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Gia found herself to be hypervigilant watching for signs of things that could go wrong. The week before his release was worse for Gia than the whole time combined. She felt as if she were at the edge of a brewing storm, but the storm never came. She had the creeps, the jitters, and a coldness deep in her soul that she could not quite shake. She shared her fears with Riker when he called.
“Be careful, Riker.” She said to him.
“Always careful, Gia.” He assured her.
“But be especially careful. I know it’s just silly hormones, but I just can’t shake the feeling that something is going to go wrong. That something is going to stop us from being together from being a family.”
“Baby, nothing and I meannothingis going to stop us from being a family. Six days, Gia.”
“One hundred and forty-four hours,” she said to him.
Then on impulse and because she had never said it before and he had never said it before, and somebody had better say it soon, she blurted out, “I love you, Riker.”
After a brief pause where Gia pictured Riker’s look of surprise, he answered her. His voice deep was husky and filled with longing. “I love you too, Gia. A whole fucking lot. Just a few more days, baby, and I’ll show you how much.”
It was now three days before Riker was due to get released and he couldn’t wait. In the chow hall, Skippy sat down next to him, and put a piece of extra cornbread on his tray.
“Know how much you’re gonna miss the stuff.” Skippy cackled with his usual good humor, then lapsed into a long spasm of coughing fits.
“You gonna make it without me, old man?” Riker clapped the shit out of Skippy’s back. It was the only thing that seemed to help him, and somewhere along the way Riker had gotten fond of the salty old dog. So, if thumping Skippy on the back now and then gave him some relief from whatever the fuck was gumming up his lungs, then Riker was happy to do it for him.
“The sad truth of it is, son. I’m probably not gonna make it too much longer with or without you, but I ain’t complaining. Glad to see you gone outa this hell-hole. Word to the fucking wise?”
“Don’t see any wise men around here, so you might as well tell me.” Riker replied with a grin.
“This shit is serious.” This time Skippy frowned and looked around when he said it.
“Yeah? What’s going on?”
“Talk in the yard is that the dopers serving max are not too happy with your release. They gotta do their time, they think you should do the same. Envious fuckers. Word has it that they’re thinking of stealing your time.” Skippy told him. “Misery loves company and this place is full of miserable assholes.”
“Yeah? How they gonna try and manage that?” Riker kept his voice low and steady despite the ice cold dread that filled his body. Gia’s warning to be careful suddenly sounded out like a foghorn in his head. He had no doubt that if someone was hellbent on stopping his release, they would find a way.
“Could be the guards find a shaft in your soap bar or some other contraband during a cell check.”
Right on cue the announcement came over the loud speaker. “The following inmates on Block C have won the honor of a cell search: Abernathy, Arellio, Baker, Campolino, Cassidy, Chartook, and Devlin. Please remain in the mess hall until you are cleared to return to your cell.”
Just then one of the more hated guards, who was known as Fat Freddy to the inmates, came up and tapped Riker on the shoulder harder than he needed to.
“Inmate, come with me.”
“Where we going?” Riker asked.
Fat Freddy shoved his baton into the small of Riker’s back. “I said get the fuck up.”
While Riker walked down the long hall, his footsteps echoed against the steel bars and slapped down hard on the concrete floor. He tried to think rationally. If Skippy was right about the planted contraband it was too soon for them to have found anything. They had just announced the search. But then again, who the fuck knew how this system really worked. They could say anything. Or maybe the fat-boy was in on whatever it was that the dopers were planning. Wouldn’t be the first time a guard had led a prisoner into a trap. There was a voice screaming inside Riker’s head telling him that they were going to levy new charges against him, drop him into solitary, have him wait out his trial date in Siberia, chop off his hands, his head, his dick. He told himself he was being stupid, but as he walked down the corridor his heart was beating hard inside his chest.
“I don’t get you, Riker.” The guard said suddenly.
“What’s not to get?”
“You. You’re too fucking quiet. Too well connected not to be in up to your nut sac in contraband. But I see that you buy your own smokes, eat the shit they call food here, and keep clear of the drug trade. You’re waiting out the time set for your trial date like an old lady. You an old lady, Devlin? You ain’t got no balls?”
When Riker remained silent, the guard hit him again with the club this time against the back of his knees. Riker stumbled with the force of the blow, and Fat Freddy laughed. Then he snarled out. “Answer the question, inmate.”
“Not an old lady, sir.” Riker kept walking.
“Devlin’s an Irish name, but you don’t look like any Irish guy I ever saw. Brown hair, black eyes, black beard. Could be your mamma was sticking it to your pa. Could be when your daddy went off drinking at the bar, she was at home fucking dark meat.” The fat, bigot laughed at his own ignorant joke and when he did the mound of flab on his belly shook like jelly.
