3 Blood Lines (36 page)

Surrey ignored him.

“Dying to have revenge on me is foolishness!”

“The Richmond I knew, the boy who was my brother, died eleven years ago. I mourned him. I mourn him still. You are not here.”

“I could force you,” he said at last. “I have powers you can’t defend against.”

“If you force me,” Surrey said, “I will hate you.”

He had no answer to that.

He stayed and argued until the coming sun forced him away. The next night, he entered the chapel of the Tower, opened the unsealed coffin that held the severed head and trunk of Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, kissed the pale lips, and cut free a lock of hair. His nature no longer allowed him tears. He wasn’t sure he would have shed them if it had.

 

“ ‘
Sat Superest,
it is enough to prevail.’ ” Henry shook himself free of the memories. “I should have taken Surrey’s motto as my own, shoved it down his throat, and carried him out of there flung over my shoulder.” Well, he was older now, more sure of himself, more certain that his way was the right way, less likely to be swayed by hysterical reactions. “I should have let him hate me, at least he’d have been alive to do it.” Vicki, he knew, would not have been so foolish. Had she been in the tower in Surrey’s place, first she would have worried about getting free,
then
she would have hated him.

And she was unlikely to protest against this rescue tonight.

If she were in her right mind.

As Henry tried not to think of what the drugs might have done, the floodlights went out.

 

Vicki had spent the afternoon using sound and touch to discover the boundaries of her confinement. Surprisingly enough, with her eyes removed from the general equation and used only to peer at specific close-ups, she seemed to get around better, not worse. She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to rely on other senses over the last year until they were all she had to rely on. Without her glasses, her vision—or lack of it—had become more of a distraction than a help.

After the incident in the showers, Lambert had returned triumphant to the soap operas, but Natalie followed close on Vicki’s heels, her adenoidal breathing occasionally drowning out the constant roar of the four televisions and intermittent roar of the women who watched them. Commercials seemed to have the greatest effect—Vicki wondered if maybe it was because the plots of commercials were understood by the greatest number of the inmates.

Every now and then, Natalie would reach out and viciously pinch a hunk of Vicki’s flesh. Her muscle control still affected by the residue of the drug, Vicki hadn’t the speed or coordination to avoid the snakelike strikes. The fifth time it happened, she slowly turned and beckoned her tormentor closer.

“The nect time you do tha’,” she said, forming the words as carefully as she could, “I’m gona’ grab you’ wris’, pull you close, and rip you’ ear off. Then I’m gona’ feed it to you. You unnerstand?”

Natalie giggled, but the intervals between the pinches became longer and finally she wandered away to watch Family Feud. Vicki wasn’t sure if her threat had worked or if the large woman had just become bored and moved on to another victim.

By suppertime Vicki had decided there was only one way out. Back in behind the shower there was an emergency exit; it wasn’t particularly visible from the inside and most of the inmates weren’t even aware it existed, but nine years spent on the police force gave Vicki an advantage. The Metro West Detention Center was the only detention center for women in the city, and while the numbers were climbing every year there were still far fewer female police officers than male. Female cops spent a disproportionate amount of time at Metro West.

Trouble was, the door opened in, there wasn’t a handle or any real way to get hold of it, and the lock was a huge solid metal presence.

That any half decent cracksman could have open in a heartbeat and a half
, Vicki decided after a quick fingertip examination.
Of course, lock picks and opportunity might prove a little difficult.

After supper, during cleanup while they were locked back in the cells, Vicki sat cross-legged on her mattress and probed thoughtfully at the cotton ticking. The mattresses on the bunks were slabs of solid foam, absolutely useless for anything except as a barrier between body and boards, but the extras, the ones thrown on the floor were old army surplus issue. They weren’t very thick, they weren’t very comfortable, but they did appear to have metal springs. In time, she could work a piece free and . . .

Except, she didn’t have time. The shrink would be doing examinations tomorrow afternoon and she’d be sent off Special Needs to one of the regular ranges—with the mummy in control she had no hope of being set free. It wouldn’t be as easy to escape a regular range—or for that matter, to survive one. More of the inmates were likely to recognize her and fatal “accidents” were not unknown when cops found themselves on the other side of the system. She’d obviously have to convince the shrink she belonged right where she was.

Vicki grinned. Her playing crazy would drive Lambert crazy for sure.

“What the fuck are you grinnin’ about?”

Vicki turned toward Lambert’s side of the cell and her grin broadened. “I was just thinking,” she said, carefully maintaining control of each word, “how in the country of the blind, the one-eyed man, or in this case, woman, is king.”

“You’re fuckin’ crazy,” Lambert growled.

“Glad you think so.” She didn’t see Lambert’s expression, but she heard Natalie come off her bunk and felt the air shift as the large woman moved toward her.
Oh, shit
. . .

She fought the nearly overwhelming urge to scramble away. It wouldn’t prevent the inevitable.
And I am not going to give Lambert the satisfac
. . . The open-handed blow flung her head back and almost knocked her over. Vicki rolled with it and came up facing the fuzzy column of blue that was Natalie, trying to ignore the ringing in her ears.

Off to her left, she heard Lambert laugh. “So she’s showin’ fight, eh? This is gonna be interestin’. Hurt her, Natalie.”

Natalie giggled.

“All right, cleanup’s over!” The cell doors opening added percussion to the guard’s announcement. “Everybody out! Roberts, put your clothes back on.”

“Itchy, boss.”

“I don’t care. Get dressed.”

Natalie paused and Lambert joined her in Vicki’s limited field of vision. “Later,” she promised, patting a massive biceps. “You can hurt her later. Meanwhile, I think she should sit with us to watch Wheel of Fortune.”

