Authors: Carolyn McSparren
“Because you’re not like the others.”
“I’m exactly like the others. Don’t ever forget that.”
“No, you’re not. I don’t know what you did that brought you here, but I know that Newman is a redneck who resents you because you’ve managed to keep your dignity even in this place. He can’t endure it.”
“Then
I’m
the one who has to endure it. If I make trouble, he’ll find some way to send me back to Big Mountain. I can’t—I don’t want that.”
He could see from her expression that she thought she understood that he didn’t want the soul-numbing life behind steel bars, that he preferred to serve his time in the open air. He let her think that was what he meant. He wasn’t certain whether she would be a help or a hindrance in his flight plan. She was already a distraction.
She sighed deeply, then said, “I’ll have to respect your wishes this time. You understand the dynamics of the place
better than I do.” She squared her shoulders and became all business. “I wasn’t kidding about needing some computer help. I hope you weren’t kidding about knowing how to work the things.”
“I’ve had experience.” More experience than anyone within ten miles, probably.
“I need a database to keep track of the cattle program, start to finish. I know the basic information I need to be able to track—vaccinations, insemination and calving dates, that sort of thing. I know some of the ways it should be cross-referenced, but I have no idea how to set up the program. Can you do something like that?”
“Doesn’t sound too difficult.”
She nodded. “That’s a legitimate way of keeping you in here and sitting down for a couple of days. Since Lard Ass isn’t here, at least he won’t know about today.”
“He’ll know, all right.”
“It will still be my choice, not yours. I’m going to request that we keep Selma and find another job for Newman. If he does come back, I’ll put the fear of God and the warden into him.”
He caught her hand. She drew in her breath sharply, braced against him.
“You will not.” It was the voice of command. He hadn’t used it in three years. Amazing how quickly it came back.
“Let go of me,” she said softly.
“Sorry.” He released her and struggled to his feet.
He could see from her eyes that she was suddenly uncomfortable with him, perhaps even a little afraid. He dropped his hands. “I apologize. But I’ve got to make you see that you can’t interfere with Newman on my behalf or the behalf of any of the other men.”
“Of course I can. He’s a stupid man.”
“He’s a sadistic bastard, but he’s clever at that, if nothing else. He’s also dangerous, and not only to me and the
other men. If you cross him, he’ll find some way to hurt us. And he may hurt you, too.”
“Hurt me?” She laughed and walked to the computer. “He wouldn’t dare use his baton on me. What’s he going to do, get me fired? I don’t think so.”
Steve shook his head. “Not fired and not hit with a baton. And not by him directly. Probably not even on prison property, but hurt, nonetheless.”
“You’re serious.” She wrapped her arms around herself and hunched her shoulders.
He longed to pull her close, feel the warmth of her body against him. The very thought shredded his nerve endings. He didn’t dare allow her warmth to seep into his soul. He might begin to question his goals.
He had to teach her how to be careful. She was more vulnerable than she knew. “This place has its own unwritten rules. A man like Newman has power that reaches outside the prison gates, to men who owe him, who know they may be under his control again someday.”
She raised her eyes. They were hazel, the color of the last leaves of autumn. She leaned toward him and, without the consent of his body, his hands reached for her arms.
“Hey, Doc, you okay in there?”
They jumped apart like a couple of guilty adolescents caught in the hayloft.
“Absolutely.” Eleanor opened the door the rest of the way. “Come in, Selma. You need to know what’s been going on and what we’re planning.”
Steve shook his head. He knew she saw the gesture, but whether she’d keep her mouth shut about Newman’s attack, he had no idea.
She shut the door behind Selma and leaned against it. “Okay, here’s the deal. Chadwick, here, knows enough about computers to set me up a database to track the cow program. It’s fairly complicated, and heaven knows we can’t afford to pay one of the computer geeks at the university to do it. Any problem with that?”
Selma looked from one to the other. “Nope. He’s working for you. You want him to dig a hole to China, he starts digging.”
“Will the others resent it?”
“Sure. Not much we can do about that.”
“I can handle the others,” Steve said quietly.
