Down the Road: The Fall of Austin Read Online Free PDF

bushy moustache and pockmarked face. The
tattoos, signifying his eternal allegiance to MS-13, were covered
by the orange jump suit. Ink on his hands and neck were the only
indication of his gang membership.
    He was given no special treatment for his
meal and was expected to sit among the general population. He had
already sat with them once, where the initial contact with the men
he killed occurred. The guards, however, kept a close eye on him.
Quietly, Sleepy took note of his surroundings, intuitively
connecting to the vibe of his immediate area. No one seemed to be
threatening, posing, or challenging his status. Once everyone
seemed settled, he began to eat.
    Three Hispanic men out of his sight stood up
from their table and approached Sleepy’s. They sat down next to him
in spaces that immediately opened up by men who had quickly scooted
over. Sleepy held tight to his plastic spoon, quietly gauging the
men’s intentions.
    “ Bienvenidos , Sleepy,” one of them
said.
    “What’s your name?” Sleepy demanded, still
curious as to their motivations.
    “Tiny.” He was, in truth, tiny; five
foot-three and perhaps one hundred fifteen pounds. “And this is
Ducky, and this is Mousetrap. We’re down with you. And all my other
boys are, too.” He indicated a table two places away from theirs.
The men there nodded in acknowledgment.
    “ Y este cabron Lopez ?”
    Tiny knew just who he was talking about.
“ Con nosotros .”
    “ Que bueno ,” Sleepy said, holding back
his glee that Nick Lopez was, indeed, in the pocket of the gangs.
“ Que bueno .”
    “He’s even been slipping us guard schedules,
maps of this place. Everything.”
    “Why the fuck is he doing that shit?”
    “We don’t fuckin’ know, and don’t ask
questions. Sabes como te digo ?”
    “Si, mon.”
    Before the men could continue their
conversation, a fight broke out between two inmates. One was
swinging wild at his foe who he had pushed up against the wall.
Blood was sprinkling around the fighters as one guy pummeled the
other man’s face into a bloody mess. It was a sound Sleepy had
heard many times before. Cracking skulls. It reminded him of eggs
breaking, and somehow made him hungry for an egg sandwich.
    Watching the scene unfold, one could describe
it as a prison version of the start of World War I. Like the
nations that had formed defensive pacts with one another before the
start of the Great War, one inmate came to the aid of the man
getting pulverized. Another came to the other man’s aid, and
another to the other’s, and so on. Before long, the fight had
numerous participants.
    Sleepy, Tiny, and his other compatriots
wisely moved away from the fracas and watched security jump in to
squelch the mini-riot. By the time the guards reached the original
combatants, the puncher had mounted his foe and had beaten the
man’s face into a bloody mush that looked like several tomatoes had
been stomped in preparation for a guacamole dip. There was no
resistance from the man on the bottom. It was clear he was
dead.
    “Motherfucker bit me!” yelled the puncher as
he allowed himself to be subdued by the guards.
    Distracted by the action, no one cared to
view or listen to the news report on the television screen above
the lunchroom.
    “…in other news, a San Antonio woman claims
her mother rose from her
    death bed at Brook Army Medical Center and
violently attacked staff members
    before being subdued by law enforcement
officials. Dory Brewster has more…”
     

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    11:37 PM
    Quates Liquor, William Cannon and
Congress
    Suspicious Activity Call
     
    “Watched Saw III last night when I couldn’t
sleep,” Derek said over his cell phone.
    Mike was turning his cruiser into William
Cannon off of IH-35 south. After the catastrophe of their last
call, Mike had convinced Derek to take out a separate cruiser. He
hoped the alone time would give him ample opportunity to meditate
on what had happened, and also so Derek would stop getting on