by D. Gideon
Simon snorted. “He’ll eat when he gets hungry enough. Get on out of here. I’ve got this.”
He waited until Williams had left the little parking lot, and checked the clock on the wall. Grimacing at the habit, he looked at his watch. Two more hours until Blake came in for desk duty. He stepped into the lobby and checked the windows to see if anyone was headed this way. It was clear.
The door to the cell block was propped open to let in air. Normally this would be a security violation, but with no air conditioning, it was necessary. Simon stepped past the doorway quickly, and was relieved when no one started shouting for his attention. He unlocked his office and quietly shut the door behind him. Stepping around his desk, he unlocked the top drawer and pulled out the set of master keys. Those went into his pocket to keep them from jangling. He pulled an empty duffel bag from the coat rack in the corner and slung the straps over his shoulder. The extra uniform shirt he had hanging there went on the top of his desk, so he wouldn’t forget it when he left.
Back in the hallway he smelled the bathrooms before he got to them. The toilet seat lids in each were still taped down with police tape. He’d done that over the weekend when the water stopped working. The buckets were emptied out, but the rooms still held the stench of unflushed refuse. It could have just been that the buckets sat for a few hours before being emptied and there were no vent fans to clear the air. The small windows, set high enough in the wall that they weren’t a security risk, were open, but they weren’t helping. He wondered if someone had been pulling up the tape, using the toilet, and then taping the lids back down. That would account for how strong the smell was. He decided he didn’t really want to know.
At the back of the main hallway he turned right and continued to the end, stopping at a door labeled Evidence. The electronic keypad was dark, dead from the lack of power. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the master key ring from his pocket and let himself inside. The big Maglite on his belt lit the room up nearly as well as the fluorescents would have.
Working in a vacation area meant that there was always an interesting array of items being checked into Evidence. While people liked to chant the mantra of “what happens on vacation stays on vacation”, they always seemed to want to take some of that vacation fun home with them instead of leaving it at the oceanside. Routine traffic stops sometimes turned into full car searches, and from there the department’s stash of illegal substances and drug paraphernalia had grown. Each summer’s haul was larger than the one before it, and the drugs they’d been seizing were getting more dangerous. A Deputy was more likely now to find a little twisted-up baggie of meth stashed away than a joint, and candy-colored pills of ecstasy seemed to be the current popular high among the rich and stupid. Still, the department had seized a respectable amount of marijuana this summer, and for the first time in his career, he was grateful for that.
He set his duffel bag down on the intake desk and donned a pair of latex gloves. After a moment of consideration, he stuffed a few more pairs into the duffel bag. Even though he knew the security cameras weren’t working, he still glanced up into the corner to check that there was no little flashing red light. Tucking a couple of evidence bags into his shirt pocket, he took a deep breath and headed back between the racks with his flashlight.
Taking joints or wrapped bricks was out of the question. Those were counted and recorded; if one went missing there’d be hell to pay. Baggies of loose weed, though…those could end up a little lighter than the official record and no one would give two shits. They’d chalk it up to a mis-calibrated scale. A half ounce here, a half ounce there; it all added up.
It took longer than he’d anticipated. He had to be careful not to accidentally sprinkle any of the small leaf pieces when he transferred it from bag to bag. The way his hands were shaking, that meant going slow. He stuffed the two evidence bags into the duffel and slipped out of the room, locking it behind him.
Back in his office, he tossed the master key ring into his desk drawer and started to lock it back up. He stopped, thought about it, and put the key ring back into his pants pocket before locking the drawer.
As he carried the duffel bag to his car, hidden underneath the extra uniform shirt, he felt like he had a huge neon sign over his head saying Look here! Suspicious activity! He dropped the bundle into his trunk and slammed the lid closed, letting out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The first step was done, but it was only going to get worse from here.
Trying his best to look casual, he went back inside to feed the prisoners and wait for Blake to show up.
Chapter 30
Wednesday, September 5th
Snow Hill, Maryland
Fish had been manning the intake bay overnights at the federal prison for as long as anyone could remember. Rumor had it the Feds had brought him in on a truck and installed him the day they put in the two roll-up doors. The other guards teased him about not being human; he’d never missed a night of work and he’d only ever been late one time. If the transmission on his old truck hadn’t decided to up and die on the way back from his granddaughter’s wedding, his record would have been spotless. The way he saw it, his duty was to keep predators in a cage so they couldn’t hurt anyone. Being the father of four girls, now grown and with beautiful girls of their own, he took his oath seriously.
This funny red sky stuff had thrown a wrench into everything. Guards weren’t showing up for work, the prisoners were having to use porta-potties out in the exercise yard, and he’d been hearing tales of worse. Everyone stopped to chat with him when they were leaving their shifts, and the kitchen ladies were getting worried. The inmates that worked with them were whispering rumors of a riot being planned. So far it seemed the only reason it hadn’t been able to get rolling was because Sheriff Kane had turned everything on its head. He kept switching up the routine. He’d completely changed the schedules and protocol for the exercise yard, only letting three people from adjoining cells outside at a time. He’d shortened meal times, reduced the number of people permitted to eat simultaneously, and even restricted the worst trouble-makers to eating in their cells. The prison had essentially gone on lockdown. Only trusted inmates were permitted to leave their cells when it wasn’t meal time, and then only with an escort and only to their work stations.
