Into the Fire(90)

He interrupted Monkey Mouth’s monologue. “Can I trade a biscuit for your cigarettes?”

Monkey Mouth rolled his head to take in Evan with large, childlike eyes. He was scratching his arm repetitively, drawing blood. “Do you have any ramen?”

“I’m sorry, pal,” Evan said. “I don’t have any ramen.”

The man’s disappointment held the weight of the world. “Okay, then.” He reached into his sock and pulled out two bent, sweat-stained butts.

From top bunk to top bunk, they exchanged items.

Evan split the cigarettes between his thumbs, exposing the tobacco. Then he pulled down his blue lowers and tore a shred of papery fabric from the leg hem of the jail-issue boxer shorts. Ripping the shred into two rough squares, he divided the tobacco between them, twisted the fabric at the tops to form tea-bag pouches, and tied off each with a thread plucked from the sleeve of his oversize top. He had to squint the entire time to keep everything from blurring.

He headed out, moving unevenly along the catwalk. The floating clock above the bay showed 11:59 A.M.

At the bottom of the stairs, Evan paused and stared directly at the top surveillance camera. He blinked four times. Each blink was a signal to Joey. She couldn’t watch the feed around the clock, but when she reviewed footage, she’d note his blinks and count four hours forward from noon. At 4:00 P.M. they’d meet back here virtually and he’d give her the next set of coded instructions in real time.

He spotted Cedric the inker in the dayroom and wandered over to take the chair next to him. Cedric tilted back in a chair bowing beneath his weight. His fingers were still jumping around, searching for a cigarette, and he was sucking on his bottom lip. He stayed focused on the TV even as he addressed Evan. “What you want?”

“I know you’re an ink slinger,” Evan said.

“Can’t make no tattoos no more,” Cedric said. “Don’t have shit for needles. No spoon, nuthin’.”

“Do you have ink?”

“Maybe I managed to hide me some. But what good’s ink for by itself?”

Evan took the two bound pouches of tobacco from his pocket and held them in his palm.

“What’s that sorry-looking shit?”

“Pouch tobacco. You can stuff it in your lip like a Skoal Bandit.”

Cedric leaned over, the chair creaking, and poked at the pouches. He made a face and shifted away, hugging his chest and pretending to watch the TV. He couldn’t help but work his lower lip between his teeth, an oral fixation hamstering out of control.

Finally he sighed theatrically and withdrew a crappy Bic pen refill from his breast pocket. He slapped it into Evan’s hand and snatched up the pouches. “I don’t know what you’re gonna do with that,” he said. “Then again, I don’t know what I’m gonna do with it neither.”

By the time Evan reached the door, Cedric had already tucked one of the pouches into his lower lip.

Wobbly on his feet, Evan walked back across the bay, glancing up to see Teardrop blocking the bottom of the stairs. As Evan approached, Teardrop shifted back on his heels, arms crossed high on his chest.

“The man wants to see you,” he said.

“The man can come see me himself,” Evan said.

Teardrop grinned a wolfish grin. “You don’t wanna do Bedrock like that,” he said. “Listen to me, bro, I may be getting kicked soon, but don’t think I won’t do one last job up in here.”

“Then you won’t get out of here anytime soon.”

“Oh, I’m sure Bedrock’d make it worth my while.”

Evan considered. Gave a faint nod.

He followed Teardrop to Cell 37, concentrating so as to not slip on the steps. The Armenian Power lieutenants, inked up as members of the Glendale chapter, parted to let them through.

Bedrosov sat on a makeshift king-size mattress built of two stacks of twins shoved together. Except for a single unoccupied bunk bed against one wall, the rest of the cell was empty, a testament to his influence. The bottom bunk was bricked in with packages of instant ramen, hundreds of them, the vision Monkey Mouth would see if he ever dreamed pleasant dreams.

Bedrosov’s soft, plump hands were folded loosely between his knees. He looked at ease, a man without a care in the world. His voice was soft, that familiar pragmatic purr. “Paytsar Hovsepian?”

Evan said, “You know my name.”

“You broke Casper’s arm,” Bedrosov said.

“Why do you care?”

“There’s an order. When that order is disrupted, business is disrupted.”

And to you, Evan thought, there’s nothing worse than business getting disrupted.

Bedrosov’s face smeared into a mocha streak atop a shirt. Evan blinked several times hard, and it reassembled itself.

“I didn’t mean to mess with your gang,” Evan said.

“Oh, I’m not one of these animals,” Bedrosov said.

If Teardrop or the lieutenants were insulted, they gave no sign of it.

“I don’t belong here,” Bedrosov continued. “I’m only a part of this temporarily. But while I’m here, I like to ensure that things go as smoothly as possible for me.”

“If Casper hadn’t attacked me,” Evan said, “things would still be going smoothly for him.”