Oh
,
God . . .
“I’d rather be beaten unconscious,” Vicki growled, trying to free her arm from Natalie’s sudden crushing grip.

Lambert leaned close so Vicki could see her smile. “Later,” she promised again.

 

Billy Bob Dickey from Tulsa, Oklahoma, had just bought a vowel when the lights went out, cutting Vanna off as she turned the first of four e’s. The range erupted into complete and utter pandemonium.

“Everyone just stay calm!” The bellowing of the guard could barely be heard over the sounds of terror, rage, and hysterical glee. “Get back in your cells. Now!”

Vicki had no idea how much the others could or couldn’t see, but from the sound of it even those with normal night sight were nearly blind. The guards, she knew, would be racing for A Range where all four of them would be needed to coordinate a manual lockup. D Range would be unobserved for the next few minutes.

My kingdom for a set of lock picks
.
A God-given chance and I can’t use it for anything . . . Jesus!
She scrambled backward as the picnic table lurched sideways under the sudden shifting of weight across from panicked inmates.
This thing’s being held together with spit and prayers.

“And where the fuck do you think you’re goin’?” Lambert demanded.
“I
say when we leave. Natalie, bring her back!”

“Can’t see!” Natalie protested, wood groaning with relief as she stood.

“So what? Neither can she!”

Vicki felt the surge of air and stepped sideways out of the way. “ ‘Trust me, he said, and come. I followed like a child—a blind man led me home.’ ”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s a poem,” Vicki told her, easily avoiding Natalie’s next rush; the large woman displaced a tropical storm’s worth of air. “By W. H. Davies. He was saying, I believe, that when everyone’s blind, the people with the practice have the advantage.” She smiled, bent, and used Natalie’s momentum to heave her up and across her shoulders and into the air.

The crash of splintering wood told Vicki her enormous tormentor had just smashed through the abused table. “I hope . . . that . . . hurt,” she panted as her knees buckled and she collapsed to the floor trying to get her breath.
Good God, she’s got to weigh close to four hundred pounds; isn’t it amazing what adrenaline can do.

Her fingers brushed against a six-inch sliver of wood and, still fighting for breath, she picked it up. Given the spread of the debris, the table had been completely destroyed by the impact.
Jesus H. Christ. This thing could’ve killed somebody!
She sat back on her heels and tried to break the fragment across the grain. It bent but it didn’t even crack.
I don’t think this is pine. . . . Just like the city to buy oak picnic tables for a detention center and then let them fall apart.
Her heart suddenly began to slam against her ribs, her heartbeat drowning out the chaos around her. Oak. Hardwood. A splinter with a thin, flexible tip.

No
.
No way. That lock’s big and clumsy
,
sure, but only an idiot would try to pick it with a chunk of wood. No.

As Vicki stood, she brushed up against another body standing so close they were all but breathing the same air. Small, powerful fingers dug into her forearm.

“Natalie’s going to fucking rip you apart!”

The emergency generator would be kicking in soon and Vicki knew she didn’t have much time, but there were some temptations it would take a saint to resist.

“You shouldn’t have come this close,” she said, yanked Lambert’s hand loose, twisted the arm up and around, and kicked her, hard, in the direction of her enforcer. A strangled grunt, a curse, and a cry of pain told her the target had been hit as she hurried toward the showers.

She found the concrete privacy barrier by crashing into it, and, limping a little, groped her way along its rough edge.

The area between the barrier and the wall was less than ten feet wide. Vicki launched herself across the gaping chasm it represented in the dark with no thought of caution. Preventing a few more bruises wouldn’t pay for another night spent behind bars. She hit the wall with enough force to bounce back, then began searching frantically for the hidden exit.

The crash of steel doors sounded over the confusion behind her and she jumped, almost dropping her sliver of wood.

Finally her fingers found the lock and she dropped to her knees in front of it.

And while I’m down here, I might as well say a prayer as I don’t have a hope in hell of . . . son of a bitch
. The first tumbler fell.

The second tumbler fell.

She could hear one of the guards yelling something about tranquilizers. He sounded close.

Oh, shit . . .
Her hands were slick with sweat and she could feel the wood beginning to splinter.

The guards were definitely in C Range. It suddenly got harder to breathe.

Someone appeared to be putting up a fight.

That wasn’t Natalie she could hear breathing behind her? No. Just the echo of her own desperate sucking in of air that tasted of shower mold.

Although unlocked, the heavy door stayed securely closed and Vicki realized she had no way to pull it open.

“NO!” One knuckle split with the force of the blow and then she had to scramble back out of the way as the door flew open toward her.

She couldn’t mistake the arm that wrapped around her and kept her from falling, nor the embrace she suddenly found herself enfolded in. With adrenaline sizzling along every nerve, she fought to get free.

“Goddamnit, Henry!” Something started her trembling violently. It felt like anger. “What the fuck took you so long?”

 

The sound of the shower had been going on for a long time. When it finally shut off, the two men looked at each other across the width of the living room.

“You’ve known her longer,” Henry said softly. “Is she okay?”

“I think so.”

“It’s just she doesn’t seem to be . . .” He spread his hands.

“Feeling anything?”

“Yes.”

“It’s all there. It’s just all locked in behind the anger.”

“She has every right to be angry.”

Celluci scowled. “I didn’t say she didn’t have.”

During the ride back to Henry’s condo, Vicki had spat out the bare bones of what had happened to her. Both men had listened quietly, both recognizing that interrupting with either questions or passions would stop the flow of words completely. When she’d finished, Celluci had immediately begun making plans to take care of Gowan and Mallard, but Vicki had glared through the spare pair of glasses he’d brought for her and said,
“No. I don’t know how or when, but the pay back’s mine. Not yours. Mine.”