Fugitive

by Phillip Margolin

  While Freddy lived for violence, Charlie was a pacifist for practical reasons; he was a coward who had lost almost every fight in which he’d been involved. In fact, if it weren’t for Freddy, Charlie would have been one of the most picked-on boys in school and someone’s bitch in the prison. But Freddy had grown up next door to Charlie and they’d been best friends since elementary school. Charlie hid Freddy in his house whenever Clayton’s drunken father went on a rampage, and he’d helped Freddy-who was not too bright-with his schoolwork from day one. Freddy reciprocated by beating the crap out of anyone who dared to pick on his friend. It was amazing, but Freddy-a true paranoid-trusted Charlie. When he found out Charlie was headed for his lockup, he’d made certain that the inmates knew that his pal was off-limits and he had arranged to bunk with him.

  Like most sociopaths, Freddy was convinced that he was highly intelligent and he was constantly coming up with “brilliant” ideas for overturning his convictions. These were the kind of ideas that never held up under close scrutiny, but Freddy rarely had his ideas scrutinized, because no one had the courage to argue with him. Debate was useless anyway, since Freddy would pound his critic into pulp when Freddy grew frustrated over his inability to understand the critic’s logic. Charlie never suggested directly that his friend’s ideas were stupid. Freddy had never touched him in anger during all the years they’d been pals, but it was always better to play it safe where Freddy was concerned.

  “I’m not finding anything,” Charlie said. He’d been reading cases in which the courts overturned convictions because of incompetence of counsel.

  “Look harder. There’s gotta be something about it in them books.”

  “I don’t know, Freddy,” Charlie said cautiously. “I just don’t see the Supreme Court overturning your conviction because the guy peed a lot.”

  “Listen, man, you ever have to go real bad?”

  “Sure.”

  “How well are you thinking when you got to go real bad?”

  “It is distracting.”

  “That’s my point. The motherfucker was peeing at every recess, and those court sessions were long. How the fuck is he gonna be concentrating on my case when he has to pee so bad? When that snitch motherfucker Jermaine was testifying against me, my lawyer was twitching and wiggling around so much I thought he was gonna fall off his motherfucking chair. I bet he didn’t hear a word that lying motherfucker said. Now that’s motherfucking incompetence, ain’t it?”

  “Well, yes, it would be like falling asleep. There are cases where the courts have held that a defendant didn’t receive an adequate defense when his lawyer fell asleep during the trial.”

  “See, now you’re thinking.”

  “An incontinence defense would certainly be revolutionary.”

  “A what?”

  “Incontinence. It means the guy can’t hold it in, he wets himself. This might lead the Supreme Court to order all lawyers to wear Depends.”

  Freddy smiled. “I like that.”

  It was at this moment that warden Jeffrey Pulliams entered the library with prison guard Larry Merritt and three librarians from the county library system-Mabel Brooks, Ariel Pierce, and Jackie Schwartz. Warden Pulliams was a chubby, balding optimist who believed in rehabilitation. During his tenure, he had striven to build ties between the prison and the community to aid the transition of ex-convicts from incarceration to a productive life in society. This tour was part of the warden’s outreach program. It was his hope that the librarians would not only send books to the prison, but would also help promote the literacy and creative writing courses he had introduced into the prison curriculum.

  Freddy Clayton was well known to the warden. They’d had a heart-to-heart talk each time the inmate had been released from solitary. The warden believed in the basic goodness of man and he never gave up on one of his charges. He was very pleased to find Freddy in a library. Of course, Crazy Freddy was not interested in outreach or broadening his mind. His main interest in life was getting out of prison in any way possible. He believed that the fortuitous appearance of the three lady librarians presented him with a faster way of achieving this goal than pursuing a writ of habeas corpus through the courts.

  “Ladies,” Warden Pulliams said, “I’d like you to meet Frederick Clayton and…?”

  “Charles Marsh, sir,” Charlie said when it was obvious that the warden had no idea who he was.

  “Of course, Mr. Marsh. These women are librarians and I’m giving them a tour of our facility. Would you like to explain how important this library is to you?”

