Chapter 1
Notes:
Just as a note, this fic does contain Jack/Nisha early on, though their relationship is merely for plot purposes and isn't the focus of the story.
Chapter Text
It was early morning on a Monday and the dog days of summer were already promising another scorcher on Pandora Island. Two of those factors didn’t matter to most of the people that resided in the maximum security penitentiary there. Monday and summer had such little relevance in a world where only the time of day and how many smokes you had left in your cigarette pack seemed to change. Once in awhile something might shatter the monotony. A new face in the halls, whether it was a neighbor or correctional officer, or maybe a new prison job assignment. Not that the prisoners in solitary confinement had the luxury of attending offered work hours even if they had wanted to. Other than that, it seemed to epitomize same shit, different day.
So, in other words, prison life was not a whole lot different than the way the outside world tended to operate.
Except the outside world still had freedoms, as dictated by independence laws. The penitentiary, on the other hand, oppressed freedom the moment you crossed its threshold as an inmate.
With good reason. Pandora Island Penitentiary might have been the shinier, brighter solution to the failed yesteryears of correctional facilities, but it housed a plethora of high-profile and dangerous criminals that would have been sent to a Dahl Supermax facility without an iota of mercy, had they been sentenced in a different era. Dahl’s supermax model had been abolished in these modern times, their only remains the constructs that had been left in the wilderness for nature to take over.
Pandora Island was an experiment. Whether it served the greater Pandora continent well or resolved a decades-old problem was yet to be determined. It was still in its infancy. The results would yield in time.
Despite its deviation from traditional prison models, the penitentiary still had a solitary block. What was commonly and collectively referred to as The Hole to prisoners. They could end up there by many means. Fighting, getting caught with contraband, needing protection from another prisoner. Unlike the old days, where some prisoners might spend a life sentence locked away in solitary, here it was only meant to be temporary. Prolonged solitary confinement was now seen as cruel and unusual punishment according to Pandoran law, giving rise to preventable illness and violence rather than any type of penitence.
At this hour, those in solitary had either eaten their seven a.m. breakfast and gone back to sleep, or hadn’t woken up yet. Very few were awake and alert. The ones that were seemed wrought with restless energy. Pacing their cell, exercising, reading or writing. One man stood out among them. Not because of what he was doing so much as that he was stripped down to his underwear. Semi-naked, he was scrubbing his body down with water from the sink, a bar of soap, and a torn piece of cloth. Then he ducked his head under the faucet. A fine spray of water arched into the air and dribbled all over the cement floor as he pulled away and violently wrangled his hair back.
The two correctional officers and the young man making their way down the hall came to a halt outside the man’s cell door. One of the officers—the beefier of the pair with a name tag that read ‘Brick’—ventured closer and slid back the hatch covering the narrow delivery window built into the structure.
“Get your ass dressed, Lawrence,” he commanded. Though he spoke calmly and evenly, there was an edge to his words that implied there’d be consequences for arguing. “Today’s looking mighty fine for you. Getting some extra time outside these cement walls and everything.”
The man, who’d been studying his face in the mirror, turned. He sauntered over to the door, his oversize palms slamming to either side of the window built in its center.
“Where’s my morning cigarette?” he asked. “And my coffee? Black, two sugars, remember? Or do I need to be writing it down? I didn’t trade my showers for this crap.”
“Put some clothes on and we’ll hash it out. And when you’re done with that, back against the door, hands behind you. You know the drill.”
Above the platform that served as the cell’s sole bed was a small shelf. Draped over it, apparently in the midst of drying out, was a red jumpsuit along with a white tank top. The man took the clothing and wrung out any excess water over the sink then took his time dressing himself. He seemed to spend several moments staring into the mirror again, preoccupied with the state of his hair.
“You can either get some real quality time out of The Hole, not just an hour walking the cell block,” came Brick’s voice again. “Or you keep wasting our time and we end up taking disciplinary action. Your call.”
“Don’t go jagging off that beat-down boner just yet, sweetheart. I gotta look good for my public appearance, ya know?” His hands behind his back, the man pressed them wrist to wrist, lining them up with the delivery hatch in the cell door. “What’s this all about, anyway?”
A pair of handcuffs were removed from the officer’s belt and threaded through the slot. There was a soft metallic click as they were fastened around the man’s wrists. “Walk forward five feet.”
The prisoner clucked his tongue but did as told. The sound of air depressurizing filled the hall followed by the short blare of a buzzer. It startled the young man still standing with the second, lankier, bearded officer in waiting. His spine snapped straight and the tablet cradled against his chest nearly crashed to the ground. Sensing his agitation, the guard beside him turned, shaking his head and barking out a hoarse laugh. His name tag read ‘Mordecai.’
“Nothing to be scared of, son,” he said and fumbled at his belt for something until he was handling a hefty length of steel chain link. “This here’s the most secure block in the entirety of this hellhole. These pendejos ain’t getting out of their cells this time of day. Well, except Lawrence. But that’s what you’re here for, ain’t it?”
Before the young man could confirm that yes, he was unfortunately here for Lawrence, as he was called, the officer left his side to go stand in front of the aforementioned prisoner’s cell. A moment later the door slid sideways on a track mechanism, leaving nothing but open air between the guards and where Lawrence still stood with his back to them. Mordecai darted forward and linked it to an attachment on the cuffs then pulled it taut.
“Back up,” he commanded. “Slowly.”
It was like herding an animal for the slaughter, the young man thought. Though maybe not a creature as docile as a cow or bellik. More akin to a saurian. Something that could turn around and eviscerate you before you could even anticipate an attack once it was no longer bound in chains. The prisoner didn’t do any such thing as the guards had him pass over the threshold and face forward. In fact, he looked like someone utterly bored with his situation, though there was a furtiveness to his gaze that suggested that was a ruse. That gaze shifted to incorporate the young man. Heavy was the unease that passed through him as he was locked into a staring match with the prisoner. Though he was certain he’d made a note of it while reading the dossier, Lawrence’s heterochromia still managed to catch him unaware. Maybe it wasn’t so much the vivid, dueling colors—though, admittedly, there was something compelling about them—but the level of intensity they possessed. They seemed like they were not just staring him down but boring through his soul, where they slipped in with their razored edges, making him bleed his most private of thoughtscapes.
It was the first time he had ever looked into the eyes of a haunted man. And the first time he realized that the work he was so determined was important to accomplish would be challenging in more than theory. He broke eye contact with the prisoner, but not before there was the twitch of a smirk on the man’s face.
“Well, hey there, kiddo,” he said on a rising note.
Whatever he was about to say afterward was cut short. Brick stepped to his side and took up a vice grip at his elbow.
“Shut it, Lawrence, and start walking. No running your mouth off. Or we can start using the muzzle again, if you wanna.”
“Muzzle?” the young man couldn’t help but blurt out. “Why does he need a muzzle?”
“Man’s got a real bad oral fixation.”
Mordecai stayed in step behind the prisoner and carried the chain link lead. He turned to the young man and said, “Lawrence don’t like us CO’s too much. Tends to bite and spit a lot. Guess that’s just what caged beasts do to their handlers.” The man snapped the lead, simulating a whip crack as it jangled noisily. “That, and he likes to hear himself talk way too much. Not only a nuisance, but a redshirt with a silver tongue is a dangerous thing indeed.”
“Ah, I imagine it would be. That’s the color jumpsuit you use for the, uhm—for the death row inmates, right?”
“Least in the days of the mainland supermax facilities, it was. Reform means Pandora Island don’t practice the death penalty. Instead we got the redshirts—some of the worst offenders in this here prison—integrating with gen pop, wearing those colors like badges of pride. They effectively rule the roost. No low-risk prisoner with the possibility of parole’s going to start shit with a redshirt.”
“So, judging by the way you’re talking, you think prison population integration hasn’t proved itself to be an effective solution yet?”
Mordecai shrugged. “A solution to what, man? I don’t know whereabouts you come from in the world, but greater Pandora might as well be right next door to hell. This kinder, gentler approach to dealing with its crime problem is bullshit. Just some years ago Lawrence here would be trussed up and beat to death like a pinata for the heinous things he’s done. Instead, he roams this prison with his merry band of followers, doing whatever the hell he wants. Where’s the justice in that?”
“I could ask the same about capital punishment,” the young man retorted. He hesitated a moment, as if unsure of his words, then added, “You condemn a person to death. Sure, it eliminates the problem. But only that problem. And maybe someone gets revenge out of it. What’s that resolving, though? There’s no change. I’ve done my homework. Most people willing to commit depraved crimes against humanity don’t have a change of heart just because they might get the death penalty.”
Though it was quick, the young man saw the prisoner turn his head slightly. There was the flash of teeth, pearly white and perfect. Something among those words had amused Lawrence.
“Spoken like a true academic,” came Mordecai’s reply. “Wait till you’re stuck on the inside of this place for a few hours a day. It’ll change that scholarly know-it-all tune real fast.”
“Plenty of justice going on within these walls,” Lawrence butted in, matter-of-factly. “You just don’t understand the hierarchy. None of you jackoffs do. Not even the warden himself.”
The young man cleared his throat. “Maybe it isn’t my place to say, but Vasquez is one of the most highly respected wardens in the region. He likely knows a lot more than you even realize.”
Both the officers and Lawrence turned to stare at the young man. The look on the faces of the guards was less than friendly, but such was not the case for Lawrence. His eyebrows were raised into his hairline, scarred face twisted into something thoughtful, the corners of his lips slightly upturned. If the young man had to give the expression a name, he would have called it impish. Something about that worried him.
“Shut it, Lawrence,” Brick finally said, than nodded at a door off the corridor they were walking. “That room on the left is where we’re headed.”
The guards unlocked the door to reveal a bare room with just a table bolted to the floor and two seats to either side. One of the seats, also secured to the floor, was modified for what looked to be implementation of some kind of locking mechanism, as was that side of the table. They escorted Lawrence over to that particular seat, sat him down, then arranged his restraints so that he was securely bolted to both the chair and tabletop. Though he remained calm while the officers worked around him, it was clear Lawrence was watching them from the corner of his eye.
Before they stepped back, he asked, “Can I at least get my cigarette now or a coffee?”
“You want a coffee or something?” Brick asked the young man, ignoring Lawrence.
“Sure,” he said with a nod, then pulled out the chair opposite Lawrence and sat, placing the binder and tablet he held under one arm down.
“You have a total of three hours. Surveillance has their eye out and a guard will be posted outside the door. Knock on the window if you need assistance.”
With that, the officers departed. Once they were gone, Lawrence settled back in his seat as far as his restraints would allow him and inclined his head. The young man across form him ignored the fact he was being looked down his nose at and flipped open the binder. It took him a moment to read down the printed page there. Then he switched on his tablet and used his finger to navigate the screen.
“I guess we should start with introductions,” the young man said and cleared his throat. His voice wavered with uncertainty. “My name is Rhys. And what should I call you? Do you prefer Mr. Lawrence or Jo—”
“Call me Jack,” the other man was quick to answer.
“Jack, sure thing. Full disclosure, Jack. I’m a graduate student from The Opportunity University of Criminal Psychology conducting research for a dissertation on modern prison reformation. When you were incarcerated, you signed a form consenting to cooperation with any research and documentation, including private interviews and assessments.”
“Yeah, figured it might break up the monotony once in awhile. Didn’t think anything would ever actually come of it.” There was a curt, breathless laugh from Jack. “Ain’t like that’s the main thing on your mind when you’re being sentenced.”
With a nod, Rhys pulled something from the binder and set it in the middle of the table.
“This is a copy of that form. I just need verbal acknowledgment that that’s your signature on there and that you consent to today’s session.”
“And if I say otherwise?”
“Then you go back to your cell without consequence and I’m assigned to another eligible inmate. Simple.”
For a long while, Jack didn’t move or speak. Chains rattled when he finally shifted forward.
“Alright. You have my acknowledgment and consent, kiddo.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“’Kay, cupcake.”
Lips parted, Rhys looked about ready to say something. Then the door opened and Mordecai stepped in carrying two styrofoam cups. The one with steam wafting off the top was placed next to Rhys. He noticed the one given to Jack looked a lot colder and was pitch black. When Jack saw it, he snorted, but took a long gulp anyway. Which was awkward for him, since he had limited movement of his hands and had to lean his head down further to get at it.
“Johnathan Lawrence,” Rhys said after taking a sip of his own coffee. He flipped a page in the binder. “Goes by the alias Handsome Jack. Born in the Tantalus region. Forty years old. Convicted two years ago for various crimes against humanity, black market commerce, unethical genetic practices, and the murder of your wife and child. Sentenced to death by electrocution. Later downgraded to lifetime imprisonment because of the prison reformation act of greater Pandora. Is that the right info here?”
“Sure. I mean, ‘cept that last bit. About the murders. Guilty as charged for the rest of it, but I never fucking laid a hand on my family.”
“Yet…the jury voted unanimously that you were guilty and you were sentenced by the sitting judge for it?” Rhys read off the page.
“Of course it says that. How else would I be here with you right now? Doesn’t make it the real deal. The judge was just a flaccid dick looking to get off on pulling the biggest conviction of his lifetime. Never had a taste of having the infamous in his clutches before, if you get me. And if you don’t, that means he was shit at his job.” Shifting in his seat, Jack leaned forward across the table as much as his chains would allow him. “Tell me, does it make any sense to you that I’d sit here flapping my jaw about how I committed a bunch of bullshit crimes, then swear up and down that I didn’t do my family in?”
The corner of Rhys’s lip twitched. His gaze shifted downward, avoiding Jack’s.
“I honestly don’t know yet. I’ll make that call when I’ve gotten to know you better.”
A flash of teeth from Jack.
“I can kind of respect that. More than just a pretty face, aren’tcha?”
Slowly, Rhys looked up. He met Jack’s gaze, but broke the eye contact almost immediately. A hesitant laugh trickled from his lips.
“Mr. Lawrence—”
“Just Jack.”
“Jack,” Rhys repeated and took a long sip of his coffee. His head jerked as scalding liquid burned his tongue and he made a small whimper of distress.
There was no mistaking the amusement etched on Jack’s face at the incident, or the sadistic light that sparked in his eyes as it all unfurled. Though if Rhys hadn’t known what to expect from a man such as the one before him, he might have missed the subtle cue that Jack had no sympathy for his plight. The moment began a narrative in Rhys’s head, one that was starting to paint a picture in broad strokes. Rhys would have to keep his attention focused to pick up on more clues that would piece together the puzzle of the Handsome Jack persona.
Clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth to alleviate the discomfort, Rhys thumbed a tab in his binder open, raking his eyes down the two page spread.
“Would you like to tell me a little bit about yourself?” Rhys asked, glancing up. He flipped on the screen to his tablet, which had gone to sleep, and removed the stylus from its built-in holder. “In your own words and not some legal file clerk’s, I mean.”
“That is a very expensive pen you’ve got there, Rhys,” Jack observed.
For a moment, Rhys was puzzled. Then he patted his breast pocket as if in realization.
“Oh, this?” Rhys hummed and removed the thick black and gold monogrammed writing instrument, considering it. “It was a gift.”
“Yeah, from who?” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Looks a lot like the one the warden uses.”
“Uh, I think we should keep this conversation solely about you.”
“Just curious, is all.”
“It was left to me by my mother when she died, if it’s really eating you,” Rhys said with some hesitation, shrugging. “You’ve probably never heard of her if you were from Tantalus.”
“Originally. But my legacy was built right smack on Pandoran shores. I haven’t set foot on home soil since I was a sucky-ass teenager during Dahl’s military occupation.”
“Then you might recognize the name Gwenyth Alys Strongfork after all.”
Jerking forward, Jack seemed suddenly more invested in the conversation. He bent down to sip from his coffee cup, hunching like an animal trapped in a cage that was too small for him.
“Your mom was the DA of Greater Pandora? No fucking shit. And she left you a pen?”
“Could we maybe get back to the topic? Our time is limited as it is.”
“Right, right. It’s just that I never even knew Alys had a family. Would have made for some great leverage back in the day. Come to think…you ever have questions about your parentage? I mean, your dad, particularly.” At the quizzical look Rhys unleashed on him, Jack curled his upper lip. He sucked in air and spittle. “You might want to look into any future gut feelings, considering it was my dick your mother was riding every weekend.”
The sound of Rhys taking a huge gulping breath filled the room, his chest expanding as his lungs were full to capacity. Furiously, the back end of his pen teetered up and down, the thickest part thumping hard against his tablet, making a noticeable racket. As he exhaled, he finally took notice of his own nervous gesture, letting the pen fall and placing his palm over it to keep his body from betraying him again.
“Tha…that’s just impossible,” he insisted, gulping down on the urge to raise his voice. “You would’ve only been sixteen when I was born. And you said it yourself. You were still in Tantalus territory back then.”
“So, maybe you can call my bluff about being your daddy.” With a toss of his head, Jack managed to brush off a few stray hairs from his brow. A hoarse chuckle seeped out of him like a noxious gas. “Doesn’t mean I’m entirely lying about having boned your mom once upon a time. God, that woman had just the sweetest ass. Probably the best Pandoran ass I ever had. You have no idea how many influential and powerful people in Greater Pandora I’ve taken back to my bed and absolutely ravaged. I don’t think you have even an inkling of what it actually means that I’m the Handsome fucking Jack. Or even that if I wasn’t locked up by these savages and chained to this chair, you’d either be dead or on your knees worshiping my dick right now.”
At the last bit, Jack’s chuckle picked up again, coming on in spurts. It bloomed quickly into full-on laughter, occupying the space between them as if it were a living entity. Rhys drew his chair back and stood. He lapsed into a long silence as he regarded Jack opposite him. The man didn’t look back at him. Instead, he slurped at his coffee, shifting in his seat as if his chains would miraculously melt alway. Eventually, Rhys turned on his heel, crossing over to the only door in the room. Fingers rapped against the glass panel there. Brick opened the door a crack for Rhys to speak to him.
“That’s going to be it for today,” Rhys said in a deadpan.
Brick nodded. The door creaked open wider. Rhys didn’t wait for clearance. He slipped out into the hallway, squeezing clumsily past the correctional officer. There he clenched his fists, shutting his eyes, startling when someone touched him lightly on the shoulder. It was Mordecai.
“That was longer than most people last with Lawrence,” the officer commented. “How did the first session go?”
“Please, you can take me back to the warden, now,” Rhys said, looking pale as he opened his eyes. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Chapter 2
Notes:
CW: Discussion of death of a family member, description of anxious feelings and panic response
Chapter Text
“That man,” Rhys stated as he entered the warden’s office without knocking, “is a monster.”
The warden, Hugo Vasquez, was sitting at his desk with a comm pressed to his ear. He looked over at the intrusion and sighed.
“I’ll have to call you back in a sec,” he said into it. “Something important just came up.”
The warden hit a button on the comm then threw it down on his desk with a clatter. He leaned back in his leather seat and carded fingers through his hair. His impeccable style was knocked slightly into disarray.
“Rhys,” he greeted on a rising note, as if he were about to say more.
Having crossed the room, Rhys collapsed into one of the chairs in front of the warden’s desk reserved for guests. He set his binder and tablet in his lap and pinched at the bridge of his nose, thumb and index finger massaging there.
Instead of sympathizing, the warden clucked his tongue.
“I warned you about Handsome Jack,” he said smoothly. “Several times over, in fact. I even offered to provide you with a liaison to conduct the research for you. And when you hated that idea, I gave you options for remote contact.”
“I…I know that,” Rhys answered flatly.
“Nope, you had to be as stubborn as always. And look now at where that’s gotten you. You wouldn’t have had to step foot inside these walls at all if you’d taken up my offers.”
Rhys’s hand fell away from his face and he folded his arms over his chest. His gaze was fixed on the dark patterning in the area rug.
“That completely defeats the purpose of my thesis. My research might as well be totally made up if I can’t observe a bad enough ex-deathrow inmate like Jack in their day to day life here. To see the effects reformation has had on people like that, if any at all. Tell me how I can do something that needs me to be able to build a relationship with a prisoner, and be present and observing, if I’m not actually here?”
“There is a lot there you’re banking on that’s fundamentally flawed. You already know my feelings about it, since we seem to have this discussion, oh, at least once a week.”
“I get that you’re not exactly thrilled with the directions I’m going in. Big surprise, I guess. But you’ve never given me any evidence as to why, Hugo. I’ve been hearing the same bull every year I’ve been at the university.”
“Can you for once in your life show me some goddam respect?” The warden’s voice was getting tight with strain. “There’s a lot to be said for the reason I treat you the way I do. Six years at that university, and you still have your head in the clouds, dreaming like a little kid.”
“Is it because of what happened with mom?” Rhys decided to ignore Vasquez, plowing straight ahead with his thoughts. “You don’t want what happened to her to happen to me.”
“As a native of Pandora, your mother understood the risks involved with being the district attorney there. You, on the other hand…let’s just say you worry me. And who could blame me? The bigger fish in this field will treat you like chum, and the bigger dogs will piss on you to mark their territory. Your qualifications don’t stack up.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence. Maybe I should just go back home, crawl under the covers, and never try to make anything of myself again.”
“Oh, woe is you. I lost your mother too, Rhys. But that’s life, and it doesn’t stop because someone you cared about didn’t make it out alive. Suck it up already.”
Rising to his feet, Rhys slammed his binder down on Vasquez’s desk, the tablet rattling along with it. He glared at the warden across the wooden surface separating them.
“This is what I’m talking about,” Vasquez remarked, standing as well. His hands went to his tie, straightening it out and adjusting the clip. “You’re not going to get very far working with the criminally adept if you throw tantrums whenever you’re undermined.”
“This isn’t a tantrum. This is being pissed off at the one parent I have left because he’s trying to screw with my career before it’s even started.”
“Forgive me for trying to teach you something valuable before you learn the hard way.” With a shake of his head, Vasquez pushed his overstuffed chair in. “For once just listen. It’s for your own good.”
There was a softening to Rhys’s features. He wasn’t glaring anymore, though he still looked fairly exasperated, tension not having left him entirely.
“For someone like you to observe and report how reformation is affecting Pandora’s prisons, it would have to be happening. In my prison, which I shouldn’t have to remind you was once the flagship experimental penitentiary under the Pandoran banner, inmates don’t just change because the rules and regulations outside get reconsidered. Cold blooded bastards like Handsome Jack? Don’t expect a fucking miracle. It’s a fact. The intentions with him aren’t like with the average criminal asshole. He has no fear of consequences, nothing left to lose. There’s not a chance in hell that psychopaths like that can ever be reintroduced to society.”
“That’s not what I’m— are you crazy? Nobody’s trying to reintroduce people like Handsome Jack back into society. And I’m not so naive I’d even want anybody to try it. That man who I just met, and any inmates like him, are perfectly fine where they are.”
“Good. Glad to hear I raised you to have common sense about at least one thing.”
“Mom raised me,” Rhys pointed out. “You were there, too.”
The warden’s heels clapped against the stretch of hardwood floor that led to the picture windows beyond his desk. From floor to ceiling was an unobstructed view of the penitentiary grounds, followed by the tumultuous dark waters of the sea beyond and, in the far distance, on the horizon, a glimpse of the Pandoran mainland.
“For your whole life,” Vasquez said, folding his hands behind his back, golden cuff links gleaming as they briefly caught the sunlight streaming through the windows. “Me and your mother toiled to make sure you always had food on the table and a roof over your head. We dressed you to impress, and provided you with the best nannies and tutors to be there when we were busy ensuring your future. You had all of the latest technology, went to the damn finest schools. Even with your mom dead, you still have everything your heart desires. Because I ensure that.”
“I’m aware. I don’t get why you think I’m ungrateful for anything.” Rhys sighed and looked heavenward, knowing when the conversation would just end up going around in futile circles with his father. “Look, I don’t like airing our dirty laundry in your office for all the staff to overhear. Can we please shift the direction of this conversation back where it belongs?”
At first it didn’t seem like Vasquez was going to respond to him. Then the warden unfolded his hands, moving stiffly as he seemed to work through the tension. Said hands went to his pants pockets as he struck a casual pose.
