Nodding a quick goodbye, Fischer opened the door for them and slipped out as they came in.
Peyton was tempted to tell Hostetler that she could handle the interview alone. She was interested in more than a few cursory answers on top of what she could read in Buzz’s C-file, and she figured he’d be more likely to open up if Hostetler wasn’t standing guard at the back of the room. But she couldn’t act out of the ordinary. He’d be able to tell something was different and so would the staff.
“I have a problem,” she announced.
Buzz glanced over his shoulder as if he thought she had to be talking to Hostetler.
Peyton walked around the large table. “That was meant for you.”
Because of food allergies and irritable bowel syndrome, Buzz had trouble gaining weight. His hollow eyes indicated that today wasn’t one of his better days. But his illness didn’t make him safe. He had a restless nature that made her fear he might be too unpredictable for her purposes. With tattoos covering his bald head, even part of his face, he looked as hardened as he probably was.
How would he react if she put Virgil in his cell?
He was smaller than Virgil. That, she liked. She wanted Virgil to be able to win if his cell mate ever attacked him. Of course, she thought Virgil could handle most men, as long as he knew what was coming. But there wasn’t much anyone could do to avoid getting shanked while sleeping.
“I’m sorry to hear you have a problem, Chief Deputy,” he said. “I really am, but there’s nothin’ I can do to help you.”
She arched her eyebrows. “You don’t even know what’s wrong. Why don’t you sit down so I can explain it to you?”
He did as she asked but bounced his knee as if he could hardly stand to be in the same room with her. “No offense, but I’d rather not get involved. I can’t do you any favors, you hear what I’m sayin’? I’m gettin’ out soon. I wanna serve my time and go. You understand.”
Despite his gang ties, he hadn’t been much of a behavioral concern in the past several years. His desire to sidestep her and stay out of trouble made her think he might actually work. It wasn’t like she had a lot of men to choose from that she considered safe. Everyone in Pelican Bay was there for a reason.
“Of course I understand.”
He relaxed slightly—until she continued to speak and he realized she wasn’t about to back off.
“But that still leaves me with a problem.”
Adjusting his position, he squinted at her. “What do you want from me?”
Peyton sat on the edge of the table. “There’s some sort of unrest in gen pop. It’s subtle, but…you know why I’d be concerned about that, right?”
“Of course. It’s your job to keep things under control.”
“That’s one way to put it. Another is that I don’t like it when people get hurt. So I’m hoping you can tell me what’s making everyone so…uptight.” This wasn’t the approach she’d planned to use. She’d been thinking of telling him that someone claimed he was making threats of bodily harm. But the warden’s visit, and what he’d said during that visit, had created an opportunity to put Virgil in Buzz’s cell, and make Buzz believe it was his fault.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout,” he complained. “There’s nothin’ happenin’ in gen pop. If there was, I’d know about it.”
“That’s why you’re here.”
Realizing that he hadn’t made it any easier to maintain a low profile with that comment, he flushed. “There’s nothin’ to tell.”
“So why are you nervous?”
He wiped his palms on his jeans. “If you were me, you’d be nervous, too. Meeting with you isn’t good. I don’t want trouble.”
“I don’t want trouble, either. That’s why I’m asking for your help.”
“But helpin’ you is trouble. I ain’t no rat, Chief Deputy. If you think that, you got me mixed up with someone else. You hear what I’m sayin’?”
“Letting me know what’s going on in gen pop is ratting someone out?” She rose to her feet. “Now I’m really worried.”
The teardrop tattoo on his cheek stretched and shrank as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. Only twenty-eight, he was too young to have spent as many years in prison as he had. “I didn’t say that.”
“What are you saying?”
“The guys are jittery, that’s all. You know…it’s the fog, the cold. Winter ain’t the best time to be in the joint.”
“So you won’t tell me what’s going on?”
“I can’t tell you anything. One wrong word and they’ll call me a snitch. That’s a death sentence. You know it as well as I do.”
“Fine. If you won’t do me one small favor, I won’t do you any favors, either.”
The knee that’d been bouncing stopped, and his eyes sharpened. “What?”
“Transfers are coming in tomorrow afternoon.”
He shook his head vigorously. “That’s got nothin’ to do with me.”
“Now it does. There’s a man who’ll be joining us, someone the good folks at Corcoran are tired of dealing with.”
“Behavioral?”
“Yes.”
Buzz jumped up. “Don’t tell me—”
“He’ll be your new cellie.”
“Ah, man, no! I don’t want a new cellie. I’m good the way I am. I have one month left, one month! What am I gonna do with some badass causin’ me grief?”
Hostetler growled for Buzz to calm down, but Peyton waved the sergeant back.
“He’ll need someone who’s capable of setting a good example, someone who can show him how to stay out of trouble. You’re the perfect candidate.”
“Just put him in the SHU.”
“If he doesn’t behave, that’s exactly where he’ll go. But we’re going to give him a chance to be a stand-up guy. You know how it works in here.”
“That’s the problem,” he grumbled. “I know how it works.”
“We could make a deal, if you’d like….” She let her voice trail off, and he shook his head again. “No way.”
“Fine. Then you’ll meet your new cell mate tomorrow.”
He muttered some profanity under his breath, but Peyton didn’t react because she couldn’t really hear it. Then Sergeant Hostetler came forward to lead him out.