Chapter Text
Prologue:
When Brian was 15 years old, his mom had woken up to a phone call from his grandmother and a searing migraine. The pain made her weak enough to relent to Brian’s pleas that he be allowed to drive over to his grandma’s assisted living facility which was out past the airport in Newberry Springs. It was straight shot on Interstate 40. Five exits.
Brian saw the truck jackknife ahead of him and just had time to swerve before it crushed them. He heard his mother’s gasp and her window exploded with a smash. The car behind them had plowed into the truck and tipped their rear quarter panel. Brian felt the wheel jerk in his hands, hard enough to make his funny bone tingle. Then the wheel got loose and the bare illusion of control vanished.
The door panel was screeeeeing along the median rail, shooting sparks. He felt the vibration under his foot for the first time and through the crazed cracked glass of the windshield, he saw that they’d finally stopped. He looked at his mom who had turned so white that she was almost gray and she whispered, “Brian, are you all right?”
And he was fine, he was just terrified. His skin was cold; his breath was locked in his chest. But he never let her see it, did his best to make her think that he never thought about the wreck or dreamed about it. When the insurance company had come through with another beige Camry, he still reached for the keys every morning, begging, pleading for a chance to drive the seven blocks to school.
But every time he sat in the driver’s seat, he remembered. Smashing glass, squealing, crumpling metal and the sick G-force tugging his body from the sweet embrace of gravity.
The terror had settled down deep in his stomach, wrapped itself around the base of his spine. Heightening his senses, making his mind race with heart-squeezing little fantasies every time he gripped the wheel. His reflexes sharpened, his peripheral vision expanded. Driving in traffic became like a chess game where Brian was always three moves ahead.
The terror never completely went away.
But after a while it was his friend.
*********
May 28, 2009
He had long gotten over any innate need to be polite here, even with the cues of suit, tie, boardroom, leather chairs, and serious expressions. So when they finished laying it all out for him, he only waited a beat before saying, “Man, you guys are assholes.”
DD Lawson frowned.
Stasiak smirked. For some reason Stasiak always reminded Brian of Wil E. Coyote. Something in the eyes, maybe. Same poor instincts for self-preservation.
Director Penning just sighed and rubbed his eyes and said, “Yes, O’Conner, we were aware of that.”
Brian put his hands on the arms of the very nice chair and waited. Unfortunately, all of them had been well briefed on how to leverage the pressure of speech, so they all sat in silence for almost four minutes before Brian snapped.
“You seriously think I’m going to agree to do this?” Brian didn’t like asking rhetorical questions, but he’d already established the FBI = assholes, so there weren’t many more facts to discuss. “I’m not. Just show me the door already. I’ll go quietly.”
DD Lawson looked over at Penning with this vindicated, triumphant expression that made Brian want to punch him. Brian considered punching him. That might make this whole process easier and faster.
Penning had been scrutinizing Brian all this time and now he leaned forward and cleared his throat and said politely, “Director Lawson, could I speak to O’Conner alone for a moment?”
Lawson didn’t say anything; he just kind of shook his head, shrugged and stood up. Stasiak continued to smirk until Penning locked eyes with him and gave him an aggravated head jerk. The door clicked closed and they were alone.
This was harder, yeah. He respected Penning; and now that they weren’t in a herd, it was harder to be callous and flippant. But Penning was looking at him with this bullshit avuncular look and it pissed Brian off like nobody’s business.
Brian tightened his grip on the armrests. “Believe me, you don’t want me to leave as much as I want to go.”
“You may want to go, O’Conner,” Penning said softly. “But I don’t want you to leave.”
Brian snorted, “Then you are in the distinct minority.”
“Not exactly,” Penning shrugged slowly as if he were weighing his words. “You know, this is probably my failure to take your background into account during your training. Most guys come to the Bureau from the military. It can be kind of hard on those who don’t. The Bureau doesn’t deal well with…independent spirits.”
“No fucking kidding,” Brian leaned forward and folded his hands. “Will you do me the courtesy of getting to the point?”
“You nailed Braga,” Penning said dryly. “Toretto, or the lack thereof, is relatively small potatoes in comparison. If their next move is to fire you, it will look…strange and they know that. Might be a bit of a motivational setback elsewhere. So…in part…you can figure this out, right, O’Conner?”
“Sure,” Brian leaned back and did his best to look bored. “They want to make me leave or transfer of my own accord by offering me an assignment that is, in essence, suicide.”
“Well, there’s that,” Penning leaned back, mirroring Brian’s posture. “It is the most difficult and dangerous undercover assignment that we’ve got on the books right now.”
