form of visible monitoring from the guards would be through a postage stamp window in the door.
“Wow.”
“Exactly. Are you sure you want to do this, Charley?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I sat at the table and laid a file folder I’d brought on top, surprised he’d let me keep it.
“Well, let me think.” Neil was agitated, started pacing back and forth. He still had a fairly nice physique despite the tragic onset of male pattern baldness. From what I’d gathered, he’d never married, which came as quite the shocker. He’d always had hordes of girls after him in high school. He glanced at me as he made another pass. “Reyes Farrow is the son of Satan,” he said, starting the count off with his thumb. “He is the most powerful man I’ve ever met.” Index finger. “He moves at the speed of light.” Middle finger. “Oh, and he’s pissed.” Fist at side.
“I know he’s pissed.”
“He’s pissed as hell, Charley. At you.”
“Pfft. How do you know he’s mad at me? Maybe he’s mad at you.”
“I’ve seen what he does to people he’s angry with,” he continued, ignoring me. “It’s one of those images that haunts you forever, if you know what I mean.”
“I do. Damn it.” I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth.
“I’ve never seen him like this.” He paused and placed his palms on the table in thought. “He’s been different since he got back.”
“Different how?” I asked, alarmed.
He started pacing again. “I don’t know. He’s distant, more distant than usual. And he isn’t sleeping. He just paces like a caged animal.”
“Like you’re doing now?” I asked.
He turned to me, not amused. “Remember what I saw when he first got here?”
I nodded. “Of course.”
The first time I’d visited, Neil told me the story of how he became aware of what Reyes was capable of. He’d just started working at the prison and was on the floor in the cafeteria when he saw three gang members heading toward Reyes, a twenty-year-old kid at the time who’d just been released into gen-pop from Reception and Diagnostics. Fresh fish. Neil had panicked and grabbed for his radio, but before he could even call for backup, Reyes had taken down three of the deadliest men in the state without breaking a sweat. Neil said he moved so fast, his eyes couldn’t follow. Like an animal. Or a ghost.
“That’s why I’ll be watching through that camera,” he said, pointing to the device in the corner, “and I’ll have a team just outside this door, waiting for the word.”
“Neil,” I said, leveling a warning gaze on him, “you can’t send them in and you know it. If you care anything about your men.”
He shook his head. “Maybe if something happens, they can at least stop him long enough to get you out.”
I stood and stepped next to him. “You know they can’t.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” he asked, a hard edge to his voice.
“Nothing,” I said pleadingly. “He won’t do anything to me. But I can’t make the same promise for your men if you send them in with batons and pepper spray. He might get a bit miffed.”
“I have to take precautions. The only reason I’m letting this happen is—” He lowered his head again. “—you know why.”
I did know why. Reyes had saved his life. Out in the real world, that was saying a lot. In prison, the weight of that statement multiplied exponentially. “Neil, you never even liked me in high school.”
He scoffed humorously and raised his brows in question.
“I’m a little flattered you’re worried, but—”
“Don’t be.” He grinned. “Do you know how much paperwork is involved when people get killed in prison?”
He turned and started walking away, which I thought was really rude. But I followed nonetheless.
“He just wants to talk?” I asked, hurrying to catch up. “Did he ask you to call me? Did he tell you why?”
He led the way past the security posts before answering. “He asked for a one-on-one with me,” he said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “So I went to the floor, you know, fully expecting to die since he was so angry at being bound by a mutual acquaintance of ours.” He cast a quick glower over his shoulder. “So I get to his cell and he says he wants to talk to you.”
“Just out of the blue?”
“Just out of the blue.” He led me through a couple more checkpoints, then into a windowless interview room with a table and two chairs, like the kind they used for meetings with lawyers. It was tiny, but the bright white cinder block walls made it seem less so. It looked like the only form of visible monitoring from the guards would be through a postage stamp window in the door.
“Wow.”
“Exactly. Are you sure you want to do this, Charley?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I sat at the table and laid a file folder I’d brought on top, surprised he’d let me keep it.
“Well, let me think.” Neil was agitated, started pacing back and forth. He still had a fairly nice physique despite the tragic onset of male pattern baldness. From what I’d gathered, he’d never married, which came as quite the shocker. He’d always had hordes of girls after him in high school. He glanced at me as he made another pass. “Reyes Farrow is the son of Satan,” he said, starting the count off with his thumb. “He is the most powerful man I’ve ever met.” Index finger. “He moves at the speed of light.” Middle finger. “Oh, and he’s pissed.” Fist at side.
“I know he’s pissed.”
“He’s pissed as hell, Charley. At you.”
“Pfft. How do you know he’s mad at me? Maybe he’s mad at you.”
“I’ve seen what he does to people he’s angry with,” he continued, ignoring me. “It’s one of those images that haunts you forever, if you know what I mean.”
“I do. Damn it.” I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth.
“I’ve never seen him like this.” He paused and placed his palms on the table in thought. “He’s been different since he got back.”
“Different how?” I asked, alarmed.
He started pacing again. “I don’t know. He’s distant, more distant than usual. And he isn’t sleeping. He just paces like a caged animal.”
“Like you’re doing now?” I asked.
He turned to me, not amused. “Remember what I saw when he first got here?”
I nodded. “Of course.”
The first time I’d visited, Neil told me the story of how he became aware of what Reyes was capable of. He’d just started working at the prison and was on the floor in the cafeteria when he saw three gang members heading toward Reyes, a twenty-year-old kid at the time who’d just been released into gen-pop from Reception and Diagnostics. Fresh fish. Neil had panicked and grabbed for his radio, but before he could even call for backup, Reyes had taken down three of the deadliest men in the state without breaking a sweat. Neil said he moved so fast, his eyes couldn’t follow. Like an animal. Or a ghost.
“That’s why I’ll be watching through that camera,” he said, pointing to the device in the corner, “and I’ll have a team just outside this door, waiting for the word.”
“Neil,” I said, leveling a warning gaze on him, “you can’t send them in and you know it. If you care anything about your men.”
He shook his head. “Maybe if something happens, they can at least stop him long enough to get you out.”
I stood and stepped next to him. “You know they can’t.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” he asked, a hard edge to his voice.
“Nothing,” I said pleadingly. “He won’t do anything to me. But I can’t make the same promise for your men if you send them in with batons and pepper spray. He might get a bit miffed.”
“I have to take precautions. The only reason I’m letting this happen is—” He lowered his head again. “—you know why.”
I did know why. Reyes had saved his life. Out in the real world, that was saying a lot. In prison, the weight of that statement multiplied exponentially. “Neil, you never even liked me in high school.”
He scoffed humorously and raised his brows in question.
“I’m a little flattered you’re worried, but—”
“Don’t be.” He grinned. “Do you know how much paperwork is involved when people get killed in prison?”