“You know, Rhys, I’m letting you do your research here not just because I’m your dad, but because I know no other prison would let you get as close to the action as I’m letting you get.” The warden cocked his head slightly, as if checking to see if his son was listening. “It’s usually against protocol, or at least ill advised, to allow people without full credentials even near an inmate as dangerous as Jack. Something could go very wrong without a professional present.”
“I am a professional.” Rhys’s tone was bordering on incredulity. “A para-professional, at the very least. Are you being an asshole for the hell of it, or does this have to do with you being worried I might find out things you don’t want me to know.”
The floorboards creaked loudly under Vasquez’s feet as he shifted his weight, spinning to face Rhys.
“And what kind of things would those be?” he asked, eyes narrowing.
Looking away, Rhys raised a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing the fine hairs there that had stood up on end. “Handsome Jack, he, uh, he flat out told me mom had been cheating on you. Only he said it was with him.”
“And you, what, just believed a man like him, no questions? Even after having access to his records at your fingertips?”
“I didn’t want to believe it. But he called her Alys. She only let people close to her ever call her that. Really shook me up. It’s too uncanny for a lucky guess.”
“Of course anybody as prolific of a criminal as Jack was would know the DA that well. They butted heads and rubbed elbows all the time. Both publicly and privately. Who do you think compiled all that info over the years to finally prosecute him?”
Rhys’s face twisted into a grimace. “That only validates the fact that she got close to him.”
“Rhys, for once use the level of smarts you’re supposed to have and think. Do you really have such a poor opinion of your own dead mother’s moral character? Do you think for a minute she would have risked her accomplishments being stripped of the value they had to society, let alone risk her public image, just to sleep with the enemy? Especially if it was with a monster like Handsome Jack, a man convicted for the murder of his own family.”
“I…don’t know what to think. There’s lots of things she never talked to me about. It’s not like we usually got to spend tons of quality family time together, either. Especially when I got into the university.”
“She was trying to protect her only kid.”
“Right. I’m an idiot for thinking otherwise. Not like I can change the past and go back and ask her, anyway.”
Crossing the distance between them, Vasquez came to a stop beside Rhys and laid a palm on his shoulder. Rhys turned, looking on expectantly.
“There’s a lot of really bad actors in what was your mother’s line of work. Sometimes even in mine. Keeping you in the dark was the best thing we could have ever done.”
A crease formed above Rhys’s eyebrows. He was distracted from speaking by a knock on the office door. To his credit, Vasquez ignored it at first. Then it came again, heavier this time. He hummed in annoyance, breaking away from Rhys to answer it.
“You’re ignoring your comm,” a smooth ironic voice said. Striding into the room was the Captain of the Guard, her boots clomping on the hardwood floor, her long duster swaying as she turned to fix Rhys with a golden stare. “This the kid you’re always yammering about?”
Vasquez glanced at the device he’d set down on his desk earlier. “I had it on silent while I was talking to Rhys here.” He nodded and stepped closer to the two of them. “Rhys, this is our guard captain for the last eighteen months, Nisha Kadam.”
The mood in the air had shifted. It was somehow even less comfortable for Rhys then when he’d been talking to his father. The way Nisha was staring him down filled him with unease. It was eerily similar to the feeling he’d had while being in the presence of Handsome Jack earlier. Still, he managed not to stumble over his words.
“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he said, his smile watery as he thrust his hand out to shake.
“Nice to know the warden’s raised a young man with some proper manners.” Nisha took the offered hand, subtly applying pressure to his knuckles before shaking it vigorously. Rhys was forced to shift his weight as to not be thrown off balance. “So, I’ve heard a lot about you. Color me intrigued to finally have a face to go with the gossip.”
“You have? My dad’s probably made me a lot more interesting than I actually am.” Rhys shot a quick glance towards Vasquez, surprised to hear his father had even mentioned him. Though he supposed the guard captain tended to work more closely with the warden than the average correctional officer. “But, uh, I hope it’s all been good. What the warden’s said about me.”
“Nothing to be too concerned about. He mostly made mention of your research efforts with Handsome Jack. You got to be plumb crazy to want to work with that man.”
“I’m not crazy.” Unable to help himself, Rhys gave a nervous chuckle, quieting quickly. “Just determined. It’s not all about academic credits. I’m hoping my research can be used to improve the judicial system across Pandora eventually. That should benefit both inmates and workers in this field. Better resources, education systems, training programs. You name it.”
“All that from poking at a guy like Jack and getting him to squeal?”
“I wouldn’t call it squealing. It’s more a gentle prodding and then getting him to respond on his own.”
“Still, mighty tall ambitions you got, Rhys.” Turning to the warden, dismissing Rhys in the process, Nisha shifted gears. “Speaking of which, you probably know why I want to talk. There’s the matter of returning the man in question to genpop to be resolved. How would you like me to handle that?”
“I wish we could leave him down in solitary indefinitely,” Vasquez answered, stroking his beard. “Let him sweat about ever getting out of there.”
“Don’t be stupid. He’ll just sic his lawyers on you for his rights being in violation. And do I have to remind you he’s got good goddam lawyers? The best, in fact.”
“Always with the lawyers. Fine. He can stew just one more night in the Hole, then. That should suffice. You can escort him back at breakfast. Should keep him away from his posse and out of trouble a bit longer.”
“We got the big fish scheduled to arrive in the morning for his intake processing. It wont be long before Jack figures out who the new kid on his block is.”
“Ah, shit, of course. Bump Jack’s escort to lunch, then. Otherwise that could get real ugly too soon.”
“Not that I’d mind that. Honestly been kind of boring without Jack stirring the shit. Makes my job too easy.”
The look Vasquez shot Nisha was unamused. It lingered until he lost interest in whatever thought had captured him.
“Yeah, regardless,” he said. “Log Jack’s return transfer before you clock out tonight. This way it’s filed and that asshole can’t pull any crap. I want tomorrow to go smooth. No amateur hour. I’m banking on your expertise.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’ve wrangled bigger criminal scum than Jack in my time.” Turning to leave, Nisha took her time sauntering over to the office door. She paused midway. Her honeyed gaze was as icy as the bay in Pandora’s Southern Shelf as she fixed it on Rhys. “Word of advice from an expert, because your father probably hasn’t told you. Handsome Jack ain’t ever merciful to soft-bellied civilians that go trespassing in this house. And within these walls, you’re not just on his turf, but a home invader.”
Without waiting for a reply, Nisha slipped through the door, boots echoing down the hall. Vasquez stood rubbing at his temples. Then he turned to his son.
“So, are you still so hellbent on featuring Handsome Jack as your research subject? Even after seeing just what kind of man you’re up against, and that discussion with Nisha?”
“As hard as it’s going to be to work with him,” Rhys answered, choosing his words carefully, “I feel I owe it to Pandora, and to mom.”
“There’s just no reasoning with you.” Vasquez clucked his tongue. He took a seat back at his desk, directing his attention to the computer there. “You reap what you sew, Rhys. When this all takes its toll on you, and you wished you’d listened to me as the voice of reason, don’t ever say you didn’t have enough warning. The further you go down the old rabbit hole, the more you’re on your own. I hope it’ll be worth it.”
It took all of Rhys’s efforts not to raise his voice, his thoughts on the matter lodging in his throat, threatening to choke him. Though his words were even, he could feel a slight waver in them when he spoke. He scantily avoided a bout of hoarseness from the restraint.
“Doesn’t matter if it is. Not in the ways you think it does. I’ll be back to continue my work the day after tomorrow.”
Rhys didn’t care if the warden answered him or not. It would have fallen on deaf ears regardless. Silently, he gathered his supplies from on top of Vasquez’s desk, not bothering to even spare a glance towards the man.
It took all his willpower not to storm out of the office. Even during his trip down the hall, and through security, he managed to keep himself at a low simmer.
It was not until he was finally in his car, driving across the modular bridge that connected Pandora Island to the mainland, that the anxious feelings rose to their crescendo. Rhys took a deep breath and tried to calm the restless feelings that sent his muscles twitching. When that didn’t work, he tried another, deeper breath. By then, he was white-knuckling the steering wheel, his arms shaking.
Pulling over into the safety lane, Rhys killed the engine and slumped in his seat. For a long while he sat there, gazing out the windshield at the purpled and orange skyline. A supply truck rumbled by, stirring him out of his stupor. Other than that he was alone on the bridge. There was not a single vehicle in either the oncoming or going lanes.
Rhys stepped out of the car. The crisp midday air felt good in his lungs, and the breeze wafting off the sea below calmed him considerably. At the last minute, he decided to snag his supplies from the passenger seat.
Sliding his ass up on to the hood of the car, he perched close to the windshield, stretching out his legs. Across his lap, he opened his binder. The initial pages inside were skipped until he found what he was looking for.
In truth, he’d only briefly read the reports on Johnathan Lawrence after receiving approval for his dissertation proposal, mostly concentrating on highlights from the man’s dossier. It was long past due that he settled in and read the full documentation, not stopping until he knew every conceivable fact that had been recorded about the man who called himself Handsome Jack.
Chapter 3
Summary:
CW: Blood and gore, implied/mentioned sexual assault
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The basement walls were alive with the echoing thuds of bodies colliding. The sounds were followed by the heavy breaths of exertion, the groans of muscle tension, and the squeak of rubber soles as they slid across the cement floor. A gravelly expletive barked through the air as if someone had been ambushed. Someone moaned, softly but satisfied. The other noises in the room slowed, then ceased altogether. They were replaced by gentler and wetter sounds. The smack of lips and tongues colliding, and the muffled sighs and the groans of tension melting away.
“Goddam, kitten,” came a hoarse, breathless voice eventually. “Three times? You must’ve really missed me.”
There was a noncommittal hum in response.
“What would you say to going for a record fourth? My dick’s still as hard as pure eridium. Maybe get some backdoor action in, eh? You were really into that last time we did it.”
“Not enough lube right now,” a drawl answered in the middle of a panted breath.
“Aw, come on. I’m sure we both creamed enough to help that along.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah, what?”
“Could you just sit us down somewhere and shut the fuck up already? I want to at least get to bask in my afterglow before I have to get up and wrangle your sorry ass.”
Without saying anything, Jack stuck his sneakered foot out and hooked it around the wheeled base of a nearby office chair. Sliding it over, he collapsed down in its cushioned seat, his partner clinging to him so that she wouldn’t fall off his lap. The position put her breasts directly in his line of sight. Her shirt was partially unbuttoned down to the flesh beneath them, her bra askew. She was barely exposed, and Jack decided to fix that. He reached up and slipped the material the rest of the way down. His thumbs brushed her nipples, making lazy circles, his palms cupping and caressing her.
“There was so much goddam buck naked dick down in The Hole that I forgot what a real pair of tits looks like,” he remarked in an ironic tone.
“Didn’t think that would matter to you,” the woman said, the curl of her voice amused. “As long as someone’s got a willing hole to fill. Ain’t that what you told me the night we met? I’m certain you had no trouble getting off while you were stuck down there.”
“Don’t mistake me for Flynt, babe.” Jack tugged roughly at a breast, his shaft giving a single aching throb as he felt his partner’s body flutter against him. “A hole’s a hole when the chips are down, sure. But I’d rather be balls deep in you than just any old random piece of nasty unwashed ass in this hellhole.”
“I think that’s just about the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me, Jack. Might’ve earned you the price of getting to stick it up my ass, even.”
Jack, who’d graduated to using his mouth on his partner’s breast, his teeth embedded in skin, pulled his head up, lips smacking with the salty taste of her. Before he could savor the victory he’d been granted, the crackle of white noise distracted him. He looked over to the desk some inches away and eyed the dark stetson hat sitting on its surface. More specifically, his gaze had fallen on the object poking out from just under its brim, a once bright yellow but now dull and dented Echo comm.
Captain, do you read me? Lieutenant Roland over
With a roll of her golden eyes, the woman in Jack’s lap shifted without much care for the position she was in. Fingers grasped bruisingly at Jack’s flesh, the jut of knees digging into the meat of his thighs as she lifted her pelvis and then the rest of herself, unfolding from her position. The glistening fluids that seeped against Jack’s lap in her absence were the perfect companion to the viscous, shimmering streaks he could see painting her thighs. They were both a complete mess. A glance at the stains left behind on the desk and the spot on the floor where they’d fucked against the wall told Jack the room hadn’t faired much better.
“10-4,” the woman said as she sauntered to the desk and swiped up the comm. “This is Kadam. What’s going on, lieutenant?”
There’s been an incident in the genpop showers. It’s a goddam bio hazard down here. The big fish just rolled in and got himself in the middle of it. Guy bled like a hemophiliac on almost every last tile. Might need the hazmat. Anyway, nobody’s talking.
“Then why is he still there? Throw him down in the Hole.”
He’s not an agitator, Nisha. He’s a victim. The guy’s busted up real bad.
“Send him to the clinic, goddam it. You don’t need me for that.”
The warden’s on his way here, and we got a giant clusterfuck still. I can’t deal with this on my own, captain. And I won’t cover for you if the warden demands to know where you are.
In the chair, Jack let out a long suffering sigh, his chin slumping against his chest. Nisha’s gaze flashed towards him for a moment.
“Go get yourself washed up and looking like I didn’t just fuck your brains out,” she told him.
From Jack, a guttural noise of frustration as he pushed himself upright. He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, not bothering to close the door as he washed using the sink and a roll of industrial grade towels. Fingers raked through his hair in an attempt to wrangle it into a semblance of decency. When he emerged, he’d pulled his red jumpsuit back in place. Nisha pushed past him into the bathroom. When she came back out, she was dressed back in her duster and boots. She plucked the hat up from the desk, fitting it back on to her head before revealing a lighter and an unopened pack of cigarettes.
“These mine?” Jack asked even as he snatched the cigarettes up, peeling the wrapping off and sticking one between his lips. He proffered the pack to Nisha, using the lighter to ignite the cherry when she slid one out and did the same.
They didn’t linger to enjoy a shared smoke and idle chatter like they sometimes did. Jack was whisked back into chains and marched up the basement stairwell. He tried to initiate conversation a few times, but Nisha wasn’t having it today. He figured she was in bad a mood about being called back up to genpop for what was probably a routine prison gang spat. Though he couldn’t understand her total aversion to him speaking. Their conversations, when they could spare them, broke up the monotony of both their lives within the penitentiary walls. And she was as much of a slave to this place as he was. Sure, Nisha loved her job a whole damn lot, even reveling in the stronghold she had on both prisoners and subordinates alike. She rarely left even the island the prison resided on, only venturing to the Pandoran mainland when she’d gotten bored and restless enough to take a few days off. Hugo Vasquez might have been the official warden running Pandora Island Penitentiary on paper, but Nisha Kadam was the real master of ceremonies here.
Anyway, nobody used the basement anymore. They hadn’t since the initial days of prison reformation had turned the spaces officers had once used to conduct their brand of cruel and unusual punishment down there into junk storage. There was no risk of the pair of them running into any other prison personnel in these halls. Jack couldn’t fathom why Nisha was so adamant about keeping a professional distance from him. Ticked off, he crowded her as they walked, hoping to garner her attention as he breathed down her neck. With his hands chained, he couldn’t do much else.
Even if he could have, Nisha’s hand shot out. She grabbed a fistful of the front of his jumpsuit and backed him up against the wall.
“I don’t need you crawling up my ass while I’m trying to get you back where you belong,” Nisha said through gritted teeth. “You better start minding yourself. You get anyone suspicious about us on our way back and I’ll feed your balls to the guard skags.”
Jack tilted his head back and narrowed his eyes.
“Jeez, I thought you’d be more mellow after that marathon fuck,” he remarked.
Nisha moved in close, her breath warm against his skin. Her perfect teeth flashed at him. For a moment, he swore she was about to sink them into him, tear his throat right out and let him bleed to death where nobody would find him. Then her tongue snaked out and dragged an edge of his facial scar. Against the feeling, he screwed his eyes shut, rode the unsettling feelings until he could sense a renewed stirring between his legs. Then she released him, tugging on his chains to get him to follow her. There was only the sound of plodding feet as Jack fell into step without a single protest. The material at the front of his jumpsuit was now very obviously tented again.
They made it to the ground floor, where the security check points became more intense the further they got to the heart of the prison. The last one they passed through included a body scan and full examination of Jack’s ears, nose, and mouth. They probably would have subjected him to an anal cavity search if they could have. Once he and Nisha were granted passage, the security slackened a bit. There weren’t any officers walking the floor, and the inmates all seemed to have concentrated the flow of foot traffic towards the showers. Picking up her pace, Nisha all but forgot she was leading Jack, zipping up ahead to push past a throng of correctional officers currently in the middle of an intense conversation. They parted for Nisha when they realized it was her.
While nobody was paying attention to him, Jack seized the opportunity to get closer. He would’ve been able to slip past the officers without being noticed if his foot hadn’t slid out from under him, causing him to stumble. He looked down to see what had tripped him up. Dark, oozing stains that couldn’t be anything but spilled blood were smeared across the floor. They glistened, their odor tickling the back of his throat. It was heavy, meaty. Fresh.
“Get back to your cell, inmate!” a voice barked at him from the open doorway of the shower room. “Pronto!”
As Jack held up his chained wrists in silent explanation, a man wearing thick wading boots and covered entirely by a bodysuit emerged from the room, a plastic visor guarding his face. There was another man dressed similarly behind him. They were dragging a large, fleshy bundle splattered in a thick coat of red. On a longer look, Jack started to makes out strands of hair, limbs, and a thin, gangly frame.
“Fuck me,” he drawled as he realized the object caked in blood was in fact a young man. “What the fuck happened to the kid?”
“We can’t just let him bleed out like this, Captain,” came a new voice. “Someone’s got to drag him down to the med ward whether he wants to or not. We don’t want a stiff on our hands.”
Recognizing the voice, Jack looked over to see a familiar tall, buff man breaking away from a huddle of officers to meet Nisha halfway.
“Are you volunteering to take him then, lieutenant?”
“Not me. But somebody’s got to. The warden will be here any minute, and that’s a whole nother can of worms for us. If you don’t give a frig if this man is dying, then at least think of the paperwork you’ll be filing for the next few weeks. And the open investigation you’ll have to conduct.”
Losing interest in their bickering almost as quickly as it had captured him, Jack set his attentions on the half-dead body lying prone on the ground. The only thing that told him the man was still alive was the rise and fall of his chest. He must’ve sensed Jack’s gaze on him, though, because his body stirred. His head lifted off the ground, a piercing gaze staring out from long strands of dark hair. As he unfolded more, Jack could see a network of tattoos and body mods adorning him.
What Jack noticed most of all was that the man was missing an arm. The skin of his right shoulder was shiny with scar tissue. The area had healed clean and smooth, meaning someone had likely taken great care in ensuring that outcome once upon a time. It also told Jack that it wasn’t a fresh injury.
The man noticed Jack eyeballing him. Then his lips split wide. His teeth were stained bright red when he grinned, the bottom row missing almost entirely except for a few back molars. One eye closed at Jack in a deliberate wink.
“Looks like we’re going to need to concern ourselves with that one,” a familiar accent said from beside Jack. “Came in with the rest of the fish this morning and he’s already stirring up trouble. Real agitator type. Crazy fecker even tried antagonizing old Krieg.”
Turning, Jack regarded the pale and bearded white-blond man in the same red jumpsuit as himself. Older than he was, Zane Flynt had been at Pandora Island Penitentiary since before the prison reformation act. Once on death row, there was a lot of speculation surrounding exactly what Zane had done to deserve that sentence. Everything from him being a terrorist to a grifter who had just gotten in the way of someone powerful’s political agenda. He seemed, to the average spectator, like someone’s amicable yet perverted old grandfather, and nothing more. Jack was one of the few that knew the truth. Zane had been an efficiently skilled hitman, and one of the most dangerous and terrifying men on the planet. If you were the next in line for his crosshairs, you were dead before you knew he was even darkening your doorstep. On many occasions he’d worked freelance for Jack’s criminal empire. Whether he killed with garrote, firearm, blade, or his bare hands, the results were always more than adequate.
Within the penitentiary walls, he’d retired those skills unless faced with a life or death situation. These days, he was one of the few men Jack could consider both a confidant and associate.
Friend, however, was probably pushing it.
“Can’t figure if that’s having a real pair of cojones or just plain stupid on your first day in. Gonna go with stupid. You see what happened with Krieg?”
“Saw the whole spectacle. Why you think the boyo looks like the meat slabs they serve on the chow line? He were laughin’ the entire time. Feckin’ nuttier than squirrel shit.”
“Krieg?”
“You ever heard Krieg laugh? It was that fecker lying on the ground. He were egging it on, too. Like he were having the time of his life getting his arse handed to him.”
Lapsing into silence, Jack hummed. His attention fell back on the officers and the beaten and bloody prisoner. Roland and Nisha were still going back and forth, their tones sharp, though they had broken away from the rest of the CO’S and lowered there voices to the point that is was hard to catch more than a word or two that they said. There were medical personnel on the scene as well, now. They were carefully examining and prodding the man on the ground, shining a light in his eyes, testing his vitals.
“There’s a bit more to the story,” Zane went on and folded his arms across his chest. “You know that murder cult that was active in the borderlands that Greater Pandora threatened military action against recently?”
“The C.O.V?” There was a dismissive snort from Jack. “Yup. Bitch cult leader’s been riding my coattails for years. She tried taking out hits on me a handful of times and absorbing my empire, but it never came to fruition. Claims she’s a god, too. Some god. What about ‘em?”
“Pandora militia actually got off their bums about it. According to August and his resources, blackops been sending ghosts to infiltrate the C.O.V for months.” Zane jerked his chin in the direction of the young man currently being treated for his injuries. “Rumor’s they caught themselves a big’gun. Turns out the queen bitch has a blood relative.”
Jack mulled it over, his chains rattling as he gestured.
“So, the almost dead guy,” Jack began, a thoughtful yet sinister curl to his tone. “That one that got smeared like a fine fucking pate all over the floor. He’s the relative? Well, fuck me.”
“Aye,” Zane replied. There was a budding intensity in him. He seemed to be reveling in the moment. “That would be Queen Tyreen Calypso’s twin brother. And since there happens to be a Calypso now trapped in here with the lot of our cellblock, in what is undoubtedly our house, you know what’s on me mind, Jackie?”
“Besides the fact that we’re going to be rolling out the welcoming party for that scumlord?” Jack smirked and cracked his knuckles. “I could probably rattle off a few things. But I think the thing you really want me to say is leverage. Your mind is a wonderful thing, Flynt. I could make sweet love to it sometimes.”
“Love me on yer own time. We got work to do.”
Once Jack had flagged down a CO to release his chains, he sought out the one man he knew could aid him in his endeavors. August was startled out of his card game at Jack and Zane’s approach. He sat perched on the end of his cell bed, playing cards scattered on the mattress between him and his cellmate, Finch. Jack knocked most of the cards to the floor, the mattress creaking as he sat down between the pair.
“Jack,” August said on a rising note, annoyed. “I guess you’re back from the Hole.”
“Obviously.” Jack snorted. He stole a glance at Finch, who was glaring at him. “You got something you want to say to me, Finch?”
“Nothing worth writing home about,” the man said. “I’ll never understand that Handsome moniker. You look like a jabber that got clobbered with a buzz axe.”
“Least I’m not trying to the be the big dog on a short leash. Surprised August hasn’t had your balls snipped off yet.”
“Guys,” August interrupted. “Take that shit outside my bunk.”
“He’s an asshole that shouldn’t be here,” Finch protested.
Picking one of the cards that hadn’t been pushed off the bed, Jack bent it between thumb and forefinger, nearly folding it in half. It ended up smacking Finch in the face when he let go.
“Technically, this place should be in lockdown right now with what’s going on,” he said. “But it ain’t yet. The warden will be here shortly. So, until he finally shows up and personally escorts me back to my bunk, I’m going to park my ass where I feel like it.”`
“Shit, Vasquez’s coming here?” August grumbled. “How do you know?”
“Overheard it from Nisha and the rest of the CO’s.”
“This day just keeps getting better. He’ll probably order a shakedown.”
