Page 15 of No Way Back
“Smith Valinski.” I shine the light from the folder to the cell; the guy is one of the few not eagerly awaiting judgment.
“He’s got a last name first name?” She grabs at the bars, her mask hitting the metal when she tries to stick her head between them.
Smith barely looks up; he’s either uninterested or wants to pretend he is.
Camila toys with him. “Whatdidyado, Smitty?”
He turns his chin away, ignoring her, so she looks up at me for an answer.
“Three counts of kidnapping in the first degree. Three counts of child endangerment. Three counts of sexual assault in the second degree. Three counts of willful harm to a child.”
Camila squeals with excitement. “Play with me, Smitty.” He doesn’t indulge her, so instead, she rattles the bars, her tone going from sickly sweet to rage. “Play with me!”
Smitty turns his head slowly, but he’s not looking at her. He’s looking at me.
Because he knows he’ll need to get through me to get to her.
7
This is not the spice you were looking for.
Camila
Smitty acts like I’m not even here, aiming directly at Demetri like a charging bull. He’s nearly at him in three steps, but I stick the blunt edge of my ax out and plunge it into his stomach. Blood falls from his mouth like vomit, and maybe it is. It’s too dark to tell, and I don’t care to investigate.
Before he has time to recover, Demetri has already set the flashlight on the ground and sent his fists into the inmate’sstomach. Smitty keels over once more, the same foul liquid spewing from his teeth hole. Demetri sends his elbow down the back of his neck, and the guy splats down flat, wheezing something frightful, like maybe the blow was too much.
Harkins doesn’t ask to stop, and I don’t want him to. I grab the flashlight, leaving them in the dark, the brute percussion of his fists against the pedophile’s bones is the only noise left in the cell block. “What? No one else wants to play anymore?” I chortle, waving my little beam of illumination around, but every single one of the cowards stay pressed to the back of their cells, their hands shielding their faces from the glow.
“Shame. We’re just getting started.” I find a dead cop on the ground—my favorite kind.
I use my foot to turn him over and look for what I need. “Bring him to the door.”
Harkins doesn’t miss a beat, dragging Smitty over to the bars. “Unzip his jumpsuit.” The guy’s eyes go wide with panic, but he’s too weak, too pulverized by Demetri’s hands to fight back.
Demetri doesn’t bother to ask why; he just does it. When Smitty is ass out to the cell door, exposed to the other pedos, I take the two pairs of handcuffs I commissioned from my dead pig buddy and secure one ring to a cell bar, the other to Smitty’s wrist. I do the same on the other side so that both his arms are stretched behind his back, locking him to his own cell.
“On your knees,” I command, knowing damn well it’ll be agonizingly painful for him to support himself that way.
Good.
“P-please.” He's sputtering nonsense about forgiveness. “I-I found God, I’ve repented. P-please.”
“Didn’t you hear her, buddy?She’syour God.” Demetri’s voice is full of amusement as he takes the unmoving chainsaw blade and uses it to tilt Smitty’s head up.
“Spit.” I stick the handle of my ax out in front of his face.
“N-No, God.” His nose makes one snot bubble after the next.
“Spit, Smitty,” Harkins encourages him.
He’s leaking nonsense from all his holes, shaking his head like it’s somehow going to stop me from doing anything.
“Look, it’syourasshole’s funeral. You can make it a little smoother and help by lubing it up, or we can rawdog this whole handle dry. Whaddya think?” I push it closer to his mouth.
His spit is so dry, it sounds windy.
Demetri grunts in annoyance.
