Down the Brink
DOWN THE BRINK
By Lisa von Biela
A Gordian Knot Thriller
Gordian Knot is an imprint of Crossroad Press
Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press
Digital Edition Copyright © 2017 Lisa von Biela
LICENSE NOTES
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Meet the Author
Lisa von Biela worked in Information Technology for 25 years, then dropped out to attend the University of Minnesota Law School, graduating magna cum laude in 2009. She now practices law in Seattle, Washington.
Lisa began writing short, dark fiction just after the turn of the century. Her first publication appeared in The Edge in 2002. She went on to publish a number of short works in various small-press venues, including Gothic.net, Twilight Times, Dark Animus, AfterburnSF, and more. She is the author of the novels The Genesis Code, The Janus Legacy, Blockbuster, and Broken Chain, as well as the novellas Ash and Bone, Skinshift, and Moon Over Ruin.
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For David, with love
Down the brink: prison slang for being segregated, being put in segregation.
Christopher Mulvey,
Prison Lingo: The Language of the Prison Community
DOWN THE BRINK
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
Other books
PROLOGUE
First Friday in August, 2003
Culver City, California
“You can have that if you want. Go ahead. Take it.”
Zach Winters quit gawking at the fire-engine red Hot Wheels dune buggy and glanced up at his big brother Raymond.
“Really?” He lowered his eyes and shook his head. “But I thought Mom said we had to save money. She’ll be mad if you get me that.”
Raymond squatted down so they were eye-to-eye. “Don’t worry about it, little bro. I’ve figured out a way to bring in some money, make things a little easier for us all.”
“Maybe when Dad comes home, everything’ll be okay again.”
Raymond stood and made a face. The same kind of face Mom made whenever anyone mentioned Dad.
“He’s not coming back, Zach. We’re on our own.”
“But why? Did we do something to make him go away?”
Raymond sighed and gave Zach’s shoulder a quick rub. “I don’t think so. I think he just didn’t want to be anyone’s dad anymore.”
Zach sniffed. He missed Dad, but somehow it seemed like he wasn’t supposed to miss him. So he pretended like he didn’t really want to cry. He was getting pretty good at it.
“So, Zach. Take the toy you want and wait here for a minute. I’ll come back to get you, then we’ll go home and play, okay?”
“Don’t we have to go to the cash register first?”
“I’ll take care of it.” Raymond stared off into the distance, a strange look on his face.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just wait here for me.” Raymond turned and headed up the aisle to the front of the C-store.
“Okay.” Zach took the tiny dune buggy from the display, held it up to the light, and smiled as he watched the metallic paint glitter. He hadn’t gotten a new Hot Wheels in a long, long time. It was nice of Raymond to get it for him. Raymond was always nice to him. Not like the kids in his class who made fun of him all the time for being skinny and bad at sports. Just ’cuz he couldn’t throw the ball as far as they could—
“Hurry up!”
Zach jumped at the sound of Raymond’s voice. Why was he yelling like that? Who was he yelling at?
“All right! Just don’t shoot!”
Zach dropped his toy and ran up the aisle to see what was going on. Maybe Raymond needed help.
“Don’t do it!” Raymond screamed.
Zach froze, open-mouthed. He couldn’t even say a word before it all played out in front of him, just like on TV. Raymond was holding a gun in both hands (where did he get it?). He was shaking really bad. The man reached for something from under the counter, and Raymond shot him. Just like that. The man fell down. There was a bloody red hole in his forehead.
Raymond shoved the gun in his pants, turned, and saw Zach standing there. His face was really, really white, like someone who was very scared.
“Come on, we gotta get out of here.” He grabbed Zach by the arm—hard—and dragged him out of the store.
“Ow, you’re hurting me!”
“Just get in the car. Now!”
Raymond burned rubber getting out of the parking lot. A few blocks later, a black-and-white police car passed them going the other way. It had its lights and siren on. And it was going really fast. Zach turned in his seat. It was going toward the C-store.
Zach squeezed his eyes shut and hung on tight. Raymond was yelling to himself and driving way too fast. He was scared they would crash, scared something bad was going to happen. He’d never been so scared in his whole life.
Raymond was going to be in a lot of trouble for hurting that guy. Mom would be really mad, too.