Brian blinked very slowly, hoping that he was just oozing contempt. “So if I tell you to go get fucked, I’m just fulfilling everyone’s expectations anyway.”
“Sure you could do that,” Penning said softly, then continued. “But I always thought…” Penning wasn’t even really wheedling, which totally wasn’t fair. “…That difficult and dangerous were kind of your thing, O’Conner.”
“You know, maybe it seems like I don’t give a shit about my career, but I do still have a soft spot for staying alive,” Brian felt tiredness dragging down his anger. They’d put him on administrative leave for six weeks…ostensibly to let him heal, but he wasn’t even running close to 100%. He still felt like his lungs were made of glass. He wanted to go home and sleep for another three days. He did a lot of sleeping in his off hours, nowadays.
“Really?” Penning asked wryly and they locked eyes for a long moment. Brian almost laughed, because, yeah, Penning had his number all right.
“This one is special,” Penning rubbed his chin. “To be frank, 95% of the guys here would fuck this up inside of an hour.”
“Fantastic. So I would be the first steer through the gate,” Brian sneered.
“Jorge Reyes was on it until yesterday.” Penning frowned at his hands and Brian was pulled up short.
“Reyes is good,” Brian said. They’d done some post-Ac training together and Jorge was tough, ballsy and a quick thinker.
“Reyes was good,” Penning said sadly. The silence congealed.
Jorge Reyes had a wife and a two year old, Brian recalled. The memory made him sit up straight for a change.
“Look, I wouldn’t sit in this room and let them make the offer if I didn’t think you could pull this off, O’Conner,” Penning looked as tired as Brian felt. He looked tired and old. “You’re my wild card. You don’t think like the rest of them and you’re God’s own kind of lucky, so you’re the only one I trust to get through this. Really.”
“I do this, and you are going to owe me.” Brian said firmly.
Penning frowned and tilted his head back. “You do this because it’s your job, O’Conner. You do it well and maybe I’ll owe you.”
Brian set his jaw and shook his head, but his blood was tingling and he could already tell….
*********
June 6, 2009
He looked out at all the oceans of chain-link. The hills were sere and more brown than golden. Spring rain had been meager and late in coming. A dog was barking somewhere. It didn’t sound like it was trying to alert someone to danger or welcome someone home. It sounded infuriated, frustrated and bored.
Brian stepped off the bus, carefully, oh so carefully, conscious that instead of a stride he had a short length of chain. The guy behind him stumbled into his back and Brian stiffened up and tossed half a sneer over his shoulder. The guy sneered back as he reeled and the guy behind him shoved him upright with a curse. Lot of short fuses around here. It took several seconds of shuffling to get the thread back in rhythm. They marched in lockstep, filing compliantly into the dimness inside out of the searing sun.
Brian didn’t pay attention to the catcalling, the hoots and shouts filtering from the other side of the chain-link. It was designed to terrify, but in essence it all meant the same thing.
This ain’t no fucking summer camp. This is Soledad State Pen. And you’re on the wrong side of the doors.
*************
June 10, 2009
It was four days before he almost killed someone.
It was hard to sleep. And it was like walking a knife’s edge, having to be constantly, constantly alert without ever looking like you gave a shit about anything. Oddly the relentless tension didn’t suck away at him until exhaustion made him numb, but instead turned him into a human livewire. He felt like he’d just go off like poorly kept dynamite.
So after he’d felt the stranger’s eyes on him for the third time, he’d felt obliged to walk over, trying to look oblivious to the sudden stiffening of every back in the room and the widening eyes of his target. The rec room wasn’t large by any means, but each step felt like a yard.
Brian placed his hand carefully on the wall next to the guy and leaned on it. He kept his other hand visible which was apparently the signal for I’m not going to end you. Not yet.
“Why are you eyeballing me, bro?” He kept his voice on the edge between friendly and menacing.
This dude was Latino, maybe a fringe player with the big M. Brian was potentially fucking himself with this move big-time. But it felt manageable. This dude was actually keeping pretty loose, a sign that he was alert but not too afraid. Which was good.
“Di que si, ese. You a hard guy now?” The guy had tilted his chin up to look at Brian.
“I’m as hard as I need to be.” Brian kept it on the line of a snarl.
“You don’t remember me, but that’s okay,” the guy seemed to be trying out a grin, but it was half-assed like he hadn’t done it for a while. “We only met the one time and everyone looks different in here.”
Brian tried not to stiffen, tried not to let his sudden sinking heart show on his face. This whole thing might be over before it started if this guy had the wrong kind of memories.
