Hard Core

  Ledger didn’t say anything else as we walked back to the bikes. And I was grateful.

  Chapter 21

  -Ledger-

  Orson State Penn, 7 months till release

  There were a few lucky fuckers in our ward who always had mail, letters from people on the outside to let them know they were still being thought about. My cellmate and I weren’t part of that crowd. My dad had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer just two months after my sentence had started. And since I was usually the fall guy for anything that went wrong in the family, my sister and mom had done more than their share of hinting that major stress could bring on a terrible thing like cancer and that I’d certainly provided plenty of that. During the few visits from my dad, when he was still strong enough to make the trip to see me, he’d assured me that his cancer had nothing to do with me. I wasn’t completely convinced though. Eventually, after the first few letters from my parents and sister, the novelty, even grim as it was, of writing to their jailbird loved one had worn off. And they’d all but stopped writing. In a way, it was easier to cut ties for awhile.

  I knew why I didn’t get letters, but I found it strange that Tank wouldn’t have at least gotten letters from the love of his life. She hadn’t come to see him on visiting day either. It all added to my conspiracy theory that she didn’t really exist. That he was just telling stories about a woman who was only part of his imagination. The only flaw in that theory was that the guy just didn’t seem to have enough brain cells to come up with such amazing, vivid tales.

  My cellmate and I hadn’t spoken much in the last few days. Being stuck with someone in a jail cell for hours, days and months on end didn’t make for great friendships. The more I got to know Tank, the less I liked him. I was pretty sure he felt the same way about me.

  Mail was still being passed out as the bell for lunch sounded. We walked to the door, like trained cattle waiting to be let out of the pen to graze. As we stood there, a letter was shoved through the bars. “Harville, this is for you.”

  Tank snatched the letter up quickly and with enough enthusiasm that it seemed he’d been expecting it. He walked over to the small shelf where he kept his belongings and used the handle of his toothbrush like a letter opener. His fingers grabbed greedily at the letter.

  “Is it from Jacy?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer me as he unfolded the letter. I could see that someone had taken the time to handwrite a long message, but he didn’t stop to read it. He tossed the letter aside as he lifted out the picture that had been tucked inside. “She found it,” he muttered to himself.

  He lifted the tiny picture up to see it under the light. There was writing on the back. He turned it over and read it to himself. A laugh, that was edged with a sneer, followed.

  “You want to see her? Want to see the most beautiful wife in the world? I asked my mom to find Jacy’s high school picture.”

  I looked pointedly at the letter that, it seemed, his mom had written. It had been cast aside as if it were just the wrapper on the picture. I wasn’t completely sure if I wanted to look. Not because it wouldn’t match up with the image I’d formed of Jacy, but seeing her face would make her that much more real. And I hated knowing that the asshole standing across from me had someone like her waiting for him.

  There was no real choice. Tank walked over and shoved the picture toward me. “You probably thought I was making her up.” God, he was stupid. He actually considered an old high school picture, sent by his mom and not the woman herself, proof that she belonged to him.

  I pinched the picture between my thumb and forefinger. It was her. It was the girl he’d been talking about. It couldn’t be anyone else. She was that girl that everyone in high school wanted to know, wanted to sit by in class, wanted to be friends with. Her blue eyes looked back at me. Even in a tiny, school photo, you could see that she was incredible. I flipped the picture over. “To my sweet James, Love, Jacy.”

  I handed him back the picture and wanted to follow it with a punch to his smug face. The door unlocked behind me. Without any comment, I turned and walked out. I heard his purposeful steps right behind, so I knew he’d be gloating through lunch.

  I picked up a tray and got in line. All the food was the same color and had the same taste. If it was doused with enough ketchup, it was edible. But then, it was prison. For some guys inside, it was three square meals a day that they’d never had on the outside. I’d had enough bad years as a teen that I’d run away more than once. During those less than memorable times, I’d had to pick through people’s leftovers in garbage cans just to keep food in my stomach. But as bad as I got on my quest to be a total disappointment, my dad had never given up. He always sent the police out to look for me, and they’d drag me back home. Then I’d spend a few months trying to show him I was worthy of his love. But something would always happen to pull me back over to the wrong side of things.

