Chapter Text
It was a school bus.
A school bus.
They hadn’t even tried to disguise it, still painted the eye-searingly cheerful shade of yellow. Mariah wondered if that was done deliberately, designed to remind everyone of being children. To make them behave.
She clutched her papers just a little bit tighter as it rolled through the prison gates. Goddamnit, she shouldn’t even be here in this hellhole waiting around surrounded by the unwashed dregs of society. Who knew what she might pick up and the goddamn prison guards had already confiscated her hand sanitizer.
Maybe she should have listened to Alex. He had wanted her to send a lawyer of course. Had gone on and on about the potential damage to her public image but she’d still come herself. She supposed she owed Shades that much at least. Without him she’d probably be rotting in a matching prison cell by now.
The bus finally drew all the way up and the door wheezed open. The women that filed on ahead of her...and it seemed to be mostly women, save for some scrawny teenage boys accompanying their mama’s...all seemed to have this beaten down look. And as little as she liked being stuck here with them it wasn’t as if she could blame them, everything up until this point had been designed to make them feel like they were criminals themselves.
When your man gets locked into a prison sentence, you do too.
Who had said that? She wondered as she seated herself on one of the uncomfortable seats. Most likely one of Mama Mabel’s girls, back then half of them had boyfriends doing time for some crime or another while they waited and waited, making the pilgrimage out to the prisons weekly or monthly, depending on time and distance. They took as much emotional weight as they could off their men and slowly but surely it crushed them.
It had never been her, but it could've been.
After all, way back when, there had been a boy.
She couldn’t even remember his name now, not after all these years. But she remembered the way his bright smile contrasted against his dark skin, the way his arms had swelled with ropey adolescent muscle. Little things that she had got well and truly caught on. He’d run ‘errands’ for Mama Mabel a fair few times but she’d given him his marching orders afore long. Not careful enough, too much to prove. Or maybe she’d noticed the way teenage Mariah had been staring at him.
They’d met secretly a few times after, a few kisses. Nothing more...she couldn’t bring herself too. Not then. Not so soon after everything. But they had whispered about running away together, another city where no one knew who they were. Where they could be together.
And then he’d disappeared. Not dead, he hadn’t caused quite enough trouble for that but she’d seen him from a distance soon after, face swollen and bruised, splint on his right wrist. And rather than feeling pity or anger at Mama Mabel all she’d felt was a vague surge of disgust. At him. At herself. That, for all their big talk about it being forever, a few weeks and a little ‘gentle persuasion’ from Mabel’s goons had ended it before it had even truly begun.
“Mariah ain’t never gonna be one of them sad-faced girls sitting on those goddamned buses.’ Mama Mabel had talked about it awhile after, half to her, half to Uncle Pete “She’s too smart for that, she’s gonna go all the way with no deadweight husband holding her back. I’m gonna make sure of it if I have to beat every one of them no good little punks out of here my- self .”
So there was no street punk boyfriend for Mariah Dillard. Course there could have been one at university or law school but then what? How could she bring that clean-cut university educated boyfriend back to that house, with whores in the front room and guns piled up on the table in the backroom? Besides he might have been a white boy, there were more than enough of them at law school and lord knows what Mama Mabel would have said to that .
By the time that the whores and the guns were gone, by the time Mama Mabel was gone she’d gotten so used to being alone that she wasn’t sure she could be another way. And besides there had always been more important things to focus on. Didn’t mean she hadn’t had fun a time or two but to be honest not often and certainly nothing that was gonna stay the distance.
Besides there had always been the spectre of Uncle Pete lurking there, whispering those damning things in her ears, every time she even looked at a boy. Every time she wondered if they were going to take it wrong...
The bus roared to life underneath her, startling her out of her reverie. Slowly, jerkily, it pulled away from the first checkpoint, making its way past more high wire fences, more squat grey office-like buildings.
She’d looked up the ‘no good punk’ first boyfriend a few years back and had felt wearily annoyed that Mama Mabel had been right. He’d been in Juve nearly as soon as they’d broken up, for drugs charges, back in at nineteen for assault before moving onto breaking and entering and finally now doing forty for murder.
When the bus finally ground to a halt again the door whooshed back and a slim, sandy haired officer climbed onboard. For a long moment he just stood there, surveying them all like he was the teacher and they were all miscreant children.
