Enemy in Blue (35 page)

Shaver squared up to the man, who was about the same height, definitely broader in every other aspect. Shaver guessed he must be at least a lieutenant. Several younger men looked at the two from the bleachers, probably soldiers or
carnales
. Shaver remained silent.

“
See, you can go over there, where you got some white
putas
to hang with. This part of the yard is taken.” Confrontation, to be expected. It was a test and would be determinative.

“
I'm walking.”

“
I know what the fuck you're doing,
ese
,” the man said while tilting his head. “You think I'm dumb?” Shaver didn't respond, it was an attempt to escalate. “You mute,
puta
?”

Shaver shook his head and started to walk away, in the direction that was
La Eme
ground. It was a questionable move. He had no allies, no back. The collective eye of the yard watched. All of them would take the cue from this interaction. He knew his only chance was for the whites to intervene if he ignored this lieutenant. The lieutenant would have to take action if Shaver didn't listen to him. He couldn't be perceived as letting Shaver ignore an order.

“
Oye
,
oye! Mira esta puta!
He's gonna get his shit waxed first day out!” the lieutenant said back to his
carnales
. Shaver didn't turn around to look but could feel that the lieutenant and several other men followed him now. His heart pounded in his chest. He could see guards start to perk up in the towers around the yard. That's the last thing he wanted—to be perceived as a guard bitch. He kept walking at the same speed, trailed by the
La Eme
members.

After turning a corner he heard another shout out, “Yo muthafucka, you 'bout to step into Guerilla territory. Best go back where you came from.” Now Shaver was stuck, in between a black prison gang and the
La Eme
. He stopped, feeling the presence of the men behind him. “And what the fuck you muthafuckas doin' here?” the black gang member yelled out to
La Eme
. Muscles tensed, fists clenched and walls of chest began to form. Just as the mood started to boil, three white men walked up into the mix.

“
He got lost,” one of them said.

“
Fuckin' right he did,” retorted the Guerilla member. “Better take that white boy to the Brotherhood before I fuck him and make him mine.”

Shaver looked behind him. Four members of the
La Eme
stood with their arms crossed, ready to pounce.
The lieutenant said, “Same thing goes for us,
cabrones
. Make sure that white
puta
knows where he's going.”

The white man who had spoken up gestured his head towards the other side of the yard and Shaver followed. When they were out of earshot, he asked Shaver, “You fuggin crazy?” He shook his head, “You gonna stawt a fuggin war.”

The man talking to him was short, only coming up to Shaver's shoulder. He had swastikas tattooed up his right arm and another one on his forehead. His jaw was in constant motion whether talking or not. Grinding, clenching. The hallmarks of some sort of drug addiction. His right shoulder hung slightly lower than his left as he walked in a sped-up gimp, his right foot scratching the ground every few steps. Two other men walked with them, absolute hulks. Both taller than Shaver, both wider, meaner. They all had sandy hair and blue eyes. The ideal Aryans.

“
Listen, you owe us now.”

“
Who's us?”

The short man paused. “Yous kiddin' me, right? Fuggin Aryan Brotherhood.
The ones that jus' saved yawr sweet, virgin ass
!” One of the big men shook laughing. “Those vatos were gonna make you toss some salad.” The big man kept shaking, gleeful.

“
So what do I owe you?”

The short man stopped walking this time. He looked at the other two men and then Shaver in disbelief. “How 'bout a fuggin thank yous for stawters?” A thick and apparent Bostonian accent melted out of the man's mouth.

“
Thank you,” Shaver returned tersely.

“
Well, well. There ya go. I'm Pick,” the man said while extending his hand.

“
Pick?”

“
Edward J. Pickhat. Pick for short. Listen, if you gonna fug around you can go back to your lonesome. Good luck surviving in here, fuggin' cop. We was doin' ya a favor.” Shaver didn't say anything. “Pretty lucky you are that we get on wit those spics. So, the way I see it, yous owe us a favor.
Quid pro quo
,” Pick said, his eyes shining. They continued walking to the other side of the yard, toward some bleachers filled with white men. As they neared, it was apparent to Shaver that all of the men were positioned in a semi-circle around one man. That one man was huge, probably six foot five. Bulky but still lean looking. He had dark brown hair and deep-water blue eyes.

“
Pick, whud I tell ya about mutts?”

“
This ain' no mutt, Mills. He's good, ain't ya?” Pick asked.

Shaver stood on the edge of dream and reality. These gang members were what he fought for so many years. Although he didn't target the white ones that often, it was still a tremendous adjustment. The path before him was clear at this point. He could either play along, associate with the Brotherhood, or he could go back to being on his own. In the latter scenario, he probably wouldn't last long. So, he nodded his head.

“
This is the cop, huh? Whud-th'-fuck you doin' bringin' a cop over here, Pick?”

“
He's good, Mills. He ain't no regular cop. You know what he's in here for?”

“
I know, killin' a spic. Still a cop.” Pick didn't say anything else. Everyone looked at Shaver. He remained silent as well. Talking wouldn't be redemptive, only action. Shaver knew that was coming next. Mills measured Shaver up. Some of the other gang members went back to what they were doing, playing cards, talking to each other. “You wanna prove you'self copper?” There it was, the undertow that would suck Shaver in. This yard had instantly become a case of survival. Shaver didn't say yes or no, but kept looking at Mills.

“
Not the talkative type, huh boss?” Mills cackled. “I dun mind that. Anyway, Pick talks enough for the rest of us.” Pick shrugged his shoulders and went to sit down beside Mills. “I got this shipment comin' in, some yay. I need someone to see it gets to its intended recipients. You game?”