The dude continued, “Shit, I barely recognized you, snowman.”
Brian blinked and for a second he was staring over Harry’s counter at Hector’s grinning face. This guy had been standing behind Hector to his left and his haircut had been radically different.
“Luis?” Brian hazarded and the guy grinned, for real this time. “Damn, I’m sorry. I just…”
Brian trailed off and Luis waved off his apology. Brian offered a hand which Luis slap-shook obligingly.
“Always good to see a familiar face. My cousin liked you.” The guy had transferred his gaze outward to watch the room. “He thought you had cojones.”
Brian snorted, “Yeah, well, cojones or stupid, it’s a toss-up. What’re you down for?”
“Ag assault,” Luis shrugged expressively. “But mostly being the wrong beaner in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Brian turned to lean against the wall. “That so?”
“I got a little gambling problem.” Luis confessed. “Bigger problem was my PD couldn’t even spell aggravated assault.” Luis wrinkled his nose and coughed ‘chingado’.
“What did you pull?” Brian tried to sound like he’d asked this question a thousand times already.
Luis responded quickly, “Five to fifteen. I could get lucky. Get it down to four, maybe three.”
Brian just looked at him and raised his eyebrows. They shared a chortle.
“How ‘bout you? Last I heard, you were rolling with Toretto,” Luis cut his eyes over for a second before he went back to watching the room. “Dropped out of sight when he did. How’d you end up in here, ese?”
“Hey I want my money, you little spic cocksucker!”
Brian tensed up but he just watched as another con approached; a black guy who looked like he could’ve easily been a linebacker in some other life. He had a fade with artful notches shaved into the sides. Brian glanced down at Luis’ hands and sideways at his eyes, trying to get some hint as to what to do. The rest of the guys around the room were all now looking studiously elsewhere.
Like Brian had, the con leaned hard on one fist next to Luis’ head and jabbed a finger in his face. “I’m gonna see some green now or your faggot friend here’s gonna be wearing black today.”
Without thinking about it, Brian laughed. The big black guy snaked his head past Luis, “Something funny, cracker? You know me?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure.” Brian slid his gaze past the con’s huge angry eyes and quirked his eyebrow at Luis, who edged slightly away from the wall.
“Pleasure’s gonna be all mine, boy.” the con snarled. “After I get done…”
Brian grabbed the edges of the guy’s chambray work shirt and t-shirt and jerked them over his head hard and Luis cracked into action, hammering the large con’s kidneys while the guy bellowed and struggled to get free of Brian. Brian kicked the back of his knee and the big guy went down hard, still hampered by his shirts. Luis kicked him in the stomach and the con abruptly stopped bellowing. He tried to grab Luis’ leg and then Brian kicked him. And he couldn’t seem to stop kicking him, it felt so…God, just like that last time in Miami with Enrique. Motherfucker had better stop moving, just stop moving now.
“Crazy, man,” were the first words that penetrated Brian’s red haze. The shouts and hoots reverberating through the whole rec room seeped in slowly. “Fucking loco.”
Luis grabbed him hard and jerked him to the other side of the room and they were innocently looking out a window by the time the hacks fought through the crowd.
“What the fuck happened to Demetrius?” One of the guards projected to the room, while the others pushed a circle of space back away from the unconscious, unlamented Demetrius. Luis plucked at Brian’s leg and gave him a bandana. Brian looked to where Luis was pointing and quickly wiped the blood off his boot.
“He tripped, yo,” One of the other guys sang out and Brian took a deep breath, in, out, to keep from collapsing into hysterical laughter.
“Who’re you celling with?” Luis asked out of the corner of his mouth.
*********
June 6, 2009
His skin stung as he got out of R and C, where he’d traded his orange jail jumpsuit for the snazzy chambray prison blues. It was an endless walk downstairs, down echoing hallways with his skin still on fire from whatever they’d used to spray-wash him. Down a gauntlet of obscene suggestions which had made his skin burn from embarrassment along with the de-lousing chemicals. He thought he’d heard every kind of filthy proposal a man could make to another man, but some of these guys had obviously had a good long time to get creative.
He set his face in stone. Kept his eyes locked on the end of the hall.
His cellmate was an older white man who had the distinction of being the most nervous person that Brian had ever met in prison or out. The man watched him place his roll on the top bunk and waited for the door to clang shut before asking, “You an Aryan?”
“What?” It took Brian a second to decipher what the guy had muttered. “Nah, man. I look like an Aryan?”