“Okay, listen up, you are going to go down and through the doors to your left. Once there you will queue in an orderly fashion. Please have your papers ready for inspection and be prepared with your bags opened to the searched. Any illegal items found on your person will result in your immediate detention. Okay, off the bus.”
He stepped back enough so people could squeeze past him, waving them impatiently forward as if they’d been the ones keeping him waiting.
The first thing she noticed as they entered the main building was that it stunk . Like body odour, bleach and the lingering smell of high school cafeteria food. The second was that there yet another damned queue snaking its way along the corridor populate by tired eyed visitors.
The girl in front of her had a wailing baby in her arms, the child shrieking inconsolably. Occasionally she would glance round and grimace apologetically, shifting her squalling burden from arm to arm and then Mariah would pantomime back a ‘don’t worry about it’ gesture even while every inch of her wanted to scream at the woman to control her damned brat. But she kept her grip on her Councilwoman front, even as her feet began to ache and throb from standing.
She already felt hot and tired and slightly disgusted at herself for not just pulling some strings beforehand and getting whisked through. Like she had thought that doing it this way would mean more or some bullshit.
He’s not your boyfriend or your damned husband Mariah, he’s your business partner. Maybe with benefits, in the future, but right now you’ve got to stop acting like it’s something more than it is.
The guard that finally waved her over looked like someone had managed to get a uniform on a gigantic human thumb. His bulbous head seemed to slope down into his shoulders with absolutely no discernable break. He spent so long looking at the papers that Mariah found herself tapping her foot impatiently, irrationally certain that he was taking this long deliberately.
“And what is the purpose of your visit here today?”
As if it didn’t say exactly that across the top of the papers the idiot had in his hands.
“I’m here to see Hernan Alvarez, case number 72862.”
She’d learnt it by heart after saying it on the phone so many times already. To her lawyer, to the not insignificant amount of people she was owed favours from in the justice system.
“Are you a lawyer, ma’am?”
“Personal visit.”
It helped a little to remind herself this was personal. Not a lot but...a little.
He ran an assessing eye over her and heaved a world-weary sigh, as if she’d been sent specifically to try him.
“Ma’am your skirt is a little above the knee, I’m afraid.”
She clenched her teeth, hard enough it almost hurt. Then, steeling herself, she put on her best smile.
“And?”
Really she should have worn pants, wasn’t even sure why she’d pulled out this outfit-- a neatly cut plum colored skirt and blazer over a cream silk blouse. It was one of her more feminine outfits, had a sort of little flippy kick to the skirt that she quite liked sometimes if she was in the mood. It would have looked better with heels probably but she certainly didn’t have time for that shit anymore.
But it had seemed appropriate when she’d picked it this morning. Walking the line between personal and formal. Now the blouse was a mess of creases and she could feel herself sweating up a storm in the blazer. And apparently the damned skirt was too short despite the fact it certainly fell half-way over her knees.
“I’m afraid our rules state that no one can enter that jail with a skirt that isn’t below the knee.”
This pink and white splotchy faced asshole was enjoying this. There was the slight curve of disgust to his lip, the little flicker that seemed to say ‘I see you, you hoighty-toighty uppity black bitch. You might think you’re above this but you are just the same as every single cunt I see come through here, day in, day out. Just as bad as the low-life scum you’re visiting.’
“Do you even know who I am? Do you really think some jumped up little cop wannabe is going to keep me out of here? I am a New York City Councilwoman and you’re telling me what… that the sight of an inch of my knee is going to drive those men crazy? I will have you fired .”
He doesn’t believe me.
The ‘yeah, right’ was written across his face as plainly as if he’d shouted it. Not even a flicker of fear or remorse.
“We can give you a shirt to cover up ma’am.”
He gestured to a huge neon green travesty of manufacturing that was neatly folded on the side. So much fabric that it was pretty damned likely she’d have to hold up the end so she didn’t trip over it. Designed to humiliate, to degrade. Oh this pasty-ass white boy would want her to be humiliated into looking like some goddamn golden ager tourist covering up their bathing suit on holiday.
“I don’t think so.”
He stuck this thumbs through his belt loops, hitching up his pants but not quite making it over his gut. Probably imagining he looked like Clint Eastwood or some bullshit. Carrying on talking as if she hadn’t said a single word.
