“What did you do to earn all that?”
“It was a bullshit RICO case that’s been following me around for too long.”
“Did you just start referring to yourself in the third person or did they name the case after you?” Cole asked.
“More like I was named after the case. It’s the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act. When Ned introduced me to Paige, she only knew me as the RICO guy. Name stuck and so did that goddamn case. Pulled my ass out of a cushy jail cell like this one and tossed it into a goddamn hole that served slop for every meal on every day but Thursday.” Before Cole could ask, Rico added fondly, “Taco day.”
“So you’re some big-time mob guy?” one of the two bench warmers asked.
Rico straddled his seat and locked eyes with the inmate who’d just spoken up. “You conducting interviews now?” he snarled. “So what’s that make you? Barbara fucking Walters?” Shifting his gaze to the darker-skinned of the two, he added, “That’d make you Star fucking Jones?”
“You’d best chill,” Star said. “I’m just sittin’ here.”
“All right then,” Rico said with a nod. “What about you, Barbara? If you want The View, I can give you a good one of the inside of a shit bowl when I pull your face off and flush it down that toilet.”
Barbara did his best to keep his chin up, but had to maintain a delicate balance between not wanting to back down and not wanting Rico to make good on his offer. Since there didn’t seem to be a third, more desirable choice, he backed down.
Rico turned around and said, “I served some time in Pekin, but that was only medium security. Before I got transferred to a max security hole, someone convinced a judge that I wasn’t supposed to be there.”
“Who?” Cole asked.
Rico leaned over and told him, “Some connected guys were having trouble with a bunch of Nymar encroaching on their drug routes. I put the bloodsuckers down before getting arrested and was mistaken for a professional contractor. When I turned up in the system again, one of my new connected buddies stepped in to make it right. Even after all that, they still owe me a few favors.” Straightening up and allowing his voice to go back to its normal volume, he said, “Sometimes it’s good to do right by the wrong people. Remember that.”
“So should I get used to this sort of thing?” Cole asked.
“Being locked up? Probably not if you’re with Paige. She can sniff out cops pretty good.”
“Is that why you call her Bloodhound?”
Rico gazed up at the television and smirked. “Not exactly.”
When Cole looked up to see what might have caught Rico’s attention, he found a rerun of the nightly news from St. Louis. An attractive brunette with short hair and a cute, round face was speaking next to a picture of a sidewalk labeled as North Skinker Boulevard. Several cops and an ambulance were gathered around what looked like a pile of charred garbage partially propped against a building. The moment he spotted the gnarled, leathery tentacles extending from the pile, Cole jumped up and approached the television.
“Sit the fuck down!” Star said. “I’m watching that!”
Cole reached up to the corner where the television was bolted, causing a guard from down the hall to shout, “You break that and you’re paying for it!”
Looking along the top of the cell, Cole quickly found the pair of surveillance cameras protected by little steel boxes mounted on the ceiling. He looked at one of the cameras and said, “I just want to turn it up! I need to hear it.”
“Then shut up and listen!” the guard shouted.
Since the guard wasn’t about to hand him a remote, Cole looked up and watched the rest of the broadcast.
“As of this time, there is no indication of whose remains these are, but this death is presumed to be linked to the triple homicide earlier this evening,” the cute brunette said. “Police found evidence of a forceful entry at that earlier scene along with signs of a brutal struggle that left all three victims completely drained of blood. Authorities are not releasing an official statement about this newest gruesome discovery. Please be warned that the images you are about to see are graphic and may be unsettling.” After that disclaimer was given, the picture was enlarged to fill the entire screen, with police officers forming a ring around a mess of arms, legs, and thick leathery tentacles.
“Pestilence,” Cole said. “That’s what Peter looked like after he…popped.”
Barbara chuckled from his bench, muttering about something of Cole’s he’d want to pop.
“Things may be going crazy, but this isn’t like anything I’ve seen or heard about from Kansas City or anywhere,” said a man identified by a strip of text along the bottom of the television screen as Patrolman Nick Hencke. “Some of it looks human enough, but the rest…well…” The uniformed police officer turned away from the camera to where a group of people were wrapping the corpse up so it could be lifted into the back of the ambulance. “For all we know,” Nick continued, “this could just be some sort of joke.”
The picture shrank down to fill a quarter of the screen so the cute brunette reporter could conclude with: “While there have been reports of several dog attacks possibly stemming from the disease that affected so many animals in Kansas City last month, police sources have declined to say if this could be a new strain that has mutated to affect people. If the situation changes, this station will update you immediately.”
“Thank you, Katherine,” the brunette’s partner said while shifting in his seat to properly address the camera.
“That’s what Peter came to warn me and Paige about,” Cole said as he spun around to look at Rico. “It’s Pestilence. What if it starts affecting people instead of just Nymar? Aw hell! I got it on me! What if I get sick?”
Rico stood up. With his patchwork jacket seized and nothing but a gray thermal shirt covering his thick chest, he looked like a cement wall separating Cole from the rest of the cell. He squared his shoulders, hung his head like an oversized vulture and said, “Paige is getting us out of here, so you need to calm down.”
“What if Pestilence is spreading?”
“Then we tell Paige and Ned, not every goddamn drunk in this tank.”
Barbara and Star were on their bench, enthralled by the weather report. Pacer was still pacing. Crapper was still crapping. Two of the guys were still sleeping against the wall, but one was watching him intently from his corner directly beneath the television. Although Cole had noticed the lanky guy before, he’d been so quiet that he’d practically blended in with the drab, sour-milk-colored walls.
“I don’t think these guys are our big concern,” he said. “Maybe I can get another phone call.”
“You were lucky to get your first one,” Rico pointed out. “It ain’t as much of a requirement as you might think.”
“But it’s been hours since I called her!”
“And we’ll probably be in here for hours more before she scrapes together enough money to spring us both. Maybe she won’t scrape the money together at all.” Seeing the strained expression on Cole’s face, Rico shrugged and sat back down. “Just bein’ realistic. Let’s think this through before we waste a call.”
As Cole turned away from the TV, he noticed the guy in the corner was still staring at him. The inmate may have had some muscle under his faded Rams T-shirt and cutoff sweatpants, but not enough to make him imposing. His arms were covered in wiry hair and greasy sweat, but the legs protruding from his shorts were encased in a muddy crust. Plain white canvas shoes were held together with dozens of rubber bands that had probably been stolen from an entire neighborhood’s supply of rolled-up newspapers.
Watching Cole with bloodshot eyes that were pinched at the corners, the man squatted down to claw at the floor while mouthing random syllables with cracked lips. He cocked his head to one side and let out a slow, grating breath.