While stuffing her folded uniform into her fresh laundry bag, Carrie noticed a slip of paper protruding from a sleeve. Her brow raised, she stood at the foot of the bunk and unfolded the crumpled piece. With widened eyes, she stared at the words written on the lined sheet: Watch your back.
“Whadda ya got there?” Jet’s voice caused Carrie to jump.
“Uh, nothing.” She grinned into the darkness of Jet’s bottom bunk, turned away and stuffed the note in her pocket then resumed putting her clothes away. Her mind spun. Who would send such a warning? Someone who knew Jet’s plan to involve her in a scheme? Or, had her cellmate made a public threat against her? The hair on the back of Carrie’s neck stood on end.
Jet crawled to the end of her mattress. “You look a little stunned. Are you sure you aren’t hiding something from me?”
Forcing a laugh, Carrie flung her bag onto her bed and scaled the metal frame. Then, feigning calmness she didn’t feel, she swallowed the tremble in her voice. “What could I possibly hide from you? You know everything that goes on in this place.” Her heart thudded like a drum.
“You’re right, I do. But, your suspicious actions piqued my interest. What’s that you crammed in your pants pocket?” Jet’s voice indicated she was still on the bottom bunk.
Barely moving so as not to sway the frame, Carrie inched out the note and slipped it beneath her blanket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She hoped she sounded convincing, but a lump formed in her throat as she waited for Jet to demand an inspection.
“Guess my eyes were playing tricks on me.” The sound of turning pages indicated Jet had gone back to reading.
Carrie released her pent up breath, reclined, and plumping her pillow, closed her eyes. Being cellmates with Jet was never dull—scary, but not dull.
* * * * *
“Susanna, I received the strangest note.” Carrie hunched over the rec room table.
“From who?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. It came with my laundry and told me to watch my back.”
Susanna grasped her chin and shook her head. “That is strange.” She reached across the table and rested her hand atop Carrie’s. “You can’t disregard it. Someone is trying to warn you you’re in danger.”
Aware that Jet might be watching, Carrie snatched her hand away and sat straighter. A hushed chuckle brewed in her throat and rushed out. She lifted her chin and stared at the ceiling. “Like I didn’t know I’m up to my hips in shit.” She took a deep breath and looked at Susanna. “I can’t share details with you, but I’m caught in one of Jet’s vicious plots. If I don’t do what she asks, then I’m a goner. I already know that.” She made another casual scan of the room then stared into her lap. “What puzzles me about this whole mess is who else knows? And why?”
“I can tell you’re afraid Jet will see you talking to me. Am I involved?” Susanna shuffled cards and dealt out a hand of solitaire.
Carrie stood. “I can’t discuss it… at least now.” Her shoulders sagged. “I’m going to watch TV and try to forget where I am. Don’t worry, I’ll always have your back.”
Chapter Twenty
Susanna stared at the cards dealt out in front of her. With one swipe, she destroyed the stacks, scattering them all over the tabletop and floor. “Goddamn Jet!” she muttered, as she leaned to retrieve those strays within her reach. “We’ve gotta stop that woman.”
Franny walked over from the library cart, stooped and picked up the remaining few cards. She tossed them atop the rest and raised a brow. “What’s got your hackles up?”
Chewing her bottom lip, Susanna splayed her fingers through her hair. “Get the others together. We need to have a meeting. Now!”
Wagging a summoning finger to the gals seated around a board game, Franny caught the attention of the rest, and Di, Celia, Helen, and Ruthie came to Susanna’s table and sat.
“What’s up?” Franny remained standing, her arms crossed.
Susanna exhaled with a loud sigh. “We have a real problem.”
“Let me guess.” Di said. “Jet?” Her curly, red hair bobbed with the movement of her head.
Susanna nodded. “I don’t know the whole story, but the bitch is brewing up some sort of plot that puts Lang in jeopardy. From the icy stares she’s been throwing my way, I have a sneaking suspicion her plan something to do with me.” She scrubbed her hands down her face. “Call me crazy, but I just have a sick feeling I’m involved somehow.”