There were notable exceptions. A few of the guards had told Fish in hushed voices about how in each block, one or two inmates were permitted to leave their cell as they pleased. If rumor had it right, those prisoners had taken to roaming the blocks and keeping an eye on things. A self-policing, of sorts.
Three nights ago, one newer guard told Fish that a pair of inmates had been giving him a particularly hard time, refusing to be quiet and throwing things out of their cell. The guard hadn’t been able to settle them down, and it had gotten to the point where he’d been backed up against the walkway rail with the inmates stretching their arms out trying their best to reach him. The other inmates had been cheering and egging the situation on, and the guard had never been so frightened.
Then it had all stopped. Everyone had gone silent, and the inmates reaching for him suddenly found a reason to go back to their bunks and wordlessly study the floor. When the young guard had looked up, he’d found an inmate named Preacher standing next to him, massive arms crossed and feet spread wide. He’d been staring hard into that cell, and the look on his face said one more word out of those two would have brought retribution.
Preacher had accompanied the guard on his rounds the rest of the night. He hadn’t said much; he’d just trailed behind the young man like a silently moving wall of intimidation. The guard hadn’t had one more problem; not even a peep of disrespect from the other inmates.
The young guard hadn’t been back since. Fish hadn’t heard who had taken over watching the block. Maybe the Sheriff had just left Preacher to handle it as he saw fit.
He heard tires pulling up outside and slid off of his stool, stepping through the open roll-up doorway.
The Sheriff looked around in an exaggerated fashion, then gave Fish a grin. “There isn’t anyone else here to be speaking to, Fish. You must be talking to yourself again. You know what they say about that.”
“They say it’s the mark of genius,” Fish said, offering up a hand. The Sheriff shook with him and together they stepped inside the shade of the bus intake. Kane scanned the big room from its painted markings on the floor to the roll-around bar stool Fish had positioned next to the doorway, and shook his head.
“In normal times, I’d have to fire you on the spot for having this roll-up open,” he said. “Major security protocol breach, right there.”
“Good thing these ain’t normal times,” Fish replied, stepping onto the stool’s foot rung and lifting himself into the seat. “Without the A/C, it’s too hot in here to leave them both closed. That’s why I’ve got my chair moved over here.” He motioned to the heavy door across the intake bay that led into the prison. “By the time someone got through that, I’d have this door locked tight and my pistol ready.”
The guards further in the complex weren’t permitted to carry firearms, in the off chance that an inmate would be able to take it from them. Out here though, guarding an exit door, lethal force was authorized.
“As long as it’s not both of the roll-ups, and as long as you stay right here next to it so you can pull it down, I don’t have a problem with it,” Kane said. After a moment of thought, he chuckled. “Come to think of it, I couldn’t fire you, could I? Not anymore.”
Fish’s eyebrows went up in consideration and he shrugged. “If you told me to go, I’d considered myself officially fired, even though you quit being my Warden years ago.” He held up a hand to stop the Sheriff from responding. “Let me finish. I’m glad you’re the one seeing us through this, Simon, and I’m not the only one. It’s nice to have you back.”
Simon took off his hat and studied it, running his fingers around the brim. “You’re not the only one, huh?”
“People talk,” Fish said. “Most of us old-timers ain’t too choked up about the Warden taking off. Not with the situation being this bad. There’s a few of us that would help you do whatever you need to do, to keep this place safe.” He crossed his arms over his chest and watched the Sheriff closely, gauging his reaction.
Simon looked out across the parking lot, and for a good minute the only sound was the cicadas starting their late afternoon song in the thick trees separating the prison grounds from the highway. Without looking away from the door, Simon finally spoke.
“Sounds like you’ve been thinking about something, old man,” he said.
Fish scratched behind his ear and his eyes slid down to the patch on the Sheriff’s arm. “A man that had been here long enough to know how everything runs would know we’ll be out of fuel for the generators sometime this weekend.”
“Yep, a man would know that,” Simon agreed, still not looking at him.
“That man would have to start planning on what he was going to do when all those cages hit their safety measures and opened up,” Fish said. “With no lights, no electronic locks…it’d be like letting starving lions out of the zoo.”
“You think they’re all like that?”
“Not all of them, no. There’s a lot in there that ain’t bad people, they’re just foolish. Made a few bad decisions. But the rest…” Fish let the thought trail off and shrugged again. “When you got a rabid dog, you can’t let it run loose. You gotta put it down.”
Simon blew out a breath and nodded. “I checked the county fuel depot, and with a portable generator I could pull up enough diesel to keep the prison generators going for another couple of days. Or,” he turned his head now and looked Fish straight in the eye. “I could use that fuel for the prison bus, and take care of that rabid dog issue before it becomes a problem.”