“Good. Then let’s get started,” Eleanor said. “What’s happening with the painters?”
“I am going to kick Sweet Daddy all the way to the mess hall at lunch,” Selma replied. “Other than that, we’re okay.”
“I thought the men were brown-bagging it.”
“Not until tomorrow. You know changes take time when you work for the state.”
“Okay. Tomorrow. Today, I’m the one going out for lunch. Raoul Torres is picking me up here at eleven-thirty. I’ll get Steve—Chadwick—started with what I want and leave him with it.”
“Fine.” Selma turned to leave.
“Leave the door open all the way, will you?” Eleanor said.
“Sure thing.”
The moment the CO left, Eleanor said to Steve in a businesslike tone, “I spent last night making notes about what I want in the database, but they’re very rough. I’m not precisely certain what should connect with what.”
“I’ll take a look at what you’re proposing, then I can make suggestions about changes and additions. Okay with you?” He kept his voice as businesslike as hers. No one overhearing them would think they’d had any sort of personal encounter.
“Be my guest.” She pulled a folded-up sheaf of lined yellow pages out of her jacket pocket and dropped it on the desk. “Can I bring you some lunch? The walk up to the cafeteria is going to be painful.”
He shook his head. “Cheeseburgers alone down here?
Against the rules. Don’t worry. I’ll make it. I’m already feeling better.”
“I’m only an animal doctor, so I can’t prescribe for human beings, but I can offer some horse liniment that might help, so long as it’s our little secret. I use it myself for aches.”
“Thanks.”
She picked up the computer and placed it on the desk. “Good luck.”
“Right.”
He sat behind the desk and watched her walk out of the room, back straight, hair swinging. Sweet Daddy would call her “fine”—if he called her anything printable. Fine she was, and not only her sleek body. There was a directness, an honesty about her that he found disarming even as it worried him. That very directness might be her downfall. He wouldn’t be able to watch his back and hers, too, not if he got out of here safely.
Somebody had to look out for her, that was for certain.
At the door she turned. “You said not to forget you’re just like them. I can’t believe that.”
As she turned and walked out of sight, he said softly, “One difference. I’m innocent.”
E
LEANOR HAD NO IDEA
whether Steve had intended her to hear his comment or not. But she
had
heard, and now she wondered….
At eleven-thirty Raoul Torres’s dusty white minivan pulled up by the barn. She hurried toward it and opened the passenger-side door.
“Oh, sorry,” he said. “Just dump that stuff in the back.”
She scooped up a stuffed bear, a plastic dinosaur, six CDs for children, and a stack of books and papers and laid them on the seat behind, next to a pink child’s seat. She climbed in and fastened her seat belt.
“Where to?”
“Anywhere as long as it’s out of here,” Eleanor said as they headed down the driveway toward the open gates at the front of the farm.
“Rough morning?”
She ran a hand over her hair and leaned back against the headrest. “You might say that. Lard Ass Newman beat up on one of my guys last night, and the victim won’t let me say anything.”
“He’s right.”
“Why?” She turned in her seat so that she could see Raoul’s profile. “Why is everybody so afraid of rocking the boat? There are rules against that sort of thing.”
“You ever have a really bad teacher?”
“Of course. Most people have at least one.”
“But they go on teaching every year because the rules and regulations they serve under require such meticulous documentation to do anything about them, and they have such power to pass or fail you that you just endure it.”
She shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Ratchet that power up to about a million, and that’s how much power the COs have. The pay is lousy, the hours suck, certainly the ambiance, if you can call it that, is one step lower than the sewers of New York, and the people they are supposed to guard are dangerous. They have to have leeway to protect themselves. They have to be able to count on the support of the warden and administrators. Most of the people who work here are decent people trying to do a decent job. But sometimes even the good ones can be corrupted.”
“Power corrupts, I know.”
“Yeah, and these guys have almost absolute power. It’s a battle between good and evil, and mostly evil wins.”
“Can I avoid corruption?”
He grinned at her. “I don’t know. Can you?” He pulled into a second-rate strip mall and parked. “You like Tex-Mex?”
She nodded.
