Blood Cell Read Online Free PDF

Fucker. “There’s nothing we can do. If anyone touches that prick, we’re the ones who pay for it. That’s unacceptable. For now, nobody touches him. Spread the word, Leo Jimenez is behind the velvet rope.”
    Charlie looked away, a sour look on his face. Santos grabbed him by the chin and made the man meet his eyes.
    “Nobody touches him,” Charlie, who had come up with Leo through the years and had always seen the man as a rival, swallowed that sentence and repeated it. He added an addendum:
    “For now.”
    Carlos leaned in to whisper to Santos. “I need a word in private,” he said.
    With a nod, Santos ended the huddle and the Eighteenth went their separate ways. Santos and Carlos walked to the back right corner of the fence, the deepest part of their corner of the yard. Carlos lit up a fresh cigarette. Despite being locked up, Carlos still smoked at least a pack a day.
    “What is it?”
    “Nothing I can quite confirm, but some eavesdroppers overheard the motorcycle club working on something,” said Carlos gravely.
    “Dirtbags are always working something,” said Santos.
    “What I heard was they’re after a way to get something past the metal detectors in the metal shop. I don’t know what that would be, but I think they’re looking to stockpile blades.”
    Santos nodded, doing his best to look nonchalant for the sake of the guards watching from above. “You can make a shank without metal. The only reason they’d be stupid enough to go around the metal detectors is-“
    “-if they wanted to give a lot of shanks to a lot men all at the same time.”
    Santos and Carlos tapped fists four times—when they had been young the four meant “for life,” but now it was an automatic habit—and walked in opposite directions.
     
    *****
     
    As the largest inmate in the pod, Terminal Thomas Turner was used to being treated a certain way. Terminal was a shade over seven feet tall and four hundred pounds. His arms were as wide as basketballs and his legs were literally larger than tree trunks. He was blacker than coffee, and shaved his head along with his face every morning.
    The problem was, ever since the latest batch of new prisoners arrived, Terminal Thomas wasn’t being treated the way he liked. He preferred it when the Eighteenth sucked up to him. Used to be, someone from the Mexicans would come and keep Terminal company over his chow, and give him their dessert. Thomas definitely had a sweet tooth. But for the last three days, nobody left the Eighteenths’ table to come and talk to him. Not even to say hello and how are you. They just sat close and huddled together, talking quiet all the time. Sometimes they would look at the new Mexican, Leo.
    Thomas did not like being neglected. Over the years, he had been treated as the biggest dog in the yard—and every gang was supposed to treat him accordingly. The truth was, he liked it when people kept him company, and he liked it when people gave him things. He knew his power, both physically and symbolically, and he expected that power to be respected. Other people were afraid of Terminal Thomas. He knew that’s what they called him, even though he said he didn’t like that name. He only killed one person one time, which was way better than a lot of the guys in here, but they only talked like that about Thomas. It was because he was so big. His voice was very deep, and some people needed him to repeat things. He was okay with that, but usually people tried to pretend they heard him, and then they just got frustrated and confused. His conversations usually ended with the other person leaving. That was if he could even start a conversation. Most times, he’d bellow something out and the other people would get uncomfortable and turn away.
    Thomas was not an idiot. He wasn’t educated very well, but he had a shrewdness and a sense of honour that had served him well over the years. He was well-suited to the routine of prison life, but often wished that he could