by Darrell Case
At Cook County Jail in Chicago, a young correctional officer selected a set of trip gear. The officer in charge room gave him a release form for prisoner 18394.He signed the log and went in search of his prisoner. As he rode the elevator to the fifth floor, he thought about the fight he had with his wife. When they married two years ago they promised for richer or poorer. Yet she had hoped for more than a cockroach infested apartment with one bedroom and a tiny bathroom and kitchen. He tried to tell her it was only temporary. She wanted a home in the suburbs and spent her days searching real estate ads. Not for the first time, he came to work leaving her in tears.
The officer walked down the corridor, checking the number on the cells. He stopped at 516.
"All right Jack time to go," He said opening the cuff port in the steel cell door.
Jack Van Rudolf pushed himself up from the bunk and stepped to the front of the cell.
"And what might your name be my young friend?"
"Hopkins and I'm not your friend."
"Oh". Jack said grinning. "Is that right? And why is that?"
"You're a criminal and I'm an honest man."
"The luck of the draw my young friend. Luck of the draw."
"I told you I'm not your friend. Now turn around and put your hands through the opening," the deputy said in a tired voice. Still grinning, Jack complied. The officer fastened the cuffs on the prisoner's wrists. He signaled to the sergeant in the glass enclosed control room. With a distinct hum, the door to Van Rudolf's cell slid open. Shuffling into the hallway Jack whispered to the deputy his eyes darting to the glass enclosure behind them.
"You take these off and turn your back when we get outside the jail and I'll make you a very rich man."
The correctional officer didn't answer until they moved through the sally port. "Yeah, right, I’m supposed to trust you."
"My freedom is worth a substantial amount to me," Van Rudolf said smiling. "Several million dollars will do me no good if I'm locked up."
The deputy stopped. Jerking the prisoner to a halt, he leaned over as if he were checking Jack's restraints. "I gotta have some money up front."
"Of course. How much would you like?"
"I ain't greedy. A hundred thousand up front and another hundred thousand after you escape."
"Done. I can arrange the transfer if you’ll permit me to use a phone."
The deputy glanced around. Seeing they were, alone he shoved Jack into a nearby office. The officer started to hand the phone to him, but yanked it back. "You better not be lying to me or I'll execute you myself,” he said, fingering the handcuff key in his pocket." If you get busted I keep the hundred thousand and I didn't have anything to do with your escape."
"I assure you I have no intention of returning to this miserable place."
The deputy put the key in the lock to remove the handcuffs. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, "That’s our prisoner," a voice said from the doorway." A paunchy man of average height stepped into the office. The correctional officer's face drained of color.
The deputy quickly relocked the handcuffs, his hands trembling. "Yup, this is the famous bank robber Jack Van Rudolf," he said swallowing hard. "You the marshal?" Harsh disappointment flooded through him as his dreams of riches ran away like a laughing child mocking him.
"Sorry." Van Rudolf whispered.
"Deputy Marshal Samuels," the man said. Taking Van Rudolf by arm, he guided the prisoner through the door. "We'll send your trip gear back after we deposit Mr. Van Rudolf in federal prison."
"The deputy marshal stopped short. Looking the young correctionals officer in the eye, he said. “You better learn to keep your nose clean son or you aint gonna live long."
Turning he led Jack down the hall and out a side door. They crossed the parking lot to a black Crown Victoria. Opening the back door he said "Get in and watch your head, we wouldn't want you to be damaged when we fry you."
“By all means. My intelligence has always been my greatest asset," Jack said smiling.
"Get in, you animal," the marshal snarled. Jamming his boot in Van Rudolf's side, he shoved the prisoner through the door. Jack fell on his side chortling at the whole situation.
While the driver, a thin man in his mid 30's, wearing a dark blue suit, kept silent, however, his surliness spoke volumes. He didn't like prisoners. He did enjoy the chase, capture and the kill. Transport usually rubbed him the wrong way. His partner felt the same. Taking a criminal for a ride was a waste of time. However in this case it would be profitable.
He pulled the car into the late morning traffic, maneuvering the side streets while remaining silent, eyes on the road. Jack took in the sights and sounds of the city. The smells assailed his nose. They stopped for a light. On their left was a bakery He inhaled the odor of fresh bread. Ah, freedom. Well not yet but it was just a matter of time.
As they entered the Dan Ryan Expressway Jack leaned forward. "Gentlemen, may I make a proposal?"
Both men stared straight ahead without answering. They
turned onto 80 then south on Interstate 57. The city disap-peared, houses become sparse. They sped through farm country. Rows of corn and soybeans glinted in the warm sun. It was one of those days when you could almost see the crops growing. The cool from the air conditioner didn't reach the back seat. Not so with the sun. Sweat soaked Jack's shirt.
