Page 30 of Endangered Species
Webster knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped out into the yard. Cy always beat him out there since the laundry facilities were closer, and he usually went straight to the weights while Webster waited on the bleachers, usually napping like a cat in the sun but sometimes talking to Tig or Iggy, neither of whom were there to tell him what the fuck was happening.
It was Preacher who broke the news, finding Webster sitting on the risers. The moment he saw the older man’s face, his stomach churned. “What? What’s wrong? Where’s Cy?”
Preacher didn’t sit right away, just stood with his hands on his hips, looking down on Webster with a look that told him Preacher thought he was more trouble than he was worth. “There was a thing that happened in the laundry.”
Webster’s pulse pounded hard against his veins, causing his numerous bruises to throb in time with his heartbeat. “What the fuck does that even mean, Preacher? Is he okay? Is he hurt?”
Preacher dropped down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. It was the first time Webster had ever noticed the three crosses inked on his throat. “He’s fine. Thor…not so much. Cy’s in the hole. Thor’s in the hospital.”
Webster’s head swam as he tried to process Preacher’s words. “What’d he do?” His words sounded dull, even to his own ears, but he was spiraling a little, as worried for Cy as he was for himself.
Preacher cleared his throat, looking out over the yard to where Thor’s crew watched them both like a pack of feral dogs, doing everything but snarling and snapping their teeth. “I wasn’t there, but I hear he forced the man to drink laundry detergent and then burned the shit out of his face and hands.”
“Cy wouldn’t do that,” Webster said, feeling sick. “He’s too gentle for that.”
Preacher gave a humorless laugh. “Look at you, kid. Did you think Cy would be able to let that go unpunished? That’s not the way things work here. Cy claimed you for his own, and Thor put his hands on you. If Cy had let that slide, it would have been open season on your ass.”
For the second time in two days, Webster felt like he’d been sucker-punched in the stomach, and he was grateful he hadn’t eaten that morning. “I never wanted any of this for him. I was trying to prove he was innocent. That’s all. I just wanted his record clean so, when he was finally free, he didn’t have this fucking record hanging over his head. It’s bad enough my mother ruined most of his life. I didn’t want her to steal the rest of it, too.”
Webster didn’t know why he was confessing any of this to Preacher. He was almost positive the man didn’t even like him.
“You know what they say about the road to hell…” Preacher said, still watching the other inmates move about the yard.
“I can’t figure out if you’re just full of shit or what,” Webster finally said.
Preacher laughed at that. A real-life genuine laugh. “If you figure it out, let me know. I’ve wondered the same about myself for years.”
Silence stretched out between them for a long while as Webster tried to imagine what might happen next. “What will happen to Cy now?”
“He’s fucked,” Preacher said.
“What do you mean, fucked?” Webster asked, knowing full well what he meant but refusing to accept this as Cy’s new reality.
Webster should have known Cy was going to try to protect him. He should have done something, said something, made him promise to leave it alone, but all he’d cared about last night was forgetting about all of it, no matter how much his body and pride had been wounded.
“He’s about to catch assault charges. He’s done. There’s no way he’s going to get out next year now. He’ll be lucky if he ever sees the light of day on his original release date. He’ll probably lose access to the canine program, too. That’s only offered to prisoners with outstanding records.”
Cy loved those dogs. He loved that program. All Webster had wanted was to save Cy, and, in the end, all he’d done was destroy the only bits of comfort he’d had in that fucked up place. Jesus, Linc was right. He really was a fuck-up. Six weeks ago, when he’d set that program in motion, he never could have imagined it would all spiral this out of control quite so quickly. “No. No fucking way. He’s not spending any more time in this place because of me. I’m going to get him out of this.”
Preacher side-eyed him, running his hand over his silver beard. “You have some kind of magic wand or ace up your sleeve you’ve just been holding onto? Because, if not, your best bet is to keep your head down and hope Thor doesn’t find a way to set his whole crew on you. I don’t know how or why de la Fuenta stepped in and rescued your ass, but you can bet there will be a favor attached to it somehow. The Mexican mafia isn’t really known for their kindness and charitable contributions.”
“I have no idea why Javier decided to make me his pet project,” Webster lied. “I just care about getting Cyrus out of here. I’m tired of playing defense. I need a good offense. I need a bargaining chip.”
“What exactly do you think you have that anybody in here would want other than the one thing you only seem to be offering Cy?” Preacher asked, shaking his head.
What did Webster have? Just his tech skills and a computer program that may or may not have spit out a list of people who were all involved in a conspiracy that would likely knock the for-profit prison system on its ass. “How would I get a meeting with the warden?”
Preacher slowly turned to look at him. “Excuse me?”
“How would I go about getting a meeting with the warden?” Webster asked again.
Preacher shrugged. “Fuck if I know. I’ve been here most of my life and I’ve seen the man twice in passing. He’s not what you’d call hands-on. But, I suppose, if you wave a big enough carrot in front of his face, he’ll find you.”
* * *
“Webster? Bro, are you okay? Javier told Angel that you were jumped by a bunch of white supremacists, and Angel told Linc who told me. Holy shit, dude. Are you okay?” Before Webster could respond there was a rustling noise and an indignant, “Hey,” from Wyatt, telling Webster that Linc had wrestled the phone from him.
“You good, Nicky?” Linc asked.