“You wouldn’t care if you and your lapdogs didn’t have shit to hide.”
“Fuck off, man,” Finch barked. “Anything the boss is doing doesn’t concern you.”
“Whatever.” Rising abruptly to his feet, Jack gestured to Zane. “I didn’t come for a tea party anyway. Me and my boys need a favor.”
“Doesn’t everyone in the cellblock. What the hell do you want from me?”
“The new fish. The kid who just let Krieg rail on him.”
“That sick freak, Calypso? What, you want his docs or something?”
“Nah. Bastard’s being carted off to the med ward, right? In the shape he’s in, they’re going to want to monitor him overnight, if not longer. Now, I just think it’s a shame that I got back from solitary too late to properly introduce myself to him before he got his ass kicked. Me, Zane, and Wilhelm would like to fix all that. Give him the chance to meet ole Handsome Jack in an exclusive one on one setting, if you get me. What do you say? You want to help us out with making the kiddo feel welcomed?”
“I get it.” August held up a placating hand, looking between Jack and Zane. “Just, please, spare me the gruesome details.”
Rolling his eyes, Jack looked over at Zane, who was leaning propped against the wall with one arm. The assassin shook his head.
“We ain’t gonna shank or feck the boyo,” he said, then gave a half-assed snicker, as if someone had uttered a lame joke. “Not on the table yet, at least.”
“We just need an in for medical,” Jack supplied. “Tonight, preferably, if you can hurry things along. I know you got that sadistic twerp in your corner who works the pharma blackmarket trade. He’s got to have some kind of conenctions.”
“Kroger’s a medical assistant sometimes, yeah. Ain’t going to be easy. But maybe I can work something with him, make sure you’re on the night list for workers with medical clearance.”
Jack rubbed his chin, inclining his head. “And what exactly are you going to charge me for that level of assistance?”
“Three months commissary credits. And temporary allegiance plus protection.”
“Me and my boys always got your back, Auggie. We’re all a team here, right?” To Finch, Jack shot a shit-eating grin. “But we’ve got a goddam deal. I’ll call the executive of my estate ASAP and have him wire the money in full. Consider yourself officially under my thumb.”
“Don’t you mean wing?” A crease formed across August’s brow. “And, hey, don’t call me Auggie.”
“Funny. Could’ve sworn that’s what Finch calls you when you’re rawdogging him in the shower.”
“Seriously, fuck this guy, boss,” Finch said, standing to spit at Jack’s feet.
“Holy shit, can you be anymore of a fucking tool?” August added.
“Ain’t my fault you two got an exhibition fetish. Not even Flynt fucks in the shower, and he’s the cellblock stud.”
“Naw, too risky for a geezer like me,” Zane piped up. “Might slip and break me neck. And imagine the scum on those tiles. People wanking since forever in there. Not to mention actually giving each other the ride. Ain’t nobody scrubbing down the place, either.”
“Enough already. Get out,” August said. “I’ll send someone along when everything’s set. You just be ready to go when they come calling.”
“I was born ready.” Tipping his head to Zane in a gesture of closure, Jack turned to leave. “You find Wilhelm and bring up to speed on the plan. I need to go make a phone call before Vasquez shows up.”
XXX
Night in the medical ward operated on a different schedule than the rest of the penitentiary. In genpop, there were appointed times during night hours when the cellblocks were in lockdown. In solitary confinement, adherence to a strict schedule for every hour of the day was required. But medical always had a steady stream of activity, nurses rotating every few hours, spikes of haste thrown in by the random proceedings of prison life. A few guards were stationed at choke points on the ward, though not many. Most of the medical residents were too sick or injured to escape unnoticed, or even put up much of a fight.
Troy Calypso had been placed in a small post-procedure recovery room off of an L-shaped corner of the ward. That much Jack was able to garner from the assistant assignment record. As he passed a guard, the man met his gaze, giving him a nod of acknowledgment. Then he turned on his heel and left his post.
“A feckin’ cakewalk,” Zane commented beside him, watching the guard disappear down the hall. “Good to know how well August came through.”
Jack said nothing as they rounded the corner and found that the door to the recovery room was wedged open. Light still shone from inside, though it was dim. There were three beds inside with one empty. The man in the bed closest to the door was obscured by blankets and bandages as he slept, though it was impossible that he was their target. His body was too compact. The bed across from him had no occupant. Beyond that, a medical curtain divided the facilities.
“Zane, hit the lights,” Jack ordered. “Floor’s yours, Wilhelm.”
The muscular man trailing Jack grunted and stepped to the curtain, drawing it back. On the bed behind it, Troy had no time to react. Wilhelm’s beefy fist latched on to his throat, pinning him in place. The monitor attached to a handful of wires that led to electrodes that were stuck fast to Troy’s chest made a sharp series of bleets as his pulse ticked up.
“What the shit?” Troy squawked, wincing as he tried to squirm out of Wilhelm’s grasp. “Who the hell are you, man?”
“My enforcer.” Jack came around the bed, resting his palms on the metal footboard. His fingers danced across a control panel attached there. “And if you don’t cooperate with us, he’ll break however many bones you might still have left intact. Starting with your fingers.”
As if commanded, Wilhelm used his other hand to latch on to Troy’s wrist. He applied the slightest pressure. Troy yelped.
“Come on, they already confiscated my cybernetics,” he protested. “I only got the one hand left!”
Jack clucked his tongue and reached in the pocket of his bright red pants. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “And it’ll stay that way. If you don’t give us a reason to beat on you.”
With the blood washed away, Troy’s eyes were swollen and brilliant with bruising. The tape across his broken nose wrinkled as he bared his teeth. There was a hardened scab where something had slashed through his lips that stretched grotesquely with the movement.
“I’m not afraid of getting my ass kicked. Go on and do it. I’m as good as dead in here anywhere. You’d be doing me a favor.”
“Yeah, kiddo, kind of already figured from the state that you’re in that you waltzed in here with a death wish.” Jack pressed a button that elevated the other end of the bed so that Troy was sitting up more. He proffered a cigarette. “Being on the inside ain’t so bad. It’s even got its perks if you throw in with the right crowd. And me and mine are the right crowd. Cigarette?”
The look Troy shot him was nothing short of judgmental. “You can’t smoke here, genius. There’s live oxygen equipment. You’ll blow us the fuck up.”
Despite the other man’s protest, Jack stuck one in his mouth and lit up anyway. “Oh, man, we got a fucking nerd in our house? Cool. We can use having some brains around here for once.”
“It’s a chemical reaction, dumbfuck. How can anyone not know what combustion is.”
“You should probably cool it with the language when addressing me. Zane, you know what combustion is?”
“Has to do with ignition.” Zane scratched at his beard, humming. “Oh, and chemistry. Sometimes spontaneous.”
“Wilhelm?”
“Whatever Zane just said,” the buff man responded in a deadpan.
“See, not everybody’s Smarty McSmartass around here. You’re an anomaly, kiddo. A pandoracorn. That makes you an asset worth acquiring. With anybody else here, they’d just use and discard you. But we ain’t like that. You run with me, you run with the king of this place till death do you part. And you may as well have the keys to this city, then.”
The cackle of laughter from Troy was unexpected. It became a coughing fit. He turned his head as best as he could and spit a wad of bloody phlegm into a plastic bedpan.
“That is so hilarious,” he remarked hoarsely, his head thumping back against the bed. “Like I’d throw in with a pack of scrounging bottomfeeders like you guys. You even know who I am?”
“You’re that God-Queen bitch’s kin,” Jack said, dropping any pretense as he dragged hard off his cigarette. He blew the smoke in Troy’s general direction. “The second rate vermin living off the crumbs of the empire I built. And do you know who I am, Troy?”
“A walking, talking crusty pile of smegma? Wait, no. I recognize that mangled meatslab you try passing off as a face. You’re Handsome Jack.”
“Good to know we’re on the same page here. And now that we’re acquainted, let’s talk contingency plans. For when you’re not wired to a machine and getting a couple pints of blood pumped back into your system.”
“Got to wait on the ribs, too,” Troy said, glancing at the bandages wound around his tattooed chest. He took a deep breath, shuddering with pain. “Which are never going to heal if you don’t get your fucking human weapon of mass destruction off me.”
There was a sharp intake of breath as Jack drew deeply from his cigarette. Then he snapped his fingers at Wilhelm. The enforcer grumbled and released Troy’s wrist, letting up from the pressure he’d been putting on the man’s torso as well. He remained hovering at the bedside while Troy shook out his arm to regain circulation.
“You good now?” Jack asked, curt with impatience. “Want Wilhelm to massage it better?”
Troy stole a glance at Wilhelm and remarked without malice, “Not my type.”
“You’re sure his. Better watch your ass when you’re back at the cellblock. He’s got a thing for missing limbs and cybernetics.”
“You mean the cybernetics I don’t even have anymore right now?”
“We’ll get you some new ones. Like I said, there’s perks to accepting an invitation into my ranks. Best perks you can ask for in the entire house. You sure you still not interested? I mean, it would be a shame if you got back to genpop, just a lame duck hanging around without a soul to watch his back. The wolves will definitely come out to take their turns with the new bitchboy. Which would be you, of course. Unless….”
Without finishing the sentence, Jack broke out in a creeping smirk that took its time etching itself across his face. Spreading his palms, he shrugged both shoulders lazily.
“Fuck my life,” Troy uttered. “I knew some limp choad was going to be threatening this kind of bullshit. Didn’t think it’d be this quick, or come from a guy like you.” Annoyed, Troy brushed hair off of his face and closed his eyes. “Whatever, fine. I’ll bite. Just fuck off for now and let me enjoy my anshin drip in peace.”
“Acceptance noted.” Jack hummed, gesturing with his cigarette. “Congrats on joining my ranks.”
It seemed Jack was about to snuff said cigarette out on the footboard in finality. Instead, he moved his hand past that, to an exposed stretch of Troy’s leg that was sticking out of the bedsheets, his limbs too big to be positioned comfortably on the bed. The still lit cherry was pressed to the flesh there. It sizzled and cracked, blackening around the point of contact. Troy struggled, biting his lip against the agony.
“Consider that you’re initiation.” Jack was unable to hide his amusement at the scene. “Could’ve been worse, am I right?”
Notes:
Something I'd like to mention was that in the late 90's, a prison drama series about an experimental prison ward aired on HBO called Oz. To this day, though sometimes over the top, it remains one of the most realistic, engrossing, and depthful shows on the topic. Often gritty, sometimes not easy to watch, it was one of the major influences on this fic, though I'd say the topics and situations in this fic are far, far removed from some of the ones on the show. If you find the prison themes here interesting, though, I'd reccomend checking out Oz for its very human, sometimes emphatic characters, and for its hard, critical look at modern prison systems and their effectiveness.
Chapter 4
Notes:
CW: Discussion and description of brutal murder with mentions of sexual assault, disucssion of the murder of a minor
Chapter Text
“Good morning, Jack.”
This time when Rhys stepped into the sterile white room, Jack was already seated at the table and chained down. Mordecai, the CO from the last time he’d been there, stepped in behind Rhys, handing him two paper cups of coffee. Rhys tucked his belongings under one arm and accepted them. The cup that was intended for Jack was cold, confirming that Jack seemed to rarely be treated with any shred of decency. Considering for a moment, Rhys set the warmer cup down in front of Jack and took the other for himself.
“There’s creamer, probably sugar in this,” Jack observed, peering down at it.
“Lactose intolerance?” Rhys replied, taking a seat. “Or limited sugar intake? I mean, it’s the fresher cup. If you want the one that was probably sitting out—”
“Stop wagging your jaw, s’fine.” Jack didn’t blow on the cup before taking a gulp, not even wincing. “The way you left last time, didn’t expect you back so soon. Or at all.”
“Well, here I am again.” Rhys adjusted in his seat and attempted a partial smile. Which turned out to be a bad idea, as Jack grinned back, looking sinister as he flashed pearly veneers. Faced with that expression, it took a second for Rhys to remember what he was supposed to be doing. He slapped his binder down on table followed by a mechanical device. “From now on, I’ll be recording most if not all of our remaining interviews. So, er, try not to be distracted by the cambot.”
“Should’ve given me a heads up. I would have had my jumpsuit dry cleaned and my hair done, got all gussied up for the viewing pleasure.”
“Compared to most inmates I’ve seen so far, you look fine. Maybe even living up to your moniker.”
The words were out before Rhys could stop himself. Only seconds later did he realize his mistake of how they could be taken as Jack stared. He sucked his teeth thoughtfully. Rhys could feel scarlet creeping across his cheeks.
“Of course I am,” Jack drawled. “They don’t call me Handsome fucking Jack for shits and giggles.”
Clearing his throat a few times, to the point it made him even more self conscious, Rhys nodded.
“I’m going to start recording. We can pick up where we left off last time.”
“With your mom—”
“No.” Drawing the word out, Rhys tapped the mechanical device. It unfolded into a lens built into a small sphere. “We’re not going anywhere near that again.”
“Aw. You’re a real killjoy, kiddo.”
“With your reputation, I think you’ll enjoy today’s topic a lot more. So, uhm, when I was here last, you mentioned me not actually knowing what it meant to be Handsome Jack. I was wondering if you could elaborate on all that.”
“What the hell does that have to do with me being locked in here?”
“Lots, actually.”
There was a pause as Jack took a long, noisy slurp of his coffee. Setting it down, his chains rattled as he tried reaching to smooth back some hairs that had come loose on the top of his head. His eyes rolled heavenwards as he seemed to mull the question over.
“What’s it mean? It means clawing my way up from the dregs of the organized crime circuit. Strategically eliminating the competition and eventually taking my place as kingpin of one of the most notorious organizations the Greater Pandoran continent had ever seen.”
Rhys jotted something down on his tablet. When Jack didn’t go on right away, he looked up expectantly.
“Huh,” the man said.
“Something wrong?”
“Nah, just haven’t thought about this stuff in awhile.” Jack gestured dismissively. “Anyway, it means you don’t fuck around with your dealings with me, or any of the industries I have my stakes in. It means if you’ve met with me personally, and you ain’t one of my people or someone I want in my presence, you’ve got a high probability of ending up strung up by your own guts at some point.”
Unlike their previous meeting, the expression that crossed Rhys’s face was only there for a second. Otherwise, the young man was stoic. With his level of experience, or lack thereof, he had to be given some credit for that. Still, Jack had seen that momentary grimace. He leaned back in his chair, chains rattling gently as if accenting the movement.
“Or warming my bed,” he continued. “The latter, of course, comes with a whole slew of criteria that’s gotta be met. Not just any schmuck gets to hop on my dick, ya know.” Jack slouched, making himself less intimidating in the process. He wasn’t subtle about looking over Rhys with appraisal. “Someone like you, though—I think you’d have no trouble meeting my standards. Hell, it’d make me a whole lot more comfortable right now if you came over and sat yourself down on my lap. How about it?”
A thickness formed in Rhys’s throat. He tried not to be obvious as he swallowed against it. The air sang with growing tension.
“All that being said, yadda yadda, you wanna know how a man with my kind of standing amongst the Pandora elite ends up with all the other sleazelords in this joint, Rhys?”
“I imagine everyone screws up eventually.”
“I screwed plenty. Screwed up, though? Depends on who you ask.”
“So….” Rhys trailed off, knowing he was taking the obvious bait that had been laid out for him. “Who should I ask?”
“Not the warden. Definitely not the CO’s or my fellow inmates. Maybe…Alys Strongfork.”
This time, Rhys was swift to deal with the situation. He pushed his tablet aside and moved his chair back, folding his arms across his chest. A stern look came over his features.
“I’ve already said we’re not talking about that. I’m willing to sit here and wait until you get back on topic. So, run your mouth off and waste my time if you want. I don’t care. But don’t expect to push my buttons and get any satisfaction out of it.”
“You can be pretty ballsy, kiddo. I like it. Wish we’d met in circumstances that aren’t these.” Slapping his palms down on the table, Jack pulled himself forward. Rhys was proud of himself for not flinching. “But listen. Alys knew every last goddam detail about my life, down to the size of my dick. She would have given you the facts straight: I never screwed up.”
“No, you were just convicted for a double homicide,” Rhys threw back without thinking. “One of who was your own daughter.”
Chains clashed as they hit the table, the report echoing in the small room at a deafening level. Jack had tried to rise from his chair but had found himself drawn up short. His hands were balled into fists. Rhys was trying very hard not to bolt out of his own seat. He took a deep breath to quiet the tremors that pulsed through his muscles with the adrenaline surge, glad that his hands weren’t visible where he had them tucked into his arms. He could feel them shaking. The tapping of his shoe filled the settling silence between him and Jack. It was the only thing he could do to channel the anxious energy.
Noticing the restlessness, Jack gradually stopped bristling. He flopped back down in his chair, palms flattening against the surface before him.
Rhys had to wait to speak before he knew his voice wouldn’t shake, “For the record, it’s bound to come up during these sessions, and I’m not here to restrict you from speaking your mind. I’ll hear you out about your side of the story. No guarantees on belief, though.”
“You read the crime scene report?” Jack asked. It was difficult to read his tone. “Or any of the investigation files?”
“That, I don’t have access to. That stuff’s confidential. I’d have to ask the current DA’s permission. I could maybe put in a request with the warden. Again, no guarantee.”
“Right. You do that. Because I didn’t screw up. I didn’t kill them. Your mother knew that.”
“And still, she compiled the case to convict you.”
“And I was cooperating with her the entire time, knowing exactly what she was doing. I helped her.”
Squinting, Rhys finally unfurled from his position, swiping his tablet off the table. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“Because.” Reaching for his coffee cup, Jack drank its contents down, his throat working until the cup was drained. “My empire was crumbling down around me. I was about to lose it all, and everything pointed to an inside job. Whoever killed my family had access to codes, security schedules, floor plans, panic rooms. They got past my security without a struggle. The people in my social circle don’t have any motivations for that. But it could have been a plant from the C.O.V. You know, that cult of human skagshit that’s been growing like a festering tumor on the underside of Pandora for years?”
“They’re a problem in the borderlands, sure. There’s been a broad streak of illegal activity linked to them.” Rhys shrugged. “It doesn’t seem like you’d be on their radar, though.”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But what you lawful pricks don’t know is that they’ve been taking over Pandora inch by careful inch, staking their claim to every last criminal faction in the region, and obliterating the ones that stand against them. I blatantly opposed them. Hell, I was forming alliances to actively push back against them with militant force. The head tyrant bitch found out about it. She wasn’t such a huge fan of my plans to fuck her over.”
“So you think she had her cult members kill your family as, what, revenge?”
“Not really. It was a power move, plain and simple. I waved my dick around, and she came by to bite it off at the root. Ain’t really my best theory, though.”
“You know that discussing this with me can compromise future evidence involved in that case. For any parole considerations or re-trials, I mean. I have to know you’re aware of that.”
“Doi. No shit, Rhysie.” Jack pawed at his face, looking suddenly lethargic. “I ain’t getting out of here anytime soon. At least not under the law.”
“Fair enough.”
“My best theory is that it was someone with ties to Pandoran authority. Someone who could access the right files and documentation, and who had motivation to see me fry to death once I got framed.”
Rhys forced himself to drink deeply from his coffee cup despite the feeling of his gorge rising. “Are you trying to say you think it was my mom?”
“What? No, genius. Alys would never have—“ Pressing his lips tightly together, Jack stopped himself mid-speech, though it seemed to take all of his will power. He threw up his hands as far as they would go. “My wife. You know how I found her body? Decapitated. Bruising all over. Recent sexual assault. Possible signs of strangulation. No other DNA or fibers on the body once the labs came back. Perp knew what they were doing. Except for….” Jack swallowed thickly. Raising his head, the look in his gaze was the one Rhys had seen upon their initial meeting; haunted. “No possible suspect matches, though. That sound familiar to you?”
The words could barely escape Rhys’s lips. He was trying very hard to keep his breathing steady. The pangs of anxiety were roiling deep in his viscera. “Yeah. It does, actually.”
“Of course it does. Approximately over a year later, Gwenyth Alys Strongfork, reported missing when she never returned home from work one evening. Remains found a hundred miles out from her office some weeks later, smack dab in the middle of a goddam wasteland. Strangely well preserved. Again, signs of strangulation. Physical and sexual assault, although this time there was no DNA to be found anywhere. Also, she was missing her head. Just like my wife.”
In his seat, Rhys had gone such a shade of pale he looked sickly. His hands gripped the armrests, trembling.
“Easy, kiddo. Breathe.”
“How the hell did you find out any of that information?” Rhys said through clenched teeth. “You were on death row when that happened. The investigation was under strict confidentiality due to mom being the DA. You shouldn’t know anything about it.”
“Sorry, ain’t disclosing my sources. That would compromise too much shit. But I know every fucking last detail about it. Down to the fact that an undisclosed relation got her head sent to them in the mail. Weren’t you, though. I’m assuming.”
“It….” Considering his words carefully, Rhys shook his head and let out a curt bark of nervous laughter that couldn’t be helped. “It wasn’t me, no. I wasn’t living at the family residence then. I don’t think I’d have survived with my sanity intact during that time.”
“That shit, it changes you. It sure as goddam hell changed me.”
In his own way, it was Jack’s means of sympathizing with Rhys. Rhys could tell as much from the way the other man looked away from him, focusing on a blank corner of the room for some time. The words that had come from the convict were also said without the signature frills Rhys had come to expect. They were raw and real. As much as the words of a prisoner as intelligent and manipulative as Jack’s could be.
“I got a package, too,” Jack went on. “Came while I was convicted and awaiting trial. Thank god it was only my wife’s head. Not like, you know, that was good or any fucking thing. But I would have lost it if…if they’d done anything like that to Angel—my daughter. She was shot point blank. Quick death, no suffering. Fucking small comfort.”
“Not much of a comfort at all,” Rhys found himself blurting out.
“The warden wouldn’t grant me permission to attend the funeral. I was lucky that my family’s ashes were even turned over to my estate after they were cremated.”
“And your estate, that’s ran by….” Trailing off, Rhys swiped up his binder, flipping to the page where he remembered the tidbit of information was typed. “Timothy Lawrence. Your brother?”
“My brother in arms, partner in crime. He came over from Tantalus with me.”
“And he has no criminal record at all? They didn’t convict him along with you?”
“Nah. Claimed he was my victim, not my accomplice after combing all the evidence.”
“Could…he have set you up? Made it look like it was more logical that you’d done the murders because he had a grudge about something? Maybe you two were at odds with each other over the way things were being run? You said they figured him for a victim. Maybe it was his way of getting you out of the picture.”
“It would’ve been fucking stupid of him, and I don’t think he’d ever purposely kill my daughter. But yeah, I considered that once upon a time. Angel might have just gotten in the way. Hence the gunshot wound.” Jack gave a noncommittal shrug. “Then Alys was murdered in the exact same way and that logic fell apart. Timmy didn’t have any motivation for killing your mom. If anything, she’d done him a favor. He’s also no serial murderer.”
“Could’ve hired an assassin. No shortage in Pandora of those.”
“Yeah, that’s one way to skin the cat.” Then Jack snorted as if the idea was laughable. “But without me finding out? I had ties to every assassin on the continent and even beyond. Trust me, I would have gotten the memo. Still doesn’t explain Alys.”
Across from him, Rhys seemed to visibly deflate, the wind having been knocked from his sails. He set his notes on the table, looking down at them in consideration.
“Look, I’ve been sitting here for almost the last two years with this shit on my mind,” Jack went on. “Plenty of fucking time to mull over every angle you might be considering. And trust me, none of it makes any goddam sense. They even tried to pin your mother’s death on me when I was sitting in here wasting away, saying I organized it somehow from the inside. Well, I didn’t. I’m a hands on kinda guy. Always liked to do my own dirty work cos that’s the only way to get shit done right. And I sure as fuck didn’t kill Alys. She was part of my family. I gave too much of a shit about her to ever consider cutting her loose.”
