Burn(31)
Usually you worry about by other people shiving you in prison. Not Barteaux, though. “That is the third time he’s done that.”
“I know, man.” Leroy laughs. “Dude reckons he’s gonna get his ass transferred outta here if the administration thinks he’s being targeted. Someone really outghta’ tell the guy not to keep stabbing himself in front of the cameras.”
Marco breaks off from his own laughter, pointing down the far end of the canteen. “Ho. Hold up. I see our guy.”
Sure enough, Cade’s making his way through the tables, tray gripped in his hands. He’s a big guy, almost as big as me. Dark haired and covered in tattoos. We could be brothers, but we’re not. He got sent away to serve a bullet—a year’s sentence—for a crime he refuses to talk about. I saved his ass from a severe beating kindly being served to him on his first day by the Klu, and ever since then we’ve been friends. When Cade rocks up and slaps his tray down on the table, Leroy prods his finger into the seam of angry looking stitches running from Cade’s temple down to his cheekbone. “What d’I tell you about the clavo, ese? You don’t wanna be keeping that shit in you cell, man. They gonna put your name above the SHU hole they keep throwing your ass into at this rate.”
Cade’s a repeat offender for contraband, or clavo if you’re Leroy. So far I’ve seen his ass get dragged to the SHU for weed, a knuckle-duster and a cell phone (fuck knows how he got that in here). He scowls, smacking Leroy’s hand away.
“Fuck you, man.”
I pass him a pack of smokes, raising an eyebrow. “What was it this time?”
Cade opens the pack and takes three, tucking them into the top pocket of his jumpsuit for later. “Lewd images of a graphic sexual nature,” he recites, spooning food into his mouth.
Marco erupts into hails of laughter. “Porn? You got busted for a week for lookin’ at pussy?”
Cade just shrugs it off, swallowing down his meal. “They’ll screw me for anything. You know that.”
“Yeah, man, we do. They still riding you hard?” Marco asks.
Cade casts a suspicious glance around the tables, eyes narrow. He blows out a deep breath. Ever since he’s been in here, he’s been the target of attacks from both the Arians, the Mexicans, and the prison guards, although no one is saying why. Least of all Cade. The prison admin want him to spill his guts over something, and the gangs are afraid he will. Thus far he’s been on lock down, refusing to even tell the three of us whatever this dark shit is that’s threatening his life on a daily basis. “Offered me WITSEC this time,” he admits.
Leroy thumps his arm. “Damn, dude. You know they give you a salary for life when you join WITSEC? Free money. You don’t gotta do nothing for the rest of your days!”
“Apart from look over your shoulder,” I say. Cade gives me a nod—I understand. The others are petty criminals. Leroy broke into a hardware store and stole a power drill. That crime would have landed him in Lompoc instead of a supermax if the stupid fucker hadn’t bludgeoned the security guard who caught him half to death. Same story with Marco. He was a small time dealer on the outside, probably would have scored twelve months in minimum security if he hadn’t assaulted a cop trying to escape. These guys have no idea what it’s like working in organized crime. I do, and Cade does, too. He hasn’t told me, but I fucking know he’s in some deep shit. WITSEC is nowhere near as safe as the cops and politicians make it out to be. There’s always a way. A person to be threatened. A computer to be hacked. And then you’re dead. We eat our food, and we don’t talk about it anymore.
In the end, worrying about a flawed witness protection system doesn’t really matter. Cade doesn’t get to join WITSEC; he doesn’t even make it out of Chino. Three weeks later, during one of the rare moments the UN aren’t in session, an Arian named Spider stabs my friend three times in the back. Kidneys. Liver. Lungs. A professional hit. The guards carry his limp body down the gangway, past the open door of my cell where I’m doing chin ups, leaving a river of blood behind them. He doesn’t come back.
The official line is that Cade Preston is died of his injuries.
This guy, this stranger…he looks dangerous. Zeth freezes in the hallway, staring straight at him, jaw clenched. And he just accused him of being dead? I have this awful sinking sensation in the pit of my gut. Zeth looks like he put a bullet in this guy, buried him, only to find out that he dug himself out of his shallow grave and has come back to life. The frightening thing is that that’s entirely possible. Was Zeth supposed to put this guy down? Is out and out warfare about to be unleashed? Zeth just picks up his clothes and gets dressed, frowning slightly.