With Good Behavior [Conduct Series #1] Page 3

  “You’ve lost some weight,” Joe observed.

  Grant sniffed and nodded.

  They stared awkwardly for a few moments until Grant finally found his voice. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  “Well, you sure didn’t make it easy to find you. I figured you’d have to meet with your parole officer at some point, so I’ve been camped out here for a while.”

  “Sorry.”

  Joe had waited long enough to ask the question that had gnawed at him for two years. “Why the hell wouldn’t you let me visit you at Gurnee?”

  Shooting a culpable glance at his Uncle Joe, Grant sighed. How could he explain his failure to stand up to his own father?

  Miffed, Joe continued. “I couldn’t believe it when they said you took me off your visitor list. I thought there had to be some mistake. I begged for leave time, and then I couldn’t even use it.”

  “Did your captain approve your leave this time?”

  “I’m due back in Virginia tomorrow. But don’t change the subject, Grant. Why wouldn’t you allow me to visit you? Did I do something wrong?”

  Grant snapped his head up, startled. “No! No, sir, it was nothing you did. It was …” He sighed, knowing he would never escape his destructive family, no matter how hard he tried. “It was my father.”

  “Enzo? Oh, shit. I should’ve known. Of all the bad luck, to be thrown into the same prison as that gangster. What did he do to you?”

  Grant stared into the distance, eventually mentioning with a slight smile, “He doesn’t like you very much.”

  “Yeah, well, the feeling is mutual,” Joe said. “I hate Enzo for what he’s done to your brother Logan. And for what he did to your mother as well, God bless her soul.”

  An unspoken sadness crossed Joe’s face as he remembered his beautiful sister, Karita, who’d been left alone to care for two boys after her husband was sentenced to life in prison. Enzo had summarily abandoned his wife and sons, and Joe had tried to assemble a new family for his sister. But when Logan had run away and Karita fell ill with cancer, the patched-together family was destroyed. Yet Joe was determined to help Grant get his life back together.

  “She deserved a better husband,” Grant said softly.

  Joe’s eyes narrowed. “I never wanted her to marry that bastard. Did Enzo hurt you?”

  “It was my first day at Gurnee,” Grant explained, thinking back to the abject fear he’d felt at being caged in a state penitentiary for three whole years. It was day one of a 1,095-day sentence, and he’d been scared out of his mind.

  It was a chilly March day out on the yard, and cons mingled in their dark-gray jackets. Grant stood alone, leaning on the fence, nervously scanning for any sign of trouble. That was when he noticed the charcoal eyes staring him down from across the way. His father’s jet-black hair had grayed, and he’d lost perhaps an inch in height as he aged, but his eyes had not changed one bit—deep, black, Italian eyes that seared into his son as he strode toward him.

  As the group of men approached him, Grant stepped forward. Naturally his father had an entourage with him—men who protected and deferred to their leader. Grant recognized a couple of the Mafia thugs from his childhood. Maybe the big guy had babysat his brother Logan and him once or twice?

  “I heard you were coming,” Enzo Barberi said evenly. “What’s it been, Grant, twenty years since we’ve seen each other?”

  Grant remained silent, feeling the suspicious stares of his father’s men coat him like olive oil in a skillet.

  “You got three years?”

  Grant gave a slight nod, wishing his throat had not constricted with fear in his father’s presence.

  “Three years is a long time to be alone in here,” Enzo said coolly.

  “I don’t want anything to do with you.” Fierce determination flared in Grant’s eyes.

  “That is a very unwise approach, Grant.” Enzo glanced around in the yard. “There are lots of cons licking their chops, eager to get to you. There’s a buzz about a handsome young fish arriving at Gurnee. The talk of the block is about a new, fresh, pretty con.”

  His father’s emphasis made Grant’s throat run dry. His eyes drifted in the direction his father had just nodded, and he noticed several men edging closer, leering at him.

  “Join us, son. Let me protect you in here.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Hey.” Enzo’s eyes narrowed with steely rage. “Even though you abandoned me in here—even though you didn’t visit me once in twenty years—I can forgive and forget. I can be the bigger man and offer my hand to you now that you need it.”

