hundred by selling his urine to another guard trying to beat a drug test, the thought had probably just crossed Spiv’s mind, and that thought became the story.
“First time in maximum security?” Spiv asked, as they headed down a sterile corridor.
“Yeah.”
“You’re in for a treat.”
They took the corrugated steel elevator to the bottom, where they were buzzed through two more doors, and then proceeded down a flight of brick steps.
Spiv blew his nose and sighed. “What would your father think about you defending a D.A. killer?”
“Aren’t there some steps missing?” Summer asked. “Like a trial and a verdict?”
“What would your father think about you defending an alleged D.A. killer?”
“That’s better. Probably”—she imitated Wib’s croak—“‘Where’d I go wrong raisin’ you? Workin’ for crooks, scum, and pervs. I musta fucked up if I didn’t teach you respect for the law.’”
Spiv laughed. “Hey, that’s pretty good. Wib never liked Gundy. Hell, from what I’ve heard, nobody did. I don’t know how he could walk with that skyscraper up his ass. But at least he took out the trash.”
Wib, Summer knew, had felt much the same way. His qualms with Gundy had centered on Gundy’s penchant for playing to public opinion. Drug sweeps, sex solicitation roundups, drunk driver roadblocks, fag spa shutdowns, misdemeanor offenses that strained the court system and forced cops off the streets to deal with the paperwork.
Spiv waved to a ceiling-mounted camera, and they were buzzed through another door into a stretch of hallway. The farther they walked, the worse the stench—feces, urine, and other signs of human decay. But it was the sounds, the eerie wails of insanity, that put Summer on edge.
There were a dozen cells set in cement, with two-inch-thick doors, each with a tiny window. As Summer passed, women pounded on the portals, their bulging eyes distorted by the glass. Caged bulbs lining the hall provided ghostly light.
Summer held her nose. “Who are you, the Marquis de Spivak? Maximum security is for convicted psychos, not for people awaiting trial. Move my client to a decent cell.”
Spiv grinned. “She’d be having more fundy if she hadn’ta whacked Gundy.” When Summer scowled, he added sternly, “Don’t give me a hard time. You got a problem, take it up with the warden.”
“Maybe I will,” Summer said. “At the least, I want to talk with my client in private, inside.”
Spiv buzzed his lips. “That’s a negative. If I were you, after what she pulled in Angiers’s court today, I wouldn’t be so anxious to spend time alone with her. It took, like, ten guys to carry her out.”
Summer poked his shoulder three times. “Three. I was there, remember? Maybe the bailiffs should have asked her nicely.”
Spiv stepped aside and peered through the window. He motioned Summer over with fluttering fingers and hissed, “Look at this.”
Summer stood on tiptoes and pushed her face against the scratchy glass. SK was inside, her Haze County Jail jumpsuit unzipped to her navel, the sleeves rolled up to her shoulders. She was sparring with her shadow. Her hair flew with each kick and punch. Sweat sparkled on her forehead.
Spiv whispered into Summer’s ear. “She could kill you before you could even yelp.”
This time Spiv wasn’t exaggerating. In fact, the thought had crossed Summer’s mind earlier, the moment SK sent Angiers’s bailiff crumbling. She ran a hand over her glassy stomach. “I’m going in. Alone.”
“She could crack your neck, smash your nose through your brain. Lots of ways to kill someone with just your fists. I’ve seen it.”
“Beat it, Spiv.”
“Nah-ah-ah,” he said, staccato-like. “I’ll be right here. Watching.”
“Any excuse to ogle pretty girls.”
Spiv chuckled as he tapped the glass with his stun gun and unlatched the window. He called inside, “Stay away from the door.”
SK kept fighting her shadow.
“Ten minutes,”
“First time in maximum security?” Spiv asked, as they headed down a sterile corridor.
“Yeah.”
“You’re in for a treat.”
They took the corrugated steel elevator to the bottom, where they were buzzed through two more doors, and then proceeded down a flight of brick steps.
Spiv blew his nose and sighed. “What would your father think about you defending a D.A. killer?”
“Aren’t there some steps missing?” Summer asked. “Like a trial and a verdict?”
“What would your father think about you defending an alleged D.A. killer?”
“That’s better. Probably”—she imitated Wib’s croak—“‘Where’d I go wrong raisin’ you? Workin’ for crooks, scum, and pervs. I musta fucked up if I didn’t teach you respect for the law.’”
Spiv laughed. “Hey, that’s pretty good. Wib never liked Gundy. Hell, from what I’ve heard, nobody did. I don’t know how he could walk with that skyscraper up his ass. But at least he took out the trash.”
Wib, Summer knew, had felt much the same way. His qualms with Gundy had centered on Gundy’s penchant for playing to public opinion. Drug sweeps, sex solicitation roundups, drunk driver roadblocks, fag spa shutdowns, misdemeanor offenses that strained the court system and forced cops off the streets to deal with the paperwork.
Spiv waved to a ceiling-mounted camera, and they were buzzed through another door into a stretch of hallway. The farther they walked, the worse the stench—feces, urine, and other signs of human decay. But it was the sounds, the eerie wails of insanity, that put Summer on edge.
There were a dozen cells set in cement, with two-inch-thick doors, each with a tiny window. As Summer passed, women pounded on the portals, their bulging eyes distorted by the glass. Caged bulbs lining the hall provided ghostly light.
Summer held her nose. “Who are you, the Marquis de Spivak? Maximum security is for convicted psychos, not for people awaiting trial. Move my client to a decent cell.”
Spiv grinned. “She’d be having more fundy if she hadn’ta whacked Gundy.” When Summer scowled, he added sternly, “Don’t give me a hard time. You got a problem, take it up with the warden.”
“Maybe I will,” Summer said. “At the least, I want to talk with my client in private, inside.”
Spiv buzzed his lips. “That’s a negative. If I were you, after what she pulled in Angiers’s court today, I wouldn’t be so anxious to spend time alone with her. It took, like, ten guys to carry her out.”
Summer poked his shoulder three times. “Three. I was there, remember? Maybe the bailiffs should have asked her nicely.”
Spiv stepped aside and peered through the window. He motioned Summer over with fluttering fingers and hissed, “Look at this.”
Summer stood on tiptoes and pushed her face against the scratchy glass. SK was inside, her Haze County Jail jumpsuit unzipped to her navel, the sleeves rolled up to her shoulders. She was sparring with her shadow. Her hair flew with each kick and punch. Sweat sparkled on her forehead.
Spiv whispered into Summer’s ear. “She could kill you before you could even yelp.”
This time Spiv wasn’t exaggerating. In fact, the thought had crossed Summer’s mind earlier, the moment SK sent Angiers’s bailiff crumbling. She ran a hand over her glassy stomach. “I’m going in. Alone.”
“She could crack your neck, smash your nose through your brain. Lots of ways to kill someone with just your fists. I’ve seen it.”
“Beat it, Spiv.”
“Nah-ah-ah,” he said, staccato-like. “I’ll be right here. Watching.”
“Any excuse to ogle pretty girls.”
Spiv chuckled as he tapped the glass with his stun gun and unlatched the window. He called inside, “Stay away from the door.”
SK kept fighting her shadow.
“Ten minutes,”
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