Chapter 6
Day Three: Shit Piling Up
Adam
As I mentioned earlier, I may have been a rotten human being, but I was an excellent detective. As such, I detected a few things.
Fact number one. We were in more danger than I’d thought. Not just because of the position we were in, but because of the prison dynamics, which were weird at best. I didn’t like that Santiago had protection from the guards because it made the sticky situation even stickier.
Fact number two. I wanted Crusher dead. Nuff said.
Fact number three. Jordan was acting funny…
well, funnier than usual. First, he would turn into a jumping jack every time I stepped into his shadow.
Second, he behaved as if I had leprosy whenever I touched him.
Third, he was getting ill-timed boners around naked men.
Did it mean that one of the gentlemen showering with us caught his fancy?
Considering their looks, body odor, and the crime factor, I found it unlikely.
It left me with one last possibility. As morbid as it sounded, was it possible that my partner perhaps fancied me?
My gut told me I was on the right track.
How did that make me feel? If you’d asked me that last week, I would have said it made me feel like barfing.
Or bathing in acid. Or swimming in a pool filled with piranhas.
But lately, things have changed. First, my revulsion towards Jordan was gone.
Poof. Like a fart in the wind, like it was never there.
Second, his citrusy scent didn’t bother me anymore; in fact, I kind of liked it.
Third, his voice didn’t irritate me anymore.
Fourth, I found him amusing lately. He was a ridiculous person and wittier than most people, so bantering with him was fun.
Fifth, I saw his erection, and I didn’t have one nightmare about it.
Also, like the rest of him, his dick was perfect.
Perfectly long, perfectly thick, and perfectly shaped, and I could say it objectively.
Also, if Jordan really fancied me, all the more power to him.
It took cojones to fancy me, so… yay him? It was funny, though. Stupid, too.
I have been mulling it over since I woke up this morning, while Jordan was still asleep. When his eyelashes fluttered, and his sleepy eyes met mine, I couldn’t help but smile. He looked as bewildered to see me lying next to him as I felt, and it was a kind of… cute.
“Morning, princess,” I said, grinning. “Did you sleep well?”
A pink flush spread across his cheeks, and I wondered if it was from sleep or if it was… well, me.
“Morning,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Did it work?”
“What?”
“That sleeping thing.”
“Oh, it worked like a charm,” I replied merrily. “I slept like a baby.”
“Does that mean I have to move in with you?”
I chuckled. “Well, I wouldn’t send the wedding invitations quite yet, but it felt damn good to wake up rested.”
His flush deepened, and it made me smile. It also made me test that theory of mine.
“So now that we’ve spent the night together, will you stop twitching like a fish on a hook every time I touch you?” I asked him.
Jordan’s eyes widened comically. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“We’re supposed to be pals and drug business partners, remember? You should be comfortable around me.”
“I am-m comfortable around you.”
Judging by his expression, he would be more comfortable around a rattlesnake, so it was a bunch of baloney.
When I put my hand on his arm, he flinched.
“See?” I said, trying hard not to laugh. “We can’t let this happen, Jordie, not with everyone watching us. We need to practice.”
He looked at my hand on his body before his alarmed eyes found mine.
“Did you say practice?”
I nodded, pushing away a strand of hair from his forehead.
“A lot of practice.”
He straightened up as abruptly as if someone had shoved a rocket up his ass.
“No! Jesus Christ. I mean… we’re fine. Totally. No need for practice.”
I suppressed a smile, wondering how I could have been so blind. Of course, it was me. Hell, maybe it was me all along. That annoying, confused persona he'd cultivated, which I thought was fake… maybe it wasn't fake at all. Maybe I was the reason behind it from the start, and I had no idea.
“Mr. Smith. Mr. Mayhew.” A bored voice interrupted my fun. “Stand in line, please.”
Things kind of went downhill after that.
“That shit is not allowed!” The guard pointed at the mattresses on the floor. “If I see this one more time, there will be consequences. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Jordan murmured. “We apologize. It will never happen again, sir.”
Like hell. I slept so well last night that I considered tying my annoying partner to me. Okay, that straddled a creepy line, so... maybe not.
After that, our breakfast came, and with it, the rumor that made me lose my appetite.
