CHAPTER I

21:45

"So, Mr. Garcia," said Detective Perez, "how do you explain what we found at the scene of the crime?" Dennis Garcia, alias "Nut," remained silent. The detective was a thin, dark skinned man of average height. He was also Dominican, likely given the case to try and entreat Nut to turn State's evidence on Chulo... and his road dog Bolo also, for that matter. The precinct had made a mistake leaving Bolo and Nut together but the plan had already been spelled out to them in this very eventuality: say nothing until help arrives. If you have to speak, say only the bare minimum. Neither Bolo nor Nut knew where Chulo was anyway. It was going on 22:00 and every play and trick had been used to try and get them to talk so as to incriminate themselves. They hadn't worked. "How is it, Mr. Garcia, that traces of your DNA were found in the apartment of our person of interest?" Fuck, thought Nut to himself. He needed to know what kind of DNA. Was it blood, skin, spit or... otherwise? "After all, that's your family, Mr. Garcia. You wouldn't want something to happen to your family, right? Detective Perez turned his back to them, walking to the window and peering into the faux lit darkness. "I've seen some terrible shit in my career and I've been on some mysterious cases. This one ain't even top ten, gentlemen." He turned back to them. "Couple of heavy hitters like you, surely your lawyers will be here for you tomorrow." He smiled. "But you won't be here, you'll be on the Boat."

Detective Perez gave a signal and some blue and whites came into the room. The Boat was actually a decommissioned ship to which many people who committed crimes in The Bronx county were sent while awaiting their criminal charges to be sorted out or waiting to be bailed out or transferred to Rikers Island, inarguably the United States's largest and most violent county jail, located in the borough of Queens County. Before the Boat there was "Bronx House"; the Tombs were known as Manhattan House; there were three other "Houses" correlating with the names of the three other boroughs.

These "Houses" were detention centers where detainees from that area of the City were held pending the outcomes of their trials or cases, in general. The Boat was huge, anchored off The Bronx coast and taken care of by the New York City Department of Corrections (NYCDOC). Strange thing about the Boat, though: one was fed just adequately, likely because you were fed inside a dorm, not mixed together with any other dorms, as opposed to a messhall. The lighting was subdued at night and bright during the day, although sufficient sunlight and its glare off the water flooded inside the Boat.

There were even small recreation yards on top of the Boat where two or more dorms went out for recreation at the same time. This depended on the number of detainees and the number of c.o.'s ("correction officers") were available.

At these places in prisons, outside of the housing units, inevitably, _someone_ would know you, someone would recognize you from the farthest reaches of Timbuktu, and if you happened to be in for a sex crime, _especially_ against a child, at some point, your face would be used to play "razor tag."

When being admitted, they were about to be strip searched but a certain older officer just waved them through a metal detector. They were each handed a "set up" which consisted of a blanket, two bedsheets, one pillowcase and one pillow, one cup, one toothbrush, one toothpaste and one pair of foam shower slippers. Both of them, being codefendants, would be housed in the same dorm, 16CC, on the third floor of the Boat. Bolo wondered in passing how people who got seasick dealt with the motion of the ship; likely they were transferred to another detention facility or Rikers Island. Breakfast was served anytime between 7a.m. and 9a.m. in a most subdued fashion with the "house gang" niggas getting extra portions. "House gang" was the group of detainees (so-called "inmates") who had different tasks to complete in each dorm. There were basically two kinds of house gang: cooks and cleaners. Each was paid a pittance per week or every two weeks.

Bolo peeped Nut talking in hushed tones to the older c.o. from earlier; rather, it seemed the c.o. was telling him a story. Nut was holding his suit jacket over his shoulder like some kind of wise guy.

And what was all that about Ygritte? Bolo thought to himself. His mind shied away from any kind of rationalization. He knew what a beast Nut could be from how the latter used to mistreat his girlfriends, even in junior high school. Any of those issues could be resolved later but they had to be united here and now. Bolo removed his V-neck and slacks and lay under the covers. He allowed fatigue to navigate him through the sands of time as those very same sands buried him in a storm of temporary forgetfulness and transient tranquility.