Deadly Journey (33 page)

Chapter 57

Sleepless Night

Weasel’s features
haunted me at every toss and turn as I relived my torture at his hands. Skunk
wasn’t faring much better, but incessant coughing was to blame for his lack of
sleep. The scraping of keys in locks and gates grating open on their hinges
brought with them a new sense of fear. Inmate chatter and the sound of
footsteps on the gantry echoed into a cacophony of shrill noise, stabbing at my
brain. Surfer’s face appeared at the side of my bunk. He rested his elbows on
my mattress. Looking forlorn, with his gold locks dishevelled, he buried his
face in his hands.

‘Shit, man, that was some rough night.
Listen, we better skip breakfast and leave the yard until closer to ten.’

‘I need some water for a shave.’

‘Pass your mug. I’ll get some water,’ Skunk
said.

The front of Skunk’s T-shirt was covered in
blood and mucus from using it as a makeshift handkerchief. I passed him my tin
mug as the cell door opened and my buddies hurried for the breakfast line.
Surfer stepped outside with Skunk and they exchanged whispers before Surfer
returned.

‘I need to tell you something.’

‘Go on.’

‘MS-13 has accepted a hit on you from the
outside.’

The words rolled off his tongue as if it
were no big deal. But the enormity of the consequences engulfed me in a fog, as
if time had stood still and someone had turned off the volume. I turned ice
cold. Was it government dirty tricks at work? Maybe someone was running scared
of what the Perez computer might reveal. Or had whoever put out the original
contract on me, picked up the bullet with my name on it and passed it on to
someone else?

‘What
–
who?’

‘I don’t know. I doubt Cyclops is going to
reveal who it is. I didn’t know how to tell you yesterday, ’cause you had
enough to think about, but, yeah, that’s the buzz. You have to stay close to me
until we get to the gate. After that, it’s your call, but I’d be calling your
consul to get you the hell out of here.’

‘Why didn’t they whack me on the gantry?’

‘Too open, the guards could have seen.’

‘So that’s why you stuck to me like glue
yesterday and insisted on us staying in the cell?’

‘Yup, that’s about right. Now it’s gotten
even more complicated with that Weasel guy of yours turning up in the yard.
Listen, if anything does go down in the yard, I can’t help you. I—’

I showed him the palms of my hands to save
his obvious embarrassment. ‘I understand. You’ve got a ticket out to your
girlfriend and daughter.’

Easing off the bunk, I stepped outside,
looking furtively right and then left. Skunk approached along the gantry with
my mug of water. ‘You got serious trouble. Don’t know if it’s worth you getting
shaved,’ Skunk said and handed me the mug.

‘Why, what’s happening?’

‘The whole yard’s buzzing that you killed
Perez and his crew want revenge.
Apparently, the police gang unit had a
tip off about Perez’s hideout after his death and they went in with guns
blazing. The guy you call Weasel escaped and they captured him near here.
They’re holding a council meeting between the Perez gang, the Cobras
and MS-13.’

A colder shiver headed south, along with my
shoulders. I let out a long, soulful sigh.

‘Might as well look pretty,’ I said.

Stepping back inside, I picked up the
shaving foam and razor and began to work on my beard growth. A final wipe with
the corner of my bed sheet and I inspected my handiwork in the stainless steel
sheet on the wall that we used as a mirror. Skunk and Surfer remained silent as
I stepped past them and onto the gantry. Gripping the fence rail, I peered into
the yard.

All eyes looked in my direction. The main
contingent of Cobras was milling around the entrance to the stairway to block
access. The Perez crew congregated along the opposite wall. There was just one
of the MS-13 crew, sitting on his haunches near the gate. Pockets of other
inmates scattered around and in the centre of the yard, I could see Big Guy,
the leader of the Cobras and the head of the Perez crew all talking animatedly.
Weasel stood to one side of them and glanced my way. I’d seen that supercilious
grin before and wished once again that I could wipe it off his face.

Weasel started a slow round of applause.
The rest of the Perez gang followed. A hand grasped my shoulder.

‘Get back in the cell. You’re only
inflaming the situation. What are you going to do?’ Surfer asked.

‘Man up. What else can I do? I’ve got a
visitor at ten, so I’m going to have to walk or plough through them and hope I
can get to the gate.’

‘The leader of the Cobras is on his way,’
said Skunk. ‘He’s walking along the gantry now
–
alone.’

Surfer walked out to greet him, blocking
the entrance to the cell door. ‘What’s happening, man?’ he asked.

