Bone Rattle by Marc Cameron (best ereader for pdf .TXT) 📕

the prisoner’s hands confined low at his belly. It was an operation she’d done so many times she could do it by feel, keeping an eye on the prisoner.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that new kid gets a bulletproof vest,” Raul said. “We’re the ones in danger. We should be gettin’ vested up too every day.”

Cutter put the belly chain on Reggie, the younger brother, then had him turn and kick an ankle up so he could put on the leg irons.

Reggie gasped. “Damn, bro. That’s some big-ass magnum cannon you got. You blow somebody’s leg off if you shoot ’em with that thing.”

“Not likely,” Cutter said, tapping Reggie’s ankle so he switched ankles. He knew the drill.

Reggie craned his neck around to look at Cutter over his shoulder. “You mean… you shoot to kill?”

“Let’s just say, it’s better you don’t get shot.”

Finished, Cutter had Reggie take a seat so he could talk to Raul. As in tracking – and most things in life – it was important to pay attention to the little nuances when dealing with prisoners.

“What’s this about a vest?” Cutter asked. “Something happen that makes you believe you need protection like that?”

Raul shrugged. “We hear things. You know, through the prison grapevines, threats, what do you call it… termination orders. That kind of shit.”

“Be more specific,” Lola said.

“Like it would be easier on a lot of people if we were out of the picture,” Reggie said, backing his brother’s play. The spider web tattoo covering his neck and lower jaw made it difficult to see him as a victim.

“You need to take that up with your attorneys,” Lola said, giving the pat answer to ninety percent of any prisoner’s questions.

“We already did that shit,” Raul said. The brothers looked quickly at each other, drawing strength. So often, the toughest gang banger cried like a scared little kid after he got inside the joint. “They say we should talk to the prosecutor, turn snitch, tell him what we know.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lola said.

“Sounds like you’re trying to get us killed,” Reggie said. “That’s what it sounds like.”

“Okay,” Cutter said. “Humor me. Hypothetically, if you were going to hit a guy in your shoes, how would you do it?”

Reggie scrunched his nose, squinting like it hurt to think that hard. At length, he said, “I’d hire somebody to shiv me in prison. Some lifer who gots nothin’ to lose since Alaska don’t have the death penalty. Hypothetically, I could get somebody whacked for a couple cases of ramen noodles.”

Cutter turned to Raul. “How about you? Let’s have your plan.”

“Easy,” the elder Hernandez said. “I’d hit the prisoner transport as you come out of the federal garage. You guys are sittin’ ducks out there.”

The smug look on his face said he’d obviously thought about this very thing.

Scott Keen entered the well of the courtroom through the waist-high swinging doors from the gallery, checking to see what the holdup was with transport.

“Let’s get these guys some vests,” Cutter said.

Keen’s brow shot up. “Seriously? Since when do we let prisoners dictate the level of security on a jail run?”

“Come here a minute,” Cutter said, motioning toward the end of the table again. “I want to run something by you—”

“Finally,” Raul Hernandez muttered with a smirk. “A deputy with half a brain.” He raised his voice a hair. “Tune that one up like you did the last one, boss—”

Cutter wheeled, nose to nose with the elder brother. The intensity of his whisper could have peeled paint. “Let me make sure you understand something. I don’t like you. I don’t hate you. Fact is, I don’t give a pinch of shit about you one way or another.” He waved an open hand around the courtroom, causing the outlaw to flinch. “My friends and I protect this institution, which means you enjoy the benefits of our protection along the way. Respect us, and we’ll show you respect.”

“Okay, okay—”

“But you piss me off and I give you my word that I will march back there to the judge’s chambers and get an order to duct tape your mouth shut. Are we clear?”

“Honestly,” Lola offered, giving the prisoners a sad shake of her head. “Duct taping your mouth shut would probably be safer for everyone. My partner doesn’t take much in the way of guff before he completely loses it. You get murdered, he gets fired. We’re all stuffed. No one wins. Well, society wins, I guess…”

“That’ll do, deputy,” Cutter said. His prayer meeting finished, he went to the end of the table to join an astonished Scott Keen and lay out his plan.

Chapter 14

Across the courtroom, Van Tyler, the dark, pompadoured AUSA who looked like he could be on the cover of GQ magazine, chatted with the goateed case agent from the DEA as they stacked papers into a cardboard file box. His female assistant came in through a side door, walking quickly, head up, phone in hand, obviously bearing news. She had long legs and the propensity to wear form-fitting wool sweaters, which drew leering looks from both prisoners until Lola gave them a low growl. Out of breath, she leaned in and whispered something to Tyler, before handing him the phone. The attorney’s face lit up as he read. He gave the DEA agent a quick fist bump and then rushed out the side door with his assistant, leaving the agent to take care of the file box.

Lori Maycomb had arrived in court a hair late from lunch. She didn’t learn until she tried to get through the security checkpoint that the judge had suddenly banned all telephones, instead of just ordering them turned off, and didn’t have time to run it out to her car. The court security officers working the front post were both retired JPD and knew her from the public radio station. They agreed to hold her phone in the Marshals’ Office so long as she didn’t tell anyone else they were being so accommodating.

Now, with