Lady Jail

by John Farrow

  She held her head down, thinking about it, then had to look up and face Temple. They were supposed to be mortal enemies, at least on the outside.

  ‘Somebody else’s fight,’ Temple said, and shrugged.

  Jodi agreed. They nodded. They’d work it out.

  ‘I want to stay. But I also want to get out.’ The women laughed at that.

  ‘For now, you can stay. Short leash.’

  ‘Got it,’ Jodi said, her way of saying thanks.

  ‘What about who fucking stabbed me?’ Malka wanted to know. ‘Who did that? Does that bitch stay, whoever she was? I want to know who.’

  ‘Yeah, who did that?’ Abigail asked.

  ‘That would be me,’ Quinn admitted.

  ‘Yeah, why’d you do that?’ Cinq-Mars asked her.

  ‘I thought you wanted me to.’

  ‘If things got hot, maybe. It was a backup plan.’

  ‘Seemed pretty hot to me.’

  ‘Is she your girlfriend? This one?’ Abigail inquired.

  ‘You know who she is.’

  ‘A cop.’

  ‘And no, she’s not my girlfriend.’

  Another ruckus and uproar with everyone talking at once, but no one really seemed to mind that Quinn was a cop. They were amazed. A few even regretted that she’d also be leaving Lady Jail.

  BORDE

  i

  Abigail settled into the seat at the table opposite him, slouched down a little. She took her time before looking up as though abruptly distracted by a stray thought. Émile Cinq-Mars motioned the guard at the door with his chin. If looks could kill: the corrections officer settled on a sigh, obeyed and left the room.

  ‘Wish I could do that,’ Abi said.

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past you.’ They shared a grin, then Cinq-Mars said, ‘You wanted the meeting, Abi. To break the routine or something serious?’

  ‘What’s not serious? My life is on the line, Émile. That’s not changed.’

  ‘Mmm,’ he murmured.

  ‘Not good enough. If that’s all you’ve got, I’m dead meat.’

  ‘You know the drill, Abi. Show us where you hid the money and police departments across the country will compete to bail you out. If you keep a smidgen for yourself, who’d know? You’d get away with it. No one has an accurate account of how much you stole. No one ever will. You pulled off the perfect crime and all that, until you didn’t.’

  She seemed to want to respond, but never found the words.

  ‘My guess? You don’t have the money,’ Cinq-Mars said. He smiled in a way she found curious.

  Abigail studied his expression, wondering what he knew to say that or smile that way, or if his words and his look were mere conjecture, a false flag. She finally managed to admit, under her breath, ‘Never did.’

  He nodded. He added, also under his breath, ‘I know.’

  ‘You know? What do you know? You don’t know squat. You’re bluffing.’ Her voice remained hushed as though someone in the room might overhear. But they were alone.

  ‘Never bluff a bluffer, as they say. You’re a modern day Robin Hood, Abi.’

  She went silent then. Her eyes moved around the small room, calculating.

  Cinq-Mars pressed his advantage. ‘Remember, I studied your process. Best as I was able, anyway, back when we were building a case against you. High finance is not my bailiwick, Abigail, but still, did you really think I put in all that time and found nothing?’

  She met his gaze again. ‘Of course I did. Are you having me on, Mr Copper-Man?’

  He raised his hands and spread them apart for a moment. ‘Everyone who investigated you outwitted themselves. Including me. We aided and abetted your own deceptions. We failed to consider your basic motivation. I cottoned on, eventually. I’m not saying you’re altruistic to the bone, Abi, but you funneled biker drug money into charities around the world.’

  ‘Oh, did I? That’s a wild thought, Émile. You can’t prove nothing like that.’

  ‘Sorry, Abi. That jig’s been up for a long time. What I think is, you never figured out how to funnel the cash back to yourself. Hitting up foreign accounts where money was being moved at lightning speed and in huge numbers – rapid-fire money laundering on the fly, heady stuff – you figured out how to skip a beat.’

  ‘Skip a beat?’ She was trying to put on a brave face although defeat showed around the edges. They’d been adversaries for years; she had never shown signs of being foiled before.

