“When you live with someone like Natasha, you learn to disappear,” she said. “As soon as Mr. Dillard turned his back I started walking down the hill towards the river. Then I walked along the bank. There wasn’t anything magical about it.”
“I talked to a woman on Saturday who explained some things about telepathy to me,” I said to Alisha while Fraley poured himself a cup of coffee. “I tried to get her to come and testify, but she said there wasn’t going to be a hearing.”
“No hearing?” Fraley said. “Why not?”
“She didn’t say. She just said she sensed something about evil being around me.”
“I know how she feels,” Alisha said. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Don’t worry; you’ll do fine. Just answer the questions the best you can.”
“That’s not what I mean. I just have this nagging feeling that something very bad is happening.”
“Happening? You mean now?”
“Yes. Something isn’t right.”
Lester McKamey sat on the cold concrete bench and sulked. The guards had rousted him early and taken him to a holding cell near the sally port. They’d refused to bring him any breakfast, telling him food wasn’t allowed in the holding cell. He’d been there for two hours, and his stomach was churning and growling. To make things worse, if they didn’t hold his hearing in the morning, he’d be stuck at the courthouse and would miss lunch, too. Fucking assholes. Being locked up was bad enough. Did they have to starve him to boot?
A fat transport deputy in a khaki uniform unlocked the cell door. The clock in the drab gray hallway said it was seven forty-five, too goddamned early to go to the courthouse.
“Why the hell are y’all takin’ me over there already?” Lester whined. “Court don’t start till nine.”
“What difference does it make to you, boy? You can sit on your ass over there as good as you can sit on your ass here.”
“I ain’t gonna get fed till suppertime,” Lester said.
“Tell it to somebody who cares.”
The guard led Lester down a short hallway. The steel door buzzed and then clanged as the bolt released. The door slid back into the wall and Lester walked through to yet another steel door twenty feet down the hall. It slid open and Lester could feel the cool morning air. A white van sat idling in the open sally port. Lester climbed into the back, conscious that another inmate was already there. Lester didn’t look at the other inmate as the guard chained his shackles to a steel ring on the floor. He wasn’t in the mood for idle conversation.
As the van bounced along towards the highway, Lester thought about his prospects. He’d been arrested for his third DUI in eighteen months after being stopped at a sobriety checkpoint a month ago. The cops also tacked on driving on suspended, second offense, violation of the seat belt law, violation of the implied consent law, and misdemeanor possession of marijuana for half a goddamned joint they found in the ashtray. His mama and daddy had refused to post his bail, and he’d been stuck in jail ever since. His lawyer, a fresh-faced punk who probably didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground, had filed a motion claiming the roadblock violated Lester’s constitutional rights. If the lawyer was right, Lester would be home by suppertime. But if he was wrong, Lester was looking at six more months of eating cheap peanut butter and bologna.
The courthouse was less than two miles from the jail, so the ride lasted only a few minutes. Lester continued to sulk and stare at the floor as the guard unchained the other inmate. Once his own chain was unlocked and pulled through the ring, Lester climbed out. He thought he recognized the other guy as they shuffled towards the steps that led to the courthouse holding cell, but he wasn’t sure. He’d get a better look when they got upstairs.
The guard led them through the door, up the steps, and into the holding area. Lester leaned on one foot, then the other, as he waited for fat-ass to unlock the cell. The other dude shuffled into the cell ahead of Lester and plunked himself down on the concrete bench. Lester took a seat on the floor across from him. The guard slammed the cell door and walked out, leaving the two of them alone. The courthouse bailiffs were in charge of holding cell security, but they didn’t pay much attention. The last time Lester had been in the cell, a fifty-something lesbian with big teeth had talked on the phone on the other side of the counter for almost an hour. When she hung up, she disappeared until it was time for Lester to go in front of the judge.
The guy across from him was leaning over on his elbows with his face in his hands. He was wearing the standard-issue orange jail jumpsuit. He was lanky and had long black hair that Lester figured had been dyed, since the roots were a different color. Why in the hell would anybody dye their damned hair black? It made the guy look like a fucking zombie.
Wait a minute. Wait just a goddamned minute. Could it be? Lester cleared his throat.
“S’up, dude?” Lester said.
The zombie lifted his chin. It was him. The baby killer. Lester had seen him on television a bunch of times. What’s his name? Zombie-looking motherfucking baby killer, that’s what. Why would they leave me alone in a cell with a goddamned baby killer? I’m just a drunk.
Lester decided to play dumb, act like he didn’t recognize the dude. Maybe he’d even get the zombie to say something Lester could use later on to cut a deal and get out of jail.
“I’m fixin’ to get the hell out of here,” Lester said.
“That right?” said the zombie.
“Fuckin’-A. My lawyer says they violated my rights by settin’ up a roadblock out in the middle of nowhere.”
The zombie responded by dropping his face back into his hands.
“What’s your name, dude?” Lester said.
“What the fuck do you care?” the zombie said through his fingers.
“Shit, man, ain’t no need to get your panties all in a wad. I was just tryin’ to be friendly. Whatcha doin over here today?”
“Kicking the shit out of a baldheaded little redneck if he doesn’t shut his fucking mouth.”
“Damn, you are one hostile dude,” Lester said. He stood up and walked towards the barred window at the back of the cell that looked out over the parking lot behind the courthouse, still stinging from the remark about his bald head. He’d thought about getting one of those rugs like his uncle Roy, but they were too damned expensive. Besides, he didn’t want to put up with all the shit he’d hear from his drinking buddies.
Lester watched another van pull up and saw a stocky, black-haired boy get out of the back, wearing the same orange jumpsuit that he and the zombie were wearing. It was the other baby killer. He remembered this one’s name because Lester had a younger brother named Levi. His brother was pretty much worthless, but at least he wasn’t no baby killer.
“Looks like we’re gonna have company,” Lester said.
A couple of minutes later, Lester heard the sound of shackles rattling in the hall. The door opened and Levi came shuffling through, followed by a different transport deputy. The deputy stuck his key in the barred door and opened it. Lester had heard the news about the zombie wanting to cut some kind of deal with the DA’s office, and he knew there wasn’t but one way to cut a deal. You had to rat somebody out. This could get interesting.
The kid walked into the cell without looking at either Lester or the zombie. He sat down on the concrete bench next to the zombie and stared at the wall while the deputy locked the cell door.
“I’ll be back to pick you up at noon, Levi,” the deputy said.
What was that? A deputy who ain’t a son of a bitch? He called the boy by his name. Lester had never heard a guard or a deputy call an inmate by name. Sometimes they’d call them inmate or prisoner, but usually it was dickhead or maggot or shitbird or asshole. Never by name. He shook his head. If the deputy was coming back to pick up Levi at noon, that meant Lester’s hearing wouldn’t be held until at least one thirty. He’d have to sit in this fucking cell and twiddle his goddamned thumbs all morning. Why in the hell won’t they feed the inmates in the courthouse holding cells?