“Yeah,” the man gazed at him for a moment and then ducked his head. “You do. You don’t know Gil Hall, do you? Be just like Gil to send a fucking Aryan to stick me. Christ, what’s he paying you? I’ll double it.”
“Uh,” Brian was starting to get a little nervous himself; it was going to make things more difficult if his cellie was unstable. “Not an Aryan. Not going to stick you or whatever.”
“You’re one of them Low Riders, huh?” The man shoved a hand through his thinning hair. “Man, could you make it quick? I mean, maybe you could get a hammer from the shop and just knock me on the back of the head or something…”
“I am seriously not here to kill you buddy.” Brian said flatly. “You are beginning to get on my nerves though.”
“You’re not in a gang?” The guy was examining Brian’s face closely like he was seeking reassurance.
“No.” Brian spread his hands and tried to look reassuring. “Man, I just wanna keep my head down, do some good time and get out of here.”
His cellmate snorted. “Good luck with that.”
Brian counted to ten and took a few deep breaths. “I’m Brian Spilner.”
“Guy, no offense?” His cellmate was now leaned into the corner with his head half pressed into the bars. “But I don’t wanna know your name. The warden here likes to mix it up and we play musical fucking cells every few weeks, so it’s pointless.”
Brian started to tuck his sheets in a little tighter. He put his allotted books under the pillow. He unpacked his roll, found his allowed personal item and put it on surreptitiously. He pulled the chain tight and centered the pendant as low as he could, tucking it under his undershirt. Buttoned his shirt up so there were two layers between it and the world.
“Plus,” his cellmate continued. “Looking like you do, if you really don’t belong to a gang, I give you about a week before you’re in Ad Seg with no teeth.” The guy looked around apologetically. “Sorry, guy. No offense.”
“Whatever,” Brian vaulted up onto the bunk and started memorizing the ceiling. “You want me to call you Dude or Guy or Buddy or Chief or…?”
“Just Charlie.” Nervous Charlie kept his eyes on the hallway, flipping a pack of cards this way and that. “Charlie will do fine.”
*****************
June 9, 2009
“Brian?”
“Uncle Joe!” One of the meaner-looking bikers turned around to glare at Brian and Brian made a kissy-face at him. The phone room was muggy with desperation and reeked of cigarette smoke with a faint hint of come. The stink settled in the back of Brian’s throat and toyed with his gag reflex.
“How are things?” Penning was making an effort to sound genial and unconcerned. It was working.
“Oh, I mean…pretty good.” Brian slumped against the wall. “Lotta nice guys in here, I’m making tons of friends.”
The biker caught his eye over the phone, grinned and blew him a kiss back.
Now Penning sounded worried. “Are you having…”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Brian shut him down. “How’re things with you?”
“You know, you got a cousin inside with you.” Penning cleared his throat. “Anthony Ellis. D block. From Bakerfield, you know?”
“Huh, that’s nice.” Brian scrolled through his memory of their code. From Bakersfield meant DEA, he thought. “Anyone told him about me?”
“Of course.” Penning went back to business. “You remembered what we talked about? Priorities-wise?”
“Sure thing, Uncle Joe.” Brian sighed. “I’ll make sure to keep all that in mind.”
“Stay safe, Brian. We’ll talk next week unless something comes up.”
“Oh, hey…speaking of which.” Brian interjected hurriedly. “You remember that stuff I asked you before I left?”
“Uh, sorry O…Brian, I almost forgot.” Penning checked himself viciously and murmured. “There are twelve Vietnamese inmates and they are all from the Bay area. Oakland, to be exact.”
“Great,” Brian said. “You’re sure about that now?”
“Sure as I can be.” Penning sighed. “Be careful.”
“I will, Uncle Joe.”
*******
June 13, 2009
He expected that most convicts would try it on a few times first, before they either left him alone or seriously endeavored to make his life hell on earth. Brian ambled aimlessly, trying to observe whose eyes followed him. Penning had been unequivocal about that. Brian needed to isolate the dangers to himself first before he went to work.
Just walking the yard presented its own problems. He could either stake out a spot where the surroundings were not actually hostile and go crazy because it was just like the 16 other hours a day where he wasn’t allowed to move or he could mosey around a little and expose himself to some radically unexpected danger. He usually chose to move.
Lobezno’s eyes followed him; one of them blackened from where Brian had managed to get him with an elbow. Luis had told him within hours that Lobezno was a “PB, fish-fucking pendejo” and Brian had just nodded sagely to disguise that he had not the faintest idea what that meant. It didn’t sound particularly good.
Lobezno was a mean-looking dude of indeterminate race. He’d sat down across from Brian at dinner last night and the conversation had gone nowhere fast.