CHAPTER 1
First Saturday in May, 2021
Seco, Texas
Wheezing and coughing, Gil Balderas fought to control his bike and see where the hell he was going. Eyes watering, he veered to the edge of the trail and braked hard, tires skidding in the loose gravel. He snatched the inhaler from his shirt pocket and took a couple of quick puffs, then closed his eyes and wiped away tears with the back of his hand. Soon the albuterol worked its magic, easing the tightness in his chest. He took in a deep breath with only a hint of a wheeze, slipped the inhaler back into his pocket, and gave it a grateful pat.
He opened his eyes and stood astride his bike as the attack loosened its grip on his lungs. Such a gorgeous spring day. Should have thought about the pollen count before going on so long a ride, though. But he hadn’t allowed himself any time off in so long, he couldn’t pass up the chance to get outside on his bike and enjoy the day, no matter what.
Maybe he shouldn’t work himself quite so hard, but a general contractor’s life could be feast—or it could be famine. And with the economy booming like it was, he didn’t want to miss out on the feast. Besides, the more money he could sock away, the sooner he could go independent, have the freedom to run his own company the way he wanted to. Maybe even get Aggie to quit her job at the greenhouse and work with him. Balderas Construction. He smiled. Someday. And fairly soon if he worked hard enough.
Gil drew a deep, smooth breath in, let it out. Much better. Good thing that albuterol worked so well. A little shot of it once in a while kept his asthma in check just fine. Other people he knew were always in and out of the hospital with their asthma. Must be terrible to have to live like that, always in fear of an attack. Imprisoned by your own body.
He parked his bike, settled himself onto a wooden bench beside the trail, and watched the ashes and birches, their leaves fluttering in the light breeze. Great day for a ride, and a beautiful trail to do it on. What an amazing change in just a few years. Seco had transformed itself from a shabby dot at the side of the road to a nice little boomtown. Construction jobs abounded, and the city, flush with cash, developed a whole new park system with bike trails that meandered through and around town—an oasis of green and trees in what had been nothing more than a dusty desert enclave.
Gil stretched his arms out along the back of the bench and gazed at the sky. An enormous hawk soared by, high up against the clouds. Wouldn’t want to be a field mouse about now.
A rumbling arose in the distance, grew closer. Gil snapped to attention and glanced toward the sound. Four compact motorbikes approached along the trail, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them.
Border Patrol.
With his surname and his olive skin, Gil often found himself answering to a Border Patrol officer. As a citizen, he had nothing to fear. For him, the encounters were just an inconvenience. For others, they were more like a death sentence. He reached into his pocket for his smartphone so he could display his documents and send them on their way.
Not there. Frantic, he patted all his pockets, coming up empty except for his inhaler and keys. Must have left it in the garage when he was getting his bike ready. Of all the days to do something so stupid!
Gil’s mouth went dry. Even for a citizen, it was a violation to get caught without documentation, especially in a town as close to the border as Seco. God, he was right in their line of sight. They had to have seen him already. He braced himself and hoped they’d buy his explanation, give him a break. After all, he’d never screwed up like this before.
The motorbikes came to a stop on the trail in single file, engines growling. The others waited on their bikes as the lead officer killed his engine and approached on foot, ominous in his black leathers and white helmet, his eyes hidden behind mirror-tinted glasses.
“Documents, please.” The voice crisp, cold. The mouth an expressionless line.
Gil raised his hands, palms up. “I’m really sorry, Officer. I forgot my smartphone at home. Never done that before.”
The officer ran spiderlike fingers along an equipment belt that had to weigh forty pounds if it weighed an ounce. “You don’t have any proof of citizenship on you? No ID at all?”
“Sorry, no.” He waved a hand at his bike. “I got distracted checking the tires before my ride, and I know right where I left it in the garage.” He gave what he hoped was his most disarming smile. The cop did not smile back.
“Your name, sir.”
“Gil—Gilbert—Balderas.”
“Step over here, Mr. Balderas. I’m placing you under arrest.” He shouted back to the second officer in line. “Call for pickup.”
Gil stood, hesitated. There had to be a way out of this. “Officer, really. I am a citizen. I swear to you I’m telling the truth about my smartphone. It’s not far. We can go there—”
The cop put his hands on his hips and looked him up and down, his reflective glasses menacing, robotic. “I don’t believe you.”