Helen’s eyes widened. “Sus, what could Jet possibly have against you?”
“Yeah, what did you ever do to her?” Celia leaned back and scratched her over-sized stomach.
Ruthie grinned and patted her side. “You don’t have to do much to piss her off. I hope you excuse me from whatever you cook up, because I’m sure as hell not gonna mess with her again.”
Susanna’s gaze wandered to the worn easy chair in front of the television where Carrie’s head barely showed over the high back. Turning her attention to the group, Susanna squared her shoulders and narrowed her eyes. “Carrie Lang is our friend, and we have to band together to keep her safe. We all know the guards are no help against Jet, so we have to take matters into our own hands.”
Franny scooted onto the bench next to Di. Her throat bobbed with a swallow. “What can we do? Carrie shares a cell with Jet. The bitch can get to her anytime she wants.”
Susanna shook her head. “Won’t happen. Jet doesn’t have the guts to handle anything herself. She caught some flack over attacking Ruthie and since then, she’s been careful not to ruffle the feathers of the old hens who watch over her. She’s using someone else, and we have to find out who before that person makes a move.”
Di’s forehead furrowed. “That doesn’t sound very easy. How do you propose to discover the culprit’s identity?”
The whistle sounded, marking the end of rec. Susanna stood and glared across the room where her nemesis worked out with weights. Jet dropped the barbell she hoisted and mopped her brow, then joined the lineup at the door.
Turning back to the group, Susanna rubbed the tenseness in her jaw. “I’m not sure how to proceed, but until we find out more, just keep your eyes and ears open.”
* * * * *
Falling out of line, Carrie entered her cell, cringing at the thought of facing Jet. Every passing day dawned with the nauseating fear that the time had come for the woman to put her secret plan in motion, and Carrie wanted no part of it. The old saying, “backed into a corner” took on new meaning with Jet. No one told her no and escaped injury … or worse.
Carrie clambered up on her bunk and turned to the wall. Maybe if she feigned sleep, Jet wouldn’t disturb her. A laugh bubbled up in her throat at her own naiveté. Jet did what she wanted whenever she wished. The woman wouldn’t hesitate to try to wake someone in a coma.
The cold gray closed in. Carrie pulled her thin blanket over her and eyed the porous blocks a few inches from her face. Tears welled. Why couldn’t rec last longer than two hours? The time outside the cell provided a welcome respite to wandering her eight by ten foot enclosure, being confined to a hard bunk, or, if she dared, perching on the edge of Jet’s mattress for lack of a chair. Hell, even caged rats got a wheel to keep them entertained. Niggling fright over being involved in something that might cause injury or death to Susanna was all Carrie had to look forward to, and she couldn’t even tell anyone. Dread pooled in her stomach and bubbled up with the taste of bile in her throat.
“Hey, Lang!” Her cellmate’s voice sent a shudder through Carrie.
She didn’t respond, instead scrunched her eyes tight and slowed her breathing.
“I know you’re not sleeping.” Jet grabbed Carrie’s leg and jiggled it. “Get up, we need to talk.”
Carrie expelled a sigh in a loud whoosh, turned over and propped herself on her elbow. “What do you want? I’m tired and I have a headache.”
She hadn’t lied. Stress hammered at her temples, and she was tired—tired of this in
fernal waiting game.
“Maybe you’ll feel better if I tell you the time has come for you to go back to your beloved Susanna’s cell.”
Bolting straight up, Carrie stared at Jet. “I told you I don’t want any part of your scheme. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Jet’s laughter bounced around the room. “Evidently you don’t know me very well. I don’t leave people alone if they’ve fucked me or my family.”
Seeing no point in arguing, Carrie drooped back onto her mattress and flung her arm across her eyes. Seth was her only hope. She had to find a way to get to him. But how?