Brian had been surprised that there weren’t more disciplinary consequences to slamming a tray in someone’s face and punching them in the crotch. He’d asked Luis about it in the morning. Luis had shrugged and said, “You only go in the hole if there are more than three fighting. Or if someone dies or something.”
Brian had shrugged. “Good for me then, I guess.”
“If they put everyone in solitary for fighting, we’d all be in solitary.” Luis had explained, sounding quite sensible. “They’re overbooked as it is.”
Demetrius was still in the clinic with one of his kidneys inflamed. Brian kept expecting some kind of reprisal from another black inmate, but Demetrius didn’t seem to have many friends of any race. One guy had actually jerked his chin in acknowledgement at Brian at lunchtime three days ago. Luis had filled in later that the guy owed Demetrius almost 400 bucks.
“Like actual money?” Brian turned his back on the Aryans appraising him from across the yard. It was weird how a person could feel naked simply by not having any tattoos.
Luis squinted in disbelief. “Yeah, real money. Mean and green. Not pesos.” Luis shook his head. “You never done state time before?”
“Never left county. Couple of overnighters.” Brian said reflexively. “Did my longest bit as a juvie.”
Luis quirked his eyebrow. “Lucky you.”
“Spilner!” One of the guards he didn’t recognize leaned out of the door and barked his name. “Phone call! Your lawyer! Move your ass!”
Brian sighed in relief and frustration and moved his ass. Inside, it was cooler, but still uncomfortable.
“Hey, it hasn’t been a week.” He muttered into the phone but it stayed silent. Maybe Penning had put him on hold which would be about fucking typical. “Hey?” Brian continued experimentally.
More silence. But not….complete silence, Brian realized. Someone was breathing at him. He had a moment for all the saliva in his mouth to turn bitter and acid.
“You know the first step to getting better….is admitting you have a problem,” The voice that finally came over the line made him grip the phone so tightly that it almost squirmed out of his hands like a leaping fish.
“Uh,” Brian said. “This is a conversation with my attorney and as such, is privileged.” He waited for a second, just long enough for whoever might be listening in to fuck off and said “Hey?” in his tiniest voice.
“What is this, Brian?” Dom’s voice always opened up a deep place inside of him. “Do I even want to know?”
Brian swallowed. Hearing Dom’s voice sounding so torn and almost choked made him feel kind of nauseated.
“How did you…?” Brian started.
“Not important,” Dom switched gears quickly and became brisk. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
Reflexively, Brian glanced up at the clock on the far side of the wall. He could barely see it, but now he could almost feel the second hand moving. Guards would usually chivvy cons off the phone within ten minutes to keep the peace. It had probably taken him six minutes to get here. Brian gripped the phone harder as if he could somehow physically keep the time from slipping away.
“You found the gaps yet?” Dom said and Brian felt a sinking vertigo as if he was in a dream. Was this conversation really happening? Dom seemed to be talking gibberish.
“The gaps?” Brian repeated unhappily.
“There are cameras, right? All over the place?” Dom sounded…not impatient exactly, but anxious. Brian glanced up at the corners of the room where two cameras craned birdlike necks over the expanse of cons. He nodded and then felt like a doofus.
“Yeah, lots of video surveillance,” Brian tried to make his voice even lower.
“But there are angles that the cameras don’t cover, right?” Dom prompted. “So you need to know those gaps.”
“Why?” Brian asked numbly.
“So you can fucking avoid them!” Dom snarled into his ear and Brian clenched his teeth. This wasn’t fair. Dom couldn’t call him out of the blue and expect him to just deal.
“You mixed it up with anyone yet?” Dom also sounded like he was speaking closely into the phone. Brian strained to hear any clues as to where Dom might be now. Hopefully someplace very, very far away. Someplace safe. “Be sure when you do, and that’s a when, not an if…just be sure that it’s on your terms. Might actually be worthwhile to start something, if you can win. ”
“Where are you?” Brian asked helplessly. Then he winced and hoped Dom knew better than to answer him.
There was a long silence. “I’m safe, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Brian squeezed the phone until the plastic squeaked. “That’s good.”
Dom sighed so gustily that Brian could practically feel his breath.
“God, I just…” Dom growled. “You’re just…fuck.”
Brian looked up into the face of the guard who was waving a hand in front of him, tracing a circle with his index finger wrap it up..
“I gotta go,” Brian muttered.
“Yeah, right.” Dom sounded pissed now.
Brian was spared the difficulty of figuring how to say goodbye when the line went dead.