Page 11 of The Bathhouse (Roosters #10)
Finally, Joseph connected with Torres’ glass jaw, and the creep went down with the force of the blow.
He looked up at Joseph with glazed eyes and licked blood from his bottom lip.
Joseph hauled him up by his shirt and slammed him against the wall.
He curled his hands into fists, but Joseph pulled him away from the wall and slammed him into it again.
“Who the hell do you think you are, you fucker? You won’t get away with this.”
Torres spat blood. “Who’s going to stop me? You?”
“You’re a criminal. I know about your record.”
“So what? It was a long time ago. The guy who hired me didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”
“How much did you pay him to hide the details?”
“We made a few bucks together. You can do the same.”
“Damn you. You ruined my life and you don’t even give a shit.”
“I did you a favor. Your boyfriend doesn’t want the world to know he’s fucking you. He’ll pay up and he’ll be my cash cow. I expect he’ll generate a steady income for years.”
Hopelessness made Joseph’s shoulders sag. He let Torres go and stepped back. The bastard was right. Reed would never acknowledge Joseph as anything more than a booty call. In all likelihood, he would pay Torres, and continue to pay him, rather than fess up.
Torres turned away and opened a liquor cabinet. “Come on. Let’s sit down, have a drink, and talk like men.” When he turned back to face Joseph he had a bottle of Don Papa Rum in one hand and a gun in the other. “No worries. It’s just a little insurance to keep you calm.”
Joseph put on a brave front, but inside he trembled. “ Duwag . You know you won’t win in a fair fight.”
“I’m no coward. I just don’t see any need to fight. There’s plenty of money here for both of us.” Torres’ lips creased in an evil smile. “Tell me, you’re not really a sissy boy like the Amerikano, are you? You just fucked him for the money, right?”
Joseph had become angrier by the minute and those words set him off. Torres had the advantage, but he didn’t give a damn. Overcome with rage, he threw himself at Torres.
The bottle fell to the floor and the gun went off. Adrenaline masked the pain in Joseph’s leg. He laid his arm across Torres’ throat and pressed hard. The creep grabbed his arm and tried to pull it off, but he wasn’t strong enough. Breathless and choking, he started to go limp.
Lost in his fury, Joseph hardly heard the voices behind him. Suddenly, strong arms pulled him off Torres. Someone had called the police.
Gasping, Torres fell to the floor and tried to suck air back into his lungs. Then he lay on his back and closed his eyes playing possum. The police didn’t fall for it. They grabbed him under the arms, heaved him to his feet, and walked him out.
Another officer shoved Joseph out the door. He tried to explain about the blackmail, but no one listened. A crowd of angry neighbors watched as they were taken away.
* * *
Conditions inside the jail were horrifying. The medical unit was a joke. Joseph received minimal care for his wound before being thrown into a dorm, the air thick and foul smelling with the sweat of too many men crowded into a space not meant for them.
After a day inside, Joseph came to welcome the time spent outside squatting in the unrelenting Manila heat. Mostly, he kept to himself, but one of his fellow inmates befriended him and they talked.
The other man had not been convicted, yet he’d been incarcerated for months. Like so many others, including Joseph himself, he was a pretrial detainee. “We are forgotten men. Some spend years waiting for a trial because of the crowded court system.”
Already, Joseph felt like he would die here. Still, he figured he deserved whatever happened to him. He refused to complain.
The cramped conditions forced the prisoners to sleep close together, like sardines in a can.
It was awkward, but unavoidable. On the fourth day of Joseph’s incarceration, the man sharing his cardboard bed on the floor shook him awake.
Sleep was a precious commodity in the jail, and Joseph woke angry.
His new friend urged him to calm down. “The guards are looking for you. Maybe you will get your chance to be heard.”
“I don’t think so. It’s too soon.” This couldn’t be good. Joseph’s stomach turned over with fright, but hopefully he would soon learn his fate. Better that than living in limbo. He called out. “Here. I’m here.”
Two officers approached and without a word, they pulled Joseph to his feet.
“What’s going on? Where are you taking me?”
No one answered. The guards escorted him to the warden’s office in silence. They shoved him inside and left. Joseph stood trembling before a man with a face like granite.
“Joseph Castro?”
Joseph struggled to keep his voice steady “Yes, sir.”
“Your case is dismissed.”
Joseph’s jaw dropped and he blinked at the warden uncomprehendingly.
The man looked at him with a thunderous expression. “What are you waiting for?”
“I-I-I don’t understand, sir.”
“I put a rush on your case. You’re free to go.”
Joseph stood frozen, trying to make sense of it all.
The warden looked up and scowled. “I suggest you leave before I change my mind.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Joseph beat a hasty retreat, but before he got to the door, he heard the warden call out behind him. “Must be nice to have friends in high places.”
What did he mean? Joseph had no friends in positions of power or influence. But there was no time to think about it, because the guards were waiting at the door to escort him outside.
Joseph took a deep breath, his first taste of freedom in days. When he looked up, he saw Reed. Surely he was having hallucinations. Reed should be back in the States by now. Shock, guilt, sadness, every emotion went through him, and he stood rooted to the spot.