  My cellmate, if all his stories were true, had never been without a meal or a shiny new car. He’d been depressed and in a rotten mood for the last few days, but the picture had been like a drug. He seemed to be back to his usual, strut like a fucking rooster, old self. It was still a mystery why his mom had to send a photo and why it was just a school picture. Where were the pictures of them together? If they were high school sweethearts, where was the corny fucking prom photo standing in front of a silvery cardboard moon cutout?

  A new prisoner, a guy who was as small and semi-bald as an underfed, plucked chicken, was standing several people ahead in line. He looked about as nervous as anyone could, short of pissing his pants and falling down in a dead faint. The two jerks behind him, Gus and Longo, two assholes who were as mean as they were big, zeroed right in on the guy. Gus kept stepping on the back of the little man’s shoes. And Longo elbowed the guy sharply in the back to keep him moving along. Twice, he came close to dropping his tray of food.

  Tank turned in line and motioned toward the scene with his head. He had a huge grin on his face. I didn’t return the smile.

  “They are assholes,” I said, plenty loud enough for Gus and Longo to hear. Tank tensed up and shot me a ‘keep it down’ scowl.

  Gus shot me an assessing look. I stared hard back at him. He decided to ignore the remark. I thought he might.

  Tank shook his head. “Shit, you’ve got no sense of humor today. Must be that you’re still stewing with jealousy about my hot wife. She is something else, that’s for damn sure.”

  If I’d been smart at all, I’d have skipped the gray meatloaf and gone back to the cell. I was tense as a stretched rubber band. I wasn’t completely sure if it had been the picture that had dropped me into a black mood, or if I’d just had it with all the bullshit going on around me. I’d been working hard at staying out of trouble. I didn’t want to be in this fucking prison one minute longer than necessary, but good behavior had never been my strong suit.

  This time, Longo’s solid jab into the new guy’s ribs caused him to drop his tray. He stared down in horror as the meatloaf landed directly on Longo’s shoes.

  “You little, fucking weasel,” Longo sneered. The guy’s eyes nearly popped from his small white face as Longo reached for him.

  I slapped my tray down on the edge of the counter hard enough to splatter my shirt with mashed potatoes. I shot Gus a look not to interfere. He put up his hands and backed off. Longo had hold of the guy’s shirt, and it looked as if he was about to launch him across the room. No guards had taken notice, or if they had, they were conveniently ignoring the scene. They often did until blood was drawn.

  My arm hooked around Longo’s neck before he even realized I was coming up behind him. I balled my fist and jammed my knuckles hard between his shoulder blades.

  Longo’s eyes narrowed as he looked sideways at me.

  “It’s done. You got him to drop his tray, now leave him the fuck alone.”

&n
bsp; A crowd had gathered. Scenes of any kind were an entertaining change from the routine. I’d never been the center of one until now. I saw two of the guards standing behind the onlookers with their clubs, ready to get involved if prompted.

  Longo let go of the guy’s shirt and he stumbled away, out of reach.

  I lowered my arm, ready to walk away, but I’d embarrassed Longo, and he wasn’t planning to let me off so easily. His fist flew at me, clipping my chin and sending my jaw sharply sideways. I cracked it back into place and let my fist fly. It landed square in the middle of his face. Blood poured from his nose as he fell back against the Plexiglas shield that protected the kitchen workers from the prisoners. He dropped to his knees, his massive hand cupping his nose.

  Some of the onlookers shot me an approving chin lift as the guard jammed his club into my back and led me out of the cafeteria. My feet plodded along the cement floor. I’d done it. I’d screwed up. Should have skipped the shitty food and gone back to the cell.

