“The bottom part screws off.”
I glanced over my shoulder, mind running a mile a minute. “Is it a blade?”
He hummed out a positive sound. “Plastic.”
“You know, that probably won’t do much good.” I sighed and leaned back against the chair as he pushed me forward. “You seen Black? Like hunting grizzly with a pea shooter.”
“Someone told me you used to be hell in a ring.”
My muscles froze, and slowly the air leaked out of me. The halls went past in a blur of gray walls and mean or disinterested faces. I thought about how at one time, this whole fucking boondoggle might have been barely an issue at all. I could have swung my way out of it.
Drew leaned forward. “Man like that, he knows how to land a blow that matters.”
Smiling, I held up my hand when we got close to the doors of the cafeteria, and he stopped to let me take over. I rested my hands on the wheels for a moment before, with one big burst of energy, I turned the chair a little to look up at him. “You think of me that way?”
He shrugged. “I only know you now. This Peter, the one in front of me, is beaten down. He’s weary. But I think you’re still that guy, somewhere in there.” He tapped my chest with his fingertips and grinned.
“That’s a terrifying thought,” I whispered. He leaned closer to me. “If I’m still the useful parts of the man I was, aren’t I still the bad ones?”
He rolled his shoulders back and glanced at the ceiling. “Only if you want to be. There are a couple of guys who owe me a favor. You do me one, too—don’t piss them off.”
He left me sitting there with thoughts that were far too heavy, and I rolled into the cafeteria. The line was short, thankfully. I’d gotten here at a good time. Laken was at a table, and he motioned me over after Phil came around the end of the food line to hand me my tray. It was oddly nice to have someone waiting to eat with me. I mumbled a thank-you to Phil, then went over to where Laken was and slung my tray onto the table.
“You made it!” he said brightly. I nodded and glared as two other men came over and took seats with us. One plopped down beside Laken, the other one at the end of the bench near me, across from him.
“Who are you?” I asked the man closest to me.
He was tall and lanky with eyes so brown and deep they were almost black. The smile he flashed was sweet. “I’m Roldán. I work in the maintenance garage. Greene is our supervisor there. He’s always been good.”
Lips pinched, I nodded. This made sense. I understood calling in favors, but for me? I glanced around the table to the other man. He looked older than me by about twenty-five years. Black, with silver hair, a rounded nose, and a fatherly vibe, I figured this was probably someone else who owed Greene a favor.
“You?”
“Name’s Bolton. You’ll be all right, kid.” His smooth, deep voice made me want to believe him.
I snorted. “It’s been a long time since I was a kid.”
Laken laughed and dug into what was supposed to be meatloaf and mashed potatoes, though everything was too brown and gloppy, and I shoved mine around on my plate.
“We’re about the saddest gang in this place,” I grumbled, and all three men laughed. I glanced up, shocked.
“It’s a fact,” Roldán said. “I avoid all that shit. People think it keeps them safe, but it just keeps them in here longer. This is my second turn, and I just want it over with.” He shook his head and shoved the food on his plate around with his spork without eating it, same as I was doing. Finally I gave in and ate as fast as I could.
It wasn’t great, but I’d live.
And with three men I barely knew sitting around me, but who didn’t seem like they wanted bad things for me—only to get out of Trident Falls alive—I was able to actually relax and eat a whole meal for the first time since I got to this god-awful place.
* * *
Later in the afternoon, I sat beside Laken in what they called the communication room, in front of one of the phones at a long, cheap table with a fake wooden top that was peeling to reveal the plywood underneath. I hadn’t had much choice in the matter. Laken had all but begged me to go with him and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“There must be someone you need to call.” He’d widened his big blue eyes at me, making them sad in an obscene way it wasimpossibleto ignore. The guilt he inspired nearly struck me dead on the spot before I agreed.
He sat with his hands dancing on the table in front of him. There were privacy dividers up, more cheap, fake wood, but they didn’t do much, and the phones sitting on the tables were old punch-button jobs I’d had in my parents’ house in the early nineties. There were instructions on how to call out from the prison laminated and taped to the tabletop. I leaned forward and read over what I needed to do. My palms sweated.
“We’re here for you to call her, so call.” I glared to my left, then reached out and flicked at Laken’s ear. He slapped his hand over the spot and laughed.
“Hands to yourself!” a guard yelled from the back of the room, and I straightened.