‘I don’t want you. I want to talk to your
amigo.’

He talked with a slow drawl, making his
Spanish easy to understand. I brushed Surfer to one side. The guy spat on the
floor in front of me.

‘That’s for the DEA,’ he said, ‘and this is
for taking out Perez.’

We shared a high-five, followed by a touch
of knuckles.

‘So what have you decided?’

‘The Perez crew wanted to all take turns in
slicing you to pieces, but we’ve invoked the honour challenge rule, on the
basis that you’re a criminal now and the grudge is personal.’

‘What’s the honour challenge rule?’

‘One-against-one, to the death
–
no weapons.’

‘Who’ve they picked?’ He turned sideways
and pointed at Weasel. ‘What about the guards?’

‘They won’t interfere. Besides, their view
from the gate will be blocked.’

Exchanging glances with Surfer, he shrugged
his shoulders.

Surfer mumbled ‘Fair enough, one-on-one.
Didn’t you say he was one of Perez’s elite guards?’

‘Yeah, probably ex-Special Forces, so it’s
not going to be fisticuffs.’ Surfer shook his head and winced. ‘Still, I have
revenge as a motive to beat him,’ I said.

‘You’re going to need more than fists and
motivation, man. It’s a fight to the death, remember?’

‘I could hardly forget. Come on let’s do
this.’

We followed the leader of the Cobras along
the gantry and down the stairway. By the time I reached the bottom, my legs
felt like lead.

‘Listen. If you get through this, head to
the gate
–
move fast and don’t react to anything,’
Surfer said. ‘You winning won’t get the hit dropped. There’s no one to ring a
bell to start the fight and no rounds. Oh, and watch for him throwing dirt in
your eyes.’

‘Will you button your lip? I’m nervous
enough.’

The group of Cobras at the bottom of the
stairwell parted, revealing Weasel standing with his hands on his hips in the centre
of the yard, with a circle forming.

Big Guy’s face blotted the view as he
stepped in front of me and he signalled for me to raise my hands. He lifted my
T-shirt and patted me down to make sure I had no weapons. He walked over to
Weasel and repeated the procedure. All the while, our eyes remained locked,
like two prizefighters, each trying to psyche the other out.

‘Give me your T-shirt. He can use it to
strangle you,’ Surfer said.

I stripped out of my T-shirt and handed it
to Surfer.

‘If I don’t get through this, good luck on
the outside and try getting a job.’

‘Yeah, well, if you do get through this,
just remember you have my contact number to cut me in on any coke deals.’

Weasel ripped off his T-shirt and threw it
to one of his gang. I bent down and pulled off my shoes, passing them to
Surfer.

‘What are you doing? You’re not going to
hurt him with a kick from your bare feet.’

I gave Surfer a shut-the-fuck-up look. He
walked away shaking his head, tying the laces together and hanging my shoes
around his neck.

Weasel was dancing on his toes and changing
stances. Me, I was stuck where I stood, until a dig in my back from one of the
inmates sent me hurtling toward him, with chants from the crowd whistling in my
ears.

Chapter 58

A Debt of Honour

Stumbling to
within a couple of yards of Weasel, I found my footing. The sun’s rays peeked
over the courtyard wall, causing me to squint. Sweat dripped from my forehead
onto my nose and on down to my chest. I dipped and rubbed my clammy palms in
the dirt. Weasel circled. I followed, stepping lightly backwards in a
counter-clockwise movement, away from the sun’s glare.

‘Just you and me, Kurt. Say your prayers.
You’re nobody
–
nothing
–
remember?’

A sea of contorted and growling faces in
the backdrop spun behind him.

‘We’ll see. You’re about to find out who “nothing”
is, now that I don’t have shackles.’

Weasel feigned a blow and I flinched,
stepping to one side.

‘Predictable,’ he said. ‘This’ll be easy.’
His permanent grin started to grate.

‘Dream on.’

The faces of Surfer and Big Guy spun by in
the background, with Big Guy’s finger wagging in his face. The distraction,
together with coming full circle to the sun, caught me off balance as a kick
connected with my thigh. A searing pain sent me stumbling as I stepped back and
moved quickly out of the glare, parrying the follow-through clenched fist with
my upper arm. Weasel regained his balance.

‘Is that the best you’ve got?’ I asked.

‘Just softening you up, Kurt. Like back in
the barracks.’