* * * * *
Jet had gone to shower. Carrie decided to pass and paced the cell, wondering how to avoid the inevitable. She chewed on a fingernail until she tasted blood. Pulling her lips taut, she stared at her once-manicured hands and wanted to cry. Nails no longer painted had become stubs, and skin once smooth as a baby’s behind now wrinkled in red folds from the harsh prison soap and no lotion. She rolled her eyes. “Who sees my friggin’ hands anyhow?” She continued her march around the cell.
Her mind spun, mixing her yesterdays with her tomorrows, and anger replaced her fear. There had to be a way to get out of the mess looming in front of her, but damned if she knew what she needed to do. Escaping was out of the question; though getting shot by a guard might be a blessing. She ceased pacing, her eyes wide at her revelation. For the first time in her life, living didn’t hold as much importance as it once had.
Like lighting from a clear sky, a thought flashed through her mind. She tapped her chin. What if her health took a turn for the worse? “Hmm, interesting idea.” She slowly bobbed her head up and down.
A nice long stay in the infirmary might be the answer she needed. But, damn! Physically she felt fine. What could she fake that was convincing enough to make the doctors admit her for a week or so? Perhaps Seth could find a way to come visit. She had to try.
Carrie thrummed her fingers on her pant leg. If only she had access to a computer. She could look up poisons and find an available substance that wouldn’t kill her, just make her really sick. Reality shuddered through her. God, she never expected to get this desperate. Worry over Jet and the plan weighed more than concern for her own health at this moment. Shampoo seemed the only thing she could drink, and she smacked her lips, almost tasting the vileness. What was worse, the alternative and the guilt she’d feel over setting up her best friend or suffering through a moment of distaste? Maybe she wouldn’t totally rule out a foamy drink as an option.
Carrie lowered her head and rubbed her brow. What kind of animal had she become? Jet had driven her too far—waged a war and Carrie was determined to win the battle.
* * * * *
Seth paced the beige carpet in his apartment, the phone at his ear. “Ryan, tell me you found something to help Carrie’s case.” He rubbed his brow, aware of the ever present crease.
Sagging down on his worn, floral sofa, he leaned forward and supported his arms on his knees. “You’re kidding? The witness is holding firm to his story? Well then find something or someone to negate his statement. That liar couldn’t have seen Carrie! She wasn’t there.”
His blood pressure soared when Ryan voiced doubt about the case. Seth pressed his narrowed lips against the receiver. “Hell yes I believe her or I wouldn’t have involved you in trying to prove her innocence. You can’t give up on this, Ryan—you just can’t. Call me when you have good news.” Seth’s jaw was so tight his teeth hurt when he hung up the phone.
“Damn!” He flung the phone aside and drooped back against the cushions. Staring at the ceiling, he prayed for help. His hope for freeing Carrie faded with each passing day they made no progress. Ryan had an excellent reputation as a P.I., and if he couldn’t uncover any new clues, no one could.
The tears burning the back of Seth’s eyes stunned him. He blotted the wetness on the back of his hand and swallowed. Carrie meant more to him than he realized, and no matter what, she wasn’t going to serve a sentence for something she didn’t do. He couldn’t shake the niggling feeling that Marie was the missing puzzle piece. If only Seth could see the resemblance between the two, but how could he get Marie’s mug shot picture? There were bound to be questions.
He checked his watch. His shift started in a couple of hours, and he planned to find a way to get some answers. How? He wasn’t sure, but if Carrie’s twin knew something, Seth was going to get it out of her.
He meandered into the bedroom, his mind still churning with ideas. Maybe Ryan wasn’t asking the right questions. He never had mentioned to Seth anything about where Marie lived when she was nabbed, where she worked, or what she did. How did she know Jet? They hadn’t spent any time together in the joint? There was a connection there, but how to find out posed a big hurdle. He’d take his shower, dress and call Ryan back. The time had come for Seth to be more proactive if he wanted a positive outcome.
* * * * *
“Lang,” a shrill voice sounded through the cell speaker. “Report to the gate. You have a visitor.”
Before Carrie could react to the shock, the bunk swayed with movement and Jet’s icy gaze, beneath a raised brow, peered over the edge of Carrie’s mattress. “You’ve never had a visitor before. Who could be coming to see you?” She paced to the bars and peered into the hallway.
