“What about Weston?” she asked.
Murray sniffed. If it wasn’t so hard to get and keep medical help, Peyton would’ve replaced her long ago. The inmates were prickly enough. “Went back to his cell, too. They all did. Mr. Anderson left last because he had to wait for Dr. Pendergast to cast his hand.”
So there was one broken bone as a result of the fight. At least it wasn’t Virgil’s.
“Fine. Thanks.”
Dr. Pendergast stopped her on the way out. “Chief Deputy?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad to see you. I think we might have a problem.”
She already had a problem. Several of them. Wallace camping out at her house was one. Virgil injured in a cell with the man who’d caused it was two. The delicate balance she had to maintain in order to squeak through the coming weeks while keeping everyone safe and retaining her job was three. “What kind of problem?”
He motioned for her to join him and together they walked into the inner office. “I heard Weston Jager talking to Doug Lachette.”
“And?”
“I think they’re going after the new guy again.”
“Did you tell Bennett? Did you warn him that he’d better stay here?”
“I tried. I told him he shouldn’t fight again or it’ll rip out those stitches. But we would’ve had to physically restrain him to keep him here, and that didn’t make much sense.”
“That’s it,” she said. “Weston just won himself a ticket to the SHU.” She wanted to send Virgil there, too, where she knew he’d be safe. But Wallace and Fischer would override her if she did. Segregating him would defeat his whole purpose.
John hadn’t been in the dining hall earlier when the fight broke out, but he’d heard details from several people in the five hours since. The C.O.s were all abuzz, talking about how one guy, a new transfer, had just about kicked the shit out of three seasoned gangbangers. He might’ve come out the clear winner if they hadn’t shanked him. John wished he could’ve been there to witness it, especially once he learned that Westy had been involved. He didn’t think Westy had ever come out on the bad end of a fight. Westy stacked the deck, if he had to.
Apparently he hadn’t stacked it high enough when he picked a fight with this man.
John tried not to reveal the satisfaction that knowledge gave him as he waited outside Westy’s cell. He’d just received orders to leave Ace in gen pop but move Westy over to the SHU. Good news all around. Once Westy was in segregation, he’d need John’s help more than ever to carry messages and smuggle contraband, which meant prices would go up.
“So what happened?” he asked as Westy gathered his stuff.
Westy glowered at him but didn’t respond.
“I heard that dude can fight.”
Ace Anderson was lying on his bunk, staring at the fingers dangling out of his new cast. He’d been Westy’s cell mate for…John couldn’t even remember. A year, at least. “Doesn’t Westy’s face tell you that?”
When he chuckled at his own joke, Westy threw a balled-up shirt at him. “Shut the hell up! At least I didn’t break my damn hand!”
Ace pulled the shirt from his face. “That con has a hard head.”
“So what’s this guy’s name? Where’d he come from?” John couldn’t wait to get a look at him. He had to be as big as a house, judging by the way everyone was talking about him.
“Who cares?” Westy took back his shirt. “He’s gonna be a dead man soon. That’s all I know.”
“You don’t have enough enemies with the blacks and the Mexicans?”
Westy paused to glance at him. “Don’t be telling me how to run my business.”
John shrugged. “I’m just sayin’.”
“I don’t want to hear what you have to say. We clear?”
“I wish we’d done some homework before we messed with him,” Ace admitted. “We could’ve been more prepared.”
“How do you get more prepared than four on one?” John knew this comment would make Westy angry, but it was a jab he couldn’t resist.
“It was three on one, okay?” Westy said. “Buzz’s got a month left. He don’t want to fight so you’re not gonna get much out of him. And we weren’t all that serious. We were just messin’, givin’ him a little initiation to the joint.”
Sure, John thought. But he didn’t say it.
“Now I know why he didn’t come in on the bus,” Ace said. “That boy’s one bad dude.”
John had been biting a hangnail, but at this he dropped his hand. “What do you mean he didn’t come in on the bus? All the transfers came in on the bus.”
“Not this ass**le,” Westy grumbled, packing his stuff again.
“He came at the same time as the others, but he was driven up here by two uniforms,” Ace explained.
“How do you know?”
“DeWitt was at the sallyport. He, uh, had a package to deliver to me—” he grinned meaningfully “—and mentioned that some badass had come from Corcoran by personal transport. Has to be this guy.”
Why would two officers handle a transfer when they had the bus coming the same day, with at least ten other cons from Corcoran? That was a waste of time and gas. Unless…
“What’s he look like?” he asked.
Westy had finished gathering his belongings. “’Bout six-four, two hundred and twenty pounds. Blond hair, military cut. Blue eyes. Has love and hate tattooed on his knuckles.”
“Dude’s been liftin’, you can tell,” Ace added, but John scarcely heard him. That was the guy his sister had described to him! She’d seen him having dinner with Rick Wallace….
John’s heart began to jackhammer against his chest. He’d solved the mystery. He’d put the pieces together and figured out what Rick Wallace and Peyton Adams had been hiding. They had a plant inside the prison. One who could, apparently, hold his own among the gangbangers and other dangerous losers. Maybe that was how they expected him to stay alive.
They were taking a hell of a risk, which was why they’d needed to keep it secret.
John smiled. He had what he wanted, and it was every bit as good as he’d hoped.
In a hurry now, he smacked the wall. “Hey, let’s get going, huh? This doesn’t need to take all day.”
Westy gave him a look that said he’d just as soon rip his head off as obey, but John wasn’t worried. Westy would forgive him soon enough.