  Grant knew there would be strings attached. His father was a businessman at heart, and it did not take long for the terms of the deal to be revealed. Grant tensed as his father warned, “But if you so much as say one word to Joe Madsen while you’re in here, all bets are off. If you want my protection, you choose to be with me now, not him. You can’t have us both. That fucking man has led you astray, and you need me to set you straight. But I’ll only do that if you cut all ties with your uncle.”

  Grant knew his father was jealous of Joe’s influence over him, but he had not expected an immediate standoff on the issue. His nostrils flared, and he seethed, “Joe is a better dad to me than you’ll ever be.”

  “No wonder you got caught in that two-bit robbery. I see you’re as dumb and naive as ever.” Enzo glanced at his men. “Let’s go,” he ordered. He then looked back at his son, shaking his head. “Have it your way, Grant.”

  Enzo and his posse skulked off, clearing a path for a new predatory group to approach. The leader was tall and solidly built, blond with icy blue eyes. His two equally blond companions, who appeared quite young, walked a deferential step behind him.

  The leader’s calculating stare roamed over Grant’s fine physique. “Fresh meat, boys,” he crowed. One of the underlings smiled lasciviously.

  Grant took a slight step back.

  “Aw, nothing to be scared of, sweetheart,” the leader assured him. “We just want to get to know you.” One of the accompanying youngsters began to hum “Getting to Know You” from The King and I, eliciting a grin from the leader. “What’re you in for?”

  Grant remained silent.

  The man pursed his lips and took a step closer, and one of his followers sidled up to Grant, hissing, “Answer the question, boy, if you don’t want to leave Gurnee on a gurney.”

  The other youngster cackled like a hyena, and Grant had a feeling this group had used that joke many times before. When the blond leader reached out to stroke Grant’s face, he’d had enough and instantly unleashed a vicious punch, nailing the predator right in his gut. The tall man doubled over, gasping for air.

  “Fuck you!” one of his minions cried, swiftly landing on Grant and delivering a sharp blow to his midsection. Despite his groan of pain, Grant gracefully broke free from his attacker’s grasp and sent a glancing blow across someone’s jaw. He couldn’t tell which lackey was which in the melee.

  Apparently the leader recovered, because suddenly there were three men raining strikes and punches on Grant’s defenseless body, forcing him onto the ground where they continued the assault. Grant raised his arms to shield his head, feeling his torso on fire from punishing punches to his ribcage. Excited shouting rose up across the yard as the inmates noticed the altercation. Waves of testosterone pulsated as the basest of male instincts played out in the battle.

  Then came the staccato of warning shots from the snipers in the guard towers. Blessedly the assault on his body ceased, but Grant soon found himself roughly hauled to his feet by two corrections officers. They quickly cuffed his hands behind his back and led him to the administration building, where a CO dumped him into a chair in the warden’s office.

  “This one just got in a fight, sir,” the CO informed his boss. “Inmate Grant Madsen.”

  “Wait outside,” the warden instructed, and the officer dutifully left the room. The warden opened a file drawer and e
xtracted a manila folder.

  Grant shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying to release the pressure from the handcuffs. Noting the absence of other inmates, Grant determined that apparently he would be the only one punished for the fight. His father probably had worked out an arrangement with the COs in Gurnee, some sort of quid pro quo in which Enzo paid them to leave him and his business alone. Some things never changed.

  He studied the older gentleman across the desk as he read the file. Warden Raymond Arthur appeared to be in his late fifties, with receding black hair, ruddy cheeks, and a belly protruding beneath the vest of his three-piece suit. Large glasses magnified his shrewd eyes, which now gazed at the prisoner.

  “You’re a college graduate and a former naval officer, Mr. Madsen.” Raymond’s voice was weathered from years of smoking cigars. “I wouldn’t expect you to be disturbing the peace on your very first day.”

  Grant felt a sharp pain in his ribs with each breath, but he managed to say, “Yes, sir.”

  “What was the fight about?”

  Swallowing, Grant said, “I had a, um, disagreement with another inmate, sir.”

  “Which inmate?”