“We’re also going to need you to leave your jacket, layers aren’t allowed. And we’ll have to search you.”
He gestured to a small room set to one side, in which guards were pulling aside the visitors like they were in a police lineup. Hell, she’d probably been treated with more respect when she’d actually been being interrogated.
The jacket she could live with leaving behind. But first that godawful shirt and now they wanted to search her... there was no way in hell she was gonna let them treat her like she was some sort of lowlife. Like they were somehow better than her.
“Okay, now I really don’t think so. Call your supervisor. I want to speak with them, call your goddamn supervisor .”
Her voice was so suddenly harsh that she actually saw him take an involuntary step back. Good. Let him realise who was really in control here.
“Ma’am we have to frisk you, it’s policy--”
“No, I think I have been patient enough. As if making me get on that goddamn school bus and then keeping my ass waiting in line for two hours wasn’t enough. Get me a damned phone.”
Okay screw going to the supervisor. She was going all the way to the top. She was going to make this jackass suffer, she was going to tear him apart .
He rallied, puffing himself up to his full height and looking down his nose at her. But it wasn’t the same as before, the fear was there now and she had been looked down on like that for her entire damned life, it didn’t scare her. She met the stare head on with an icy one of her own.
The doubt was starting to creep in around the edges, she could see it. No doubt he was used to dealing with harried mothers and worried girlfriends. Well tough shit, today he was coming up against Mariah Dillard and she didn’t roll over easy.
“Maybe if you had read the dress code before coming this could have been avoided ma’am.”
“Phone. Now .”
A second nervous looking guard slunk up, tugging on the bigger ones arm.
“Jimmy, I think you’d better get her the phone.”
“What you think I’m going to let some--” he swallowed the word he was obviously on the verge of saying “-- woman boss me around for simply doing my job?”
“That’s Mariah Dillard. Councilwoman Mariah Dillard, jesus christ don’t you read the papers?”
She turned her attention to the newcomer, noticing how he shrank back a little when she turned her gaze on him. Good. Let them all be scared of her.
“Well since you obviously have some speck of common sense maybe you could get me a phone?”
The phone materialised pretty quickly after that and she called Alex, had him forward her call to the correct office. The first guard was still looking aggravated but markedly less sure of himself now.
“Ma’am I--”
She held up a finger to forestall any interruptions as the receptionist picked up.
“Commissioner Fraser please, let him know it’s Mariah Dillard, Councilwoman for Harlem and she wants to speak to him, now .”
It took longer than she normally would have liked to get the Commissioner on the phone but the longer they took the redder and redder her new friends skin got, conflicting emotions played out across his face. Part of him still thought she was lying that much was blatantly obvious but that part was just as obviously dissolving fast as she calmly stood with the phone pressed to her ear.
“Commissioner! Oh I’m very well thank you, how’s your family? Uh-huh. Well that’s very good to hear.”
Quickly she cut the long-winded bastard off before he could disappear into some sidestory about his family or his golf swing.
“I’m afraid it’s not a social call, I have just been treated in the most appalling manner by a guard at one of your prisons and I just had to come straight to you with this.”
With her sweetest smile she extended the phone to the first guard.
“He wants to talk to you.”
It was gratifying to see the previously red color drain from the jumped up prick’s face until it was the shade of cottage cheese.
“Now, while that’s being cleared up if one of you fine gentleman could escort me to the visitors area, I’d be very grateful.”
It was amazing how quickly she was ushered through after that.
The room she was finally led into was harshly lit, long florescent bulbs giving prisoners and visitors alike a ghoulish cast. As she was escorted down the long line of chairs she saw mothers and girlfriends settling down or already talking to men clad in beige or offensively orange outfits. And here, two along from the seat she was directed to, a rarity, a distinguished graying man with a look of deep sadness carved into his face. She smiled at everyone as she passed, the Councilwoman’s smile she had perfected over the years. After all, no matter what Alex had thought, if coming to this shit hole to visit someone didn’t say ‘I’m one of you’ what did? After all weren’t over a quarter of her male constituents rotting away in somewhere like this.
“If you take down the handset on your right you’ll be able to talk ma’am.” The guard who had escorted her down fawned round her for a second, even pulling out her chair in a strangely courtly gesture. It earnt her a few odd looks from the other visitors.