His head lifting up sharply, Rhys peered at Jack, a grimace on his face. The grimace twisted with frustration into something far less friendly. “My mother was loyal to her own family, and she was loyal to the Pandoran justice system. It’s crazy talk what you’re implying. She wouldn’t take those risks, she wouldn’t betray us, just to sleep with you. Besides, what you’re saying makes no logical sense. You sit and tell me how upset you were over your wife’s murder, then you turn around and blurt out that you were cheating on her?”
“Kiddo, you’re breaking my heart with how badly you’re misinterpreting the situation. If I wasn’t chained to this chair, I’d get up and smack some sense into that thick skull.”
“How else am I supposed to interpret it with what you’re telling me?”
“You ain’t ever heard of couples with a plus one or two or, hell, even three? You think marriage got to be, what, plain and boring and monogamous? Just two people, stuck with each other for all eternity? Don’t get to fuck around with nobody else ever?”
“I don’t see how that can be anything more than just a kinky, sexual thing. But, whatever, I’m not judging what other people want to do.”
“Who cares if it’s just a kink and sex thing?”
“My own mom is involved in this discussion, so I care. It’s bad enough that you just had to bring up her murder. Now you’re sitting here debating with me about whatever…affair you claimed to have had with her. She’s dead. She’s been dead almost the entire time you’ve been in this prison. None of this matters now or to what I’m trying to accomplish here with you.”
“You want her to be a cold case forever, Rhysie? This shit’s important for you to know. She would’ve wanted you to wise the fuck up and pursue something as big as this case could be. Because there’s a great big fucking connection here.”
“Then why has nobody else continued the investigation?” Unable to help himself, Rhys was getting worked up. He rose from his seat, pacing to the exit door before wheeling back around and approaching the table again. Before he realized what he was doing, he slammed his hands down in front of Jack and leaned into the man’s space. “Why are you trying to make it my duty? I‘m not the guy with the influence, the sway. I can’t waltz into a Pandoran law enforcement office and snap my fingers and have the case just be reopened. It’s not going to happen. Not enough fucking evidence. That’s what they’ll tell me. And who the hell am I to say otherwise? Just her next of kin, wanting answers where there aren’t any. Wanting closure. Thinking because I made a career out of my pain that I can change the legal process.”
By the time Rhys’s words trickled down to silence, he was out of breath, chest heaving, hair plastered to his forehead. Having leaned back, Jack’s gaze was fixated on him. With Rhys so close, he was capable of reaching out and making physical contact despite. A large palm slid on to the back of Rhys’s hand, engulfing it.
“You’re so high-strung.” Clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth, Jack worked his jaw. “And you need to get that worked up about the shitstorm that’s the investigation process, cos nobody else is gonna. These are the dickholes in charge you want to work so badly for. And you’ve got the fight and fire to kick against the pricks. But you also gotta work on not losing your cool.”
It was then that Rhys realized the compromised position he’d put himself in. When he tried to pull away, he found Jack’s hold was too tight to break. He paused, fighting the panic churning in his gut.
“Could say the same about you,” he forced out, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. He slid his free arm across his brow, wiping the evidence of his turmoil away.
“Guess we’re on the same level then, eh?”
“Sure. We going to turn around and walk ten paces now, see who shoots the other first?”
For the first time in awhile, Jack grinned at Rhys. He looked far more animated than he had been since the beginning of the session. Then he did something to Rhys’s wrist. Suddenly, Rhys felt gravity pulling him down. Inches from slamming against the table with his face, Jack’s shackled hand caught him around the throat.
Time froze. Rhys didn’t so much as flinch as he felt a pressure settling against his windpipe.
“Oh, kitten. Wouldn’t need a duel to leave you nothing but a good-looking corpse. But honestly, that’d be a waste.”
It was difficult to resist struggling. Coughing a few times, Rhys’s mouth was parched, his throat feeling as if it were closing in on itself of its own accord.
“There’s cameras,” he gasped out.
“And?”
Wincing, Rhys reached and grabbed a hold of where Jack had latched on to his wrist.
“Someone’s going to see what’s going on.”
“Then why are you so worried?” Though the gaze that was fixed on Rhys was intense, Jack let up the pressure of his hand, though he didn’t move it away from Rhys’s throat. “CO’s are going to come in and stop me before I can do anything bad to you, right? You got nothing to be scared of.”
“Sure taking their sweet ass time getting here.”
“Now you’re getting it, cupcake.” A curt, breathy laugh from Jack. His fingers shifted against Rhys’s flesh, squeezing him by the jaw. “Ya know, I popped a guy’s eyeball out with a plastic spoon once in the cafeteria.”
Rhys’s heart was thudding dully in his throat. He felt slightly dizzy from how fast it was beating.
“In all fairness, it was self defense,” Jack regaled. “He was trying to shank me with the sharp end.”
“And you managed not to kill him? Seems you had the chance.”
“Nah, more fun to watch the guy flap around in circles screeching like a rakk that’s torn a wing. There’s not much in the way of amusement in this joint. You got to make do. Only downside is he tuckered himself out too fast. I’m a merciful ruler. Nothing fun in a lowly inmate being reduced to pathetic sobs at my feet.”
“So, what you’re doing right now, toying with me, is that just for fun, too?”
“Honestly? Sure, kind of. But it ain’t just that, Rhysie.” Suddenly, Jack’s face was looming in front of Rhys’s. The convict’s warm breath ghosted his lips. It was as if Rhys had been cast in stone in those moments, unable to move, wide-eyed. Like game that had heard the click of the hunter’s gun being cocked. “You need to be taught your place in the hierarchy. Just like the inmates here who’re beneath me.”
Jack’s mouth hovered close to Rhys’s. The man stretched the limits of his chains as he darted in. For a moment, Rhys expected their mouths to collide in a rough kiss. Then he felt the sharp, hot pain surge through the tender flesh of his bottom lip. A flavor like sucking on coins exploded against his tongue.
Then Rhys was being released from the iron grip that had held him glued in place. He reeled back, an image flashing across his vision of Jack’s mouth stained red, blood drooling in a single, thin stream down the man’s chin.
The exit door burst open. Brick thundered over the threshold, followed closely by Mordecai. They zeroed in on where Jack was still seated, pushing Rhys out of the way.
“Wait,” Rhys protested, surging forward as he realized what they were about to do. “Stop, I’m fine.”
Mordecai stepped into Rhys’s path, blocking him. He shook his head. “Stay out of the way.”
It was almost eerie how well Jack took his punishment. As Brick’s fist collided with the side of his face, snapping his neck to one side, there was little more than a great rush of air that erupted from his throat. His chains sang out as his body pulled taut against them, his shackles biting into his flesh from the force. A great arc of blood and spittle spewed across the table. He glared daggers up at the CO, his cheek already swelling.
“Got some great big balls there, kicking a man when he’s chained down, eh?” he taunted.
Then he cleared his throat and spit a bloody wad of saliva, aiming for Brick’s face.
It hit dead on, smearing down his cheek.
Brick snatched a handful of Jack’s hair.
“Hey, I’m fine,” Rhys said again, raising his voice this time. “Just let him calm—”
“Go on, you savage!” Jack shouted, frantic. “Take me down! Show ‘em all whose the law around here.”
A cackle exploded from Jack, euphoric with pain, disturbed. Then Brick shoved his face down against the table. The metal rang out with the hard impact, the sound like gunshot in the small room.
“The asshole was just asking for disciplinary action,” Brick defended as if anyone had asked, cracking his knuckles. He reached and picked Jack’s head up, sitting the man upright again. Jack’s face was bloody, the mess of brilliant red making it difficult to see where he was actually wounded. Eyes swimming in their sockets, unfocused, head lolling, his gaze managed to fall on Rhys one last time.
“You look good in red, Rhysie,” he said, the words garbled, and promptly let his head slump against his chest.
Swiping at his lip, flinching as he brushed the divot Jack had left there, Rhys’s fingers came away smeared with a faint hint of blood.
“You alright, man?” he heard Mordecai ask. “Need to go to medical?”
Rhys shook his head without looking up. “It’s not bad. I shouldn’t have gotten that close, anyway. Stupid.”
“You let your guard down.” The CO grunted. “Ain’t even your fault. He pulls these stunts all the time. Gets the beat down, or sent to the Hole. Then he’s out and right back at it. You’d think someone would learn no to cross certain lines with that song and dance, but nah, not Handsome Jack.”
“Don’t put him in solitary.”
“Captain has to decide that. After we fill out the incident report.” Mordecai made a sound of annoyance that was rife with the exasperation of the long suffering. He looked over to Brick, who was manhandling Jack as he undid the restraints that kept him bolted to the chair. “Don’t rough ‘im up too much more, alright, ese?”
“Forget the paperwork.” Mordecai swung his head back around to look at Rhys. To ward off any questions, Rhys held up his palm. “I’ll talk to the warden on my own.”
“You sure? I mean, record should be filed in case you get some infection or disease or stuff. Who knows what some of these inmates got festering in them.”
“He’s a man, not some feral ratch. It’s not like I’m going to come down with a goddam case of space hurps.”
The intensity in Rhys’s voice made Brick pause as he was hauling Jack to his unsteady feet. Both he and Mordecai were staring.
“It’ll be handled,” Rhys said on a note of finality, moving to the table to gather up his things. He paused as he realized the cambot was still running, had been recording the entire time. It was snatched up discretely without being turned off. “I have clearance to the warden’s office, so I don’t need the escort today. Thanks for the assistance. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“That soon after this shit? You didn’t seem so cruising for abuse the other day.”
It was Brick who had spoken. Rhys was halfway to the exit when he turned and looked at the CO.
“People change their mind about things sometimes. Guess I’ll be seeing you.”
With that, Rhys walked out, the echoes of his footfalls trailing him.
Hanging from Brick’s grasp, Jack picked his head up slightly and let out a gravelly chuckle.
Chapter Text
In the morning air, the clank of weights being lifted from the cradle of the bench rack was deafening. Lying on his back, Jack steadied his grip on the iron barbell. His arms trembled for a second before he could straighten them. The heavy weights clanked again and rose as he lifted. Jack had them airborne for a second before bringing the bar down almost to rest on his chest. He let out his breath in a controlled huff. Then he was lifting the iron bar skyward again.
Above him, Wilhelm regarded his progress with a detached air. He counted aloud, “One.”
A few feet away, Zane leaned against a support for one of the pull-up bar stations, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t paying any attention to Jack’s morning weight training routine. Instead, his attention was focused almost across the yard on a patch of crabgrass overgrowth. There, two young women in Dahl Prison Fellowship Volunteer sweatshirts stood with tablets, their branded ballcaps obscuring their faces as they tapped out something on the screens. One picked her head up and swept her gaze around the vicinity, as she was prone to doing every few minutes. It was obvious the gesture was likely a nervous one, her not wanting to be blindsided by any prisoners that might approach. The other woman had barely looked up, clearly unconcerned. Which meant she was either the veteran volunteer between them or completely confident the correctional officers working the yard would handle any trouble.
Trouble, unfortunately, came soon enough. Considering the state he’d been in, Troy had healed up well in the last few days, only the faintest bruising or evidence of injury left behind in the wake of his treatment regime. The two women looked up as his shadow eclipsed them, having to tilt their heads back with how large his stature was. The one who had been relentlessly typing dropped her tablet to her side and stared back at Troy, her lips sounding out a greeting that couldn’t be heard from across the yard. The other woman simply gave him a weary grin.
Even from a distance, Zane could see the arrogant leer breaking across Troy’s features, and the way his tongue skated his bottom lip.
On the highest pull-up bar, August lifted himself a final time and let go. His sneakers scraped up dust as he came down onto the sandy concrete. “That dumbass wasteland nutcase you guys recruited looks like he’s about to start some shit.”
“I know,” Zane replied in resigned fashion. He looked over to Wilhelm still spotting Jack’s weight session, then back to Troy and sighed. “Feck. Earn yer keep around here and keep an eye out for a bit. I got to make sure the shite don’t fly across the yard.”
“Good luck there,” August said.
Zane had already pushed off the support beam and was heading over to the crabgrass thatch. At the sound of his approach, Troy turned, rolling his eyes when he saw who it was. The weary girl went rigid, clearly on alert now around double the inmates.
“Jack would probably prefer yer to stick close, boyo,” Zane said to Troy, turning himself halfway between the women and the other man, forming a human shield with his body. “Why don’t you go and head back over to our side of the playground.”
In the time he’d been in the medical ward, Troy had been fitted with a rudimentary prosthetic. It wasn’t fancy, but it had basic flexibility, including an articulated wrist and fingers. The fingers were foamcore silicone so he couldn’t bludgeon anyone to death with them. That also meant he was also lacking dexterity. Still, he’d proven experience in handling precise objects with such a device, albeit clumsily, and he could control his movements enough to make them seem natural. Right now, he wasn’t wearing his prison shirt, the red garment tied around and hanging from his waist. Most of the inmates wore at least a tank top underneath their jumpsuits or garb to wick away sweat and moisture. Not Troy. His densely tattooed torso was bare and sweaty. The mechanizations of his cuff and socket prosthetic were entirely visible, marring the illusion of natural movement as he made an elaborate gesture towards the women.
“I was just getting intimately acquainted with these unmated prime specimens of our brave and compassionate volunteer population,” Troy said, the words enunciated with flair.
“Unmated, issat right? Like a gobshite like you would know. Tch.”
“Very unmated. Very nubile, somebody could even say. That somebody being me.” Stepping around Zane, Troy smoothed his hair back, thrusting his chest out and stretching his muscles in the process. The hum from him took on an almost melancholy tone. “But, shame, they’re probably already married to their siren goddesses. They love their seven savior sisters and want me to let the goddesses into my heart as to become one with them. So that I, too, can experience enlightenment.”
Zane folded his arms over his chest and gave Troy a stern look. The two women stood there staring at Troy as well, the more anxious of the two casting her eyes around the yard, likely scanning the vicinity for assistance. Her companion simply sighed, “We’re not worshipers of the seven siren goddesses.”
Troy shushed her with a finger to his lips. “My future meat bearers, may I suggest opening yourselves to the possibility of having the essence of my godhood enter you? Cum, let us be prey. This god will anoint thy wombs.”
“For feck’s sake, you horned rat, you want to get us all thrown in the wringer?” There was a blur of motion. Zane grabbed Troy in an iron grip around where his bicep was inked, tugging him away from the volunteers. The man nearly stumbled over himself. “Word of advice? Don’t get caught with your pants down. With the volunteers or otherwise.”
“Aw, old man, I was just heckling.” Troy managed to find his footing and fall into step beside Zane. “Just fucking around to find out. Those two were sweet meats, and this king’s used to feasting.”
“So, you’re claiming to be a king too, now?” Stopping midway across the yard, Zane shook his head and reached in his jumpsuit pocket. When he pulled out his hand, he was palming a plastic nicotine device. He popped off the seal ring on its butt end and tucked it into the corner of his mouth. “Crissakes, I don’t know if yer really worth all the trouble you’re bound to catch us.”
Something had caught Troy’s attention over by the steel exit doors that led out to the yard from the prison. Without shifting his gaze, he said, “Whatever. You don’t know what you’re missing out on. Those religious freaks, they put out. Get them on their knees, and get them full of dick, and they’ll swear they’ve witnessed the Rapture. They’ll convert to your very own devout. There’s nothing better in this life than a piece of heretic ass.”
“And if I can believe the jabbering within these walls, heard you were one of them religious freaks yourself. Sis got that cult. Oh, it’s a sex cult, isn’t it? Should of known it’d be a sex cult.”
“Who you thinks been breeding the freak army out there in the wastes.”
“That was one confession I could have lived without hearing from your gob.”
“Sorry.” The word sounded far from apologetic, Troy drawing it out to an obnoxious point. “Check it out. Looks like it’s VIP day.”
Slipping from behind the steel door was the warden. He was trailed by a young man dressed in a business shirt, slacks and tie. The young man fell into step beside Vasquez, his gaze roaming the yard like a furtive cat’s. Axton was one of the CO’s on yard duty that day. The pair approached him. He and the warden exchanged a few amicable words, if the relaxed grin on Axton’s face was anything to go by. Then Axton reached over and shook the young man’s hand.
“Vasquez weren’t due for a visit,” Zane remarked. “Nothing doing out here, anywho. Must be feeling like even extra of an arsehole today.”
“Guy’s a real fucking cucklord,” Troy remarked.
The look on Zane’s expression shifted into something inquisitive. For a moment, he watched Axton converse with the unknown young man, the CO nodding and gesturing to the expanse of the prison yard and the other COs on duty there. Then Axton made a distinct display of pointing out where Jack was training.
“Makes you say something like that?” Zane eventually mused.
“Heard some shit about it. On the outside. While I was getting reamed for domestic terrorism and prepared for transfer here.”
“Lucky bastard. Would have chopped your block off for crimes like that in the old days.”
A dismissive snort erupted from Troy. “And gotten their asses slaughtered by the Queen of that asscrack of a continent. Sis would have loved an excuse to dust a couple of bureaucratic shitheels.” He paused, his eyes narrowing to slits. The young man with the warden had broken away from the rest of the group and was making his way across the yard alone. “Probably won’t be all that long until she shows up and obliterates this place off the map for good.”
“You that certain she’d mobilize to such an extreme just to break you out?”
“Cult bullshit can’t function without it’s twin god. Besides, I’m her family. Who else is gonna pump the followers full of our propaganda and DNA? The gods need to pass on their sacred bloodline. Can’t be the Children of the Vault without the children.”
“A sacred bloodline of what, depraved, fanatical feckers?” Removing the nictine device from his mouth, Zane blew out a thin cloud of synthetic smoke. “How a fecked up lot like yours ever get such an irongrip on Pandora is beyond me.”
Troy shrugged with an exaggerated roll of his shoulders and made a noncommittal noise. In the same instant, he twisted around. The young man who had been with the warden was now there. He slowed, his footsteps becoming uncertain. Both Troy and he locked gazes. The eye contact was broken almost immediately, the young man looking anywhere but at Troy as he tried to pass without incident.
“Hello, meat,” Troy said, the greeting jovial. He hocked a wad of phlegm to the ground.
The young man glanced back over his shoulder at the other side of the yard. The warden and Axton were still talking animatedly. The other COs were unoccupied, but not paying much attention to what was going on around them.
“Good morning,” the young man replied stoically.
It only took one step for Troy to block his path. Hunching, he crossed an arm over his bare chest, tucking it under his prosthetic. Where such a stance should have made him appear vulnerable, with Troy it only added to his menace, acting as a reminder of how much he towered over even some of the tallest inmates. “What do you want with our little corner of asphalt utopia?”
“I’m here to meet with Jack.”
“Jack who?’
The young man hesitated. “Handsome Jack.”
From where he was watching the scene unfold, Zane nibbled on the nicotine device. There was an obvious wound on the stranger’s lip; a scabbed over divot that wasn’t fresh but still looked sore and reddened. Zane cocked his head and waved dismissively. “Leave the boyo be, Calypso.”
“Jack’s busy right now,” Troy drawled, ignoring Zane. “Maybe I can help you out instead. We can do a little oral exchanging. You look like you got a real nice mouth for it.”
Troy reached out with the hand that wasn’t prosthetic.
“Troy,” Zane said with much more conviction. “Bugger off. Now.”
Troy straightened up and sucked in a breath. “If you choke on Jack’s dick,” he deadpanned. “Call me. I’m certified in mouth to mouth.” He turned on his heel, then, and began walking across the blacktop. Halfway to the basketball court, he spun back around. “Later, bitches,” he called, propping two fingers in front of his mouth, forming a ‘V’ shape. His tongue was promptly thrust through it.
“Don’t mind that nasty gut maggot,” Zane said as he tossed his spent nicotine device to the ground and crushed it with his boot. “You Jackie’s new mouthpiece or something?”
The stranger hesitated. Then he shook his head. “That’s confidential. But, I do need to speak with him privately. So, if you could tell him his interviewer is here….”
With a nod of his head, Zane indicated the weight bench where Jack was in the process of setting the barbell back in its cradle. Sweaty and winded, he sat up on the bench, wiping his face with the limp sleeve of his jumpsuit.
“Follow, boyo,” Zane said.
Jack had stood up and was leaning against the barbed wire fence that ran the vicinity of the yard, watching as Finch stood adjusting weights on the barbell. When the man was satisfied, he wiped off the vinyl and metal device and stretched himself out on the bench. Wilhelm abandoned his position as spotter to join Jack.
It was Wilhelm who spotted Zane’s approach first. He grunted in greeting then fixed the stranger with his single pupil. “Who the hell’s this?” he said, his voice heavy with gruff bass.
That made Jack turn his head. “Rhysie,” he said in acknowledgment. A grin broke out across his lips as his gaze fell on the crust of a wound he’d left on the man from the previous day.
“Just Rhys,” Rhys corrected. He glanced at Wilhelm’s tall, muscular form for a second. “I got the warden’s approval to conduct today’s session out here if you’d like.”
“Fine by me. Fire off when you’re ready.”
“In private,” Rhys added, nodding to a circular table bolted into the asphalt in the distance. “Without your…group, and in direct line of sight of the CO’s.” When Jack didn’t budge, one of Rhys’s hands went to his hip. “Those were the conditions.”
“Don’t remember being the one to agree to them.” Shrugging, Jack eventually stepped away from the fence, moving to occupy the space next to Rhys then past him. “But fine. You guys watch your backs, alright? Flynt, try and keep Calypso out of trouble.”
Zane shook his head. “Impossible.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the basketball court, where Troy had inserted himself into a game of hoops with August and a few other inmates. “Boyo breeds trouble.”
To that, Zane received no reply. Jack was already walking away, Rhys cautiously turning his back and following. At the table, Jack threaded a leg over one of the curved seating partitions and straddled the end of it. Rhys slid himself down on the next partition to face him. The only object he was carrying that day was his tablet, which he set down. Then he folded his arms down on the tabletop, across the checkerboard painted on its surface. It was a lot more of an intimate seating arrangement with Jack than he was used to. Wariness shone through in the way he fidgeted in place.
“I got you real good yesterday, didn’t I?” Jack piped up, stretching forward as he peered at Rhys’s upper lip. Instinctively, Rhys leaned away. “Your own fault for that. How’s it feeling? Looks pretty busted.”
“It’s fine.” Rhys resisted the urge to finger the scab. “How’s your face? It doesn’t seem all that bad today.”
“Course it isn’t.” Jack’s tone was laden with irony. “CO’s shot me up with an Anshin. Didn’t want me walking the blocks with all the evidence beaten into my face. Feels a little misaligned in places, but they didn’t rupture scar tissue or nothing. I’ll frickin’ live.”
“I would have preferred that not to have happened yesterday.”
In dismissal, Jack shook his head. “You don’t get to call the shots in my house, kiddo.”
To the prison yard, Rhys gave a cursory glance, as if checking if everything was still calm and in order. Then he sighed, canting his head. “Regardless, today will be different than our previous meetings. A new format. I just want you to clear up a few things for me. Off the record.”
“You starting to like hanging around this hellhole with me or something? Wouldn’t blame you. I tend to get the blood pumping real good. Usually to the equipment one happens to be packing. Welcome to the Handsome Jack fanatical fold.”
“No,” Rhys said pointedly. “Something you told me yesterday, it managed to keep me up all night. About the way you said your wife’s…body was found. The state it was in.”
“Yeah, same as your mom’s corpse. Same MO. Something on your mind about it?”
“The traces—the DNA found…when the corpse was examined to determine causes of trauma and methods of assault. The results were considered circumstantial evidence. And you already know that…my mom’s body was clean. But you also said the DNA genealogy had no matches on file. How could—it doesn’t make sense. Why did they convict you for it, then?”
“It wasn’t what I was convicted for.”
Rhys swallowed thickly. “So you’re telling me it’s just, what, undetermined? That they just never investigated further and left it at that, pinning it all on you and case closed?”
“S’not as straight forward as that.” The bench seat creaked as Jack shifted. He appeared to slump slightly. “The DNA sample from the scene was eventually thrown out as part of the evidence I was getting dog piled with at the time. Contaminated, the prosecution said. Because, after my lawyer forced a re-analysis, it didn’t add up. Not as a whole, at least. It ain’t pretty to talk about. The, er, the semen collected from the scene, though? Traced to two entirely different donors. And some of that sample, well, it was having trouble not up and dying under the microscope. You follow?”
