“Nope.”
“I set her up on some boxes, stepped up and …What are you doin’ over there?”
Cole had stood up and walked over to the wall on the left side of his cell. The solid sheet of rock was smooth and covered with runes that were so faded they could barely be seen. Scratches marred the wall’s surface, but the runes were either too deeply imprinted to be broken or simply unable to be interrupted by something as ordinary as a set of claws or sharpened piece of metal. He thought about the symbols he’d seen in Henry’s room at the Lancroft Reformatory, which had remained intact even after a werewolf scratched at them. Plus, there was no reason to think any activators would be inside the cell with a prisoner. More than likely, the runes were meant to seal the cell, strengthen it, or whatever the hell else a witch doctor might do to keep his subjects in line.
Since Lambert had drifted away from Memory Lane for a moment, Cole tried to steer him back on course by asking, “Did you tell Sweet Lips you loved her?”
“Nah. I hiked up that skirt, pulled them hot little panties aside and ate her out right then and there.”
Nodding while forcing half a smile onto his face, Cole said, “Nice one.”
“It sure was. She didn’t even need to ask me to go downtown or nothin’. That’s how I knew it was love. You got anyone like that on the outside?”
Even if he’d known the guy well enough, he truly didn’t want to talk about Paige. Just thinking of the last time he’d seen her caused him to twitch. She insisted he hand himself over to the authorities so they could help him. Apparently, the plan had been for those men to try and remove the Nymar tendrils, but that went real bad real quick, and Paige was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she truly didn’t know what had happened, but that didn’t make him feel much better.
Anxious to divert his attention, if only for a moment, Cole leaned against a wall, crossed his arms over his chest and asked, “So you and Sweet Lips had some breath mints and lived happily ever after?”
“Even better, man. I took her by the hand and led her into that tattoo shop. She said somethin’ somewhere along the line about likin’ ladybugs, so I got them inked on me. And since I already kissed her in all the right spots, I thought I’d commemorate that too.”
Cole realized that his guess about the lip marks hadn’t been exactly right, but it was close enough.
“That’s some good work on your neck,” Lambert said.
Cole took another look down at the markings. They were the same as last time and still hadn’t moved. That was a little bit of good news.
“You got any ink on yer ribs?”
“No,” Cole replied. “At least, not since the last time I checked.”
“Ha! Gettin’ inked there ain’t easy, I can tell you that much. The buzz I was on lasted for about the first five minutes or so and then it was just me and that prick with the electric needle in his hand. I got it done, blazed through a chunk of credit I had on my Visa, and then went out to show my new lady with the magic mouth. Know what she said?”
A slight young man in hospital scrubs approached the pair of guards at the far end of the hall without a word of acknowledgment and then stepped into the elevator. “What did she say?” Cole asked.
“She told me that Sarah ain’t spelled with an H. You ever hear of that? All that hell I went through, all that ink I got drilled into me, all that lickin’ I did outside the shop, and she tells me I spelled Sarah the wrong way. I demanded that bitch show me her driver’s license just to make sure she wasn’t giving me a hard time.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!” Tracing his hands along the ribbon lettering, Lambert finally slapped his ribs and winced as though the ink was still fresh. “She was right. Damnedest thing I ever saw. Sara. Right there in black and white. No H.”
“Did you try to get the tattoo fixed?”
“Nah. I stole the bitch’s purse and ran like hell.” Grinning from ear-to-ear as he situated his jumpsuit and sealed it up, he added, “Made it all the way to the mountains.”
“Is that how you wound up here?”
“Hell no! I was dragged away after reading the minds of some rich folks in Aspen.”
“Were they thinking anything interesting?”
“Don’t recall,” Lambert said with a shrug.
“More weed and Jim Beam?”
“Nah. I just don’t remember. This night, though,” he said, while patting the side where his Sweet Sarah Sunshine resided, “is one I won’t never forget. I dream about those lips of hers. So what about you? What’s your story?”
“I killed a building full of vampires in Denver. They framed me for killing cops and made sure I was caught for it.”
Lambert’s eyes grew wide. “Seriously? Now that sounds like a helluva good day!”
“Not really, but maybe you should put a good word in for me at my parole hearing.”
“Parole hearing?” Lambert grunted. “What’s that? Nobody on this floor gets to see the outside again unless it’s by an act of God. Come to think of it,” he added while rolling his eyes up to look at the low ceiling, “maybe that’s what the G in G7 stands for.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Can’t remember. The more mind readin’ I try to do, the more of my own crap up here gets wiped clean,” the other prisoner said while tapping his forehead.
“That sucks.”
Footsteps slapped against the concrete floor outside of the cell, announcing the arrival of Waylon and one other guard. He looked inside at Cole, scribbled a few notes onto his clipboard and said, “On your knees and approach the bars.”
After the guard opened the cell door, Cole was allowed to crawl through. Before he was clear of the bars, a foot slammed between his shoulders and pinned him to the floor. Waylon tugged at the collar of Cole’s jumpsuit so he could see the tendril markings and then stepped back while saying, “You’re getting a roommate.”
Cole tried to lift himself up, but was forced back down again so harshly that his face cracked against the floor. Looking up with blood trickling from his nose and lip, he asked, “Am I supposed to shine his shoes while I’m down here?”
Lambert chuckled.
Waylon scribbled.
The guard motioned to someone farther down the hall while drawing a stun gun from his belt. More interesting than that, Cole spotted a bulky figure in the cell beside his. The prisoner there barely made a sound as he moved his wide, leathery body away from the bars and out of sight.
The elevator door rattled open and two more guards escorted another prisoner down the hall. He was Cole’s height, had lighter skin, dark eyes, and about a quarter of his teeth. Instead of the jumpsuits worn by Cole and Lambert, he wore light gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt that was missing its sleeves. The tattoos on his arms, knuckles, and neck looked as if they’d been smeared on with a toothpick after his skin was sliced away and then steamed back into place.
“Put him through his paces,” Waylon said as Cole was forced to back into his cell. “And remember what happens. I’ll want to know everything.”
The stocky prisoner knew the drill of getting into Cole’s cell, but wasn’t happy about it. He dropped to his knees and lowered his head only as long as it took for him to crawl through the low opening. When he looked up again, he glared at Cole as looking at the man who’d molested his baby sister. Climbing back to his feet, the prisoner tugged at the bottom of his shirt and hiked up his pants. “Anything I should know about him?” he asked.
Waylon checked his notes. “Just that he needs to be kept alive. Other than that …put him through his paces.”
“This isn’t right,” Cole said. “I didn’t hurt any of those cops. I already told that to everyone that had ahold of me since that night. Jesus Christ, when is someone gonna check the security cameras at that warehouse? There were cameras! There was a damn news helicopter! Someone will—”