  Charlie stood up but Freddy stayed seated.

  “A well-stocked library is essential in a prison,” Charlie said. “As you may imagine, ladies, prisoners have a lot of idle time, and idle hands are the Devil’s workshop. This library enables us to put our idle time to good use.”

  While Charlie’s bullshit answer was enchanting the warden, Freddy bent down and pulled a shiv out of his sock.

  “I couldn’t have expressed it better, Mr. Marsh,” the warden said with a wide smile, which vanished instantly when Freddy yanked Jackie Schwartz away from the group and pressed the razor-sharp blade of his prison-made knife against her jugular vein.

  “What are you doing?” Charlie yelled.

  “I’m getting me the fuck out of here,” Freddy told his friend. Then he turned his attention to the warden.

  “I’ll gut this bitch if you don’t do exactly what I say. Do you understand me, motherfucker?”

  “Mr. Clayton…” the warden began.

  “Shut the fuck up. I do the talking here. Anyone says a word and I start cutting. Now get the fuck over to the storeroom.”

  Freddy nodded his head toward the far wall, where a door opened on a storage area that contained cleaning supplies, extra books, and odds and ends.

  The guard started sliding his hand toward his nightstick.

  “I saw that,” Freddy said, sliding his blade an inch to the right. A thin trickle of blood dribbled down the hostage’s throat. Mabel Brooks gasped.

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch, and you, drop the stick and start moving. Next time you move funny she dies and I just start stabbing until someone brings me down.”

  The warden had read Clayton’s file several times and knew he would kill without remorse.

  “Do as he says,” Pulliams ordered in a shaky voice as he started walking toward the storage room.

  The other inmates who were using the library had heard the commotion and they wandered over as Freddy herded his hostages through the stacks.

  “Get out,” Freddy commanded. “You don’t want to be in here.”

  The men didn’t stop to think. Charlie started to follow them but Freddy stopped him.

  “Not you, Charlie. I need you with me, bro.”

  Charlie’s heart sank. He was just weeks away from parole. Now Freddy was making him an accomplice in crimes that could keep him behind bars forever.

  As soon as the hostages were inside the storeroom, Freddy looked around. His eyes stopped on a large spool of cord.

  “Tie them up, Charlie.”

  “Maybe we should…”

  “Nah, we got to tie them up so they won’t cause trouble.”

  Freddy used the shiv to cut several lengths of rope. While Charlie was tying up the hostages, Freddy’s eyes roamed the room. When everyone but Jackie Schwartz was secure and seated on the floor, Freddy turned the quivering woman over to Charlie and inspected several cans of paint that were stored in a corner of the room. Next to the paint cans were several tins of paint thinner, which bore labels warning that the product was hazardous and flammable.

  Freddy searched the warden and the guard but didn’t find what he was looking for. Then he collected the women’s handbags and searched through them. He smiled when he found a pack of cigarettes in Mabel Brooks’s bag and grinned broadly when he discovered her lighter.

  “This is just what I need,” Freddy said. He walked over to the painting supplies and carrie
d one of the tins of paint thinner over to the spot against the wall where Charlie had lined up the hostages.

  “This here’s my insurance,” Freddy told Charlie. Then he turned to the hostages. “You all are gonna get a bath. I see anyone try to escape…”

  Freddy flicked the lighter. Mabel Brooks stared at the tiny flame and started to weep, and Jackie Schwartz was white-faced from shock.

  Freddy opened the tin and doused the woman. Then he moved to the next hostage. When he was done, Charlie pulled him aside and whispered so the hostages wouldn’t hear him.

  “Freddy, this isn’t good. Maybe you should stop now. No one’s been hurt too badly. Maybe we can convince the warden to let bygones be bygones if you let everyone loose.”

  “Warden ain’t gonna forgive and forget, are you?” Freddy asked Pulliams. The warden didn’t answer.

  “That’s what I thought. Nah, Charlie, we’re in this for the long haul. It’ll be freedom or death.”

  “I got freedom coming up, Freddy. I’m gonna get paroled real soon. How about letting me walk on this?”

