4. Bede

Chapter 4

Bede

A s Bede stepped from the wooden platform into his tent, he moved from bright sunshine into a cool, green-tinted cave.

There were two cots made up with clean sheets, clean blankets, and fluffy pillows. The smell of pine trees wafted on sun-warmed air through the open flap at the far end of the tent.

From somewhere came the sound of birdsong and all of it was such a far cry from prison accommodations that he stood there for a long, hard minute, just soaking it in.

On top of one of the cots was a series of boxes that Bede already knew contained blue jeans and snap button shirts and plastic wrapped packages of underwear and socks, soap, brand-name shampoo—anything he might need. All of which was a bribe for good behavior.

He should unpack rather than stare like some sort of newbie who had no idea what was going on, because he did, he sure did. He was being given the carrot before the stick.

Sure, he'd have new everything, and then the shit would come down. That would be the price for he would pay for being a drug dealer amidst this paradise. He would be given hard work. The hardest ?—

He caught himself short from his mental tirade when he saw a large box which, by the flat, long shape, could only contain a pair of boots.

Sitting down on one cot, he reached for the box and opened it as he pulled it onto his lap. Yes, the box contained new work boots, just like the kind Marston and Kell and Galen had been wearing.

Bede ran his fingers over the laces, almost shivering at the tough softness of the yellow suede.

These boots would have come in handy, so handy, in prison. They would have been useful for a kick to the head or groin, useful for stomping fingers.

But then, had he owned a pair such as this, he would have been shanked within twenty-four hours of getting them, and the boots taken from him. Better that the boots had waited for him for five years, so he could enjoy them now.

A rustle outside the tent made him look up to see Kell come onto the platform. Behind him was another guy, slightly older, paunchy, red-faced, and scowling.

"You're not unpacked," said Kell, his cheery voice making it a greeting rather than a criticism. "Dinner's soon, and you don't want to miss it."

It took him a moment to realize that he'd been sitting there mooning over new boots for a good long while. Galen had given him a list of things to do, one of which had been a shower, only now it was too late.

Bede could have explained to Kell that he was a bit overwhelmed, but the experience of his criminal life and his years behind bars had taught him the folly of that. Never give yourself away. Never admit vulnerability.

"Sure thing," he said, putting the boots to the side, like they didn't matter to him at all. Like he wasn't already in love with them.

"This is Wayne," said Kell, waving to the angry-looking guy standing next to him. "He's my tent mate."

"Hi," said Bede, not waving back. Not getting up.

"How come you got your own tent?" Wayne asked, strident, loud, like Bede was miles away and needed to be shouted at. "How come?"

"Just got assigned it."

Bede didn't raise his voice to match Wayne's. No point. In the prison yard, every head would have turned to Wayne, assessing him, with Wayne coming up short. Looking away again, calculating how long till lights out, when Wayne could get his comeuppance.

"Well, it's not fair. I want my own tent." Wayne's eyes were narrow, his mouth in a scowl. Any minute and he was going to start shouting even louder. "How come I always got to share?"

Bede looked at Kell. Saw the small shrug, like the whole thing was out of control and there was nothing Kell could do about it. Wayne was a whiner, pure and simple.

How Kell had managed to live with him was a mystery. Well, Kell was adaptable. He'd managed thus far. Didn't mean he had to keep on putting up with it.

"I'll switch with you." Bede dipped his head, scratching behind his ear to show just how much it didn't matter to him. He could have gotten into a tussle with Wayne, just to blow off some steam, but perhaps it was too soon, and besides, this was the smarter move. "You can move your stuff in here now. Before dinner."

"I don't want to be so far out in the woods." Wayne pouted like he was a seven-year-old boy, rather than a fully grown man. "Kell can move in here with you."

The idea appealed to Bede. Moving into a tent where someone like Wayne had lived, shuffling around in his leavings, was an unhappy prospect. Having Kell join him in a bright, new, never-lived-in tent, had a brand new feeling to it.

"Sure." Bede stood up, pretending he didn't hear Kell's gasp of delight. "Let's make it happen."