  Grant’s stared straight ahead and remained silent. Evidently nobody at Gurnee knew he was the son of Vicenzo Barberi, the head of a Mafia organization, and Grant intended to keep it that way.

  Frustrated by the prisoner’s silence, Raymond coldly ordered, “This is your first day at Gurnee, Madsen, and it seems you’re unable to play nice with the others. Sixty days in solitary. And when you get out, I don’t want to see your face in here again.”

  Grant’s heart pounded and sweat trickled down his back at the thought of being locked in a tiny, dark cell for that length of time, but he showed only a resolute coolness as he met the warden’s stare. “Yes, sir.”

  “Guard!” Raymond’s voice boomed authoritatively.

  “Jesus,” Joe exhaled, bringing Grant out of solitary’s claustrophobic walls and back to the open-aired brightness of the courthouse steps in downtown Chicago. “No wonder you took your father’s protection when you got out of solitary.”

  Grant looked down.

  Joe chewed the inside of his cheek. “Did they, uh, those guys ever, uh …?”

  Grant quickly shook his head. “My dad’s a powerful man.”

  Squinting, Joe’s expression became stormy. “He is.” He sighed heavily. “So, how was solitary?”

  Grant found his hands balled into fists. It became difficult to breathe as dark walls closed in on him.

  “Grant?”

  Shaking his head to stop the disturbing images, Grant jammed his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants. “I’m sorry. You deserve better after taking care of me all those years, after helping to get me into the Navy, after saving my life, really.”

  Joe peered at him strangely. “What happened in the hole?”

  “Please, sir, please don’t make me tell you what happened.” Grant’s eyes begged right along with his voice. “I understand if you never want anything to do with me ever again. Just please, please don’t ask me to explain.”

  Joe was pained as he watched his nephew trembling before him, seemingly on the verge of tears once again. What the hell had transpired in prison?

  “It’s okay, Grant. You don’t have to tell me. Of course I want to be part of your life. I …” He looked away, clearing his throat. “I love you.”

  “Th-th-thank you.” Grant couldn’t get out the words I love you too, although they were certainly true. Love for his uncle was what landed him in prison in the first place.

  “Just don’t cut me out of your life again, okay?” Joe was the one pleading now.

  Grant took a deep breath. He would not have to abide by his father’s rules now that he was out of prison. He no longer needed his father’s protection. “Okay.”

  “You’re the only family I’ve got.”

  His nephew silently agreed. Joe was the only family who mattered to him, the only family with his best interests at heart. His father, brother, uncle, and cousin only looked out for themselves, desperately craving more and more power and dragging down anyone who stood in their way. Grant could not get away from them fast enough.

  “So.” Joe smiled faintly, trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t suppose you’ve found a place to live yet?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Or a job?”

  Grant shrugged. “Haven’t found that either.”

  “C’mon, I know a guy who maybe can help with both.”

  Joe stepped to the curb and hailed a taxi. As they passed the Wrigley Building, Grant remembered the excitement of his first cab ride to Michigan Avenue for a shopping trip with his mother and brother. He must have been only five or so, and he’d clutched his mother’s hand while gawking at the tall, elegant buildings. It felt wrong to be back in the city without his mother by his side.

  When they arrived at the docks of the Chicago River near Navy Pier, Grant curiously stepped out of the cab, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sunlight off the water.

  Joe headed for one of the ships docked by the pier, and Grant read the clapboard sign sitting on shore:

  Book Your Architectural Cruise Here!

  Cruises Depart Daily at 1:00, 3:00, 5:00, and 7:00

  “Roger!” Joe called out, tentatively stepping onto the gunwale of the ship and looking naturally at home in his khaki Navy uniform. “Yo, Rog!” he bellowed again, this time producing a short, rotund man from the ship’s interior.

  “Son of a bitch!” the bald man cried, breaking into a huge grin. Joe hopped down onto the deck and they grabbed each other in a bear hug, slapping each other’s backs fondly.

  “Christ, Rog,” Joe laughed, glancing at the man’s sizable belly. “You been eating deep dish pizza every day or what?”