“So, it was an older…sample?” The sound of Rhys’s fingers drumming on the tablet filled the air.
“You got it. Perfect genetic map right to yours truly, too. Makes sense. Had a pretty healthy sex life with my wife.”
“And the other DNA traces?”
“Fresh sample, compared. And found in places I don’t even like to think about. On…the body and, eh, other stuff. Clothing. Bedding. The goddam walls.” Jack visibly shuddered, though he clamped it down quickly. “Fucking animal that did that. No DNA match on file, though. They already had a link to me, anyway. Even if the evidence was tossed, they were coming for my blood.”
“And yet, mom, almost the same MO, but different, too. She was still…assaulted. But not to the extent that you’re describing. No—no internal injuries even, or anything like that. I just don’t fucking get it.”
“You willing to hear out my take on it?” When Rhys didn’t answer him, Jack went on regardless. “My wife, that was personal. It was vengeance. Alys? She was a message. A real vendetta incarnate. Somebody reveling in the fact that they could keep fucking me even when I’d already been fucked. You have to really give a shit about someone’s suffering for crimes like that, Rhys. You go and wipe anyone that was ever close to someone from the face of the planet? You have to care enough to break them.”
It seemed as if a silence was threatening to fall between them. Rhys was no longer concentrating on anything but the table’s surface, his gaze unseeing. Jack regarded him for awhile. Then he blew air out of his bottom lip, scrubbing a hand at his scar.
“You had a lot of enemies,” Rhys eventually said.
“Sure did. Ones that hated my guts that much, though? Rare. Even the opposition were in support of some of the good I did for Pandora. The opportunities and funding I provided. You getting the picture yet, kiddo? The odds were stacked beforehand, both outside the court and within the system. As in, meticulous and on purpose.”
“Then that would have made the prosecution officially biased.”
“Doi. That shit is obvious to anyone in Pandora with more than a single braincell to spare.”
“Okay.” The expression on Rhys’s face arranged itself into something stoic. “So, right now, we’re off record. I’m not recording this or any session notes. This is candid, just between me and you. Even the warden doesn’t know about what’s really going on. He thinks I’m just conducting a normal interview session.”
“Rhysie, I knew you had it in you.”
Rhys smoothed back his hair and sought out the warden with his gaze. The man stood beside Axton, as he had before. But the pair of them had been joined by a third person. Poised before them, one hand on her hip and the other resting on the pommel of her gun where it was cradled in its holster, was Nisha. Her eyes fell on the part of the yard where he sat talking with Jack, lingering there. Rhys looked away quickly.
“I need to know,” he said, voice dropping to something quiet, even though nobody close enough to them was paying attention. “And this is a serious allegation, Jack. If you disclose something like this to me, I need to know that it can hold up under further investigation. It’s the only way I can make sure somebody will listen to me. But are you saying you absolutely believe you didn’t get to exercise your right to fair trial because elements of the case were manipulated by the prosecution?”
“Not like my lawyers haven’t heard it before. What’s it matter if I give you the same song and dance. What’s it going to do at this point? You said it yesterday. You walk into an office of the law and start demanding for that case to be reopened, they’ll laugh you right out of there.”
“That’s not exactly what I said.”
“Must of misheard.”
“If you hadn’t been assaulting me, maybe it would have been clear. But I’m kind of glad you did get interrupted. Besides because things could have quickly gone a lot further south.”
“You were safe. As much as you could be trapped in a room with me. If I’d wanted you dead, you’d be buried six feet deep already.”
Running his finger against the divot in his lip, Rhys winced. “I believe it. What happened with yesterday—it may have turned a light on upstairs about some things.”
Propping his elbow up on the table, Jack rested his head against his fist, gazing at Rhys expectantly. “And what would some of those things be?”
“Maybe how there’s more going on with you than what you let the people around you believe. Behind that irritating mask of pretense and narcissism, you’re more than what’s been documented and analyzed.”
“Be very careful how you proceed with a thought like that, cupcake.”
“I think you reiterate my point, Jack. In any case, I need to do deeper research. A lot of it. With your permission.”
“Just do it. Why you need my blessing for?”
“Because, inevitably, it might dredge up some very personal things. And I might need to consult you about them. Criminal or not, I prefer to stay professional and be respectable about it.”
Jack seemed to consider the fact. After, he straightened up, reaching for Rhys’s tablet. Rhys was quick. He snatched it up and moved it out of range.
“We’re off to a fabulous start,” Jack remarked dryly. He rolled his shoulders, his joints cracking with the effort. “You’ll want to write this down.”
Rhys looked on inquisitively as Jack rambled off a phone number and address. Then he took up the tablet and copied the information to the screen.
“Call first,” Jack said. “Tell him you’re Alys’s son speaking to him with permission from Johnathan. But make sure you don’t hesitate before you finish getting all that out. You only get one shot, pumpkin. He hangs up, you lost him. And don’t let him interrupt you.”
“Whose this ‘him’ I’m contacting?” Rhys asked as he finished writing.
“Timothy.”
“Oh, your brother from the report. The one you said runs your estate?”
“Technically. You’ll get it when you meet him. If you get that far. He might be a lot shy about things these days. I’d give him a heads up about you, but calls get monitored. Writing takes a galactic age. And my outgoing stuff has a tendency to vanish under mysterious circumstances.”
“I’ll reach out to him, then.”
The clack of boot heels across the asphalt drew both of their attention away from the conversation. Approaching the table was Nisha. She glanced at Rhys then looked to Jack, head inclined at him.
“Warden wanted me to keep an eye on you.” It was unclear which of them she meant. Her momentum carried her to Jack’s side, only stopping when she was close enough to reach out and grab him. Which she did, snatching him up by the back of his tank top and yanking. Jack would have slid off the bench and crashed to the ground if he hadn’t caught himself. “Please tell me this jackass is misbehaving so I can work off some frustration.”
“He’s been fine, Captain,” Rhys was quick to say. “No worse than usual.”
Nisha released Jack. Her attention turned to Rhys, or more specifically, the scab on his lip. She regarded it for some time, her eyes narrowed to near slits. “How’d you bust up your mouth? Injury like that looks awful intimate. But I’m not going to judge if you like it rough. Don’t we all got our vices.”
“Shaving accident.”
“Were you shaving with a buzz axe?” Nisha’s inquiry, as out there as it was, siphoned any rational replies. Rhys could only shrug at her. “As long as you claim that weren’t Jack’s doing, guess it ain’t really my concern. Even though I can sniff out a lie when I hear one. Not my job to babysit for the warden off the clock, though.”
The expression on Rhys’s face looked stricken. Seeing what was unfolding between the two, Jack’s brow furrowed.
“Wait, hold up a sec,” he said. His voice sounded on edge, his attention concentrated on Rhys. “Elaborate on that last bit for me, babe.”
If malice could be contained in a glance, the one Nisha shot Jack in that moment was laden with it. Her hand shifted to her gun belt, fingers curling around the handle of her weapon there.
“Maybe don’t call the Capitan babe?” Rhys’s voice warbled. Even to his own ears, the suggestion sounded like it was asking for trouble.
Before anyone could provide a response to that, a clamor of voices rose up. At first, it just sounded like general prison yard rowdiness, a disagreement on boundaries, maybe an inmate encroaching on another’s small plot of space without following proper social protocol. It happened often. Usually such spats ended before they could escalate. Somebody wasn’t willing to risk the consequences, or just couldn’t spare the efforts it would take to come out on top. Other times, it grew out of control to such proportions prisoners were ushered back inside by brute force and put on lockdown. Those were rare, usually isolated incidents. It didn’t happen quite as often as it possibly could have. The hierarchy was respected and well maintained.
Today, however, had decided on being an outlier. There was a loud clanging as a basketball careened across the yard and struck a nearby table full of other inmates. They scrambled out of the way, some falling over themselves in the process. Moments later, a lanky body slammed down on to the table top. Troy righted himself swiftly only to recieve a fist to the gut that doubled him over. Then August was barreling into him at full force, the two squabbling aimlessly before crashing down into a patch of sand and crabgrass, dust kicking up as each tried to wrangle the other.
Shouting rose up from the crowd in the yard. People were cheering them on, getting closer and gesturing in encouragement. CO’s tried to push their way through the sea of bodies to dole out swift discipline, non-deadly weaponry brandished. They were cut off as the crush of people closed in around them and jostled them back. The warden himself was backing off entirely, making his way back to the steel doors, an armed escort by his side.
Jack abruptly stood, careful not to stumble as he slid his leg over the bench. “The fuck these two assholes think they’re doing?” He threw his hands up and turned to Nisha, the lines of his face etched with impatience. “I know you like to watch, Neesh, but are you gonna do something about this or what?”
The corner of Nisha’s lip curled upward, showing a flash of teeth. Rhys looked on inquisitively as she drew her gun from its holster, taking her time as she steered towards the fight.
Something in Troy’s palm gleamed as its sharp edge caught the light. August had him straddled and pinned to the ground, but Troy managed to propel his upper body upwards regardless. The object in his hand was brandished; some kind of small shank with a rounded end like a spoon. He lunged with it for August’s thigh. August reached for Troy’s wrist, meaning to block him. The weapon proved only to be a distraction. With August occupied, Troy took advantage of the misdirection and lunged like a snake going in for the kill. Lips parted wide, they slipped around the blond man’s shoulder, teeth coming down hard to sink into flesh.
Approaching, Nisha raised her gun high, firing off a round into the sky. The rapport sent most of the crowd flinching and falling back, even the other CO’s on the scene freezing as they tried to decipher what was going on.
Abruptly, Troy jumped back. His jaws released August, and he kicked himself away, snatching up the basketball from where it had landed earlier. Winding back his arm, he chucked the ball at full velocity. The angle was too harsh, the trajectory bringing it down hard against the ground. It struck there and bounced, thumping with significant force into August’s stomach.
It took Nisha almost no effort to sidestep and have her gun aimed at the center of Troy’s forehead. “You’ll want to back the hell off now. Ain’t a soul that’ll blink twice if I off a sack of cancerous wasteland scum like you.”
There was a small bit of blood smeared across the corner of Troy’s mouth, sticky and crimson. He licked at it with his tongue. “That was a five point dunk at least, smeglick. One handed. You got two, and you can’t even keep hold of the ball. You play the way you look: like a huge bag of dicks.”
August, who the comment was directed at, screwed his face into a perfect cringe. “Are you serious? That’s why—You’re such an asshole.”
The basketball had rolled to a stop near August’s foot. Perturbed, he kicked it away, sending it scuffing back towards Troy, who shoved his toe under it and sent it sailing over the barbed fence. With the ball out of reach, that seemed to be the end of things. The two men said nothing else to each other, August rising to his feet, rubbing at the space where Troy’s teeth had left their angry, reddened mark. Nisha eyeballed Troy. When the man didn’t seem interested in pursing the argument further, she slipped her gun back in its holster and held out her hand. Troy huffed and released the shank to her without ceremony.
“We good here, boys? Don’t need to file a report or send you both to the Hole? What about that shoulder of yours, August?”
“Doesn’t hurt,” he said gruffly.
“Good. You two run along now. Go and play. Preferably not with each other, innuendo not withstanding. Unless you want me to give you something hard and laborious to do while you’re out here. I got some things I think would keep you both real occupied.”
Beside Rhys, Jack rubbed at his temples, obviously exasperated. The mood only seemed to elevate as one of the men from earlier, Flynt, approached where the two of them stood.
“Apologies, Jackie,” the man said. He appeared slightly winded, air whistling softly between his teeth. “Troy slipped his leash. Was off before I could stop him. It’s like someone tweaked the wasteland sick to eleven in that boyo. Bollocks are too big for his own good.”
“Which is why I put you in charge of handling him, Flynt,” Jack snapped. The sharp edge of irritation in his voice grew even more honed. “Thought a job like that would be a cakewalk for someone like you.”
“Sure, if you want him broken, bleeding, and taking his meals in liquid form for the rest of his life. Pretty sure you don’t want me doing that to your investment, though. And I ain’t cut out for teaching obedience class.”
For some time, Rhys had been listening to the conversation, which was mostly none of his business. Still, he couldn’t keep his tongue from coming unstuck from where it had been rooted. “What’s investment?”
“Prison politics,” Jack was quick to supply.
The look on Rhys’s face made it clear that wasn’t good enough of an explanation. Jack sighed.
“We all got our roles. We being the prison populace. Some of us are just unlucky and untethered enough to be currency. That asshole you met earlier with Flynt who Nisha had to threaten? He’s a big, bad bargaining chip. He’s got the right connections to cash in. House’s highest value, too. And that value’s only going up the longer he’s trapped inside these walls with us.”
“That’s incredibly dehumanizing.”
Zane chuckled dryly.
Jack said, “Yeah, your point?”
Rhys shook his head, clearly knowing when he was out of his league. “I should get working on things. I got enough info from you to move forward with the things I want to, I think. And being out here has been enough excitement for the day.”
“Talk to Tim. Don’t let him intimidate you out of it. Push ‘im if you gotta push. I’m gonna go out on a limb and count on you, Rhysie.”
The look Rhys settled on Jack was both weary and scrutinizing. Then, he nodded once, turning away.
Chapter Text
“Why do you have this number?”
It caught Rhys off guard when the man on the other end of the phone picked up after the first ring. He sounded familiar in ways Rhys hadn’t been expecting, as well as hostile.
Rhys stammered.
“This is Alys’ son, Rhys—”
That was far as Rhys was able to get. Clipped words bit through his own, cutting him off.
“I don’t know anyone named R—”
“Johnathan gave me permission to contact Timothy.”
The pause on the other end lasted an uncomfortable amount of time. There hadn’t been a click of disconnect. Rhys waited.
Finally, ”Johnathan’s locked up on Pandora Island.”
“I’m aware of that. Far as I know, you’re his next of kin.”
“Something happen?”
“If it did, you probably wouldn’t hear it from me. I’m a student doing research. Part of that is working with Handsome Jack.”
“If that’s true, then they really bent you over and aimed straight for the hole.”
Rhys coughed. “It’s probably not what you’re thinking. Jack told me it would be pointless if he tried to contact you first. Then he gave me your number.”
“What’s this about exactly?”
Time seemed to dilate as Rhys took a few pregnant moments to decide on his next response. “I’m Alys’ son, as in Gwenyth Alys Strongfork. Jack told me to tell you that, so I’m figuring you understand what it means.”
“Getting around to it.” The cryptic comment didn’t linger long. The man on the other end was already moving on. “Why don’t we meet at my current location. It’s not easy getting here. You’ll have to find your own means. And don’t disclose where you’re heading to anyone.”
The man rambled off coordinates different from the address Jack had given Rhys and instructions on how to find him, adding a window of time that they should meet. As Rhys was about to read it back for verification, the phone clicked in his ear. Timothy had already hung up.
On the memopad in front of him, the coordinates glared up at Rhys. He hummed as he mulled over the location then massaged at his temples.
“Shit.”
The answer from the empty room of his apartment reminded him he was alone. He snatched up the tablet on his desk and opened a new window for an ECHOnet search.
XXX
The road under the tires of Rhys’ technical couldn’t be called much of a road at all. With its deep, jagged cracks and fine coating of sand and desert debris, it was barely serviceable. Dry underbrush, old bones, and even discarded artillery crunched under the vehicle as if the pavement was lined with bodies. The shocks absorbed most of it, the seat bouncing Rhys along to the chug and roar of the engine. There were no seatbelts, the seats themselves exposed to the air in the open carriage. Rhys could very easily hit too high of a bump and be pitched right out of the vehicle. That would hurt. It would hurt a lot. Not only was the technical like a small tank, the seating a couple dozen feet high in the air, but the thing moved at breakneck speed even on the lowest gear. It was like trying to steer a stampeding rakk hive. Not to mention there was the option for a nitro boost, which he was too afraid to engage.
Rhys counted himself lucky he had even been able to acquire the technical for rental in the first place. When he’d shown up at the Scooter’s Catch-A-Ride location at the edge of the borderlands, he could tell he was being scrutinized. The towering woman running the establishment eyeballed his neat collared shirt and slacks with suspicion. It was clear she wasn’t used to dealing with customers beyond the dregs of civilization. But Rhys wasn’t about to roll around in the dirt and cover himself in scrap just to rent a vehicle. His persistence eventually convinced her to back down and come to an agreement. She didn’t seem particularly enthused about the outcome, but threw in some extra fuel nevertheless.
They parted ways with a word of advice that she relayed with a cheeriness that seemed disproportionate to her words.
“Don’t let the big, bad COV clan find you out there on your lonesome. They’re likely to make a feast of you for sure.”
Now, Rhys was tempted to stop the technical and check the coordinates even though the current GPS display indicated that he was going in the right direction. He slowed as he passed a billboard, the first one he’d seen so far. It had once been an advertisement for something Jakob’s brand. That much he could tell by what could still be seen of the slogan. The rest was covered in graffiti depicting simple, lewd drawings of masked humanoids that appeared to have tails attached to their back ends. Rhys puzzled over them but not the logo emblazoned in huge letters that spanned the sign’s width.
COV TERRORTORYS LINE x WELL CUM x CROSS HEA AT OWN RYSK x QUEEN SHALL RAYN IN BLOOD x THE RAT KING CUMETH x SPRED THE SEED x BENNIE FUKS
Steadying his arms where he gripped the wheel, Rhys steeled himself against the shudder that wanted to overtake him. He was encroaching on the heart of the wastelands, the domain of the opposing force of the God-Queen’s deadly clan. If any of them caught him now, nobody in the civilized world would ever find his remains.
Soon, Rhys found the turn off he was supposed to make. Dirt and sand became sparse bits of crabgrass and rock before blooming into lusher swatches. He went up a steady incline for a minute or so before the land flattened out. In the distance now, surrounded by thin fog, was a spire of some sort. As Rhys decelerated on his approach, he could begin to make out the finer details. Its outer side looked like it had been constructed of cargo containers stacked on top of each other and welded together in unique geometric patterns. There were windows and doorways cut randomly through some of them, with a railing wrapping around the entirety of the structure in a spiral that ended in a balcony that spanned the entire circumference of the topmost container. Above the double doors lowest to the ground, the letters BPHQ - A-COV DIV were lit up in faded neon.
“What the hell is this place?” he said aloud.
Rhys pulled up at a crawl and found a spot next to a much bigger technical that was parked crooked in front of a satellite dish that was big enough to dwarf it. The dish was rusted through in some parts, its metal plating mismatched where it had been patched up. He killed the engine, gathered his suitcase, and climbed out of the vehicle to the grass far below.
“So, you’re the DA’s son, eh?”
Both the closeness and familiarity of the voice startled Rhys. He slipped on the last tread of tire he was scaling and stumbled when he hit the ground, crashing back against the bigger technical, which was the only thing that broke his fall.
“Probably smart to be nervous this far out in the wastelands. Keeps your reflexes sharp.”
There was something ironic to the voice that made Rhys consider that its owner was poking fun at his current state. Which only deepened his agitation over the situation. He looked around, but he didn’t see anyone in the immediate vicinity.
“Up top, kiddo.”
Rhys whirled around and looked up towards the gigantic satellite. Perched on the rim of its bowl, their feet dangling in the air, was a figure in a welder’s mask. Rhys did a double-take. He could have sworn they hadn’t been there a moment ago. There was a torch in one of their gloved hands, which they used to wave at him at, the movement awkward, as if the figure weren’t used to greeting other people. As they jumped down on to the hood of the technical below, the hose from the torch trailing them, Rhys saw that the other hand poking out of the doubled sleeve of their bomber jacker and coveralls was an articulated network of bolts, pulleys, and alloy. Robotic if not cybernetic.
The figure climbed over the roof of the technical’s front cab and into the open bed of the tail end. They started to rummage through the clutter piled up there, eventually disengaging the locking mechanism of their mask and sliding the protective plate back up over their face.
The thump of Rhys’ heart rocked him as he was startled once more. Under dark smudges of grease, the face visually combing the junk pile in the truck bed was identical to Handsome Jack’s, scar and all.
“Handsome Jack didn’t mention you two were identical,” Rhys said after finding a semblance of composure. “There’s not even a record of it.”
The man’s head jerked up as if he’d forgotten Rhys was even there. He straightened, pulling off the welder’s mask entirely, and produced a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. The torch he still held was used to light one up after he’d slotted it between his lips. Propping a boot up on to the hump of the truck bed’s wheel well, he exhaled a plume of smoke as he swept his gaze over Rhys below.
“Rhys you called yourself, right? Tim. But you probably figured that out already. What did Jack say about me?”
“Not much,” Rhys said. “You’re listed in his file as the executive of his estate. Jack told me that you were his partner in crime, that you came over from Tantalus together. That’s kind of strange, though. Since you don’t seem to be on anyone’s radar.”
“That’s about right as far as what Jack would say goes. Don’t agree with it, but it’s 100 percent what he would tell someone.”
That drew the conversation up short. It was foolish, but Rhys felt himself rising to the bait.
“So, what would you tell me?” Rhys stole a glance around, not seeing any activity coming from the BPHQ building or otherwise. “Without anyone else’s involvement, I mean.”
“I’d tell you Jack’s full of shit. About everything.”
Rhys was not prepared for Timothy’s directness. For a long time, he didn’t reply, lips slightly parted as he mulled over how to respond. Eventually, he held up the suitcase he’d brought with him, indicating it.
“Are you telling me every file, every documentation, every session note I have on Handsome Jack is wrong>?”
Huffing deeply on his cigarette, Tim turned his attention to a cluster of mountain ranges lining the horizon. He stared at the same point for so long that Rhys thought he had spotted something to be concerned about. Then he blew smoke out of his nostrils in a great cloud, stepped up on to the rim of the truck bed and vaulted to the ground.
“Let’s continue this conversation inside,” he said as he brushed past Rhys. “I think troubles brewing. Ain’t safe to stand around out here making yourself a target.”
It didn’t take Rhys any debating to fall into step beside Tim.
“The COV around?” he asked, hiding his nerves behind curt words.
“When aren’t they? The Borderlands are crawling with them.”
“That’s what I’ve been hearing word of the last few years. They haven’t put down any stakes yet in Greater Pandora though, as far as I know.”
“They’re biding their time. But the clocks been ticking down awhile now, before even Jack got locked up. They want full out warfare in Pandora and they’ll get it some day.”
Beside Tim, Rhys shook his head, his wordless acknowledgment sounding annoyed.
“That’s why this home base exists to begin with,” Timothy went on without any emotional flair, as if reading off a headline. “Borderlands Patrol Headquarters, Special Anti-C.O.V Division.”
“You’re with Pandora’s black ops?”
“The government militia?” Timothy laughed. “Sorta. We’re a privatized division operating under Handsome Jack’s estate.”
Inside the building, it was a cluttered mess. The wall was lined with tall metal filing cabinets, a wooden desk occupying one corner, piled high with papers. A small, portable computer was resting on top of it. There was also an old, scuffed dining table with a half dozen mismatched chairs, and a kitchenette that seemed housed entirely with pre-used appliances. They were battered, some missing parts.
Rhys glanced at the dining table as he passed it. Some kind of map was weighted flat to its surface by various knicknacks, pins pushed into its surface at random points. One was clearly markered LAST KNOWN LOCATION.
“Not something I would have expected Jack to invest in.” Rhys turned away from the table to face Tim. “Unless it’s more in your interest than his. No offense. He didn’t exactly tell me how this all works.”
“I’m sure as hell not going to.” Instead of taking a seat at the desk, Timothy leaned back against it. The cigarette he’d lit earlier was still smoldering where it was held in the fingers of his flesh hand. He pushed it between his lips and folded his arms over his chest. “Why are you here, kid? Besides the obvious. No civilized Pandoran would come this far out in the wastes without a good frickin’ reason. Jack wouldn’t send you just cause, either. Spill.”
Having rehearsed for a handful of similar scenarios in his head while he’d been driving, Rhys indicated the dining table. When Tim nodded, he sat down in a faded yellow chair whose embroidery had been patched up many times, careful not to disturb the map. The seat cushion was so worn it seemed to deflate underneath him.
