The visiting room at the prison had a distinct smell to it that stayed with you long after you left. It smelled of lost liberty, disenfranchisement, hopelessness. That was the impression Willa got whenever she visited.
The families and friends of the prisoners sat at their tables, waiting for their loved ones to be released for their forty-five minute snatch of freedom and glimpse of the outside world. Most of them looked dejected, Willa noticed. Many had traveled a long way for this visit. Or perhaps, like her, many despised the atmosphere, felt as though the prison term extended to them, and wanted to be anywhere else but there.
Beside her, Noah fidgeted.
“Stop it,” she ordered, hitting him on the arm. “Do you want people to think we're smuggling drugs in here or something?”
“Sorry, I just hate being here,” he said, and began tapping on the table instead.
“It's not a walk in the park for me either. And imagine how it is for him.”
A couple of minutes later, the security door opened, and the inmates filtered out, their faces lighting up as their eyes landed on their visitors. Hugs and kisses abounded. For a few seconds the illusion of normality was allowed, before the officers ordered separation.
Willa and Noah peered anxiously at the door, waiting for him to come out. It had been four months since Willa's last visit, nine since Noah's.
“You've got some admirers,” Noah said through the corner of his mouth.
Willa didn't even turn to look. She was fully aware of what happened when she came to places like this. The lecherous looks from the inmates made her skin crawl the first time, but now she was used to them. They never went on for very long, however.
“They must be new guys. The others know better,” she said. Then she stood up, hitting Noah to prompt him to do the same.
The last person to strut out was a huge, muscular, fair-skinned black man, sporting long cornrows – neat as though they'd been done the night before. In a place like this his great looks would have been a hindrance, had he not been 260-pounds of pure, natural muscle, with the type of prowl that would send a crowd of people scattering and running for cover.
The man took a slow stroll over to Willa and Noah, stopped in front of them, his hard expression unchanged. Two of the men who had been leering at Willa promptly ceased the moment he looked in their direction. Then he smiled, and Willa smiled too, and before she knew it he was crushing her in a loving embrace, lifting her off the floor. She let out an excited shriek.
The guards admonished him for the bodily contact, which he ignored. He let her go in his own time, then gave Noah a hug too.
“Every time I see you, you're prettier,” he said, smiling with pride as he checked Willa out.
“And every time I see you, you've added an extra ten pounds,” Willa said. They all sat down. Noah still had a nervous look about him.
“What else is there to do in this place?” the man said.
Three years ago, when he'd first been convicted of involuntary manslaughter after an armed robbery went bad, he was twig-thin, a threat to no one. Couldn't even lift a set of dumbbells without tipping over. He hadn't gone in looking like a criminal; many didn't. But the place had altered him. It was as if the grime of the walls clutched onto the prisoners, seeping into their very being, turning them into everything the place represented.
“Little man,” he said to Noah, ruffling his hair. “So you decided to come see me, huh? How you been?”
“Good,” Noah said quietly. Silently he wondered to himself how old he would be when this guy stopped referring to him as Little Man. He was twenty-four, for God's sake. He feared, with their thirteen-year age gap, this was a nickname he would take well into old age, if either of them lived that long.
“How are you, Marley?” Willa asked. She noticed a little cut above his right eyebrow, and it gave her concern. She knew he could take care of himself in there, but it never stopped her from worrying.
“Can't complain.” He shrugged. “Nothing changes in this place.”
“Has your mom been to see you recently?”
“She came last month. Brought my boys.” When he spoke about this, there was a melancholy that flickered past, both Willa and Noah noticed it. But it didn't last long.
“They're big now,” Noah said. “I heard Carlton's starting high school this year.”
Marley nodded, smiling proudly.
“Dad's funeral was last week.” As soon as she said it, Willa was prepared for the shred of happiness to vanish from Marley's face. It always did when she mentioned their father.
“How was it?” he asked stiffly.
“Fine, for a funeral. You should have been there, Marley. He would have wanted you there.”
Marley sighed. “Don't start with that again, sis. He didn't want me there any more than I wanted to be there.”
“He tried to make things right before he died. You denied his visitation request. He wasn't even well enough to come out here, but he was going to.”
“Willa, I know you didn't come all the way here to get on my ass about Maurice. If you did, we might as well end this visit now.” His voice became harsher, raised, his expression much more hostile in his agitation.
But Willa didn't let up. “It was part of the reason, yes. Whatever differences you guys had, you're his firstborn, Marley. You should have been there.” She folded her arms, looking defiant. “And, quite frankly, I think it was selfish of you to miss it. I know you would have been given furlough.”