Another gasp came, this time from Wayne, who blinked at Bede, like he couldn't believe what had just happened. Like he'd never experienced a single bit of kindness in his whole lumpy life. And like maybe Bede was playing a trick on him.

"I mean it," said Bede. "Kell was my cellie before, so he can be again."

Wayne actually grabbed Bede's arm and tugged, like some impudent greenhorn who was newly arrived and didn't know the protocols of prison. Never touch another man without his permission. Didn't matter. Wayne had probably been a lightweight in prison. A second rung man.

Bede's kindness to Wayne could probably be leveraged. In the meantime, he shooed them both out of the tent, and together the three of them went to what Wayne proudly announced was tent number one.

As they entered, the tent had a musty smell, a sense of clutter. Bede could feel his mouth curling in distaste.

They grabbed Kell's stuff in armfuls and made several trips to tent number eleven, where they plopped everything on the empty cot, empty except for Bede's new boots, which Kell showed him how to store beneath his own cot.

As Wayne raced happily away, back to his own fortress of green canvas, Kell plopped down onto the cot with his pile of things, and smiled up at Bede.

"My summer just got a fuckton better," said Kell, grinning, his dark hair slipping across his forehead. A satisfied sigh escaped him, those green eyes, that old soul, happy at last.

"Was it bad?" asked Bede, even though he already knew the answer.

"Oh, he's just—" Kell made a waving motion in front of his face. "He's just sort of all over the place. Like his half of the tent was his, and then my half of the tent was also his. You know?"

Bede did know. In a prison cell, you had to draw strong lines about territory, otherwise you'd get walked all over. Kell had probably been doing his best to keep the peace. Only now, he wouldn't have to.

"Guess that cot's yours. That work for you?" For anyone else, Bede would have made the determination, rather than asking, and the other guy could like it or lump it. But for Kell, it was going to be fifty-fifty.

"Sure does." Kell made a little bounce on the cot, which hardly moved nor made a single sound, which showed how sturdy and well-made it was.

While they shared the silence while quickly unpacking, Bede kept a weather eye out in case Galen came by to put the kibosh on the move, and realized how much he'd missed Kell's presence. The quiet companionship of a reasonable man.

He wouldn't say anything about it, because while his friendship with Kell seemed solid, there was no point digging in deeper when it would all come to an end at the end of summer. Or if Bede decided, which he might still do, to take off and do his parole another way.

Finally, when the tent was mostly squared away, a bell rang, the sound echoing through the thick trees.

"That's dinner," said Kell. "C'mon, you won't believe how good the food is."

Kell led Bede through the woods along the path strewn with pine needles. The mess tent hove into view, a long, green-canvas structure with wooden steps leading up to it.

Bede was just about to follow Kell up the stairs, toward the good smell of salt, hot bread, something sweet with sugar, when someone grabbed his elbow from behind. Another idiot who didn't know the rule about not touching?—

Bede whirled around, grabbing, and found himself just about nose-to-nose with a very angry Marston. Who didn't seem to care that Bede was a hardened criminal who'd done five years for making and selling and dealing very hard drugs. He was just plain mad, though about what, Bede had no idea.

"Hey, fuck off," he said, prying at Marston's very strong fingers.

"What the hell is going on?" Marston's teeth were bared, and his eyes glittered as he towered over Bede.

"What the fuck do I know?" Bede finally got free of Marston's grasp, and stood above him on the stair, though they were still the same height, since Marston was so tall. "What's your problem?"

"I went to get Kell for dinner, and his stuff was gone."

"Yeah, he moved in with me. So?"

But that, it seemed, was the problem. Marston had a setup just like he liked it, and Bede had come in and shuffled his world around.

"So? I'll tell you so," snapped Marston. "You're the last person he needs to be hanging around with."

Marston raised himself even taller, puffing out his chest, a move that was completely unnecessary, as he had enough height already.

He obviously felt Bede was a threat to him. Bede and his friendship with Kell.

Marston was fighting over territory that he didn't need to defend, but in spite of that, Bede wasn't about to back down, not to some lunkhead with delusions of power.

"You want to throw your weight around, buddy?" Bede made a wide gesture. "Come at me."