  Chapter 22

  -Ledger-

  Everything about this felt completely right and completely wrong. I was keeping too much from Jacy, and she, in turn, had no idea how much I knew about her life. I just needed more time. I needed for us to be on more solid ground. I needed her trust. I needed for her to understand just how much I cared about her. Then I would tell her everything.

  We’d ridden around the entire marina and along the path to the next beach. There was less conversation and more just riding together, enjoying the beach weather and the exercise. The long ride seemed to brighten Jacy’s spirits again.

  I rode up next to her. “I bought a small, second-hand barbecue. If you play your cards right, I’ll invite you up for one of my masterfully grilled burgers tonight. You can even bring Rex. Are you interested?” I’d hoped we would be spending the night together, but the day hadn’t gone quite like I planned.

  “I could eat a masterfully grilled burger. Do you have pickles and mayo? I’m kind of picky about my burgers. Just like my sweet snacks.”

  “I have both. Seems as if we share the same taste in hamburger.”

  It was late afternoon as we rolled along the last stretch of beach leading to the pier. A cool fog was floating in and beginning to erase the water and beach. Mike’s umbrella was down, which meant he was closing up for the day. We pedaled faster, not wanting him to have to stay late just for us.

  We reached the stairs to the pier, climbed off and pushed our bikes up the three steps to the top. The shops along the pier closed early in fall, mostly because the gloomy coastal fog that always nestled along Rockwood Beach did not make for a nice stroll.

  Mike was standing at his cash box with his face turned down and shoulders hunched forward. Two guys, one tall with red hair and a beer paunch and another smaller, but tough and wiry looking, stood behind him. The man with red hair was close enough that he could touch Mike. I’d never seen either of the guys hanging around, and from the look on Mike’s face, these guys weren’t friends.

  I put my hand on Jacy’s handlebars to stop her progress.

  She cast a confused look up at me and then her gaze followed mine toward Mike. A hand flew to her mouth as she, too, realized something was up.

  Suddenly, Mike’s hand shot out with a flash of silver, a blade of some kind, and the tall guy responded by slamming Mike against his cart.

  “Call the police,” I said as I ran toward them. Mike’s balance was already severely hindered by his bad leg, and he hit the dock with a solid thud. I reached both guys just as the smaller guy dove for the knife that had flown from Mike’s hand. I kicked the blade away and landed a knee in the guy’s face. He grunted in pain and landed hard on his ass. A stunned crowd had appeared out of virtually nowhere to watch the scene, but no one seemed inclined to step in and help.

  The tall guy swung around and threw a wild fist. It landed hard against my shoulder blade. He was my age, twenty-five or a little older, and his face was now the same red as his hair. He swung around and kicked Mike in the stomach as he struggled to his feet, then he made a grab for Mike’s cash box. I slammed into him, sore shoulder first, and clenched my teeth against the pain as I sent him sideways like a falling tree. The money box hit the ground, and the cash scattered. The small, wiry man made a quick grab for it. I was still fending off Red. Mike sat on his knees, white from trying to catch his breath as he watched his day’s work being swept into the pockets of a thief.

  Red swung at me. He was one of those fuckers who threw the hook first and looked for his target later. I easily dodged his fist and then returned the favor with my own, more planned, right hook. I never tossed a fist without deciding exactly where it would land. I never threw one to waste energy. I always expected results. And I got them. Red flew back. His gray t-shirt was now red like his face and hair. He was turning into one blurry mass of red.

  I heard sirens and could see flashing lights out of the corner of my eye.

  “Ledger,” Jacy screamed from behind. I swung around. Red’s partner had retrieved Mike’s knife. The blade glinted in the late afternoon sun as it ripped through the air. My fist came up and hit the guy’s elbow so hard, I heard it crack. He lost his grip on the blade but decided to take one last shot at me with his other arm. He hit my jaw just hard enough to make my teeth snap shut on my tongue. Instantly, the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

  It was time to finish. The man’s eyes nearly popped from his head as I grabbed hold of his shirt. I threw my fist at him short range, and his head snapped back. His eyes drifted shut. The second they opened, I drew my arm back for another round.