Fish held Simon’s gaze for a few heartbeats. “Without official orders from on high, that kind of thing would have to be done at night. Say, during my shift. I’m sure there’s no way that a bus could pull in through that door,” he pointed to the open roll-up, “pick up some dead passengers, and leave through that door without my noticing.” He pointed to the roll-up on the opposite side of the intake bay. “Matter of fact, I’d go to my grave swearing I never saw such a thing in my life.”
“It would leave a lot of blood on the walls to make that many dead passengers, and I don’t have the water or the pumps to hose this place down. If someone came looking, that would be a dead giveaway that you were lying. I won’t see you put in a cage, old man.”
Fish thought for a minute. “They’d check our duty pistols, too. Look for signs of discharge. Count the ammo supply.”
“Yep. Can’t do it here, and can’t use any firearms or ammo that’s listed on the inventory.”
“I’ve got a few rifles and pistols at home,” Fish offered. “Plenty of ammo, too. I don’t have the land to do it, but I’m sure one of us does. The ones that are thinking along these lines, that is.”
“If anyone high enough up came looking, I wouldn’t put it past them to go to the homes of all the employees,” Simon said. “They’d check your personal firearms, and they’d check your property. But I might have a solution for that.”
Fish waited for Simon to continue, but the big man stayed silent. “A solution you’re not going to share?”
“The less you have to lie about, the better,” Simon said. “I’ve got a short list of people I think I can trust. You keep mentioning people that are thinking along these same lines. What’s say we compare notes?”
Fish held up a finger and started to speak, but again he heard the sound of an engine and tires rolling along the parking lot. “Hold that thought,” he said, and got down from his stool. Seeing who it was, he shook his head.
“Shit. Not him again,” Fish muttered.
Chapter 31
Wednesday, September 5th
Snow Hill, Maryland
Undersheriff Frank Stalls parked his car next to Simon’s, and took his time putting his hat back on and leafing through some papers on his passenger seat.
Simon raised an eyebrow. “You know Frank?”
“He keeps coming up here when you’re not around. Says you’ve told him to keep an eye on the prison. Keeps asking about how things are going.”
“I’ve told him no such thing,” Simon said, his voice low. “He’s got no business being here.”
“I kinda suspected that, since you hadn’t mentioned it,” Fish said, trying not to move his lips. “So I’ve just been telling him things are great and playing dumb until he goes away.” Fish put on a big smile and raised a hand in greeting as Stalls exited his vehicle. Frank nodded in return and walked towards them, an envelope in his hands.
“Been looking for you, Simon. With everything that happened last night in town, the Mayor was sure you’d be at the station,” Frank said, stepping into the bay. “Or at least in town, getting a handle on things.”
“The Mayor doesn’t seem to listen when I tell him the Wardens are gone and I’ve had to step back into the position,” Simon said. “I’ve had to split my time between here and all the towns in the county, which is why I need my Undersheriff to actually be around, doing his duty.”
Frank looked at Fish and tapped the envelope against his thigh. “Could you excuse us for a minute, Officer Sturgeon?”
“Sure, sure, no problem,” Fish said. “Important Sheriff stuff to talk about. I get it. I’ll just go back to my post.” He stepped back over to his stool and climbed up, then made a rolling-hand motion at Frank and Simon. “You two carry on.”
Frank blinked at Fish, sitting a mere three feet away, and turned back to face Simon. “Is there somewhere that we could talk in private?”
“I’d prefer we don’t,” Simon said, his voice hard.
Frank looked back and forth between Fish and Simon, then shook
his head. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Simon. I’m not your enemy. The Mayor’s not your enemy.”
“You know, a week ago, I’d have said that about you,” Simon said. “But you haven’t been yourself lately, Frank. You seem to have forgotten what your duty is, and who you take orders from.”
Frank’s face hardened. “I haven’t forgotten anything. I’m trying to help you, Simon. I’m the only bridge you’ve got between the Sheriff’s department and the Mayor’s office. He’s not happy with the job you’ve been doing, and-”
“Well then we’re even. I’m not happy with the job he’s been doing. He should’ve been in Annapolis getting an interim Warden the minute I told him the situation here. Instead, he just keeps ignoring it.”
“He’s not ignoring it. As a matter of fact, it was a big part of the conversation he had with the Governor today,” Frank said.
“It’s about damn time,” Simon said. “When can I expect the interim Warden to arrive?”
“There won’t be an interim Warden,” Frank said, and held out the envelope. “These are your orders, straight from Governor Malloy himself.”
Simon took the envelope and turned it over. It was sealed. “You know what’s in this?”
“I do, and so does the Mayor. He’s got a copy.”
Simon tore open the envelope and pulled out heavy sheets of paper, noting the seals on the top and the freshly-inked signatures at the bottom. He scanned over the letters and looked up at Frank.
“He can’t be serious.”
“He’s got his own orders from the President. He’s serious,” Frank said.
“This is insane,” Simon said. “You know what this will do to the community.”
“I admit I thought it was a little radical when I first heard it, but-”
“A little radical? He’s out of his fucking mind!”