She pulled the handset down, surprised by how heavy it felt in her hand, and stared at her own worried reflection in the plexiglass.
In a way she was glad for it, for the separation. It removed the question of exactly how familiar she should be with him-- after all she had kissed him the last time they’d been alone so he would probably expect at least a handshake or, lord help her, a hug . Much as she had grown to like Shades the last thing she wanted was to hug him when she was sweating up a storm, with prison guards and criminals alike leering in the background. Not her scene.
The door in the background buzzed and Shades was ushered through, wrists chained in front of him.
He was wearing beige trousers and a beige top that looked like a second cousin to doctors scrubs with a white t-shirt underneath. There was a little trail of dark splotches running down the front, faded to a murky brown but still recognisably blood. It was… strange. He was so well dressed normally, so sharp and only ever in crisp black. To see him like this was wrong.
But still….somehow even just seeing him made her calm. Shades always seemed like he knew the answers, like he knew what to do. Even here, wearing prison slacks and surrounded by guards he seemed utterly at ease, utterly in control. That odd charm to him that so many people in his line of work lacked.
And more than that, there was his apparently unshakeable belief that she knew what to do.
The big black plastic handset felt odd nestled against the side of her face, archaic and clunky. He pressed his own one to his ear as soon as he sat down and she heard his breathing, tinny and distorted.
“That is...an exceptionally sensible business suit.”
Somehow he made it sound like the lewdest suggestion ever, like it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his entire life and she had to repress a smile. Lord help her but she’d actually missed his whispery, emotion shook voice... so different from the harsh, demanding voices of the men she was used too. Even when they were warm they were loud, as if insisting everyone heard them first, acknowledged them first.
“You got something on you.”
He glanced down, an odd smile flickering into life on his face.
“Not mine. But not so easy to get out with the substandard laundry facilities they have here.”
Leaning back in his chair, he stretched the phone cord as far as it could go, seemingly so he could take in more of her. His eyes tracked very deliberately down, before moving slowly up to meet hers again.
“You worried about me sweetheart?”
“ Sweetheart ? Really? You want to try that one?” It sounded more amused and less chiding than she had intended it too but hell, she was amused. It had been awhile since anyone had called her anything so childishly, blatantly affectionate.
Sweetheart. Jesus Christ.
“What would you prefer? Baby? Sugar? You’re looking pretty good in that suit, I could go a little lower rent but….”
He leant closer again, eyes focusing behind her for a moment.
“...we got company.”
This time she couldn’t repress the slight laugh that startled its way from her lips.
“Damn I guess it’s true what they say about men in prison, only one thing on their minds.”
A slow, self-satisfied smile slid across his face, an almost predatory cast to it that made her breath catch in her throat.
“Well my best girl has come to visit me, aren’t I supposed to be having those kind of thoughts?”
You’re too damned old to be getting so worked up over this shit, Mariah she told herself sternly trying not to acknowledge the new heat in her cheeks.
“I better be your only girl.”
“The only one.” he agreed, the look softening slightly until it became more affectionate.
“What you not got yourself a prison bitch yet then?”
“ You’re the only bitch I want.”
She held up a warning finger at him. There was some leeway in the fact he was locked up but she wasn’t putting up with that shit.
“I told you you ain’t calling me bitch again.”
He seemed pleased with that.
“So what should I be calling you? Madam Councilwoman?”
“It’s an option.”
With that he seemed to sense that playtime was over and glanced around, as if making sure no one was listening in on the conversation.
“So then, as my local councilwoman how’re you working to get me, the honest voter, out of jail?”
“You mean, how am I tirelessly working to overturn this gross miscarriage of justice?”
The chain of his handcuffs clicked against the edge of the desk as he leant forward, all his attention focused now.
“What’ve you got?”
“I’ve called in a few favors, here and there. Let them know you’re a good man with a steady job to go back to.”
“Am I?”
“You are my bodyguard after-all Mister Alvarez. Isn’t that where that terrible confusion at my club arose?”
His renewed smile was oddly fond, almost proud, like she’d done something he approved of. It reminded her of the way he’d softly said ‘that’s my girl’ back in the car, that strangely warm expression on his face. Like she was something worthy of adulation. “I believe it was.”