  That smile of his again, a mere uptick, difficult to decipher. He explained, ‘No one was likely to notice if a chunk here or a chunk there vanished along the way. Chunks always vanish along the way and no one is ever certain of where. It’s just expected. Once in a while, somebody gets a bullet to the back of the head, but half the time that bullet was only a crude guess. No one actually knows where all the money went, and not many care as long as most of it arrives on target and close to being on time. Some banks take a cut, it’s assumed. They’re adept at making money disappear. Your problem, Abi, was where to put it all? Once you opened a funnel, giving the lion’s share to yourself was a hurdle too big and a step too far. You might have figured it out one day, that might have been the plan, but you failed to do it in the short term. A whole other problem for you that required more time.’

  ‘Especially if you’re not free to travel,’ she admitted. ‘I had to look like I was on the job.’

  ‘What bank could you hoodwink to store it for you – for you, personally? But charities? They received these odd deposits, raw cash to them, and never looked that gift horse in the eye. Why would they? No need to even issue a tax receipt or say thanks. They had a notion where it was coming from. Probably thought hoodlums the world over were suffering a crisis of conscience to be so generous. By moving it around from one charity to another, no big red flag was raised. Until one was hoisted when the tally really began to add up. Good scheme, Abi. Very smart.’

  Her mouth remained slightly agape.

  ‘You knew? Yet said nothing?’ She seemed to be accusing him of a crime, and Cinq-Mars accepted that he might be guilty of one or two himself. She was growing wary, for if he had crossed a line to her side of the fence and had something on her, what did he want from her now? That was how her world had always worked.

  He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Abigail, if people were aware that you never possessed the money you pilfered, that you never hid it away in a secret vault somewhere, you’d be a carcass in a dumpster within the hour, no matter where you’re living. Let’s keep this one to ourselves. No need to mention it. I haven’t. You gave the money away. I’ll admit to my failure, take the abuse the department will enjoy heaping on me. I’ll claim I couldn’t drag it out of you, that you’re one stubborn lady.’

  ‘Shit, man. I had no idea.’

  ‘Why so glum?’ She did appear to be dismayed.

  ‘If you figured it out, other people will, too.’

  Cinq-Mars dismissed the notion. ‘I had resources and imagination, both. Other people? They’ll assume forever that you took the money for yourself. Who gives it away in this world? They’ll keep looking for a stash of cash overseas with your name on it. Money, Abi, is hard to find when and where it doesn’t exist anymore. You’ll be fine.’

  She wasn’t so sure. ‘In here, for now. I might survive – short term.’

  ‘I’ll be working with honest officials. We want to take away the bikers’ ability to move prisoners around the system. We’ll add security checks specifically with you in mind so that the new regulations cannot be subverted. Very senior people will have to sign off on moving you, and on moving anyone close to you.’

  She shook her head in defiance of him. ‘Then what? When I get out, bikers will have my skin. I’m not sure I can live without it, Cinq-Mars. I used to strip naked in their clubs, when I was still a kid, but naked with no skin? That’s another story.’

  ‘You’ve been working on that one I know.’

  She shot him a glance, confused.
‘What do you know? Surprise me again, Cinq-Mars.’

  ‘Your disappearing skin. I’m talking about Rozlynn.’

  She sighed. ‘More bad news. You figured that one out and this time you told people. I’m burnt toast.’

  Cinq-Mars wasn’t so sure. ‘Before you join her in the Manitoba wilderness, Abi, a biker war will be underway. My prediction? Whoever doesn’t die will be imprisoned. But many will die. More than one or two. Probably more than one or two dozen. Some say more than a hundred, although I hope not. You’re a concern for bikers now, that’s true, but after a bloodbath who will remember you? When all that shakes down, who will still be alive to remember you or give you a second thought after your release?’

  She shrugged. Although her nerve endings and her bones were keenly interested.

  ‘No one,’ he told her. ‘All you have to do is survive your time in Lady Jail, hang out in the wilderness for a few years until you’re utterly forgotten, then you’ll be home-free. Just don’t find your way back to prison, not here, not anywhere, and forget about your old haunts. No nostalgia tour.’

  Abi put her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. She held the pose. She broke from it when her survival instincts took hold again. This time she was the one with the ironic smile. ‘What do you want, Cinq-Mars?’ Life came down to that. She reverted to his surname to show that she was onto him.