  Two rough hands grabbed my arm before I could follow through with the punch. My arm was wrenched behind my back, straining my injured shoulder more. I was forced down to my knees.

  “Get your hands behind your head, now. All of you,” the cop shouted. His partner had circled around with his gun drawn.

  “Get these people back,” the cop searching me yelled to his partner. Two more officers were busy searching the two thieves.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but the cop stopped me. “Not a word.” He pulled free my wallet and handed it off to another officer.

  “No, you have the wrong man,” I heard Jacy pleading from behind.

  “Miss, I need you to get back now. We need this area cleared.”

  Mike was only just gaining his composure. He managed to get to his feet, but he was shaky and pale. “Officer, this man helped me.”

  “Sir, that’s fine, but we’re going to talk to everyone involved in the fight. Including this man.”

  I stayed silent. I knew that the officers wouldn’t hear a thing or listen to anyone until all the dust had settled on the fight scene.

  Jacy had skirted around to stand with Mike, holding his arm and trying her best to comfort him. She looked ready to break apart herself. I hated that she’d had to witness any of it. I stayed on my knees with my hands behind my head. At least they hadn’t cuffed me. It was the last thing I wanted Jacy to see. Then something else struck me that felt like another fist in my face. And seconds later that something turned into reality.

  “Officer Oxbury,” a policewoman came up from behind. “This one is on parole.”

  “I was stopping the robbery,” I said in protest, but knew it was futile. My knuckles were sore and swollen as my hands were dragged behind me to be cuffed. My two sparring partners were cuffed as well.

  Jacy took Mike’s arm to help him walk and they came closer to me. “Officer,” Jacy said, her voice frail and shaky, “this man stopped the robbery. He shouldn’t be cuffed.”

  “You need to release him,” Mike said.

  “We’re going to take him in. He’s broken parole,” Officer Oxbury quickly informed them. The man might as well have just clobbered me on the back of the head with his club.

  Jacy’s face
smoothed with shock as she gazed down at me.

  “I’m sorry, Jacy.” It was a sentence that would have been a lot more convincing if I hadn’t been knelt on the ground with my hands cuffed behind my back.

  Her blue eyes beaded with tears, and I closed my eyes. The expression on Jacy’s face made it feel as if my heart was being ripped from my chest. I’d kept this from her. I’d been working to gain her trust and now that work had been obliterated.

  I heard Mike’s voice but kept my eyes closed, thinking about what this all meant. Everything had been going in the right direction, but, as was always the case with my life, when things were going right, I could always expect them to go really fucking wrong soon after.

  “Officer Oxbury,” Mike said, in that smooth, polite tone I often heard him use with customers. “Oxbury? I used to know an Oxbury. Dustin Oxbury. A good man. I fought with him in Vietnam.”

  I knew Mike had taken a few good blows, but I couldn’t for the life of me understand why he was starting up a conversation about the war. Then my arresting officer answered.

  “Dustin Oxbury is my grandfather. He fought in Vietnam.”

  I opened my eyes. Jacy was nowhere in sight. Mike had regained the color in his face, and it seemed he’d just stumbled onto some good luck. Mike stuck out his hand for a handshake, and they exchanged a few polite details about the grandfather.

  Mike had softened the guy up. While the other men were being piled into police cars, my new lawyer, Mike, the bike rental man, was garnering a pardon from my arresting officer. “Look, Officer Oxbury, here’s what happened. I was facing down two dangerous thieves when my friend Ledger here, came up on the pier. Without a second of hesitation, he engaged the thieves in a fight. He saved my life. Don’t you think he could get off with a warning, maybe a helpful explanation to his parole officer about how he saved the life of a vet?”