Noah looked at his siblings in turn, his trepidation growing. They were two of the most stubborn people he had ever met, never backing down. Only their father had been worse.
“Willa, enough already,” he said, putting a hand on her arm.
“I'm selfish?” Marley demanded, laughing without humor. “The man does nothing for me my whole life, and then just when he's about to die, he wants to try and make things right. Thirty-seven years too damn late.”
The thought did cross her mind that she was in fact being the selfish one. Marley didn't owe Maurice anything, and she had no right guilting him out about not coming to the funeral. Not someone in her position. She'd grown up with Maurice, the doting father. Grown up in a happy marriage with parents who loved each other. Marley never got that chance. Born just too soon, to the wrong woman – a stripper who Maurice was fooling around with before he met the love of his life and went on to father four of her children. A fresh start, a new family, an all but forgotten son. Sure he gave him financial support, but not the support he needed. It came as no surprise to anyone that Marley called him by his first name, and took his mother's maiden name.
“It wasn't for him, Marley. It was for us,” she said with real passion, so much that Marley's face softened. “We needed you there.”
Nobody spoke for a while, just listened to the jumbled conversations of the other groups, the lightning-speed Spanish mixed with English. It all sounded melodic.
And then Marley broke the silence. “You seeing anyone new?” he asked Willa. “Anyone with a hot sister who likes convicts?”
It broke the tension, allowing all three of them to laugh.
“You know me, hoes in every state,” Willa joked, cringing at her awful attempt at ghetto-speak, and at the use of the word 'hoe'. She had complete respect for women, and her brothers knew that. Still, it made her feel funny even jokingly using the term. “I see Lady Blue's still doing your hair. Makes me wonder what you give him in return.” She wiggled her eyebrow suggestively.
“Hey, don't even joke like that,” Marley said, but in good humor. “The old man would turn in his grave if he thought he had two gay children.”
They chatted a little more about women – their favorite pastime – and about the appeal against Marley's conviction. Everyone was able to relax and enjoy each other's company. But eventually Willa knew she had to get to the other reason for her visit.
“Big Charlie's just been sent down for twenty years.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “Word is he's being transferred here next week. He won't be alone. Four others are coming with him.”
“That's gonna be a hit to Ambrisi, losing one of his capos and some of his crew in one go like that. But what's that got to do with me?”
“There might be some blowback from the Italians,” Noah contributed. “They're pissed about what went down a couple of weeks ago.”
“You mean the exchange?” He watched his brother and sister nod gravely, then added, “How pissed?”
“Pissed enough to come after anyone associated with us. You're still a di Blasio where it counts, Marley.” It gave her the same amount of displeasure reminding him of that as it did telling him that his life might be in danger, simply because she knew he hated the reminder.
“Italians don't have any sway in here, you know that. Ain't nothin' me and some of the boys can't handle.”
“Just watch your back anyway, man,” Noah said. “They want blood. They lost a lot of guys. It was self-defense, but they won't see it like that.”
Marley frowned. “Self-defense? Over a simple exchange? That must mean they tried to rob you. I don't trust any motherfucker, but that's not usually how the Italians roll.”
“That's what I thought too.” Willa shrugged. “Guess we must have underestimated them. Gunner's dead.”
“The Bullet? Ah man, I liked that guy. Crazy motherfucker.” Marley shook his head. “Who arranged the drop?”
“Trent,” Noah said.
“Of course.” Marley smiled knowingly, though bitterly. “And let me guess, none of you were there to see it. Not even Guy?”
“Ghost and Asher were there. What are you getting at?” Willa questioned.
“That's why the old man didn't want him to take over. He's a hothead who thinks with his gun. Are you sure it went down like he said?”
Willa and Noah exchanged perplexed looks. They'd never been given a reason to question Trent's word.
“Why would he lie?” Noah asked.
“Who knows why he does what he does.” Marley shrugged. “I'm just talking out loud. I told you, I don't trust anyone, not even blood.”
“This really is the last thing I need.” Willa let out an exasperated breath, combing her hand through her long, dark brown locks. “And we've got the cops sniffing around again. Dad kept things so quiet, and my first week in charge I've already got this mess hanging over my head.”
“It's not all that bad though, right?” Noah offered, his voice chirpy. “The female detective who came to the graveside, the redhead, she was pretty hot.”
Willa tutted and cut her little brother a look. “It's always bad when the pigs start sniffing around. I don't care if she looks like Cindy Crawford in her heyday, she's still a cop. I don't think this stuff will go away easily either.”
“You got this, sis. Hey, and if you can't outsmart them, just use your charm. You could get anyone to do anything, girl, you know that,” Marley assured her.
She didn't feel very optimistic.