Apparently, the inmate in our cell block committed suicide by swallowing his tongue.
It was none other than Crazy Stu, and we learned it when we saw the guards wheeling away his lifeless body on a stretcher.
The tragic event made my stomach churn, and judging by Jordan’s expression, he felt the same.
Things went from bad to worse when the new inmates arrived, because one of them was Rio “The Ripper” Mendoza.
He was a big-time gun smuggler and an elusive fuck, whom the LD has been trying to catch for years.
The last attempt ended with his capture, but he escaped from the detention center soon after that.
It was our rotten luck that he resurfaced here for one simple reason—he knew who we were.
He saw us, too. While passing our cell, a flicker of recognition crossed his face, followed by a smirk.
When he pressed his finger against his lips, motioning for me to remain silent, I realized he wasn’t going to rat us out, but it hardly made me feel better.
Mendoza was a cunning bastard, and whatever he had in mind, it couldn’t be good.
Jordan gave me an alarmed look before they sent him to the kitchen, and that was that…
a shitty start to a shitty day, which I spent shoveling shit.
It was late in the afternoon when they sent me to the yard where, lucky me, we had another incident.
This time, one inmate had a knife, and the other a shitload of bad luck.
The guards restrained the attacker and carried the wounded man to the infirmary while the other residents watched from the side.
I was pondering the odds of surviving this shitty mission when someone behind me spoke.
“It was a drug debt, in case you were wondering.”
At the sound of a familiar voice, I turned and met Santiago’s bemused gaze. His red hair shone in the afternoon sun, but his eyes were dim.
“I guessed as much,” I said, extending my hand. “My name is Mayhew.”
“There’s a rumor we’re in the same line of business,” Santiago said, shaking my hand. “Is it true that you’re working with the Haitians?”
“It’s a recent development,” I replied, confirming the story that the warden had let circulate.
“And a very interesting one,” Santiago continued as we strolled down the yard. “My boss has been considering cooperation with your Haitian friends for a while now. Maybe it’s time to act on it.”
“What do you have in mind?” I asked him.
“You have established trust. We have resources which we would be willing to share with you. How about an introductory meeting on neutral premises? You could act as an intermediary.”
I glanced at him. “You don’t know me. Why would you trust me?”
“Not a lot of people would stand up to Crusher, and I see it as a sign of character. Besides, we’re going to be here for a while. We’ll get to know each other well before we become business partners.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I agreed. “I’ll discuss your proposal with the other side and let you know.”
“Agreed,” Santiago said, sounding satisfied.
“As a token of my appreciation, I will arrange a more solitary shower experience for you and your cellmate. Mr. Crusher and his associates usually do their raping in the shower, while the guards miraculously disappear. I, however, despise rapists, and it’s one of many points that Mr. Crusher and I disagree on. ”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
So, both Crusher and Santiago had guards paid off? It didn’t look good. I was considering all the possible complications when Jordan joined us, appearing out of nowhere.
“Hey,” he muttered, his gaze darting between Santiago and me. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all,” Santiago said with a curt nod. “Mr. Mayhew and I concluded our business. I’ll be seeing you around, gentlemen.”
After he left, I motioned for Jordan to follow me.
“What happened?” Jordan said when we were at a safe distance. “Did he take the bait?”
“It seems so.”
“Fucking finally. I was starting to think that we would have to stay here forever.”
At least I wouldn’t have trouble sleeping anymore. I almost laughed at the thought when someone spoiled my mood.
“Detectives. Fancy meeting you here.”
I clenched my fists while Jordan looked around to make sure no one heard those words.
“Mendoza,” I said through my teeth. “Finally, you’re exactly where you belong. Among the worst of the worst.”
Mendoza smirked. “You two should know. Your division is famous for its upstanding members. No wonder crime is thriving in Smitsville.”
“Yeah, but none of us are facing thirty to life,” Jordan said, making me laugh.
“You should be more careful with what you say to me,” Mendoza said, looking at his cuticles. “I have your lives in my hands, and you both know it.”
“Just spit it out!” I snapped. “I don’t have time for your mind games. What do you want?”
“I want to see Marc.”
Jordan frowned in confusion. “Who?”
“Detective Biancchi,” I explained. “Marcello.”