Gil took a step forward, pleading, “Honest, I am a citizen. I can prove it. I just—”
“Resisting arrest now?” The cop reached for something on his belt, his arm moving so fast Gil didn’t see what was coming until it was too late.
“No, I—”
Gil gasped. A jolt surged through him, spreading searing heat and pain through all his nerves. He crumpled and fell to the ground, limbs jangling and flailing. Out of control. Everything spinning. Can’t think, can’t talk. Blackness. Oblivion.
CHAPTER 2
Three hours later
Seco, Texas
Aggie Balderas pushed herself to her feet, clapped the dirt off her canvas work gloves, and swiped a forearm across her sweaty brow. After a long, hot afternoon of gardening, she was looking forward to plopping down on her patio chair with a tall iced tea and that thriller novel she couldn’t wait to read.
She stood, hands on hips, and surveyed the back yard. She’d trimmed up all the shrubs along the fence this afternoon, even planted some purple and fuchsia petunias here and there for good measure. The rose bushes were blooming all pink and yellow, and rows of green shoots already showed in the garden she’d laid in last month. The yard would look better than ever this year, a real sanctuary for Gil and her when the baking days of midsummer arrived. She loved the sense of accomplishment—of control—it gave her to create an environment like that for them to enjoy together.
Aggie glanced at her watch and frowned. Gil should have been back from his ride by now. Maybe he’d had some problem with the bike—or his asthma. He might have called while she was working outside. Should have kept her cell in her pocket, just in case. She tossed her gloves into her plastic gardening caddy, hurried inside, and snatched her cell up off the kitchen counter. Sure enough, there was a voicemail from about an hour ago—but from a number she didn’t recognize. She pressed Play.
Aggie, it’s Gil. I only get one call. I’m at the Seco Police Station. Come as soon as you can. I’ve been arrested.
Aggie felt dizzy, like all the blood had drained right out of her. She leaned against the kitchen counter, feet planted and hands trembling, and stared at the phone as if somehow it could give her more information. She played the message again, just in case she heard wrong or missed part of it. No such luck.
Gil had never been in any kind of trouble before; he was about as straight-arrow as they came. What the hell could have happened? It had to be some kind of mistake. She’d go straighten it out and get him home. Then they could have a good laugh about it over dinner.
The atmosphere of chaotic desperation inside the police station assaulted Aggie like a sentient, physical thing. Way more intimidating than she could have imagined. And the sm
ell—rancid sweat, vomit, and God knew whatever else. It was like forcing herself to walk through a wall of vile stench and raw fear.
She’d managed to avoid ever setting foot inside a police station before, but she heard plenty from friends and co-workers. Enough to know it was not a place you wanted to be. Ever. Especially in a border town like Seco. For all the new development, there were still some tough neighborhoods on the outskirts. And there were all those horrifying rumors about the cops and how far they’d go for an arrest.
A brawny, uniformed cop with a shaved head ran the Information counter from behind a glass partition. Bulletproof, no doubt. And somehow tawdry, like a box office for a porn theater.
The place seethed with people—way too many people—of all ages and types. Some looking terrified, some looking dangerous. Some sitting slumped in the cheap plastic chairs that lined the room. Others standing around, appearing lost or hopeless—or both. Aggie threaded her way through the crowd, trying without success to avoid any physical contact, and took her place in line. Four people were already ahead of her, then several more came in, lining up close behind her. The line grew, snaked out the door.
Whoever was right behind her smelled like death and stood so close she felt waves of body heat invading her personal space. Aggie didn’t dare turn to look. She felt boxed in, and on the verge of one of her panic attacks. Breathe in, breathe out…slow. Like the therapist said to. Can’t lose it now. Not in this place.
Thank God the cop was efficient, dispensing with those ahead of her like parts on an assembly line. Aggie stepped up to the counter, relieved to regain a little of her personal space. The cop raised his eyes to her and sat motionless, his expression stony, his face flushed, as if daring her to speak.
Her throat suddenly dry and constricted, Aggie choked out the words. “I’m here to see Gil…Gilbert…Balderas.” She swallowed. “He’s been arrested.”
The cop looked down, clicked a few keys on his computer and pointed. “Wait in the second room down the hall. It’ll be a few minutes. We’re really busy today.”