“I mean, you going down into the basement area, an area that I, as the clubs owner, would conceivably know all about and potentially might take refuge from a dangerous mad man like Diamondback in.”
“Yeah, yeah I totally missed you going out the front door didn’t I? But then all those people, all that noise,” He shrugged, the smile never wavering “It’s an easy mistake to make.”
“And all that confusion might also potentially account for Detective Knight’s overzealous behaviour when she obviously mistook you for one of Diamondback’s goons. Not that it means she shouldn’t be held accountable for all your numerous injuries.”
He nodded slowly, as if taking in and processing every bit of information she was feeding him. Which was good, they’d both need to be singing word perfect from the same hymn sheet when it came down to making their story ring true.
“I mean, they didn’t look much on my police photos but I’m guessing I had some deep internal injuries that were confirmed by a doctor…”
“Doctor Green. My own personal physician.”
“And I’m guessing…” he raised his eyebrows “...cracked ribs?”
“Oh definitely. You could hardly breathe, keeping you in police custody was inhumane. An abuse of power.”
“Lucky I’m a fast healer, right?”
“Lucky for Detective Knight, but...as a good employer I’ll have to let them know I would support you if you decided to sue for police brutality, excessive force and unlawful imprisonment. After-all this isn’t just a one off, the NYPD seems to have some kind of vendetta against me, my family and now my employees.”
“What about the nurse?”
“Clare Temple? She was fired from her previous job, she’s been mixed up in more shit than I can count and she’s a close personal friend of Luke Cage’s from what I understand. She’s not a credible witness, it would be obvious she was lying to protect Detective Knight. We’ll make sure she never takes the stand.”
She leant forward, fingers brushing restlessly against the plexiglass for a second before she pulled them back.
“Everyone knows cops are corrupt baby, we get more proof of it every day. If they don’t drop the charges, we’re going to make them wish they’d never started this.”
The term of endearment had slipped in there without her even realising and she hoped belatedly that no one had heard. No one would care most likely but it was best to be careful. Besides wasn’t she the one who kept telling herself this was all business? When they were apart she could convince herself of that, develop an odd little amnesia about the intensity of this thing whatever it was between them.
“They’re throwing every roadblock they can think of to stop you getting bail, saying it’s on some ‘danger to the community’ bull- shit. ”
Somewhere close to the door, on of the guards smacked his hand against the wall and called out,
“Five minutes!”
There was a sudden harsh roll of conflicting emotions inside her. She wanted to be out of this place, more than almost anything, it made her skin crawl. Yet part of her was reluctant to leave him here. It seemed almost absurd that she couldn’t just push aside the glass and have him fall in line half a step behind her, walk out this place with him at her side.
She kept her voice soft, but even she could hear the undercurrent of steel that rang in it.
“I’m going to get you the hell out of here. You can count on that.”
“I know you will.”
Again that completely open sense of trust that she got from him. Maybe she was mistaken about it, reading him completely wrong. But it really seemed like he had no doubt that she would move heaven and earth to get him out.
Maybe it was because she owed him and he knew it. When things had begun to go south with Cornell and the money and Luke Cage, for a moment, just a moment all she’d wanted to do was give up. Something about the idea of not having to fight, not having to juggle anymore had been incredibly attractive.
He’d reminded her of the steel in her backbone, the fire in that core of her. That she wasn’t someone who was going to fade away just because a few things had gone wrong.
Shades didn’t press his hand against the glass like she’d seen some of the others do but for just a moment his finger tapped against it in the place hers had brushed earlier as if, had the glass not existed, he would’ve been reaching out for her.
For a moment she let herself imagine it, the comforting weight of his hand landing on hers, the heat of it, the reassurance.
A guard had appeared behind Shades, obviously urging him to get up and start back to his cell. But he remained where he was for another long moment, eyes fixed on her face as if he was drinking her in.
Her goodbye stuck in her throat and she could only watch as he finally let himself be taken by the elbow and steered out of the room, holding eye contact with her until the door was pulled shut behind him.
Child, that boy is trouble. He’ll be the death of you if you ain’t careful.
Mama Mabel’s voice rang in her head as clearly as if the old bitch was standing by her shoulder, telling her shit she already knew.
Telling her shit when she suspected it might already be too late.