“You knew my mother, right?”
“We were acquainted, yeah.” Though Tim sounded detached, there was a wrinkle to his brow that was thoughtful. Rhys had seen such a look before, on Handsome Jack’s face. “My late condolences. She wasn’t a terrible, deplorable person. Not all the time. For a government official.”
“Spoken like the truly criminally inclined.” Rhys couldn’t help the ice that had hardened over his words. Tim had the same casual indifference he had dealt with when speaking with Jack, only without the familiarity. The man’s statements had cut him, however shallow. “Probably naive of me to expect you to be easier to hold a conversation with than your brother.”
The laugh that ripped raw from Timothy’s throat nearly made Rhys jump out of his seat.
“Jack? First, we’re not brothers. That’s a load of crap.” The things spilling from Tim’s mouth had quickened, the slightest tension quivering through them. “Second—and I mean this from the bottom of my heart—fuck you. Who the hell are you to come on my turf and accuse me of being a criminal?”
“You insulted my mom.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “Fine. Point acknowledged. I guess that wasn’t very nice to say about Alys’ legacy. She would’ve decked me if she was still around.”
Rhys ignored the strange comment, figuring Tim was being hypothetical. “And how could you not be related to Jack? You’re identical to him. All his records indicate you as the surviving next of kin.”
“Did you happen to take a deeper look into Jack’s known charges?”
“There’s a hell of a lot. I need something more specific to work with.”
Shifting against the desk, Tim uncrossed his arms and removed the cigarette from his mouth. He waved it in emphasis.
“The one about his violation of the reform clause of ethical genetic practice law.”
“I saw that….” As he trailed off, Rhys’ gaze shifted elsewhere, his breath catching and hanging as his face lit up with realization.
“Getting it now?” Tim asked.
“He cloned himself?” The words escaped Rhys with the thinness of incredulity. He wet his lips and cleared his throat. “Where did he find those kind of resources? Any operation would be illegal under federal Pandoran law.”
“You sure know your stuff for someone as young as you look. You a law student?”
“Hell, no. You’d have to be actually crazy to study law in Pandora. It comes up in what I do a bunch. Lots of crazy cross-referencing.”
“And what was it you did again?”
“Criminal psych. I guess you could include forensics too with where this stuff with Jack’s been taking my lately. I didn’t sign up for any of this, but somehow it became my burden.”
“Usually the way things go with Handsome Jack.” Tim pushed off the desk and turned to snub out his cigarette in an ashtray sitting on top of its rickety metal surface. “If you’re curious still, gene replacement technology outside medical reasons remains legal in Tantalus. In Pandora, though? I ain’t considered a person, but Jack also doesn’t have a leg to stand on trying to declare any legal claim to me.”
Rhys’ lips twisted. “How are you the executive of his estate then?”
“Your mom.”
Timothy crossed the room and pulled out a dining chair to sit. Compared to Rhys’, it was painted a militant shade of green and looked in slightly worse condition, as if the very frame would collapse at the slightest wrong shift of weight.
“That’s why Jack sent you to me, isn’t it?” he asked, sitting back and slouching.
The neutral expression on Rhys’ face contorted, his brow furrowing. “I don’t follow.”
“Jack’s arrest should have ended with me being reported to the government of Tantalus.” A cough that became a series of wheezes and sputters seized Tim. His metallic fist came down hard on the map spread across the table as he breathed hard through it all. Rhys didn’t get a chance to voice his concern before Tim had wrangled himself enough to speak again. “Situation like mine makes me a rare breed.”
“Still kind of lost. I don’t know enough about Tantalus law to really get it.” Rhys paused to seize the opening. “Uh, is everything alright? You’re still hyperventilating. Just a little.”
“That’s the problem with gene therapy—you get the bad genetic shit, too. In my case, a steaming pile of unhealthy habits and the deteriorating conditions to go with them.” Timothy waved dismissively. “Anyway, not important. Lemme fill you in. Pandora deals with situations like mine by not dealing with them at all. Once my genetic modification contract was considered void, they forwarded my case to the Tantalus government to make the sole decisions about me. Supposed to be a fair thing for the modified, but of course it never is. The terms Jack declared and I signed up for got appraised. Tantalus came to a decision to either deport me for execution or release me into a government funded service indefinitely. That would’ve meant military work in conflict zone, had that come to fruition.”
“Sounds unnecessarily complicated. Why not just release you if your contract is forfeit?”
“Old buggered clauses.” Tim’s shrug was nonchalant. “I signed the contract of my own free will, according to Tantalus law. I agreed to undergo all treatments Jack proposed and arranged for me. You have to understand, kid. We were friends for a long, long time on that hellish continent, and a bit on Pandora after that. Toxic friends, but still friends. Maybe more.”
“More.” It wasn’t a question. The edge of Rhys’ words were sharp. “What about now?”
Lifting his robotic palm from the table, Tim smoothed back his hair so that it flattened to his scalp. It sprang back up, deep brown and graying locks standing at attention like the plumage of an irritated bird.
“Your mom knew a loophole in Pandoran law. Got some good lawyers to work out the details with me. In Pandora, a clone is any two people with a one hundred percent DNA match to each other. A significant age difference also has to exist between them. And me, well, because of the method, I’m only 60% Jack. Technically related if you go by genetic matches. So, Alys, she was able to get some strings pulled, got some documentation made. Under Pandoran law, I was now officially Jack’s brother, his next of kin. Didn’t have to worry about deportation, and I could legally testify against him as a victim even.”
Rhys didn’t falter. “But you didn’t.”
“Jack’s done a lot of fucked up things. I’m not one to talk, considering. But murder his family?” Tim shook his head, his locks swaying, the look on his face genuinely baffled. “Why? What’s he got to gain from that crap? What’s the MO? There might be a completely shitty narrative about his life, and he was maybe not ever Pandora’s greatest dad or husband, but he’d raze this shithole to the ground before he’d ever destroy his prized possessions.”
“Prized possessions? That’s an interesting choice of words.”
“Yeah, well, we’re talking Jack here. There were two more. Besides his wife and the kid. Two more possessions he wanted to keep close to him. That was myself, and your mother.”
“So that part is true. My mother was having an affair with Jack.”
In his seat, Tim’s spine snapped straight, as if something had startled him. His jaw hinged open, the words that were meant to tumble out interrupted by a sharp electric whine followed by crackling static. Timothy shot upright from his seat and moved to a transistor station built into a wall unit with an accompanying screen. The control panel extended a few inches out, forming a platform. Metal fingers fiddled with the knobs and switches there. At Tim’s manipulations, the static shifted into a tinny, hollow voice.
…11 10.266, 30 -23…Indiscernible number of units…Multiple mortar rounds fired…casualties…BOHICA…
“Fuck,” Tim said, the word coming out with physical force, so much that his fist almost came down to smash through the control panel. Reigning in his temper at the last moment, he snatched up the transmission mic. “10-1. Cease fire and fall back. Wait for anti-artillery.”
Another burst of static pierced the air, vague words tangled up in the noise. It didn’t sound like anything decipherable. From his vantage point, Rhys could see as well as feel the waves of ire radiating off of Tim as the man pulled out a keyboard console and started typing something out in rapid fire.
“These C.O.V assholes,” he spat more to himself than to Rhys, his words dripping with vehemence. “That feral queen bitch in charge needs an H-Bomb up her ass. They’re just getting frickin’ more relentless by the day. We don’t have the numbers for it.”
Rhys didn’t know if Timothy was expecting a reply or just venting. He responded anyway, “Jack mentioned her involvement, or the possibility of it. But you probably already know his theory.”
“Think he’s chasing his own tail, honestly. Handsome Jack set this whole operation up to try and keep the C.O.V siege from escalating outside the borderlands. Queen bitch didn’t like that and doubled down on retaliation. Lots of dead folk on our side. But she don’t seem smart enough to orchestrate Jack’s downfall. MO is there, but not the ingenuity. Heard the officials managed to at least knock her empire down a few pegs for awhile by taking down the other one, though.”
“Other one?”
“Her fuckhead brother. Not really on anyone’s public radar until his little sex cult within a cult got busted wide open by Pandoran Special Ops. Crazed weirdo even for a wastelander. Known hedonistic sadomasichist. Don’t ask. I didn’t want to look into it any further than I had to. Could be the brains to his sister’s brawn. Goes by the alias The Rat King.”
Opening his suitcase, Rhys snatched a memo pad from within and jotted something down. “And her brother, he’s dead now?”
“Didn’t say that. Far as I know, government held on to him a bit trying to negotiate with his sis, then hauled him off to Pandora Island when nothing gave. Heard he got thrown into Jack’s side of the ring.” Despite that he was still typing something at the console, Tim turned his head slightly. The irritability turning the air sharp and prickly around him seemed to lift. “Jack’s probably got the bastard corralled and under his thumb by now.”
On the memo pad, Rhys’ hand paused.
“He’ll keep the asshole alive awhile,” Tim added, finishing up at the keyboard and turning away from it. “Until he’s done milking the situation. Probably somehow even work out how to mail the corpse to the Queen after.”
“Gruesome,” was all Rhys could manage to answer.
A shrug from Tim. “The whole of Pandora will sleep a little better.”
The memo pad was placed down on the dining table, covering up the marks on the map there. A surreal sense of dissociation seemed to wash over Rhys. He felt a thousand miles away from his body, floating up somewhere near the scorching Pandoran sun. The thoughts in his head seemed to dart through the passages of his mind like tiny fish fleeing the gaping maw of the bigger predator in the pond. They wouldn’t coalesce, and he could make little senses of how they were effecting him.
“You seem distracted.”
Rhys looked over as Tim’s voice drew his attention back. The man had moved to the kitchenette and was scooping coffee grounds into an ancient looking machine.
“Just wondering if any of that might be important or not. I haven’t had much interaction with the other inmates besides Jack. There was an older guy, Flynt, I met briefly. And another man with him. Younger.”
“Ah. Sounds like Zane and maybe, if I were guessing here, August. Probably don’t need to worry about them too much if you don’t get on their bad side.”
“I think Jack was calling him Calypso? He had a prosthetic arm.”
Tim’s robotic hand paused on the button of the coffee machine. “That’s the fuckhead Rat King alright.”
“Fuckhead is appropriate, then. Him and—Zane?—were out on the yard with Jack. He made a couple of offcolor comments. Nothing I wouldn’t expect from the prison population or in my line of work. Then tried starting a prison fight right after. Jack called him a bargaining chip.”
“Jack knows what he’s doing. Though you might want to bring him up to speed about it, if you can. We haven’t been able to communicate about C.O.V activity or anything else in awhile. Lots of red tape in the way. The warden’s doing.” Before he spoke again, Timothy waited for the coffee maker to ping and the red brewing light to switch off. He removed the pot from the base, which was now full of steaming dark liquid. “But I think you might know something about that already. You want a drink?”
Rhys nodded, but then canted his head in thought and said, “I don’t think I understand what you mean. Why would I know anything?”
“Cream, sugar?” On the table, Timothy set down two chipped and fading ceramic mugs and filled them past the halfway point. “Shot of whiskey? I got some fine barrel-aged stuff I’ve had in reserve. You might need it. Because, you know, I’m well aware you’re the warden’s kid.”
“What?” It was the only word Rhys could manage to force through the tightening passage of his throat, and his voice cracked at the tail end of it. His hand had frozen on the handle of one of the coffee mugs. “How—why do you know that?”
“Did some of my own secret scavenging after Alys’ passing.” Tim’s tone was matter-of-fact. He took a seat again, pouring something out of a flask he produced from his pocket into his own cup of coffee. “Found out that she’d been married to Hugo Vasquez, current acting warden over on Pandora Island, and that they had a kid. She never changed her name, never talked about it. So how the hell would I have ever known? And Jack, he’s still in the dark about it.”
“Why?”
It wasn’t the word Rhys was struggling to get out. Those ones were lodged deep in the soft membranous places of his lips and tongue and throat, refusing to come unstuck. He sputtered as he struggled to get the muscles in his mouth to cooperate.
Timothy slurped from his coffee cup, seemingly calm in comparison. “Because, kid, I was madly in love with her.”
“What the fuck? W—was it mutual? Was she—oh, god—were you and Jack sleeping with her at the same goddam time?”
“Don’t have a heart attack on my watch. Please. Jack would have me executed himself.” Timothy paused, setting his mug down harder than he meant to. “Wait, that what he told you? That he was sleeping with her?”
“More than that. Shit, he said things about having multiple partners, and a lot of other garbage that frankly left me uncomfortable. And I believed him.”
Rhys’ words were coming out in a rush now, crashing into each other. He paused and closed his eyes, his breath erratic. That sense of panic, the one he’d felt when he’d first started his one-on-one research sessions with Jack at the beginning of the week, was roaring to the surface. He gasped, the sound choked off, as if he were asphyxiating.
“Hey. Rhys. Hey! Listen to my voice. You’re fine. Jack railroaded you. It’s what he does to people. And he’s really, really good at it. Just breathe. Come on, kid. One breath at a time.”
“I’m okay. It’s—I’ve been processing so much stuff these last few days that could turn any average person’s stomach. I’m at my fucking limit. Why would he tell me….”
The question went unfinished, and Timothy didn’t answer. Instead, he stood and opened a cabinet, pulling a lock box from its depths, which he opened with a combination. Its contents were fished out and set on the table: a dark unmarked bottle filled with an iridescent liquid and a handful of monogrammed shot glasses. Tim cracked the seal on the bottle and filled every last glass to brimming.
“Fuck the caffeine,” he said. “We’re busting open this shit. No arguments.”
Despite his own internal protest, Rhys didn’t refuse. In fact, he immediately swiped up a full glass at the invitation and threw it back like he was trying to chug unpleasant medicine, swallowing quickly to get it over with. As the glass drained, he shuddered, snatching up another.
“Strong shit,” Tim remarked. “Be careful. Don’t overdo it.”
“So gross,” Rhys drawled like a pained animal. He flipped the shot glass over and slid it back towards Tim. “Goddammit. I needed that so much.”
“Easy with those glasses. They’re one of a kind from Jakob’s limited preserve line. Collectibles. Can’t replace ‘em.”
“That’s enough anyway. You have the rest.”
“Sure, If you’re insisting.” Timothy pounded the four remaining shots like water, not even seeming slightly put off by the taste. “Now that that’s good and dealt with, I think you need an elaboration. Just tell me when it’s safe to go in, kiddo.”
Rhys sucked on his bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth. Then he slumped in his seat, his arms dangling at his sides. When his eyes eventually lidded, he took on the sedated look of someone barely alert and hardly listening. That was beguiling. Rhys was more than prepared now to hear Timothy’s explanation in its full, unabridged glory, his concentration hanging on every word.
And, with permission, Timothy told him.
Chapter 7
Notes:
It's been a while. How's it going? Don't really have much to say about why this update took a year other than life gets in the way sometimes and I was job and apartment-hopping in between. Enjoy!
Chapter Text
Rhys caught up with the Warden as the man was removing a suitcase and a pair of dress shoes from the trunk of his car.
“I need to talk with you,” he said as he jogged the rest of the distance between them.
Hugo glanced over his shoulder at Rhys, whose cheeks were puffed out and his face red. The younger man reached up and adjusted his tie at the neck, his other hand curled tightly around the handle of his tablet and folders.
“I’m in a hurry this morning, Rhys,” Hugo said as he turned away. “Walk with me. You can tell me what’s on your mind.”
“It’s…it’s, well—Look, I need access to Handsome Jack’s cell block so I can speak with him as soon as possible. Without all the cameras or CO’s watching us.”
“Are you nuts?”
They had reached the security gate that guarded the warden’s private prison entrance. The watchman there, who was sitting back with his legs up on his tiny cubicle, glanced briefly at the pair of them. Looking bored, he waved them through, not even using the metal detector in his hand. They weren’t the kind of threat he was anticipating.
“I need him to feel the conversation is as private as I can get it,” Rhys explained. “You don’t understand. This is really important. It’s about mom’s case.”
This made Hugo finally pause. He turned to Rhys, back straight, eyes as cold as hardened steel. Holding his belongings in one hand, he made a sweeping gesture at Rhys with the other.
“Why would Handsome Jack have anything to do with your mother’s murder, other than possibly having it arranged?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. I might have unearthed the bottom of this. But if you don’t let me speak to him, I can’t do anything about it.”
“This is insane. Do you have any idea what you’re even proposing, Rhys? You want to open up a declared cold case? On what, some bleeding heart whim? Your mother would have held you in contempt.”
“Then she might’ve held you in contempt as well, considering what she’d been doing behind your back. Do you know she had a lover, Hugo? Do you know who he was affiliated with?”
Hugo was shaking his head, his footsteps picking up again, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor in his haste. There was a grunt as he forced air through his nose, his jaw clenching. Rhys could see the muscles working there, his teeth grinding as if he could crush his anger between them.
“Not this again. Are you going to insist it was Handsome Jack? Because I’m about to have you thrown out of my prison and banned from ever returning.”
For a moment, Rhys’ footsteps halted. Then he steeled himself, catching up again and matching Hugo’s pace.
“Dad,” he barked, the word echoing through the halls. Thankfully, they were empty, and nobody overheard what he’d called the warden. “It wasn’t Jack. Hear me out. Do you know about the man Jack brought over from Tantalus with him? The one Jack was tried for violation of genetic experimentation for?”
“No, Rhys, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Alright. Play dumb all you want. But you know who I’m talking about. The doppelganger that was found not guilty of being an accomplice. Timothy Lawrence. That’s his name. That’s who she was being unfaithful with.”
Hugo whirled around. His eyes were narrowed, pupils pinpoints, like some kind of serpent’s. The curves of his mouth were pulled taut in a grimace. Every muscle in his face was tensed.
He spat, “I know. I know who she was fucking behind my back, Rhys. I don’t need you to stand here in my prison, in my halls, making me have to relive what she did to me. She didn’t love me. But she didn’t love you, either. You want the truth? There it is, smart ass. Chew on it.”
There was a startled, wounded sound from Rhys as his bottom jaw gaped open.
“She wanted to escape us both,” Hugo went on, eyes blazing with menace. “She couldn’t stand the boring, restricted life having a family brought on her, what settling down did to her career, how it stifled her. She was never built for that. Alys wanted a way out. The same way you wanted out from under my rule. Chew on that fact a long time.”
The heart that was already beating out a staccato rhythm in Rhys’ chest migrated up his throat. He felt like he couldn’t swallow, like something had wrapped its claws around his neck and was slowly choking him.
“You’re manipulating me,” he said. It came out in a deadpan. He gulped the rising discomfort down.
“I have no reason to. I’ve kept the truth from you for a long time. But you need to hear it now. For your own sake.”
“Can I talk to Jack then? Can you at least grant me that?”
In the silence that settled between them, tension built on the air. Hugo turned on his heel to fully face his son. He sighed, his beard quivering with the strain of emotion.
“If you take Captain Kadam with you,” he finally said. “Then you can have a merry fucking tea party with him for all I care.”
To that, Rhys nodded. “I can swing that. But, I need to ask one more favor of you.”
“Don’t push it, Rhys. I’m not in the most tolerant mood right now.”
“I need you to use your connections. I need the investigation bureau to unseal mom’s file. I have circumstantial evidence. Stuff that could possibly reopen the case.”
“Yeah, that’s going too far.” Hugo turned away again. He finished the rest of the journey to his office door, unlocking it. Rhys came up behind him. “It was a cold case for a reason.”
“I know it seems pointless. Hopeless even. But if I can get Jack to cooperate today—”
“Who says he will? Who can predict anything at all when it comes to Handsome Jack?”
The warden’s office door creaked open. Hugo slipped inside, shrugging out of his suit coat and hanging it on the coat rack. The suitcase he held was set on top of his desk. He slipped off his sneakers and toed into his dress shoes, the soles clacking against the hardwood floor.
“Hate to brag, but I think I can,” Rhys said once he’d entered the office behind him. “Do you know where I was all day yesterday?”
“No, Rhys, I don’t.”
“I was out in the wastes. Farthest I’ve ever been on this planet. Were you aware that Handsome Jack put efforts into anti-COV artillery and militia? That seems really interesting.”
“Not so much. Factions are always at war out there. It wouldn’t have been beyond Jack’s scope to mobilize against an enemy.”
“Seemed more than that, though. He’s actively trying to prevent them from further spreading their influence planetside.”
“What does this have to do with you visiting him on the cell block?”
It seemed Hugo genuinely wanted to know. The look he gave his son was wary. With a shaky grin, Rhys stepped closer to the desk, leaning on it.
“Right at this moment? I don’t know. In the long run? Maybe a lot. I’m finding that the man hasn’t been completely honest with me up until this point.”
“The fact that you expected him to be anything other than a bald-faced liar is astounding.”
Xxx
It was mid-morning when Captain Kadam escorted Rhys on to the floor of the cell block. Between breakfast and lunch, some of the prisoners on good behavior credit were able to work for income, and a majority of the inmates were off on their respective job opportunities. Those credits didn’t apply to Jack and his crew, who, as redshirts, couldn’t accumulate any points for good behavior or work the prison floor. Resulting in them hanging about the block with plenty of idle time to get bored enough to start being a problem.
Today was no exception. Wilhelm stood leaned against a pole outside one of the open cells, arms tight across his broad chest. Inside, Flynt stood before the occupant, talking low. His beard twitched as he spoke, eyes squinted in concentration. Behind him, Troy had fixed himself against the cell door, facing outward, one ankle crossed over the other.
As Nisha and Rhys passed by, Troy’s oceanic gaze swept over him. A grin split his mouth like a knife wound. Through his busted teeth, a wolf whistle at Rhys. It was shrill, sharp as a blade, slicing down Rhys’ spine. Nisha barely flinched beside him.
“Looking good today, meat,” Troy said and laughed. “Come to sacrifice yourself at my altar?”
Rhys made the mistake of making eye contact with Troy. That cold, piercing gaze made him feel like he should tuck his metaphorical tail between his legs and scurry off. There was a flicker of pink tongue in his direction. It left Troy’s bottom lip shiny.
Without so much as a tell about what he was going to do next, Flynt side-stepped. His palm thwacked against the back of Troy’s head.
Wilhelm guffawed.
“Can it,” Flynt told Troy. “Boy’s with Jack. He’s on our side.”
“Relax, old timer. I’m just revving him up.”
“Well, don’t, if yer feckin’ know what’s good for yer.”
“Neesh,” someone called from the other side of the cell block.
In front of them, coming across the polished floor, Jack strode with purpose. He wasn’t hurried. Jack didn’t seem the type to ever be making any haste. At least when it came to keeping other people waiting. Maybe with incentive he could find it in him to move at less than a snail’s pace.
Jack hadn’t seemed to notice Rhys beside the Captain at first. When he did, his expression changed. It was subtle. If Rhys didn’t know the man by now, he wouldn’t have noticed it. The draw of his eyebrows, the smirk lines. It all shifted from a look of self satisfaction to something slightly devious.
That look—it bordered on the way Troy had looked at him.
“Rhysie, they let you on the block, eh?” Jack said as he sauntered up and stopped them in their tracks. “Whose good graces did you manage to get in for that privilege?”
Nisha came between them. There was a tip of her hat. The hat traveled upward, her piercing gaze exposed. Jack was a fish held to the tip of a spear by it. He stepped no closer.
“That’s a good boy, Jackie,” she told him. “You should know how this works by now.”
“Sure do, Captain Kadam. But, eh, you wanna tell me why the protocol all of a sudden?”
Instead of waiting for the conversation to naturally disperse between the captain and Jack, Rhys stepped forward.
“You lied to me.”
Nisha tilted her head at Rhys’ sharp outburst. Rhys paid no mind to her standing there glaring at his back, her hands on her hips. His stature blocked her off from the view of Jack.
“What the hell, Jack?” Rhys went on, cutting Jack off, as he’d opened his mouth to answer. “You sent me on a wild rakk chase for nothing.”
“Calm down, kiddo. This ain’t the place to go shouting that to the world, you know?”