He never doubted that the marshals believed they were taking him to the federal prison at Terre Haute, Indiana. Jack, though, did not plan to reach that destination. He had no clue his captors had the same thought.
As they raced through the countryside, Van Rudolf tried again.
"Am I to believe a hundred thousand dollars wouldn't make a difference in your lives?"
The marshals acted as though they didn't hear him. At Kankakee, they turned onto 115. A few miles later, the driver made a left onto road 2000 S. Jack was becoming worried. His usually upbeat demeanor was slipping. Sweat to trickled down his back, now more out of fear than the heat. These men were searching for a place to either turn him loose or pummel him.
"Men of distinction, I like that. All right, gentlemen, two hundred thousand." Jack tried unsuccessfully to keep the tremor out of his voice. The deputies looked at each other.
"You sure this is his district?"
"Yeah, we just passed the north edge of it."
"He'll be the first one to respond?"
"I talked to him this morning. He's ready for us. He'll be the first officer on the scene."
"All right let's do it then.” The two marshals high-fived
each other.
The one driving nodded.
The car rolled to a stop at the side of the deserted county road. The marshal exited the car and opened the back door.
"Not the location I would have preferred, however I won’t dispute it," Jack said sliding across the seat to the open door.
“Sweet freedom." He breathed in the fresh country air and held out his hands to the deputy.
"Get going, maggot."
"Would you be kind enough to take off the cuffs please?"
"Take them off yourself," the marshal said, flipping Jack the key. Jack started to bend over. "Not here, down there," the man said. He pointed to the bottom of the slope.
"But..."
"Get moving, before I change my mind."
Jack shrugged his shoulders, and started walking down the hill, working the key into the cuffs as he went. He op
ened them dropped them to the ground. He turned to thank his liberators. Samuels had walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk and Samuels had walked to the back of the car, opened the trunk and pulled out a scoped .223 Winchester.
"Hey Jack!" The man called, smiling widely.
Jack Van Rudolf's face went pale. Terror flowed through him.
He began to run for his life. His feet felt as if someone had tied hundred pound weights to them. He stumbled to his hands and knees, then jumped to his feet, fear lurching him forward. His breath came in short sharp bursts. The veneer was gone. He started to sob, tears streaking his cheeks.
Taking aim, the marshal slowly squeezed the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed and reverberated across the fields. The bullet kicked up dirt two feet to the right of the fleeing bank robber. Jack ran faster. He couldn't outrun a bullet.
Possibly, just maybe the marshal was a bad shot. Bullets swirled around him like a crazy swarm of killer bees. One tore a hole in his shirt and nicked his arm. Jack felt the searing pain.
Adrenalin pulsed through his body. He mustered a final burst of speed even as fright tore at his heart. They were playing with him and it was an executioner’s game. Death was coming. Could he outrun it? A hundred yards out moving at a good clip, maybe just maybe. Freedom beckoned. The trees were 50 yards away. No more shots. Maybe just maybe he could make it. Freedom was there under the cool trees. He could feel it. A smile spread across his lips.
"Finish it," the driver said. His cat sat two miles away in a deserted parking lot. By the time the first officer arrived, he would be gone. Samuels implored him to take the shot. What did he care? The man would still be dead and he alone would collect the fee.
Taking careful aim, the marshal fired. The bullet slammed into Jack Van Rudolf's body slicing his spinal cord in two. Barely conscious he crawled, pulling himself along with his fingers digging into the soft ground. For years, he had evaded death. Now its dark specter hung over him ready to envelop his soul.
The shooter waited a full minute watching the fugitive suffer. Jack screamed in pain and fear. Tears sprang from his eyes making small pools of mud in the dirt. The notorious bank robber was about to be cut down like a mongrel dog.
"Please no." He begged, panic gripping his heart. "Please
God don't kill me."
"Do it." The assassin growled.
Samuels jammed the butt of the rifle snug against his shoulder and fired one last time. The bullet entered the base of Jack's skull and tore off the top of his head.
The officer held up his hand palm out. He waited until 30 seconds passed. Jack's body had somersaulted and come to rest on its back. The empty eyes stared up at the cloudless summer sky. Seeing no signs of life, the shooter nodded to the Shadow. Outside the car now, he took off down the road in a jog. The marshal waited until he disappeared over a small rise then keyed the mike.
"Shots fired, officer needs assistance." He gave the location. Casually Marshal Samuels strolled across the field. Samuels approached the body; poked it with his rifle. Satisfied Van Rudolf was dead, he pried the handcuff key from the bloodless hand. He would see that hand in his dreams tonight but that was okay.
Minutes later sirens coming down 115 howled in the distance coming down 115. Samuels grinned. Their mission successfully completed, he waited for the state trooper assigned to this district.
Chapter 4