I was done talking. This was no time for
psychology. Words never won a fight. I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. The
chants from the throng diminished. Weasel spun his hands as if gathering
invisible strands of wool around his wrists. His eyes narrowed, telegraphing
that he was about to make a move. I stood loose, my arms by my side, while
still circling. He feigned to the left and stuck out with his right. My hand
whipped in front of my face and I blocked his fist with the flat of my hand.
Stepping to one side and casting him adrift, a second blow from him hit empty
air. My other hand struck the back of his neck as he stumbled past me, off
balance.

‘Nice move,’ he said and wiped the sweat
from his chest.

He charged toward me, dropping unexpectedly
at the last moment, wrapping his arms around my legs, and shoulder-charged me
to the floor. He wriggled along my body, sitting on my chest and rained down a
flurry of blows on my face like a cage fighter.

A thrust of my hips and I was free,
springing to my feet. Kicking out, my foot connected with his jaw, sending him
tumbling into the crowd. Inmates caught Weasel, lifting him to his feet, and
pushed him back into the circle. I cupped my hands and struck him, slapping
both his ears in unison. The blows did their work to disorient him. The grin
was gone, replaced by a look of apprehension.

He was ripe for the taking, but I
hesitated.

Weasel shook his head. ‘I let you have that
one, Kurt.’ He stroked his jaw with the back of his hand and then spat on the
floor.

He turned away in a futile attempt to throw
me off guard, and then he sprang at me. I dropped to the ground, sweeping my
leg, taking away his feet and rolled away as he crashed to the floor. With
Weasel face down and eating dirt, I jumped on his back, digging my knee into
the small of his back, and grasping his hair, I banged his head on the floor.
Gripping his neck with my biceps on his throat, my hands clasped in a vice-like
grip. I twisted him over onto his side and wrapped my leg around his. For all
his thrusting, it was over. All I had to do was to twist his head and he was
gone.

‘Kill him, kill him,’ the crowd roared,
building to a crescendo. My mind began to spin. The voices turned to children’s
voices from back in my school days.

Weasel’s arm repeatedly struck the floor in
submission, the life draining from his body. With my face touching his, I could
see his pallor turn to ashen gray. Through the haze, I heard Surfer’s voice
break through, ‘Finish it, it’s almost ten.’

Weasel’s arm fell limp to the floor.

‘Now who’s nothing?’ I said through gritted
teeth.

I jumped to my feet. The Cobras were
cheering and sneering at the Perez crew. Surfer’s arm grabbed around my throat
and dragged me through the crowd toward the gate.

An MS-13 guy walked past us. I saw him pass
Surfer a knife and I froze. Surfer released his grip. Skunk brushed past,
taking the knife from Surfer’s hand and pushed his way through the crowd. Skunk
screamed, holding the knife aloft and the crowd made him a passage as he
charged through. There was just time to see him plunge the knife into Big Guy’s
good eye all the way to the hilt, then the circle closed and we arrived at the
gate.

‘What the hell was that about?’

Surfer fished in his pocket, took out his
release paper and held it up for the guard. I pointed in the direction of the
interview room and the guard nodded. Surfer nervously looked around the yard.
He handed me my T-shirt and shoes as we rushed through the gate and I dressed.

‘MS-13 found out I owed them money for my
shipment. I was supposed to take you out to clear the debt to satisfy the contract
on your life that they accepted.’

‘What?!’

The gate opened and we both stepped inside.
Open-mouthed, I was still trying to get my head around what had just happened
when the guard shackled me. He waved us on to the second gate, opened it, and
let us through. More guards rushed down the corridor in riot gear, brushing us
aside, and exchanged words with our guard.

‘Looks like it’s kicked off big time in the
yard,’ Surfer said. He took my hand. ‘Good luck, man.’

‘You too.’

‘What does it feel like to kill someone?’

‘Oh, Weasel’s not dead. He’ll wake up with
a sore head and maybe he’ll realize he’s not the big man he thinks he is.’

‘I don’t know what you do now, but you
can’t go back in there.’

‘I know. Was that planned with Skunk?’

‘Yeah. He said to say thanks for the
consideration. I guess all debts are settled now.’

The guard joined us. Surfer walked ahead to
reception, turning to hold an imaginary phone to his ear as I shuffled toward
the interview room. The door swung open. Leandra stood at the desk with a
welcoming smile. Sitting at the desk with his back to us was an odd figure with
a gray, wide-brimmed hat, round on the top, and wearing what looked like a gray
cape.

‘Who’s this?’