“No, go on.” This was from Nisha. She stepped around Rhys, coming to stand beside them so that either was in her line of sight. “This is the most interesting conversation I’ve heard all week. And I hear a lot of conversations within these walls.”
There was a pause from Rhys before he spoke again in which he seemed to realize Nisha was still there. “I’d imagine you do. I know the Warden said you had to shadow me, but you think me and Jack could have a sec?”
“Oh, you can have more than a sec with me, Rhysie.”
The comment was ignored by Rhys. His lip quirked, his gaze hopeful as he settled it on Nisha. To this, the captain snorted.
“Come on, Neesh,” Jack urged. “You owe me.”
“As I remember it, you owe me, Jack.”
“Maybe so. Do me this solid, though, and we’ll owe each other.” Jack tilted his head. “When do I ever ask for anything?”
“About three times a week, if you want an average.”
“Eh, sounds exaggerated.”
Rhys had been eyeing the pair through their banter. Wrinkles creased his brow, the lines of his mouth down-turned. Noticing his expression, Nisha sighed, reaching to shove Jack backward.
“You’re drawing too much attention,” She told him. “Knock it off.”
“It’s Rhys. He won’t say nothin’. I’ll cut it out if you give us a moment.”
“What’s exactly going on here?” Rhys wanted to know. Then his expression shifted, his free hand scrubbing at the back of his neck. The look on his face was almost pained. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but it might help.”
Nisha turned back to him. Her eyes glinted like gold coins as she gave him a long, thorough look. Poised on an answer, her lips started to form words. Jack beat her to it.
“She’s my girlfriend.”
There was a stretch of silence. Rhys stared at Jack. Then he said, “Oh, hell no, Jack. I am not falling for your shit this time.”
“No shit, Rhysie. We go back aways, before I was on the inside. Remember Lynchwood before the COV bombed it to a big old pile of nothing but burned ashes? She wrangled that place. That was my doing.”
“Lynchwood?” Rhys seemed to be having trouble following the conversation. “That old prospector town that was falling apart at the seams? It was practically a ghost town.”
Before Rhys knew what was happening, Nisha had grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him close. They were mere inches apart, her sweet, warm breath tickling his cheek. Even though her voice still purred as it wormed its way into his ear, Rhys could hear the growl rumbling beneath its surface. It was a threat left unspoken. One that could be made good on if he pushed it any further.
“You want to say that to my face again?” Nisha said.
“N—No, Captain Kadam. I was only stating what I know about the place.”
“Keep you comments to yourself, then, if you don’t want me to send you back to the Warden thrashed.”
“Okay. I’m not saying another word about it.”
The sound of Jack’s laughter pierced the air, biting in its harshness. “Smart boy we got here.”
Letting Rhys go, Nisha stepped back, but not before smoothing the wrinkles out in his clothing that she’d left. Then she smirked at him.
“She really is my girlfriend,” Jack remarked. “In a purely boinking way, not the I’ll get you out of prison way.”
“Not sure I believe you this time, Jack.”
Jack glared at Rhys. Nisha remained stoic, as if she hadn’t just threatened the man, and didn’t add any commentary.
The tone Jack took was borderline unfriendly, though. It had a lilt to it that made Rhys immediately want to answer. “Why’s that alla sudden, cupcake?”
“You lied about Alys,” Rhys repeated, sighing in exasperation. He glanced at Nisha before stepping forward. “Is there anywhere more private we could discuss this? It’s not something I want the whole prison overhearing.”
“Neesh?” Jack inquired without saying anything else.
“Movie room. Off limits at this hour.”
“You have a movie room?” Rhys asked, incredulous.
“Just the old gym with a dozen or so seats bolted to the floor,” Jack explained. “Nothing fancy.”
As Nisha had said, the gym that served as the cell block’s movie room was locked. She used her keyring on the door for them and stood there until they’d entered, meaning to follow them inside. Mordecai was passing at that moment, though, and stopped, catching a glimpse of Jack and Rhys.
“Hey, Captain,” he greeted, peering into the old gym. “What, they’re letting that bastard loose on the kid? No interrogation room anymore? That’s loco, man.”
“I’m on babysitting duty,” Nisha explained, hand going to the butt of her gun in its hip holster. “Orders from the Warden himself.”
“No way, for real? Are we all losing our collective minds in this joint or what?”
“Nothing’s going to happen on my watch that ain’t supposed to happen. You trying to insult me or what, Officer Mordecai?”
“No, no, Captain.” His hands raised, Mordecai made a warding gesture. “If there’s anyone capable of handling Jack single handedly, it’s certainly you.”
That ended the conversation. Nisha snorted at her subordinate, then stepped inside the movie room and slammed the steel door in his face.
Jack and Rhys had taken seats in the front row, Rhys sitting with one leg crossed over his knee in front of a roller cart with a TV sitting on its upper tier. He eyeballed it briefly, wondering what material prisoners were even allowed to watch, then twisted sideways to face Jack.
The other man was seated two chairs over, his arm spread out against the backs of the ones separating him and Rhys. With his other hand, he ran fingers through his coif, making a slight mess of the meticulously groomed hairstyle.
“I know what yer gonna say, Rhys, so let’s cut all the bullshit.”
Scooting closer, Jack leaned in, not quite crowding Rhys’ space. A surge ran up Rhys’ spine, making him squirm in his seat. Even though there was distance between him and Jack, and Nisha was watching them from where she’d perched in the back row, Rhys couldn’t help but flash back to the other day in the interrogation room. Jack looming over him, Rhys caught in his powerful grasp. Seeing that heterochromatic gaze smolder as it held his own. Then Jack surging toward him, his teeth catching on Rhys’ lip, the sharp pain as they bit into Rhys’ flesh. The second shudder, Rhys couldn’t suppress. His cheeks burned as he realized, despite the agitation running rampant in his blood, his cock was stiffening in the confines of his pants. Rhys uncrossed his leg and did his best to hide his arousal behind the tablet in his hand.
Jack wasn’t looking there at the moment. Rhys counted himself lucky for that little slice of relief. But then he hummed and his gaze shifted, his meaty palm gesturing. Rhys realized it was indicating the folder and tablet in his hand.
“You probably know by now I never railed your mom,” Jack said matter-of-factly. “I’m sure Tim’s great big flappin’ jaw spilled everything to you.”
Sitting back, ignoring the way the silk lining of his dress pants slid against his erection, Rhys nodded. “I know a lot more than that.” He paused and sighed. “Why the hell did you lead me on some stupid dead end chase? If you were trying to get rid of me, you failed.”
“Nope, wasn’t that. If I wanted you gone, you’d be gone. This is my house, remember? I could have your legs broken at the snap of my fingers. Or anything my heart desired, really.”
Rhys refused to be intimidated. He pressed on. “Then why did you send me to go see Timothy? What was the point?”
“Wasn’t it obvious?”
“Of course not.”
With a flick of his tongue, Jack wet his lips. He looked away. For a moment, his face crumpled into something wistful. There was a hint of melancholy there, the slightest tremble of emotion. It was impossible for the man to hide it. Then Jack’s mask feel back into place. His gaze dropped to the floor, avoiding Rhys’.
“Needed you to push for Alys’ case to be reopened,” Jack explained. “Only way I was gonna get someone to take a deeper look at who killed my wife and kid. Knew you’d be perfect for that. New evidence would mean a retrial for me. It would mean justice for my family.”
Rhys didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath. “You could’ve just told me that straight to my face.”
“Would it have worked?” Jack looked back up. “Be honest with me, Rhysie.”
“It just might’ve. I’m one of the few people who can understand what you went through, Jack, because I’ve been through some of it too. You don’t need to gain my sympathy. I’m already there.”
His voice dipping low, Jack rubbed at his chin with his forefinger. “You are that, aren’t you.”
Before Rhys could respond to Jack’s musing, there was a loud banging coming from the steel door. It opened a moment later, as if the person on the other side had realized it wasn’t locked. At the threshold stood Brick.
“Got a situation in Gen Pop, Captain Kadam.” Brick’s gaze swept the room. He thrust his chin at Jack. “One of his is causing a ruckus.”
“Don’t tell me it’s—”
Jack’s words were interrupted, “It’s the new fish again. Started the shit this time, I think. Hard to figure.”
“Fucking dickhole,” Jack cursed, scrubbing at his face with his hand. “That guy is more trouble than he’s worth keeping around.”
“He’s at it with the other one, Flynt.”
“This guy needs to shut his mouth,” Jack said to no one particular. “I don’t need these kinds of migraines.”
To the information, Nisha just snorted. “What fresh hell are they invoking now?”
“Having a lover’s spat. Who knows? Mordecai was keeping anyone from swinging. But there’s other shit involved. Someone else on the block. I don’t know, Captain. I was just doing rounds.”
“Alright, boys,” Nisha told Jack and Rhys. “You two going to behave yourselves if I step away for a moment?”
“Is that really a good idea leaving them here, Captain?”
“You’re right. It’s not. But they’re not going to do anything stupid with nobody around, ain’t that right? Because Brick’s going to be right outside this propped open door keeping watch.”
“Aw, come on, Captain Kadam,” Brick lamented. “I’ll be missing all the action.”
"Ain’t going to be no action. No more than what’s already been done, if I can help it.” Kicking a wedge underneath the door jamb, Nisha turned around to face Jack and Rhys, smirking. “Would hate to have to investigate what Jack’s wild mongrels are getting themselves into and having to make a full report to the warden about it. Goddam, I hate dogs.”
Chapter 8
Notes:
Beta'd only by cats
Chapter Text
In the old gym, Rhys sat with his fingers snarled in his hair. Contemplation was etched across his features, his brow wrinkled with it. He paid no mind to Jack, who was sitting beside him with his arms folded, or to the fact they were in the room by themselves with silence swirled thick around them. Officer Brick might’ve been right outside the door, but anything could’ve happened. As long as Jack was quiet about it and could keep Rhys silent. Rhys knew all too well what Jack was capable of at this point. It wasn’t like he entirely trusted the man, either.
Not after what Jack had pulled with sending Rhys to see Timothy.
Still, Rhys could see the logic in the move, how strategic it had been on Jack’s part. Hell, he could even understand to some extent why he’d done it. It didn’t make him approve of it, but the reasoning was at least clear.
Which led into their next conversation. Rhys turned to Jack. There was a moment’s hesitation before he spoke.
“You weren’t involved with my mom like you said you were before. Not as much as Timothy was.” A quiver of nervous energy raced up Rhys’s spine. He suppressed a shiver. “But you knew Alys pretty well, didn’t you? You weren’t friends. Not by any stretch of the word. But you knew her.”
“Yeah, kiddo, I did.” Without unfolding his arms, Jack tossed his head, moving stray hairs off his brow. “We had more than our fair share of run-ins. There were some things I knew just from her involvement with my right hand man. The kinds of things that tend to wander to listening ears, you know? What of it?”
“Timothy told me he didn’t know she had a kid. I’m compelled to believe him. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t know. It seems you had a lot more knowledge about her than he did. Did you know all that time? That she was betraying us.”
“Do you really want the answer to that, Rhysie?”
“Can you be truthful with me, just this once?”
“I’ve been plenty truthful with you in things that matter. Yeah, I did know. So what? It wasn’t my responsibility to tell Timothy that. He’s a grown man and can sort out his own problems.”
In the empty room, Rhys’s voice sounded small and too tight. It was just short of squawking. Heat flushed across his cheeks, but he couldn’t sort out if he was angry or otherwise.
“Did she actually care about me at all?”
The heat crept up Rhys’s face. There was a tightness, like a tense, dry feeling, that spiked behind his eyes. Pain blossomed at his temples. To relieve it, Rhys tried pinching the bridge of his nose, his head bowed. Here, sitting with Jack, he knew he couldn’t cry, where it could be seen as a weakness to exploit. Rhys almost jumped when he felt a beefy palm on his shoulder.
“Rhys,” came Jack’s stern voice.
Rhys’s head snapped up. He wouldn’t look at Jack. Instead, he stared straight ahead, at the blank TV sitting on the wheeled cart, his eyes watery but no tears being shed. Rhys blinked a few times as if he’d been sitting in a dark room and had just stepped back into the light. A harsh sniffle erupted from him.
“I’ve always looked up to my mom. Always put her on a pedestal, aspired to be like her. I’m still mourning the death of her in some ways. The only ways I can. But I’m not sure if she ever cared about me, whether I was successful with what I was trying to achieve, or a failure. As much as I loved her, I don’t think Alys loved me back.”
“Where is all this shit coming from all of a sudden, kiddo?”
Sleeve dragged across his face, Rhys sniffled again. “Just something my father said to me this morning.”
There was silence. Jack’s hand shifted on Rhys’s shoulder, dragging against the back of his shirt as it reached further. Fingers pressed into the side of Rhys’s arm. It was almost a hug, but Rhys recognized that Jack’s posture was anything but that. It was conspiratorial. Intimate, with Jack leaning in so close that if Rhys turned his head their lips could meet. A warm flash of alarm unfurled in a lazy arc through Rhys’s stomach. Those teeth, Jack’s teeth that had been wielded against him previously, were so close again, straight and white and prepared to dig deep into flesh.
When Jack opened his mouth, though, the only thing that happened were the words, “Fuck that guy.”
The curt laugh from Rhys surprised even himself. Tense from the anticipation of violence, the declamation had taken him off guard. All at once the rigidity in his stiff muscles seemed to melt away.
“Alys cared about you as much as I cared about my own daughter,” Jack went on. He leaned away from Rhys, letting the man’s arm go. “She kept quiet about you out of wanting to protect you from people like me. She was afraid of the brutality they were capable of doing to her family. If that ain’t caring, I don’t know what it looks like, then.”
“Then why the affair with Timothy? Why take a risk like that if she cared so much about me? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Look, I don’t know your dad, but all signs point to things not being great between them. And I guess she fell for someone that was everything he wasn’t. Though my first choice for that wouldn’t be Tim. Heart wants what the heart wants, I guess. From what I know of what Alys was like, I could see why she’d be interested, though. The both of them are about on the same spectrum of obstinate and tenacious. Ya know, you remind me of her in that way.”
“I’ve been told.”
Rhys turned to Jack then. In the confines of each other’s spaces, they were so close, and Jack had free range to do anything he wanted to Rhys. There was that tremble of fear again deep in Rhys’s viscera. Jack was unpredictable. Jack was violent, vicious in both mannerisms and actions. Here, now, though, he seemed the more rational of the pair of them, with no agenda on the table. It was maybe the first personal, real conversation they’d exchanged. Rhys could take comfort in Jack’s words, if he just relaxed and let himself.
The trepidation dissipated entirely when Jack said, “Alys might be the reason I’m in this house now, but me and Tim, we’ve always respected her. I did work with her when it suited me. I was being truthful about that all. It sounds like your dad had a problem with her more than I did.”
There was a nod from Rhys. He swallowed, not caring if Jack misinterpreted the action as one of fear. “I need to go and get her case re-opened. He’s been against it from the start. Too much ripping open old wounds. But we’ll never get closure if I don’t at least try. She’ll never get the justice she deserves.”
“Believe it or don’t, my stake in this is not just my release. I’d like to see the fucker that did all this to both my family and her fry for myself. It’s the little pleasures when you’re stuck in this place.”
“Yeah, me too, Jack. I’d vote for a lift on the death penalty for it. Just that once.”
The look Jack gave Rhys was shrewd. It was as if he were trying to discern if Rhys was being truthful or not. Then, a slow smile crept across his lips. He leaned in close again, his words coming out almost in a growl.
“Thatta boy, kiddo. Now we’re on the right track. Damn, you’re making me feel all proud. I could kiss you right now.”
And when Rhys thought too deep about it, he really wasn’t opposed to that idea.
xxx
That night, Rhys invited himself to dinner at his father’s house.
The easiest way for Rhys to gain access to official records containing information on his mother’s case was through his father. This he knew because Hugo had mentioned, after several glasses of wine at dinner and some enthusiastic prying by Rhys, that he had the influence to re-open Alys Strongfork’s case if he so wished it. Rhys figured it was his father’s way of taunting him, especially after the tension that had been between them lately. Still, his father was foolish mentioning anything at all, and this had given Rhys time to formulate a plan. If he could gain access to one of his father’s computers, he might be able to pull off getting into the records. Hugo had ties to local law enforcement that went so deep they were almost unfathomable to his son. There had to be something useful to that fact that Rhys could use to his advantage.
When Rhys excused himself to the bathroom, his father was too drunk to notice Rhys taking his laptop bag with him. Not that Hugo noticed much whenever it came to his son. Pretending to use the bathroom, Rhys used the cover of the flushing toilet and took a detour and headed for his father’s home office. He knew it wouldn’t be locked, as Hugo had no reason to do so. Rhys should’ve also had plenty of time, as his father was likely retiring to the smoking room and would be relaxing after the meal with a cigar and a glass of cognac, as he always did.
Like Hugo himself, his office was impeccable, fastidiously clean without a single book or paper out of order. It was a far cry from Rhys’s own office back in his apartment, which was always in some state of use or disarray. There was a computer at the desk that Rhys was tempted to sit down at, but knew that would be foolish. If Hugo caught him, even if there was a scant possibility of that happening, he would be furious, and Rhys would have to explain himself. No, Rhys needed something smaller and portable. A flash drive, a laptop. Something.
The tablet gleamed at him from a drawer in the desk. It was perfect, just what might get him entry into those files. He snapped it up and slid it into his bag. No doubt his father would eventually notice it missing. When that situation happened, Rhys would deal with it. Hopefully he’d had gotten exactly what he’d needed by then.
Rhys, too eager to leave now that he had what he needed, declined joining Hugo for a drink. He said his goodbyes for the evening. Flooring the gas pedal of his car, he made it home in record time, taking out the stolen tablet as soon as he was through the door.
Unfortunately, said tablet required a password. Rhys felt his father was predictable, and if he gave it some thought, he could crack it. First, he tried a combination of his mother and his own birthdays. When that didn’t work, he tried all three of their birthdays. Nothing. Rhys sat back in his chair. If he tried too many wrong passwords, the tablet would likely lock him out. His next few guesses would have to be careful ones. In desperation, he tried the date his mother had been pronounced dead, morbid as it was. The cursor on the screen paused. Then, with an audible click, the tablet desktop popped up.
Admittedly, Rhys was disturbed by what the password had been. If anything, though, it was a testament how much his father was still haunted by his mother’s death. Hugo wasn’t as cold hearted a bastard as he wanted to present to his son. Putting thoughts of his father out of his head, he scanned the rows of icons, looking for something that might be helpful. There wasn’t much on the tablet. What looked like important applications for work, things to organize notes and paperwork. Rhys figured the tablet wasn’t Hugo’s primary work instrument. He wasn’t really sure what he was looking for, either. Something. Something maybe Hugo was holding back from him. With as adamant his father had been about keeping him away from the case, call it a hunch.
On a whim, Rhys decided to try Hugo’s e-mail. He scrolled the inbox list. There wasn’t much of interest. Correspondence from prison personnel that wouldn’t aid Rhys’s investigation. Exchanges between colleagues. Offers and coupons for different online services. Rhys wasn’t sure how long he’d been scrolling until he came upon a piece of mail that had been sent from Pandoran Peace Corps and Code Enforcement. Pouncing on it, Rhys read what was inside:
Mr. Vasquez,
Per yer compliance, new evidence has come to light in the case of Gwenyth Alys Strongfork-Vasquez. We may have a strong argument to re-open the investigation into her case. Please contact me ASAP.
Detective Fiona Stetson
The shock was still coursing through Rhys’s system, so much that he could hardly read the name that had signed off on the correspondence. Bitterness rode in on the coattails of his shock. Hugo had been working with Code Enforcement all this time. He’d been keeping this from Rhys equally as long. Rhys wanted to rage. He wanted to smash the tablet on the ground and stomp on it until it was nothing but little pieces of metal and datachips. Instead, he sat breathing hard, the screen before him starting to blur, his hand wavering as it shook.
The tablet was slammed down on his desk. Rhys let out an agonized noise of frustration. Then he reached for the phone.
Xxx
The day was overcast, dark, rolling clouds threatening heavy rains. That didn’t stop the prison yard from bustling with activity. Prisoners in different colored garb competed on the basketball court. The exercise equipment was occupied, people waiting their turn to use it. People sat on the bleachers and at the bolted down tables, deep in conversation or observation.
It looked like any other day on the yard to Rhys as he walked out of the double steel doors. Nisha was his escort, sticking behind him, her golden gaze on alert. Rhys resented her being there but couldn’t afford to argue with Hugo against it. So, he sucked it up, accepting it as his price to pay for having the freedom to roam the prison walls of his own will now.
“You know where Jack might be today?” he asked Nisha, scanning the perimeter of the yard.
“Probably off in some corner up to no goddam good,” she answered. “Other than that, not a clue.”
Rhys nodded. He’d expected as much an answer. Walking across the yard, he caught a glimpse of an enormous familiar figure leaning against the back of the bleachers. They shifted, and he saw their face. The tufts of salt and pepper beard and sideburns identified them as Wilhelm.
“There,” Rhys said to Nisha. “Looks like we found them.”
“Great. You’re a natural sleuth.”
Red in the cheeks, Rhys asked, “Any chance you’d let me maybe talk to Jack alone?”
“Not a shot. And trust me, I’m a good one.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
They approached where Wilhelm had been seen standing, Rhys with a stiffness to his posture, Nisha with one hand resting on the hilt of the gun at her hip. There was something almost bored in the way that she moved. Rhys suspected this was nothing more than a routine day for her. He almost wanted to apologize, but doubted she’d appreciate it.
As they came around the bleachers, Rhys saw that there had been a wide chalk circle drawn on the blacktop. On one side of the circle stood the man Rhys remembered was Zane. He was circling the perimeter, the top of his prison jumpsuit zipped down. Underneath a tight black tank top, his pale muscles bulged, straining the material. He looked like a lean and powerful predator, ready to rip into its prey. The sight of him like that was terrifying. Rhys was momentarily glad Nisha was at his side.
On the other side of the circle was the man Rhys loathed just from hearing his history relayed from Timothy, the one the wastelands knew as The Rat King. Troy’s jumpsuit was also zipped down. Unlike Zane, he wore no undershirt, the wiry muscles and abs of his waifish torso on full display, along with a myriad of tattoos. He wasn’t moving, just standing in place, one fist raised in front of him. The other arm, the prosthetic, was tucked against his side.
There came a voice from outside the circle, “You two dickholes gonna fight each other or what? You’ve been standing around doing nothing for the entire time we’ve been out here.”
“Shit, Jack, you’re a right impatient arse,” Zane shot back. He moved towards the center of the circle, keeping his gaze leveled on Troy. Troy didn’t move. “It’s only been a minute.”
“I’ve got better things to do than watch you two ballerinas dance around each other. This isn’t competitive dance, ya know. People got wagers on this. None of us are gonna make any bank if you don’t get on with it already.”
Rhys, who was pretty sure betting in prison wasn’t allowed, looked to the sidelines. Several people stood there, including August. A collective sentiment of agreement rose up from them. Behind him, Nisha shifted her weight and gave an exasperated sigh. She walked out in front of Rhys, getting closer to the circle until Jack noticed her. He boosted off the chicken-wire fence he’d been leaning against and met her halfway.
“Hey, Neesh,” he greeted. “This isn’t what it looks like, I swear.”
“That so? Because it looks a lot like you’ve got a prohibited fighting circle set up here, and you’re currently taking bets on winners.”
“Yeah, sure. Wasn’t my idea, though. You see that tattooed asshole right there in the ring? Well, he’s the one that went and set it all up. Figured he could make a profit off of people kicking his ass.”
“You’d sell out your own man like that, Jack?”
“Trust me, Calypso’s not one of my men. Far from it.”
The look on Nisha’s face was skeptical. “How’s that work exactly? Him profiting from this?”
“Beats me. Now, if I profit from it as well, what’s the harm, right? I ain’t doing nothing wrong by exploiting the actions of idiots.”
“Except you’re still a prisoner and collecting betting money would still be something that could get tacked on to your sentence.”