  “I’m missing your goddamn PT every morning, you asshole. You’re a commander now, huh? A fucking XO? The big cheese is here! So, what in the hell you doing in Chicago, sir?”

  Still chuckling, Joe glanced up to find Grant carefully watching them from the pier. “I’m here to visit my nephew. Hey, Grant, come down here. I want to introduce you to a friend.”

  Grant hopped onto the deck with one smooth motion, clearly at ease on the watercraft as well.

  Joe nodded toward the shorter man. “This is Roger Eaton, former ensign serving with me at Great Lakes.” He then draped his arm protectively across Grant’s shoulders. “And this is my nephew Grant, former lieutenant at Great Lakes.”

  “Oh fuck, you both outrank me then.” Roger grinned, his hazel eyes twinkling. “At least you were smart enough to get out of the Navy, unlike the commander here,” he added, looking up at Grant.

  Grant gave a plastic smile. His exit from the Navy had hardly been voluntary.

  “So,” Joe began, feeling his nephew bristle beside him. “Grant needs a job. I was wondering if you could use a capable assistant on board?”

  “Hmm …” Roger scratched his chin. “Well, I just hired a few guys, but I’m sure I’ll need more help with the season about to start. Anything for you, Joe.”

  Joe removed his arm from his nephew’s shoulders and reached out to shake Roger’s hand, pumping vigorously. “I knew I could count on you. I have to return to Norfolk tomorrow. Is there any way Grant could sack out at your place until he finds an apartment of his own?”

  Grant watched the interaction with amazement. His uncle was shamelessly persuading this stranger to take care of him.

  “No problem, sir. We Navy boys got to stay together.” Roger turned to Grant. “How long you been out, kid?”

  Grant blushed. “Just a day.”

  “You got out of the Navy yesterday?” Roger asked incredulously.

  “Oh, no, um, I, um, left the Navy over two years ago.”

  Watching his nephew squirm, Joe stepped in. “Rog? I should probably tell you that Grant was just released from prison. He’s had a rough go of it, but he won’t cause you any problems, I promise. He j
ust needs to stay away from his family and he’ll be fine.”

  Roger squinted warily at Grant, while Grant peered at the spotless white deck of the ship. “Prison, huh? Convenient you told me that after I agreed to hire him, Joe.”

  “Sorry about that. That was wrong of me. But Grant is a good man, and he’ll be your best employee. Just wait and you’ll see.”

  Scowling, Roger reluctantly nodded. When Grant slowly raised his head to meet his gaze, his new boss told him, “You pull any of that prison shit on me and getting fired will be the least of your problems, you got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Roger’s glower abruptly turned into a grin. “I got a lieutenant calling me ‘sir.’ I love it. Okay, kid, you go up there,” he pointed to the door of the administration building nearby, “fill out some paperwork, and you can start work tomorrow. Eleven hundred hours, sharp.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Joe broke in, “Hey, Rog, when are you done tonight? Let’s go out and get a drink.”

  “If you want to meet me here around twenty-thirty, I’ll take you to the place with the best pizza in the city.”

  Joe grinned. “You look like you’ve tried a few pizza joints in your day.”

  “Can you believe this guy?” Roger asked Grant. “He insults me at the same time he asks me for a favor. Unbelievable.”

  Grant began to feel a sliver of relief wash over him. Maybe he wouldn’t have to be so solitary anymore. He returned Roger’s smile. “Yep, that’s my Uncle Joe.”

  “Ah, you guys love me, you know it,” Joe said. “Let’s get that paperwork started, Grant.”

  Grant nodded. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Eaton.”

  “See you then, kid.”

  Roger disappeared below deck, muttering grumpily. His business wasn’t no halfway house, damn it. Joe’s nephew had better perform like the fucking Employee of the Month or there would be hell to pay.

  5. The Jacket

  Sophie leaned back in the metal chair outside her PO’s office, nervously glancing at her watch. It was five past nine, and although she didn’t know Officer Stone all that well, he didn’t seem the type to run late. Should she knock again? She didn’t want to be a pest, but she also didn’t want to get in trouble for being late if he was somehow in his office yet hadn’t heard her first knock.