“Then let’s go stuff ourselves.”
When they were settled in Texas Pete’s and busily scooping up salsa on tortilla chips, she said, “I think I need to know the criminal records of my team.”
“Not a good idea.”
“I already know about Slow Rise. I can’t believe it, but I know it. And what could a sweety like Big possibly do to wind up in prison? Somebody must have led him astray.”
“I warned you.”
“And this morning one of them said he’s innocent.”
Raoul laughed so loud he choked on a tortilla chip and had to wave her away while he gulped down half a glass of iced tea. When he finally got his breathing back to normal, his eyes were tearing and his nose was red. “Didn’t think it would happen so quick, that’s all. I warned you in that first interview that most of the people in prison say they’re innocent.”
“But—”
“Certainly there are miscarriages of justice. DNA testing has freed a lot of convicted rapists and murderers who turned out to have been innocent. But the odds are still very high in favor of the justice system. Confessions, plea bargains and smoking-gun evidence are the order of the day. Take it from me, if he’s in for it, he did it.”
“That’s the thing—I think I need to know what ‘it’ is.”
“Okay. Your choice. I can copy your team’s records. I still think it’s a mistake, but I’ll do it for you. I can drop them by your place on my way home tonight.”
“Thanks. Actually, Raoul, I may decide not to look at them after I have them. I just want the chance to make that choice.”
“Good. Ever hear of Pandora’s box? Or Bluebeard’s chamber? Open the box or the door, and you can’t ever shut it again.”
“What if I find that there
has
been a miscarriage of justice?”
He leaned back as the waiter set a steaming platter in front of him. “Ah, I hate to think of what these fajitas will do for my arteries, but I can’t resist.”
She looked down at the taco salad in front of her and wished she had ordered the fajitas, as well.
Raoul began wrapping fajitas in tortillas. “Don’t even go down that road. These guys have lawyers and families to handle their appeals or fight for new trials. You do not have a vested interest. You have no standing with the courts. Remember the rules. Keep your distance. Do not get involved. If you do, you’ll get hurt.”
“St—one of the team members intimated that if I rock the boat about Newman, I could get hurt—physically hurt.”
Raoul stopped with his fork in midair and set the unfinished tortilla down in front of him. “He could be right.”
Eleanor banged her fist on the table. “I hate this.”
“Do your job, follow the rules, stay out of the way of prison politics, and you’ll do fine.”
“And if not, I wind up in cement shoes?”
The only thing that kept Raoul from choking a second time was the fact that he had his tortilla only halfway to his mouth. “I doubt it. And he won’t rake your car with submachine gun fire, either.” His tone turned more serious. “But you could be mugged coming out of a department store, or carjacked at a fast-food drive-through. Totally random, no connection with Mike. Do you carry a gun?”
“Of course not!”
“Do you have a permit?”
“I had to go through the course and get a permit before they’d hire me at the farm, but I certainly don’t carry one. For one thing, it’s illegal inside the gates.”
“It’s not illegal in your house, and there are lockers outside the gates for you to store stuff in while you’re inside.”
“That’s such a bother.”
“Think about it, that’s all I’m saying. And I would definitely keep one beside your bed at night.”
“I’m beginning to wish I’d never taken this job.”
“Actually, you’re safer inside than outside.”
“That’s what Ernest Portree says. I’m starting to disagree.”
By common consent, they spent the remainder of their lunch talking about Raoul’s two children, on whom he obviously doted, and his wife, a speech pathologist, whom he adored. They were silent on the way back to the farm.
As he parked in front of the barn to let her out, he said, “There’s an old New Jersey saying—don’t mix in. So don’t.”
She nodded. “I’ll try.”
She had beaten the men back to the barn by ten minutes or so. The place was completely deserted. She walked into the now completely open barn, half-painted in white enamel.
She found her laptop still sitting plugged in on her desk. The screen saver flashed scenes of green fields and mountains.
She heard conversation outside, and a moment later Selma stuck her head in the door, saw the computer and said, “Damn. Didn’t think. You need to requisition a safe to lock that computer up when you’re not here.”