Carrie dangled her feet over the bed’s edge and shook her head. “How should I know? I’m as surprised as you are, of course not for the same reasons.” She laced the end of her sentence with sarcasm. “You’re probably worried some fancy pants lawyer is here to spring me, and you’ll have to get some other wimp to do your dirty work.”
In her heart, Carrie prayed it was true, but she was too old to believe in fairy tales.
Curiosity gnawed at her as she donned her rubber shoes. She ran a comb through her hair just as the cell door clicked open. Her palms damp, her heart thudding, she pushed the steel bars apart and stepped through the door out into the long corridor. Who could the visitor be? In the six months she’d been here, she hadn’t received even one piece of mail, let alone been summoned to the visitation lounge. The only faces running through her mind were her inmate friends. Who in the hell could it be? She quickened her pace. From where she stood, the gate where the guard waited looked miles away.
Chapter Twenty-One
Carrie shivered beneath the air conditioning vent in the visitor’s area, her mind spinning with questions. She’d been escorted to window number nine to wait, so where was her visitor? Moreover, who? Her reflection in the thick glass separating her from the folding chair on the other side showed a grim expression. She opened and closed her mouth a few times to ease the tenseness and tried to find a smile. Someone cared enough to go through the personal search and scan required for admission to this area. But why was it taking so long? She fidgeted against the hard and uncomfortable steel chair.
Dipping her chin, she gazed at the myriad of graffiti etched into the shelf in front of her. Freedom appeared in large text over names and symbols. “Yeah.” She chuckled. “Who doesn’t want that?”
She stretched out her legs and crossed her ankles. Thrumming her fingers on the aged wood, she eyed the telephone receiver—big, black and straight from every prison movie she’d ever watched. Who would she talk to through the archaic contraption? Suspense chafed her nerves. Could it be Seth’s P.I. friend?
The visitation door still hadn’t opened. She leaned forward, picked up the phone and sensed its weightiness. Since the inception of cellular technology, no one used phone booths anymore. Was this where AT&T shipped all their spare parts? How many mouths had pressed against the receiver since its last cleaning? She shuddered at the thought.
The receiver back on its hook, her fingers returned to their sequential drumming. Why had she been summoned so soon? To torture her with the wait? She fisted her hands in her lap and stared through the arched window at the door.
A commotion from behind made her turn. Other women entered and filled
the chairs on the inmate side, but no one she recognized. A few of the dozen or so nodded and smiled, but the aura of excitement her sister inmates brought with them did nothing to ease Carrie’s apprehension. Her first visitor and she had no idea who the hell it might be.
After long, agonizing moments, the door opened and a plump, gray-haired woman wearing glasses and a visitor pass pushed through. Carrie sat straight, anticipation dancing along her spine. The grandmotherly visitor walked past and seated herself at the last window. Carrie jerked her gaze back to the door.
This time, a thin black woman wearing a sweatshirt with the Dodger’s logo entered. She too, passed Carrie and took a seat two windows away. Leaning on the shelf, Carrie entwined her fingers and rested on her arms. Her mouth turned dry and she wished for a drink. Not water—real alcohol to ease her nerves. Of course, she’d never had anything stronger than a taste of beer. The thought brought a grimace. Beer tasted gross! Even if she could place a cocktail order, she had no idea what it would be. “Got milk?” The image of a milk moustache broke the tension, and she chuckled. Her levity disappeared with a sigh.
The string of visitors continued. Still she waited. Shoulders sagging, she immediately ruled out the next person through the door—a man appearing close to fifty, balding, and wearing a stylish gray business suit. Her attention returned to the door, but snapped back and focused on the person who slipped into the chair in front of her. Her mouth gaped, and she viewed the stranger with a critical stare. He had pasted his visitor’s pass crookedly on his jacket, and beads of sweat dotted his brow. His pale pallor made his green eyes even more prominent.
Had he sat in front of the wrong window?
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