  “Can’t do it, bro. You know I ain’t good at expressing myself.”

  “You talk fine. You’re a bright guy.”

  “Not like you, Charlie. I wouldn’t know the words. I’m gonna need you to talk for me.”

  Charlie glanced over at the women. They were terrified. The guard was trying hard to stay cool, but Warden Pulliams was sweating badly. Charlie felt sorry for them. He also felt sorry for himself and pissed off at Freddy for getting him into this mess.

  Charlie’s relationship with Freddy was complicated. They were best friends, but Charlie disapproved of almost everything Freddy did. If it weren’t for the bonds they’d forged since childhood, Charlie would have stayed miles from Clayton. Still, there was no denying that he would have been badly injured several times if Freddy hadn’t protected him, so he did owe Freddy for that. If Freddy released him to negotiate he could run, but that would probably mean that the hostages would die or a SWAT team would come in blazing and Freddy would die, and he didn’t want that on his conscience.

  “Okay, bro. I’ll help you out here, but you have to promise me that you won’t hurt anyone.”

  “Hey, if someone gets out of line, I’ll draw the line.”

  “True enough, but I’ll have a hard time selling your program if I can’t assure the negotiators that all of the hostages are unharmed.”

  “I see your point.”

  “Great. So, what’s your plan?”

  This was a difficult question for Freddy to answer, since he had acted on impulse without a strategy.

  “Well, we tell the motherfuckers to let us out of here or we kill these motherfuckers.”

  “Okay, that’s a start, but where do you want to go once you’re out?”

  This was an even tougher question. Freddy hadn’t been too many places besides prison. Then he remembered a television show that had featured a hostage situation.

  “A tropical island, man. I want to go to a tropical island. And I want a jet and one million…nah, make it two million dollars.”

  Charlie nodded several times. “That sounds doable,” he lied.

  A tentative knock on the storeroom door startled everyone.

  “Get the fuck back, motherfucker, or I’ll start cutting on these bitches,” Freddy yelled.

  “It’s me, Jack Collins,” the trustee librarian answered in a shaky voice. Collins was a seventy-year-old lifer who had been a fifty-two-year-old bookstore owner until he shot his brand-new, twenty-year-old wife and her lover. “They told me to talk to you, Freddy.”

  “What do they want?” Freddy asked.

  “They want you to let everyone go. They won’t hurt you if everyone’s okay.”

  “You tell them I ain’t letting anyone out until my demands are met. If they don’t meet my demands, people are gonna die. I got them all covered with paint thinner. If I don’t get what I want we’re gonna have an old-fashioned barbecue in here.”

  “What…what do you want?”

  “My man, Charlie, knows our demands. Who’s out there with you?”

  “Nobody. Just me.”

  “You better be telling the truth or we’re gonna have crispy-fried librarian for dinner.”

  “Don’t hurt anyone, Freddy. Okay? I’m the only one in the library.”

  “I’m sending out Charlie. He’ll tell them what we want. And I’d better get it.”

  “IS FREDDY INSANE?” Collins asked when he and Charlie were far enough from the storeroom so Freddy couldn’t hear him through the door.

  “Are you referring to his mental state or his plan?” Charlie answered bitterly.

  “The question was rhetorical,” said Collins, who knew that Freddy was a head case and that Charlie knew what “rhetorical” meant.

  “I don’t know why Freddy does this shit,” Charlie complained. “But then neither does he, half the time.”

  “Well, you better do something. McDermott’s in charge. He’s got the prison locked down and SWAT is on the way.”

  Michael McDermott, the assistant warden, was a deeply religious man, who had started as a guard and worked his way up to his present position as second in command. McDermott despised Warden Pulliams and he hated the inmates. He had no faith in rehabilitation and viewed incarceration as punishment for sin. The assistant warden longed for the good old days when flogging, chain gangs, and sweatboxes were the rage.

  McDermott was waiting outside the library door, cradling a shotgun across his massive forearms and glaring down at Charlie from six feet five inches above ground. Several armed guards stood behind him, but none were as big. McDermott was a bull with a thick neck, broad shoulders, and tree-trunk torso and legs.

