The Beasts of Juarez R.B. Schow (reading the story of the .TXT) 📖

K. just became his outlet, the place to put all of his hostility, and it was as good a place as any.

“You ever sit your skinny ass on my bed again, if you ever touch my things, I swear to God I’ll pull out your fucking spleen,” Atlas growled through clenched teeth.

On the other side of the bars, a different guard appeared. “I feel like I interrupted you two having a…private moment,” he said, his face filled with delight.

“Piss off, screw,” Atlas growled, never once taking his eyes off of Baxter’s eyes.

“If you kill this one, too, you’ll get two months of darkness,” the guard reminded him. “Is that what you want? That’s like a year in ‘hole hours’. ”

“I’d like to see you try to get me out of here,” Atlas said.

Baxter’s face was turning blue. He clawed at Atlas’s arms, his jerking legs shaking and kicking with no tangible result. As the fight to survive waned, Baxter’s eyes began to slowly roll up into his head.

“We always get you out of there,” the guard said, tilting his head to look at Baxter. “Let the prison at least collect a check on this monkey dick before you eighty-six his ass.”

“No,” Atlas muttered.

“Be smart, boy.”

Atlas finally let the man down, readjusted his grip, then spun and used his weight and momentum to launch him into the concrete wall where their toilet was located. BBK hit the wall hard then collapsed into a heap. Clearly, he was unconscious.

Facing the guard, Atlas said, “There’s another open cell somewhere. Put him there.”

“Just think, if you’re stuck in the hole for two months, this chomo fuckwagon is going to wipe his ass and his filthy pecker all over your bed. Sixty days of his dirtiest parts grinding up against your stuff. When you finally get back here, it’ll be like curling up in his crotch.”

Behind him, he heard Baxter groaning and trying to stand up. “If I go to the hole again,” Atlas said, resolute, “it’ll be because I’ve broken his neck in half.”

“You say that,” the guard grinned, “but it won’t come to that.”

Atlas turned and looked at BBK, studied the man for a moment. “Yeah, I’m going to make that happen.” To BBK, he said, “Sit your ass down!” BBK sat down.

“If it’s any consolation,” the guard said, “I’ve got ten bucks that says he’ll still be alive in thirty days.”

“You shouldn’t have made that bet,” Atlas growled.

“By the way, you have a visitor.”

Atlas felt his heart switch gears then start to gallop.

“What? Who?”

“Oh, and the warden wants to see you afterward.”

“About what?” he asked.

The guard laughed. “He already heard about the stunt you pulled in the chow hall.”

“I was just defending myself,” Atlas said. “Who’s the visitor?”

“I’ll tell you this much, your visitor is a she.”

And with that, Atlas appraised his appearance long enough to regret not cutting his beard, his hair, or even trimming his nails.

“Let’s go, Neanderthal, you look amazing,” the guard chided, “if you’re into wildlife.”

Atlas put his hands out, let the guard cuff him, and then he tried to regulate his breathing without letting his anticipation soar too much.

Who was here to see him? Jade? Cira? What if it’s neither of them? The thought gave him pause. Then it filled him with a cold determination.

If his visitor was neither of the two women, he’d simply turn and walk away. And then maybe he’d kill Baxter K. and head back to the hole where he’d take a two-month victory lap.

Chapter Two

OTIS FYKES

Waking up in hell with a pulse was something you learned to do because, for heaven’s sake, it was summer in El Paso and everything was hot, dry, and dusty.

Otis Fykes rubbed his expanding belly, wondered if it was getting any bigger (of course it was), and thought that if he was able to shit out last night’s nachos and piss out the six beers he put away last night, he might be able to win the day.

Rolling over, passing gas, he checked the side of the bed that had been empty for two years now. He would never fill that side with another body. After his wife left him, after his subsequent weight gain, he was done chasing tail. One day, if he needed it, he’d just pay for it.

He slid his hand over the hump in the middle of the mattress then let it settle into the dip Tanya left behind. He drew his hand back, closed his eyes, tried to remember what she smelled like. The last he remembered, she smelled like lavender. He wanted to lean over, see if there was something of her left there, something other than the shape of her once upon a time, but he couldn’t do it. Keeping to his side of the bed, he tried forcing thoughts of her out of his head.

After today, you’ll be able to afford a new bed, he told himself.

The queen-sized bed wasn’t his bed; it had always been their bed. In two years, he hadn’t once crossed the high point in the mattress to sleep on her side, or even to form a new shape in the middle of the bed. Today was no different. Sitting up, he rubbed his face then dug a booger out of the inside of his left nostril.

Looking over at her side of the bed, he frowned. As distant as it was, Tanya’s betrayal cut him to the bone. How was he supposed to let that go? How could he forget or forgive? Even now, gone two years, Tanya still had her side of the bed, and he still had his. Frowning, angry again, he rolled the booger in between his fingers then let it drop on the carpet with the others.

The alarm on his