“Sure, I guess. Since when are you such a stickler for rules, though?”
The grip on Nisha’s gun handle tightened. For a moment Rhys thought she might draw it on Jack. But as a dull, hard thud sounded, she whipped it from the holster and aimed it at the two men in the fighting circle instead.
Zane made a snarling, wordless sound as Troy’s fist collided dead center with his chest. He reeled back, nearly stumbling over the circle line. There was a wheeze. Then he bent over, rubbing at a spot where Troy had punched him. “Ah, feck. That was dirty, Calypso!”
“All’s fair, old man,” Troy taunted him back.
“The two of you knock it off or I’m blowing out your kneecaps,” Nisha told them both. Her gun hand didn’t waver.
Troy held up both hand and prosthetic in surrender and stepped back. His feet came to the edge of the circle, but he didn’t step over the line. Zane straightened up, tilting his head at Nisha. Then he grinned and spit on the ground.
The gun lowered. Rhys felt better when Nisha slid the weapon back into its holster. He wasn’t in the mood to watch any violence erupt that day.
“Rhys is here to speak with you,” Nisha told Jack. “You’ve got thirty minutes.”
Jack seemed to notice Rhys standing there for the first time. “Thanks, Neesh,” he said as he went over to the other man. “What have you got for me, cupcake?”
Since it didn’t seem like they would be able to get any privacy this time around, Rhys did his best to step aside and gesture for Jack to follow. Nisha kept an eye on them but didn’t move from her spot. After a while, she retired her gaze to Zane and Troy, who hadn’t given up there places in the ring quite yet. Troy took a mock swing in Zane’s direction and the man barked an insult at him. Nisha didn’t stop them this time, looking on with an air of resentment.
Meanwhile, Rhys was having a hard time standing still. Squirming in place, he finally leaned against the bleachers at his back and exhaled an audible puff of air. “I talked to a detective last night.”
“You’re kidding.” Jack propped one hand against the bleachers, leaning in close to Rhys’s side. “What about? What happened?”
Rhys was compelled to close his eyes. That was a bad idea, out here on the yard. He fought the urge, looking straight ahead. “They’re going to open the investigation into Alys’s murder again.”
“No shit.” A weight settled across Rhys’s shoulders. He hadn’t even realized Jack had moved, but the man now had his arm draped across the back of his neck. They were huddled so close. Close enough that Rhys could smell a dash of cologne and cheap soap and, underneath that, the faint acridness of Jack’s sweat. “How’d you pull that one off?”
“It wasn’t exactly me. I got into my father’s e-mail. Found out he’s been working with a Detective Fiona about new evidence that’s been discovered. Something about DNA matching someone recently imprisoned. It’s an exact match. I need to go down to the Precinct later to meet with her about it.”
“That’s impressive, Rhys. And it sort of clears my name, no? If it was somebody recent, it couldn’t have been me. I’ve been in here too long.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean they’ll connect the case of my mother to the case of your family. We still have to get them to bridge the gap.”
“Well, we’re halfway there, kiddo. If you can pull off getting this far, you can take it even further. You just have a nice long chat with that detective about me. Hell, tell them you’ve been studying me for your little dissertation there. Give them all the notes you’ve inevitably been taking. I don’t care. Do what it takes. This is all in your goddam court now.”
“Let’s hope they won’t need all that. Otherwise, the case may draw on forever. But I think we have enough evidence on its own to link the MO’s at least. We’re going to get you absolved. I have a good feeling.”
That’s when Jack’s grip tightened. The man moved in even closer to Rhys. So much that their faces were inches apart. Momentary panic seized Rhys, as he remembered the bite he’d gotten from the man a few days ago. His breath caught in his throat.
Then Jack said, “Goddam, kitten, you are getting me so hot talking like that.”
Rhys’s whole body felt like it had plunged into a warm bath. His head reeled, the warmth spreading from there down to his reddening cheeks. He trembled in Jack’s grip, but not from fear. No, this he recognized as excitement, something in his core melting and oozing all the way down into his shoes, to say nothing of his groin. He stammered, unable to find the right words to respond.
Jack shushed him. Over the man’s shoulder, he could see Nisha side-eyeing them. Zane had moved on, out of sight, but Troy still stood behind Nisha, leering at them with his rodent expression. Rhys’s cheeks burned even hotter. Trying to put his hands up and push Jack away, he realized, with surprise, that’s not what he wanted. His feelings for Jack were complicated. Up until now, he hadn’t thought he was attracted to the man. Being this close, feeling the heightened energy between them, thinking of their conversation from the previous day—it all changed that. Rhys felt warm breath on his lips, their mouths so close. If Jack kissed him now, he didn’t think he had it in him to resist.
And then Jack was closing the gap. Dry, pliant skin pressed against Rhys’s mouth. His lips parted out of instinct, but only slightly. Jack prodded them with his tongue but didn’t deepen the kiss. They stood there like that, interlocked for an unknown amount of time. Rhys thought it felt like aeons.
Jack was the first to pull away. As he drew back, Rhys saw Nisha’s sour expression. She was still standing where she’d been. The only addition now was that she looked like she might murder them both.
Chapter Text
Rhys stood in the prison yard, unable to move. Vaguely, he was aware Jack was speaking to him. He couldn’t quite make out what the man was saying, the blood pounding in his ears too loud to hear over. Rhys stared Nisha down instead, certain she was about to pull her gun on either of them. His mind tried to cycle through what had just happened, trying to make sense of it. Jack had kissed him. He could parse that much. It seemed to have happened so fast. Not so fast that he hadn’t had time to resist, though. Yet, he hadn’t. Something had stopped him. Something inside him had even yearned for it. It was absurd, now that he thought it over, but the truth was staring him in the face.
Someone let out a sharp, long whistle. It pulled Rhys up out of his thoughts. Troy was standing a few feet away. He was leering as he watched both Jack and Rhys. Then he broke out in a curt, vicious laugh.
“I was taking bets that there was something going on between you two,” he said, his voice laden with irony. “Didn’t expect it to be true. You’re a regular pair of lovebirds, aren’t you?”
“Can you shut that mouth of yours for a second, Calypso?” Jack snapped at him. The steely tone of his words eradicated the smirk on Troy’s face. Whatever Troy was going to offer to the conversation today, Jack was having none of it. “This has nothing to do with you, so why don’t you scram?”
“Hey, I’m not going to tell nobody. Not that I gotta. Half the yard probably saw that.”
“I said get out of here. Go back to trying to shove your head up Flynt’s ass or whatever you were doing.”
Hands balling at his sides, Troy didn’t look like he’d taken well to the suggestion. For a long time, he stood there, gaze smoldering, jaw clenched. Rhys watched the movement of his tattoos as his chest heaved with his breaths. There was tension on the air, thick as the Pandora smog that hung over traffic at rush hour. Gravel crunched underfoot as Troy’s feet shifted on the pavement.
Having lunged at Jack, he came up short against another body, his arms reaching out to brace himself. Nisha was standing there in between Troy and Jack like a human barricade. She grabbed one of Troy’s arms in a death grip and shoved him backward. His lanky form stumbled and he nearly tipped over on to his ass.
“My, you must really want to visit the hole today, Calypso,” she said. One of her hands rested on her hip, close to her gun holster.
Troy spat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Jack started this shit.”
“He’ll be visiting too, trust me.”
Looking stricken, Jack said, “What for? Telling this creep to get the fuck out of my face?”
“Sexual misconduct.” Nisha turned to look at Jack now with a stony expression. “That kind of fraternizing on the yard you just did is strictly prohibited. I shouldn’t have to tell your ass that.”
“Please, Neesh. It was just a little joke.”
“Didn’t look like a joke from where I was standing.”
“You gotta be shitting me.”
“Definitely not shitting you. Say goodbye to your friends. You’ll be spending the night.”
“What about Calypso.” Jack jabbed his thumb in the direction of the tattooed man. “He’s out here fighting and gambling. You just gonna let him off the hook?”
“Sure. Way I see it, Jack, is that all comes back to you, anyway. So why don’t you do yourself a favor and come along so that this doesn’t have to get messy.”
The sputter from Jack was loud. His eyes had widened, and he had all but forgotten Rhys’s presence beside him. So much that when he swung for the chain link fence, it missed Rhys by a few scant inches. The fence rattled like bones in a metal cup. Rhys felt just as rattled, having come so close to another injury from Jack. Where he expected there to be ire, his heart only pounded with excitement. There was something unhinged unfurling in his brain and he didn’t know what to think about it.
“You too,” Nisha said to Rhys, drawing his attention. “I think it’s about high time you left the premises. I’ll escort you back out.”
Not trusting his voice, Rhys could only nod.
xxx
In a daze, Rhys stepped through the glass doors of the Peace Corps building and made his way up to the front desk, where there was a line. His mind was still reeling from the events out on the prison yard. In truth, he wasn’t sure how he’d made it from the prison all the way to the Peace Corps and Code Enforcement office. The time between those two points seemed distorted, unreal. He’d been playing the kiss he shared with Jack in his head throughout the entire drive. He’d let Jack Lawrence, infamous criminal, a man who’d bitten him once, kiss him. Just stood there and didn’t do anything to stop it. And when he’d tried, his own consciousness had stopped him from resisting, had even embraced the idea like an old lover. What the fuck was wrong with him?
The same thoughts wouldn’t stop playing over in his mind on a loop. So much that when it came to his turn on the line, he stared blankly as the officer behind the front desk asked him how she could help him.
“Sir?” the voice that brought him back to himself was asking. “Sir, are you listening?”
“Sorry, sorry,” Rhys was quick to stutter out. “Miles away. A lot going on in my noggin.” He tapped the side of his head with his finger, trying to summon a placating smile. “I’m here to see Detective Fiona Stetson. I’m supposed to meet with her.”
“And your name?”
“Rhys Vasquez.”
“ID?”
Rhys showed her his license.
“Just a sec.” The officer picked up a phone sitting in front of her and spoke into it. After a moment she set it back down in its cradle. “She’ll be right with you. Have a seat.”
Waiting was the worst possible situation for Rhys to be in. With nothing to distract him, he drifted back to thoughts of Jack, the kiss they had shared. As sudden as it was, he should have had the willpower to pull away. Though Rhys was skeptical that Jack had murdered his own wife and child, especially with new light possibly being shed on his mom’s old case, it didn’t sit well with him that Jack was still someone dangerous. Someone who’d murdered people, who’d terrorized Pandora with his criminal empire. That Rhys could have feelings for such a man unsettled him. He had his whole future ahead of him, a career waiting for him after he completed this dissertation. Rhys wondered if it was worth completing anymore. If anything, his work with Jack had become less about his research and more about the murder cases. Maybe he should bow out now before he dug an even deeper hole for himself. His father would probably laugh and tell him he’d been foolish from the beginning, but his pride was braced for such devastating blows. In a way, dealing with Jack and his convoluted web of a life had readied him.
Someone was calling Rhys’s name. Startled, he looked up to see a woman standing before him. She wore an old-fashioned deep brown pantsuit, the suit coat having a sharp, high collar, the shoulders angular. On top of her head was a beige bowler hat.
“Mr. Vasquez?” she asked, her tone impatient.
“Rhys,” Rhys finally said, standing up and offering his hand. “Mr. Vasquez is my father.”
“Right.” She drew the word out, staring Rhys down as if she were scrutinizing a murder suspect. They shook hands. Her grip was tight, strong. Rhys glimpsed the holster at her hip and imagined her fingers squeezing the trigger of the gun there. She was probably a good shot. “This way, Rhys.”
They walked back to an office with STETSON stenciled on the door. The room was decorated with antique furniture, the rich oak wooden desk polished to gleaming, the chairs in front of it studded and stitched in leather. There was a computer at the desk, which Fiona slid in behind. She indicated for Rhys to have a seat.
“We both know why you’re here, so lets make this quick and painless,” Fiona said.
Rhys grimaced at those words. Somehow, he knew this wasn’t going to be as painless as the detective hoped. “Alright. Give me all the gory details, I guess.” He regretted his choice of words as soon as they were out of his mouth.
Tapping on the computer’s keyboard, Fiona nodded. “So, typical protocol is that everyone who comes through Pandora Island has their fingerprints and DNA samples taken. We’ve solved a lot of cold cases that way. The murder of your mother, Gwenyth Alys Strongfork-Vasquez, was one of those cold cases. Until now. We have reason to believe her murderer is behind those penitentiary bars as we speak.”
Leaning forward in his chair, Rhys clasped his hands together and rested them on his knees. “That’s what you told me over the phone. That the perpetrator was brought in recently.” Rhys wanted to shout at her to get to the point, this was supposed to be quick and painless. Somehow he restrained himself.
“Yeah, we had a recent prisoner match the DNA that was left at the crime scene. Are you familiar with a man named Troy Calypso, known in the wastes as The Rat King?”
The room seemed to recede from Rhys’s vision. The detective at her desk before him blurred into a vector of colors, a high-pitched ringing starting in his ears. His mouth worked, but no sound came out, his jaw gaped wide. In his mind, he saw Troy in the prison yard, taunting him. All this time his mother’s murderer had been right there, part of Jack’s gang, though Jack refused to call him such. Rhys could feel wetness pooling in his eyes and willed the tears back, digging his fingers into his palms to keep them at bay.
“Yes, I’ve met him,” he croaked out eventually.
“Scotch?”
“What?”
“You want a drink?” Fiona had gotten up out of her chair and was at a credenza that was situated against the wall. Rhys saw that it was open, a variety of bottles on display. She snatched one up, filling a shot glass with some type of amber liquid.
“Uh, no thanks.”
“It’s here if you change your mind.” Fiona knocked back the drink in one gulp and set the glass aside. “Anyway, Calypso was an exact match. It would have meant that the case went back to trial. You remember that they pinned those crimes on Jack Lawrence, right? His wife and daughter, murdered in the same exact way. Well, at least his wife was. The kid—gruesome, but not so much as the way he did his wife and your mother. We believe he might have shown his daughter some mercy. But who knows with these psychos.”
Rhys almost opened his mouth to defend Jack, to proclaim the man wasn’t a psycho. Then he wondered why he was arguing that fact at all. Instead, he said, “You keep implying that he was still behind the murder of my mother and his wife. I thought you said Troy Calypso matched the DNA?”
“He did. But we’re pretty sure he didn’t act alone. There’s still another set of DNA that was found at both scenes that remains a mystery. It’s not Calypso’s and it’s not Lawrence’s. We think Lawrence may have hired both Calypso and someone else to do the jobs. Sounds like something Lawrence would pull off.”
Admittedly, Rhys had to agree with that statement. As much as he wanted to protest the accusations against Jack, he knew the man to be manipulative. Hiring someone to do his dirty work for him could’ve been something he might try, but it didn’t feel right. Especially when it came to Rhys’s mother. The two hadn’t been involved like Jack had originally implied. He had no motives to kill her. None that Rhys could see at least.
“So, what we’re doing here is reopening the case,” Fiona was saying. “I’ll be leading the investigation. If there’s any evidence you could bring to light to me, anything you can think of, I’d appreciate it.”
“I can tell you that Jack Lawrence has nothing to do with either murder case,” Rhys said before he could stop himself.
Fiona gave him a skeptical look. “And you know this how exactly?”
“I’ve been working with him. As part of my dissertation. We were getting pretty deep with things. There’s this guy he brought over with him from Tantalus, Timothy—”
“We know about Timothy. He was part of the reason Lawrence was put on trial. And found guilty, to remind you.”
“Yes, but Jack was never the one that had the affair with my mother. It was his doppelganger, Timothy. Jack only had professional involvement with Gwenyth.”
Her voice dropping to a deadpan, Fiona asked, “And where’s Timothy now?”
The leather chair squeaked beneath Rhys as he fidgeted. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?”
“He’s involved in certain operations that would be jeopardized if anyone knew where he was.”
There a long suffering sigh from Fiona. She eyed the bottle of liquor she’d taken out earlier. “Rhys. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt because you’re the warden’s son. But if you’re keeping any significant evidence from me, you’re jeopardizing your own mother’s case.”
“Timothy’s a dead end, trust me. Besides, being Jack’s doppelganger means they’d have similar DNA. They’d be almost undetectable from each other, wouldn’t they? He’s not your guy. Troy Calypso, on the other hand…I can believe he did this. Who with, I don’t know yet. Or why. But he is the one behind this somehow.”
Fiona had decided she needed another drink. She’d gotten up from her seat and stood with the glass poised at her lips. “He’s as good a lead we have as any, considering. We’re planning to have him transported for questioning. Just haven’t been given the go ahead yet even with the evidence stacked. I think the prosecutor’s pissed off that this could possibly fuck up the Lawrence case. They may even have to acquit him.”
“Not everything’s as open and shut as it often seems.”
“Pretty insightful of you, if not flawed. I’ll keep you posted on anything new that crops up. If we get something out of Calypso, whenever that might be, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Thanks, Detective Stetson. That means a lot to me.”
“Easy there, Rhys. You can thank me when we finally solve this case.”
XXX
They stood in the basement, Nisha with her gun digging into Jack’s chest and Jack with his hands held up as if warding her off. His eyes were wide, his lips thinned with uncertainty. Nisha jabbed him with the gun and he took a step backward, stumbling into the wall. There he flattened himself to it, trying to control his rapid breathing.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Jack asked, incredulous at the situation unfolding.
“Not at all,” Nisha snapped back in a deadpan. “Have you lost yours?”
“Why you say that? What’d I do?”
For a long time, Nisha didn’t take her gaze off of him. The gun remained in place as well, unwavering. There was a click as she pulled back the hammer. Jack swallowed hard.
“Is this about kissing Rhys?” Jack looked down at the gun. “You’re not actually mad about that, are you, Neesh? I was just messing with the kid’s head. You know you’re my number one.”
“Am I really, Jack? Or are you just saying that so that I don’t shoot your ass dead down here? Nobody would find you in a dog’s age.”
“You know you are. I’m crazy about ya. Rhys, he’s just a means to an end.”
“I’m not sure I believe that.” There was a heart-pounding moment where her finger tightened on the gun’s trigger. Then she lifted it away, aiming it at the ceiling. “The two of you seem to have gotten pretty close.”
“I swear he means nothing to me, babe. He’s just my ticket out of here. I gotta butter ‘im up if it means he’s gonna get me free of these walls.”
Nisha seemed to consider Jack’s words. The gun slid back into its holster, her hand reaching up to grab Jack by the chin. She squeezed his jaw with her thumb and forefinger, making him squirm.
“I’d be careful with Rhys,” she told Jack. “Kid’s got a big secret he’s been keeping from you.”
The look on Jack’s face twisted with confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You have no idea who he is, do you? He tell you who is father is by any chance?”
“No.” A furrowed line appeared on Jack’s brow. “His mother was Alys Strongfork. He told me that much. Why, is his father someone important or something? Do I know him somehow?”
There was a harsh laugh from Nisha. The grin she gave Jack afterward was vicious. She let him go, throwing his head back so that it thunked against the wall.
“Does the name Hugo Vasquez sound familiar?” she asked him.
“The Warden?” Jack blinked, his mind catching up to Nisha’s words. “Wait, are you telling me Rhys’s dad is the fucking Warden?”
“That’s what I like about you, Jack. You catch on quick. How you think he got an in to work with you to begin with? You think they just let university students waltz in here and sit down with one of the most notorious crime bosses Pandora has ever seen?”
“Fuck,” was all Jack could get out. It took him a minute or so before he could speak again. He wet his lips, his eyes rolling heavenward as he thought. “Waitaminute. That means Alys Strongfork was married to Hugo Vasquez.”
“Great. What’s your point?”
“My point is they were married when Alys was seeing Timothy. This whole time Timothy must have known that, and who Rhys was, and he never uttered a single word about it to me. Shit, I’m going to kill that bastard.”
The look on Nisha’s face spoke of exasperation. “You going to kill me too?”
“Why would—right. You knew Rhys was related to the Warden. Well, can’t fault you for that, kitten. Different circumstances.”
“Don’t seem that much different.”
“Maybe I just got more of a soft spot for you. Whatever the case, you’re not on my shit list. Never will be. I mean that, Neesh.”
“Funny, because you’re sure on mine,” Nisha shot back. “And I mean that.”
Trying to grin, Jack managed more of a grimace. He believed Nisha. She wasn’t one to talk shit without it being heartfelt. In this case it was probably less heartfelt and more vengeful. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he had pissed her off so much, if there was ever a time. He decided to focus on other matters at hand. Like the fact Vasquez was Rhys’s father. That got him thinking of a few things about Alys’s murder, and the murder of his own family, none of them pleasant. He broke away from the wall, rubbing his chin where Nisha had grabbed him earlier.
“Let me ask you a serious question,” he began, daring to turn his back on Nisha. “About the Warden. Did he know? About Alys sleeping with Timothy?”
Her gaze boring into Jack’s back, Nisha took a few moments to answer. “From what I’ve overheard him discussing with Rhys, I reckon he did.”
Jack turned around and cocked his head. “That the truth?”
“It’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“I just wanna be certain.” Jack stared hard at the ground, his thoughts tangling in his head. “In your honest opinion, you think the Warden could kill someone?”
“Where is this going Jack? You trying to imply that Hugo Vasquez killed his own wife?”
“I’m just trying to piece things together.” Sighing as if he’d exerted himself, Jack combed his fingers through his coif. “I know. Doesn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense. Think about it for a minute though, Neesh. If he mistook Timothy for me, wouldn’t he have reason to target my family?”
“You’ve definitely lost your mind. Whoever offed your family and Alys Strongfork was well versed in how to butcher someone. The Warden’s hardly a criminal mastermind. I’d know damn well if he was.”
“Yeah, that’s where it doesn’t make any sense. Still, these were supposed to be crimes of passion, according to the reports, right? Who else could possibly have that motivation besides Vasquez? Who else would even know the ins and outs of the justice system enough not to get caught?”
“I think I’m looking right at him.”
“After all this time knowing me, you really still believe I killed my wife and kid?”
Nisha’s arms crossed over her chest. “Nah, I don’t. I followed your criminal history. You were always neat about the details. Dare I call you meticulous, even. Whoever did the deed was an animal. Experienced in cruelty, sure, but brutal.”
“That’s what I’m talking about, you know?” Jack said, all but demanding validation. “I ain’t saying I’ve never killed anyone before. Go ahead, lock me up for that, I guess. And I’ve done my share of torture. But that crime scene was something next level.”
“Don’t matter none, anyway. They ain’t going to let you out of here even if you could get absolved for the murders. Too many people out in Pandora want to see you rot in a prison cell. And the only thing I know is that I’m supposed to be taking your ass to the hole.”
“You’re the one that dragged us down here.”
“To hear you out. Guess I got more than the earful I bargained for.”
“Take me to the hole, then.” Judging by his tone, the conversation had made Jack irate. “You say people want to see me rot in this place, then I guess I’ll sit there and fucking rot.”
“Guess you damn well will,” Nisha replied, grabbing him by the arm. She wasn’t gentle about it, her nails biting into him through his clothing.
Without a word between them, they made their way up the stairs, moving briskly through the empty corridors of the lower levels. Solitary wasn’t a quiet block. Not like this basement space devoid of any prisoners and lost to time and ruination. The howls and cries of prisoners left in isolation plagued solitary at night, and in the day it was no better, the taunts and pleas coming from the other cells drifting down the hall. There was never any peace there, even when there was ample time to think. At least this time Jack got to keep his clothing on. Usually, it was a precaution to strip the prisoners naked when they went to the hole. Nobody wanted to find a prisoner dead in their cell, strangled by their own clothing. The amount of paperwork would be enormous. That Nisha had let Jack stay clothed was a small bit of mercy.
Settling in, Jack found a corner to situate himself and be alone with his thoughts. It was going to be a long night, and he had plenty of time to try and think about things.
Starting with Rhys being the Warden’s son, and what that meant for Jack’s case.
Notes:
I'm closing in on the end of this story. Don't know how many more chapters it has left. Probably a handful or so. There's still some scenes that I have planned that I haven't gotten to yet. And of course, there will be smut somewhere in the chapters that come next.