The Killing Floor Blues (Daniel Faust #5)(29)

Westie took a drag, passed the cigarette to Jake, and looked me up and down.

“You in one piece, friend? Heard some funny stories about the showers this morning. Stories where your name popped up.”

“What can I say?” I shrugged. “I’m a popular guy. Been thinking about our problem, the Hive B thing.”

Jake glanced at the cigarette stub between his fingers. Fingers that trembled just a bit.

“Yeah? All that thinking taking you anywhere in particular?”

“Yep.” I nodded toward the fence and the endless plain of scrub and sand on the other side. “Out. Seems to me, if people are being snatched and taken away for possibly nefarious purposes, the best solution is to be far, far away from the guards doing the snatching. Wanna come with?”

Westie arched one bushy eyebrow. “A prison break? You takin’ the piss?”

“I’ve got a bit of a contrarian nature,” I said. “Tell me something’s never been done before, or can’t be done, and it just encourages me. Besides, I can’t get used to this lifestyle. Don’t like the accommodations, don’t like the fashion, and I sure as hell don’t care for the cuisine. So what do you say? If I can spring us, you in?”

They shared a quiet glance. A whole conversation passed between them without a word being said.

“Who else knows?” Jake asked. Cautious, but nibbling at the hook.

“Paul’s on board. And, ah, we have to take Buddy.”

“Buddy?”

“The Prof.”

Jake tilted his head at me. Then he looked off to the left. I followed his gaze. Buddy sat at one of the chess tables, alone, having what looked like an animated conversation.

“He’s talking to his chess pieces,” Jake said.

“Yep. That he is.”

“And…he’s pausing, like he’s hearing them talk back.”

I shrugged. “Admittedly, he’s more of a liability than an asset, but I gotta get him out of here. Favor for a friend.”

Westie rubbed his chin. “Man’s brain is fried. Paul’s solid, though. Bit of an egghead, but we could use that. So a four-man crew. Plus the Prof. You got a plan up your sleeve?”

“I’m working on that.”

Jake and Westie shared another silent conversation.

“Let us know when you’ve got something solid,” Jake said. “And if the plan feels right…hell, man, I’m in. I hear Mexico’s nice this time of year.”

“Yeah, all right,” Westie said. “I’m up for some beachside pi?a coladas. You let us know, Dan. We’ll be waiting.”

Back in the hive, out on the gallery floor, I caught movement in my peripheral vision. Another man cutting through the crowd, headed toward me on a collision course. I tensed up. Something must have shown in my eyes as I turned, because he froze in his tracks. It was Zap, Brisco’s pet trustee.

“Hey, man, it’s cool. I’m just playing delivery boy.”

I showed him my open hands, and we both relaxed.

“Walk with me,” he said.

He matched my stride, moving to stand on my left side, opposite the gun tower at the heart of the hive.

“Gonna put something in your left hand,” he said in a low voice. “Keep it out of sight.”

I felt the sleek plastic shell of a flip phone slide against my palm.

“This is major-league contraband,” he warned me. “You’re looking at a month in Ad Seg if you get caught with it. So don’t get caught with it. And if you do get caught, I don’t know you.”

“You’re a good man, Zap.”

“Brisco’s a good man. So, uh, are you gonna kill him?”

“Probably not,” I told him, “but we’ll see how things go. The day is still young.”

My pulse raced as I climbed the metal stairs, rounded the tier catwalk, and headed straight for my cell. I had to force myself to slow my stride no matter how badly I wanted to run. One-way mirrors plastered the central tower like posters on a subway wall; it was impossible to tell if a guard was watching. Thinking fast, I opened the little storage cabinet, stood up the phone—a cheap prepaid burner with a scratched-up purple plastic shell—on a shelf, and leaned in close.

Perfect. At that angle, even if a guard spotted me, it’d look like I was just rummaging through my stuff. If I kept my head turned, they wouldn’t even see my lips moving. I dialed a number I knew by heart, fingers trembling so bad I messed up and had to redial.

The phone purred once. Twice. Then a click.

“Thank you for calling the Scrivener’s Nook,” Bentley’s reedy voice intoned. “How may I help you?”

I almost couldn’t answer, the words catching in my strangled throat. So many things I’d taken for granted: freedom, money, the high life, and the Vegas lights. So many things I didn’t appreciate until they were suddenly gone.

Family, most of all.

“Bentley, it’s…it’s me.”

“Daniel! Where are you? We’ve been trying to visit you ever since the trial ended, but nobody seems to know anything. It’s as if you vanished from the system.”

“Because I was never in the system. It’s a con, Bentley. The whole damn thing. I’m at Eisenberg Correctional. I—damn it, I’ve got so much to say, and I don’t even know how much time I’ve got on this phone.”