He couldn't give a shit how much damage a fight would cause the other guy, though he did sense Kell at his side, urgently tugging on his t-shirt. But Bede wasn't about to be pushed around by some guy who'd obviously never had a hard day in his life?—

"Hey now."

Inside of a heartbeat, Galen was between them, his back to Marston, the lesser threat, his hands on Bede's chest.

Bede was about to grab Galen and use his weight to send both of them tumbling to the ground, their asses in the dirt, when he saw Galen's expression. He was dead serious, his mouth in a thin, grim line.

"That's enough," said Galen, quite low, as though utterly confident how much weight his words had. Which they did, more weight than either Bede or Marston's muscles and anger. "Quite enough. We don't act like that here. Now what's the problem?"

All of this washed over Bede as he teetered on the edge of a fight where he could let off steam.

Utterly astonished at Galen's lack of fear, and somewhat mesmerized by the pink flush in those cheeks, the sweetness, the prettiness, contrasting with the sternness in those serious gray eyes, Bede let himself be stilled.

"He went and moved Kell into his own tent," said Marston, mouth barely moving, eyes still drilling into Bede's. "Like he has a right to make those kinds of decisions. Plus, if you'd read Kell's file, you'd know what a bad idea that is."

"What difference does it make?" Bede jerked his chin in Marston's direction, dismissal and threat all at once.

Marston lunged at him, pressing Galen between them. Galen, on a step lower than the top of the wooden platform, was smashed against Bede's chest, his hands clawing at Bede's t-shirt to regain his balance.

Bede felt a huff of warm breath, the whisper of a curse, and looked down to see the disbelief in Galen's eyes. The anger and resolution.

"Up you get," said Bede, grabbing Galen's upper arms to tug him to one side so he could get back at Marston.

But Galen held his ground and reached to push them both back at the same time.

"I said that is enough ." He glared at both of them. "Bede, you should have asked Gabe. He's the one who decides what tent each parolee is in. Besides—" Galen paused to take a breath. "Wayne's always wanted his own tent, and Bede and Kell are used to being roommates. Maybe this is a good idea. What do you think?"

There was a very long pause as Marston thought about this, then he looked at Kell, who smiled and said, "I think it's a good idea. I'm happy to be rooming with Bede."

"Okay?" asked Galen.

"Okay," said Marston, though he still looked like he was on the edge of being riled up about it.

"Now. Everybody, it's dinnertime, and I, for one, am starving."

Out from the woods came a group of men who looked as though they'd just washed up, were expecting their suppers, and who wouldn't stand for anyone getting in their way. Half of them looked like they'd done hard time, and the other half looked like butter wouldn't melt in their mouths.

Bede had not thought about the other parolees in the valley, other team leads, but of course there would be.

They came up to the wooden platform of the mess tent as if they wanted to mount the steps. Only Marston, Galen, and Bede were still there, in the way, fists clenched, jaws jutted.

"Is there a problem?" asked the man in front, quite calmly. He looked blocky and strong, and didn't seem at all worried about what was going on, confident that he could stop it.

Bede didn't want another argument. He only wanted a hot meal and a time to lie on his cot and stare at the canvas ceiling of his tent before figuring out his next move.

Marston froze too, and the two of them looked each other in the eye. Marston shook his head. Bede nodded. A truce then. At least for now.

"Just an issue about who's bunking with whom, Gabe," said Galen. "We moved Bede and Kell together, leaving Wayne on his own, the way he's always wanted. It's under control now."

"Good," said Gabe. "Now maybe we can put that aside while we have our dinners."

Maybe Bede should have asked for permission to move Kell into his tent. But he hadn't, and it was too late now and Galen hadn't objected. He'd even approved of the change. Which was crazy. Guards in prison would come down hard if they felt their authority had been challenged in any way. But not Galen.

Bede's body shuddered into stillness as he and Marston stepped apart and let the group of men climb the steps into the mess tent. It might have been nice to have that fight and let off steam. On the other hand, whatever was cooking smelled amazing, and there would always be other chances to go toe to toe with Marston, if he had to.