  “Who’s this?” McDermott asked Collins.

  “Charlie Marsh, sir,” answered the trustee, his voice quivering. “He’s Clayton’s cellmate.”

  “Okay, Marsh. What’s going on here?”

  “Mr. McDermott, sir, I just want to say that I had nothing to do with this. I’m up for parole in…”

  “Did I ask for your life story, Marsh?” McDermott said in a tone that would have been a bone-chilling growl if it had come from a rottweiler.

  “No, sir. I just wanted you to know that this was all Freddy’s idea. See, he doesn’t think so well at times, and this is one of them. We were working on a legal writ when Warden Pulliams stopped at our table with these three ladies. Next thing I know, Freddy’s got a knife and he’s threatening to kill one of the women if the warden doesn’t do what he says. Now, the warden, the women, and a guard are tied up in the storeroom.”

  “Let’s go in and take him out,” suggested a buzz-cut guard who was almost as big as McDermott.

  “With all due respect, sir, that might not be wise,” Charlie said. “Freddy doused everyone with paint thinner. He’ll set them on fire if you storm the room. But listen, I think there’s a way out of this.”

  “Talk,” McDermott ordered.

  “Freddy and I grew up together. We’ve been close since elementary school. I know exactly how his mind works. Freddy has a short attention span, real short. He gets crazy ideas and acts on them without thinking, but he loses interest fast. You can get everyone out of this unharmed if you have a little patience.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Freddy’s got demands. He wants a jet plane to fly him to a tropical island and two million dollars.”

  McDermott laughed harshly. “Where’d he get that from, TV?”

  “Probably, or some movie. But he’s fixed on these demands, and once Freddy is fixed on an idea there’s no way to change his mind until he gets bored. So we have to make him think you’re trying to put the deal together and let me work on him. I’ll try to get as many people out of there as I can, and I’ll try to talk Freddy out as soon as I see he’s losing interest.

  “I don’t want anyone hurt. Freddy is my best friend. He had a real rough time growing up and it screwed up his mind
. Also, he’s not too smart. If it’s possible, I want to keep him, the warden, the guard, and those ladies alive.”

  “What’s in this for you?” McDermott asked.

  “Nothing. I’m only in on a credit card fraud beef. I’m up for parole real soon. I just want everything back the way it was before Freddy went off on those people.”

  “All right. Tell Clayton I’m working on getting him the plane and the money.”

  “The hostages will need food soon, and water.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” McDermott said. “And you’re doing the right thing by helping us, Marsh. I remember cons who do the right thing.” He paused. “And I particularly remember those who don’t.”

  The assistant warden waited until Charlie reentered the library. Then he turned to the guard with the buzz cut.

  “Find out where the SWAT team is and let’s get some more men up here.”

  “Are you going to wait for Marsh to work on his buddy?”

  “I’ll give him some time, but not much,” McDermott answered, his close-set eyes concentrating on the library door as his mind swept through various scenarios, all of which ended with Freddy Clayton’s bullet-riddled body being dragged out of the storeroom by his heels.

  A RABID CONVICT holding three helpless women and a prison warden hostage is the answer to a twenty-four-hour news station’s prayers, but there was no television or radio in the library, so Freddy was unaware of the media circus that had sprung up around the prison. Charlie knew about the news coverage because McDermott had given in to requests to let a pool of reporters from the papers and television into the prison. The lights on the TV cameras would flash on whenever he stepped out of the library door to continue his dialogue with McDermott.

  During the next two days, Charlie shuffled back and forth between the storeroom and the hall outside the library as Freddy’s patience dwindled to almost nothing. As it turned out, the assistant warden and Crazy Freddy had about the same tolerance for inaction. Charlie was constantly talking his friend out of cutting throats and McDermott out of sending in the troops. An arson expert had informed McDermott that the flammable qualities of the paint thinner would dissipate over time, upping the chances that the SWAT team could prevent major injuries if they acted fast enough. Charlie found out about this plan and squelched it by telling McDermott that Freddy kept dousing the hostages with more fluid whenever he grew bored.