Survival, Shaver thought to himself. “Yeah, I can handle it. Any unwelcome buyers?”

“
Hey,” Mills said, turning serious in a hurry, “We dun do no sellin'. It's trade an' barter, got it?”

“
Sure, I get it. So, who'm I trading with? And who doesn't get any.”

Mills' posture relaxed. “We dun sell to those gorillas. The rest is game. I'll give ya twenty-four hours to unload what you get.”

“
What am I gonna get in return?”

Mills spit on the ground, “Ballsy. You just got what ya gonna get. A get-oud-uh-jail-free card.” Mills spoke with a strange falling off, sometimes letters and whole syllables just dropped off of the end of his words. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing massive biceps. Oddly enough, his arms were clean of tattoos, as were his neck and face. “Should have the yay by 'morrow; meet me here in the yard.” Mills checked out the nails on his left hand, ending the conversation.

Shaver looked at the rest of the members, but none paid attention. He took the cue and walked back to the prison compound. A full blast of sun poured down on the yard. Some prisoners gathered under the scant shade produced by the compound itself. Others sat on bleachers, soaking in the rays. Shaver could see the outside world through the chain-link fences enclosing the yard. It had quickly become a remote vestige of memory. Someone else's life, faint, barely pulsing with existence. A short burst of grief radiated out from his chest.

“
You shouldn't get involved with them, any of them,” a voice came from behind him. Shaver turned around and saw a woman corrections officer. She was pretty, albeit plain. Brown hair and eyes, strong but not plump—healthy.

“
Get the fuck away from me.”

“
I know who you are. You don't have to get involved with the gangs. We'll do a fine job of protecting you.”

“
You don't know who the fuck I am lady. Now get away from me.” The worst thing for him would be to have guard protection. It would make him
everyone's
target.

She took a step back. “I know why you're saying that, but just consider it. You get wrapped up with them and you'll never get out of here. You
can
survive on your own.” She left him standing alone. He looked back over his shoulder at the Brotherhood. Pick was watching him.

* * * *

“
What do you mean you've been to his home?” Mason asked.

“
Just that. I've been there. It's a long story, but...” Cruz drifted off as he looked out the window behind Mason. Snow was falling, straight then swirling counterclockwise. Slowly changing direction and then spinning clockwise. He thought about the people on the street, huddled in the bluster. “...the condensed version is that the doctor held Sandra captive in his house. Martinez and I, along with two other guys, went to rescue her. That's when I was in the house.”

“
Timeout. This is all news to me. Someone held Sandra captive?”

“
Yeah. Sandra and I went to find Martinez, so that we could track down the video.” Cruz was upset about having to relive this story. “See how this devolves, constantly pulling back layers until we've been here all day talking about it?”

“
Doesn't matter—this is important. Plus, it's interesting, so go on.”

Cruz sighed and slipped deeper into his chair. “We tracked Martinez down at a hospital. Problem was that some henchman, who we now know was the Chief's henchman...”

“
Uhh, wait a second,” Mason said as he fumbled through some papers on his desk. “Tyler?”

“
Tyler, right. Tyler surprised all of us. He was armed and took Sandra hostage. It's weird to talk like this, in war terms. We're pretty regular people, civilians.” Cruz rubbed the chair's arms as he spoke. “Anyway, Tyler took her hostage. Then the Chief called us with an ultimatum. The video for Sandra.”

“
But you didn't give him the video.”

“
Nope. We never intended to give him a thing. We were going to go in there and blast them away to save Sandra. When I say blast it may suggest that I'm adept at those types of things, like guns and shooting them. I'm not.” Mason used his lips to intimate that it didn't matter. “We went in there, Martinez did the blasting, and the Chief and Tyler escaped. We got Sandra out.”

“
Where was the doctor?”

“
I didn't see him. I wasn't really looking either, to tell you the truth. Sandra was a terrifying sight. They had her strapped to a medical table with an overhead light pulled down to an inch from her face. All I wanted to do was save her. But that has to be it...his house, that is. Would just be too coincidental otherwise.”

“
How does Shaver fit into all of this?”

Cruz shook his head and reached for a glass of water. “Beats me. Not sure if Shaver and the Chief were working together at that point. They certainly had a joint interest in recovering that video. But Shaver wasn't at that doctor's house that day...at least not that I saw.” Mason twirled a pen in his fingers, letting it roll off of his index, then middle, then ring finger and back to his thumb. The movement mesmerized Cruz.

“
This carries significant implications. The chief of police, with an assassin henchman and an unlicensed doctor on the books? Movies are made from that kind of crap.”

“
Dramatic.”

“
We've got to track down this Tyler guy. I can charge him with assault, kidnapping, conspiracy. The charges against him aren't really what we'll be after though.”

“
Leverage.”

“
Exactly. Maybe he can help us tie Shaver to some other crimes. Hell, if Shaver had a hand in kidnapping Sandra, we'll tack those charges on. You never know what'll come from a rat. I'll give you a call when Todd and I have tracked down Tyler. Can you and Martinez go find him? A police presence would be helpful.”

“
I don't think this guy will go lightly. It would probably make sense to get more than me and Martinez.”

“
You guys work it out.”

Cruz got out of his chair and shook Mason's hand. “I'll be hearing from you.” Mason nodded and started typing something on his computer. Cruz left the office and headed through a labyrinth of cubicles until he found the elevator. He stepped in and headed down to the lobby. The piercing snow- ridden wind pricked his face when he opened the glass doors to the street. Hardly any people were out. Most had probably left by this time of day. The city was on a spring blizzard warning. Cruz stood there, snow steadily gathering on his shoulders, as he looked into the white wall and questioned how such horrific things could emerge from such beauty.