  He wasn’t going to say, initially. An intensity in her eyes changed his mind. She deserved that much, and he could tell that her brooding led her back to distrusting him as she did the rest of the world. ‘I followed the money, Abi. When not a single penny was detected, I figured out that it must have been dispersed. You helped a lot of charities. Do I really want to go back to them and demand that the mob’s money be returned or that banks who participated in their schemes be compensated?’

  She stared back at him.

  ‘A rhetorical question, Abi.’

  ‘Our secret, I hope. But if you don’t want the money back, the question still remains. What do you want, motherfucker?’

  Cinq-Mars nodded in agreement. ‘It’s true. I have something on you. So behave.’ He put his elbows on the table. ‘What I want is to get you out of here, because we both know I probably can’t keep you alive if you stay on the inside long term. A year or two will bring the news of your demise.’

  ‘Reality kicks in. Finally. I’m listening.’

  ‘Always. This is what you’ll give me. The ways and means. Show us how to disrupt the flow of biker money. Do it now while they are on the brink of an all-out war, when they won’t be able to handle the confusion, or stem the outflow. Yes, I know, they’ll stick a finger in the dyke. They’ll establish a better system next time. But let us jangle their nerves and undermine their structure at the same time that they’re self-destructing. Give us the keys to knock down their money-laundering system, even if that’s temporary. With that, I can spring you early. I can spring Roz early. You’ll both be off to the wilderness and you won’t have to come back.’

  She seemed to be in a trance, scarcely breathing. Staring at nothing at all. Perhaps not even listening. A grave notion appeared to cross her face, altering her coloring. She took a few breaths. Nodded. Stared him down again. She spoke quietly, the underlying intensity apparent. ‘How else could I get to them, Émile? I had to hurt them. I stripped for them as a kid. I was a fucking kid. They passed me around. You can imagine. You don’t need the gory details and the truth is, as these things go, compared to others I got off easy. I’m not saying I got over it, but maybe I could let it go a little. I was smart. I could take care of myself. Up to a point. I made my way out from under them. I made myself useful and kept my clothes on. I could handle the paperwork when they needed someone for that, and day-by-day I made myself more important. You know, when the really big money first started coming in, they didn’t have a clue. They’d go down to Las Vegas or Atlantic City. They even brought me along sometimes as their play doll. I saw a way out. They didn’t care if they made or lost money at the tables, as long as they came home with clean sparkly cash. I learned how money worked. Made friends with Mafia accountants, got tips. The old men were willing to share stuff with a young chick and they were, I have to admit, generally good to me. Happy to settle for a little flirtation, a kiss on the cheek, a friendly hug. They let me claw my way up the ladder. Still a criminal but left alone. Independent. I taught bikers how to flip real estate deals six ways in Germany for God’s sake, give up a small bribe here or there, to exchange dirty money for crinkly cash and piles of it. I learned what banks were willing to comply. What foreign governments were hoping you’d call. You know? I became important. My own person. Then some crooked engineer wanted me as a reward for fixing a job. He’d seen me show up at a job-site with the payroll – another way of cleaning cash – and just like that, the bikers sold me out. They let the guy have me just to put me in my place, to let me know that, never mind my upper class manners – I was born and raised with those – and never mind the job I did for them, I was still their wasted worthless little gutter whore. I could say a word less gentle. That’s when I knew I had to hurt them. Really hurt them. I knew how to do that, too.’

  ‘Take their money.’

  ‘That, too.’

  ‘Too?’ She had surprised him for a change. ‘What else?’

  ‘Put one over on them. Trick them. Fool them. Beat them at their own game. They hate that so much more. That was my revenge. Also, truth be told, my downfall.’

  Cinq-Mars felt a tingling, as if a premonition was stirring on his fingertips.

  She confirmed what she had alluded to. ‘I’m not saying I let them find out what I did. I don’t think I’m that stupid. But almost. I left clues. I found ways for them to think that someone, somewhere, was ripping them off. If not for that, nothing would have come back to me. I’d still be supporting charities. I just so much wanted them to know they were being ripped off.’

