Southtown

1 Fourth of July morning, Will Stirman woke up with blood on his hands. He'd been dreaming about the men who killed his wife. He'd been strangling them, one with each hand. His fingernails had cut half-moons into his palms. Sunlight filtered through the barred window, refracted by lead glass and chicken wire. In the berth above, his cell mate, Zeke, was humming "Amazing Grace." "Up yet, boss?" Zeke called, excitement in his voice. Today was the day. A few more hours. Then one way or the other, Will would never have to have that dream again. He wiped his palms on the sheets. He shifted over to his workspacea metal desk with a toadstool seat welded to the floor. Stuck on the walls with Juicy Fruit gum were eight years' worth of Will's sketches, fluttering in the breeze of a little green plastic fan. Adam and Eve. Abraham and Isaac. Moses and Pharaoh. He opened his Bible and took out what he'd done last nighta map instead of a Bible scene. Behind him, Zeke slipped down from the bunk. He started doing waist twists, his elbows cutting the air above Will's head. "Freedom sound good, boss?" "Watch what you say, Zeke." "Hell, just Independence Day." Zeke grinned. "I didn't mean nothing." Zeke had a gap-toothed smile, vacant green eyes, a wide forehead dotted with acne. He was in Floresville State for raping elderly ladies in a nursing home, which didn't make him the worst sort Will had met. Been abused as a kid, is all. Had some funny ideas about love. Will worried how the boy would do when he got back to the real world. Will looked over his map of Kingsville, hoping the police would take the bait. He'd labeled most of the major streets, his old warehouse property, the two biggest banks in town, the home of the attorney who'd defended him unsuccessfully in court. He had a bad feeling about todaya taste like dirty coins in his mouth. He'd had that feeling before, the night he lost Soledad. Exactly at eight, the cell door buzzed open. "Come on, boss!" Zeke hustled outside, his shirt still unbuttoned, his shoes in his hands. Will felt the urge to hurry, tooto respond to the buzzer like a racetrack dog, burst out of his kennel on time. But he forced himself to wait. He looked up to make sure Zeke was really gone. Then he slipped Soledad's picture out from under his mattress. It wasn't a very good sketch. He'd gotten her long dark hair right, maybe, the intensity of her eyes, the soft curve of her face that made her look so young. But it was hard to get her smile, that look of challenge she'd always given him. Still, it was all he had. He kissed the portrait, folded it, and tucked it into his shirt. Something would go wrong with the plan. He could feel it. He knew if he walked out that door, somebody was going to die. But he'd made a promise. He put the Kingsville map in the Bible, and set it on the desk where the guards were sure to find it. Then he went to join Zeke on the walkway. After chow time, Pablo and his cousin Luis were hanging out on the rec yard, trying to avoid Hermandad Pistoleros Latinos. The HPL didn't like Pablo and Luis getting all religious when they could've been dealing for the homeboys. Luis tried to joke about it, but he still had bruises across his rib cage from the last time the carnales had cornered him. Pablo figured if they didn't get out of Floresville soon, they'd both end up in cardboard coffins. Out past the guard towers and the doubleRiordan, Rick is the author of 'Southtown', published 2004 under ISBN 9780553583236 and ISBN 0553583239.