  ‘What you could have done with your life, Abi,’ Cinq-Mars said, and sighed, his tone sympathetic and wistful. He honestly admired her.

  ‘Tell me about it. But never on the cards in this lifetime. Anyway, I’m past fretting about that. Sergeant-Dee-tective Émile Cinq-Mars, what the hell do you want from me?’

  The crux of their negotiation, for this was proving to be a negotiation. ‘Ways and means, Abi. Ways and means.’

  ‘Then I’m out?’

  ‘By leaps and bounds. Do we have a deal?’

  She thought it over. ‘Out first. Then the good word?’

  ‘No guarantee on that. I can try.’

  ‘I can offer more than you’re asking for. Your bosses’ heads will spin.’

  ‘In that case, we can swing it. I’ve already softened up the interested parties.’

  ‘All right then.’

  ‘Deal?’

  ‘Deal. Now, Émile, let’s talk about what I really came here for.’

  This time, he was the one confused. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Tell me. I need to know.’ That sly gaze. ‘Million-dollar question. Not, where’s the money, but … you know how it goes. Us girls, we’re starved for good gossip. Even a hardcase chick like me. So, Émile, tell me, tell us all, how’s your love life going these days?’

  Rather than blow her off, or join in the laugh, Cinq-Mars took the question to heart. He closed his eyes a moment. She wasn’t sure if that expression emulated taking a bullet to the chest, or if he was deep in thought. When he opened them again, he confided, ‘I’ve decided. I’m going to ask the lady to marry me.’

  ‘You will! Will you? Émile!’ She bounced up in her seat. ‘Cinq-Mars! Fantastic. Attaboy!’

  He did his best to smile but couldn’t hold it. ‘I’ve got a snowball’s chance, Abi. She’s already been thinking about it. Fair enough. There’s lots to think about. She’s American. She lives on a farm. I’m a big-city cop in Canada. She’s hung around, though. She hasn’t beat it home yet. If she’s waiting for me to pop the question, maybe s
he’s thought things through. Hard to imagine she’ll say yes.’

  ‘Émile Cinq-Mars, you’re scared.’

  He managed a thin smile. ‘Terrified, actually.’

  ‘Good luck with it, Émile. Holy shit!’

  ‘Yeah. Let’s hope we both have enough good luck to go around.’

  ‘We’ll need it. Cheer up. Hang in there, baby.’

  ‘You, too, Abi. All in all. You, too.’

  ii

  Before meeting with his next, and he hoped his last, inmate, Cinq-Mars was interrupted by an unexpected visitor. Inspector Gabriel Borde of the Sûreté du Québec stepped into the room shortly after Abigail was led out.

  Unexpected, but not surprising. ‘What are you doing here, Gabs?’

  ‘Good to see you, too, Émile. How’s it hanging out here in the bushes?’

  ‘Sorry. It is good to see you. I didn’t know you were still around.’

  ‘I wasn’t. I’m not still around. I’m zipping in and I’ll zip back out again. This meeting is not happening even though it’s official bees’ wax. We need to talk, Émile.’

  That sounded ominous, and Cinq-Mars indicated the chair opposite his own. ‘I’d offer you a beer, but this is a penitentiary. They’d put us both in solitary for that.’

  ‘You may be headed there anyway.’

  He was hesitant to ask. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘You’re a tall man, Émile. With big feet and we all know you have a large nose. It’s exceptional, in fact. You’ve been sticking your big beak where it doesn’t belong – only according to some, I’ll grant you that – and stepping on toes smaller than your own.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning that in sticking your neck out it’s landed in a noose.’

  ‘Aren’t you just full of nutty illustrations regarding my physique.’

  Borde chuckled. He was the gentlest of men. Thinning prematurely, he had started to wear his hair straight back in recent months and the style suited his visage. He looked as though he might be a friendly face in haberdashery who could pick out a client’s suit size in an instant, rather than a detective alert to a gangster’s next move. A family man with simple interests; a good cop with an unswerving moral code which is what had brought the two men, from different forces and different agendas, together. They knew there were times when cooperation between departments – given nothing more than lip-service by the higher-ups – was vital to the public’s interest. Their liaison was unofficial but fiercely defended between them and included other like-minded cops.