by Dakota Chase
Grant blinked. Opium! Wasn’t that stuff almost like heroin? Is that what this was all about? Drugs? “C note?”
“Yeah. The risk I’m taking is worth another hundred dollars. Go on now, before someone comes in here.”
He bit his lower lip, wanting to dump the bag in Kearney’s lap, but knowing he couldn’t. How the hell did he end up a drug mule for Hocks? Was this the big opportunity Hocks hinted at cutting Grant in on? Was Hocks using the drug himself, or selling it? If so, who was he selling the drugs to? The other guards? The inmates? Somebody in San Francisco?
He needed to find out. This information would definitely get Hocks fired, or better yet, reserve Hocks a cell of his very own. Maybe not on Alcatraz, but in another federal prison, for sure. The thought cheered Grant considerably. Won’t that just make Warden Johnston’s day? Now that he thought about it, considering what Hocks had done to Ash, it made Grant pretty damn happy too.
Payback, as they say, my dear Mr. Hocks, is a bitch.
Chapter Thirteen
WHEN ASH took his seat at the table in the dining hall that evening, Al wasn’t there. He dug into his plate of meatloaf and fried potatoes, eating hungrily, but he couldn’t help wonder where Al was. It was the first time he’d seen Al miss a meal. Was he sick? Did he have an accident? He didn’t like either of the possibilities since both would make it even harder for him to get the locket. Not to mention he still had Billy Ray breathing down his neck about the damn bar spreader.
It didn’t take him very long to finish eating, but he played with the last few crumbs, moving them around on his plate. He kept looking toward the door, waiting for Al to walk in. Finally, he whispered to the two inmates who shared the table with him and Al. “Anybody seen Al this afternoon?”
One man, a burly, gray-haired inmate named Sam, shrugged. “I saw him in the laundry once or twice early this afternoon. But not since then.”
The other man, skinny, with a narrow, ferret-like face, who went by the name of Galveston, shook his head. “I heard he got sent to the Treatment Unit. I heard he’s got the pox.” He glanced at Ash’s coffee cup. “You gonna drink that?”
He almost said he was saving it for Al, but it didn’t look like Al was going to make it in time for supper. Instead, he shrugged and slid the cup toward Galveston. “It’s all yours. What’s the pox?”
“Boy, don’t you know what the pox is?”
Galveston blinked. “You been dipping your wick and don’t know what the pox is? Son, you probably got it your own damn self.”
Ash had a fair idea what “dipping your wick” was, and while he had no intention of discussing his wick or anyone else’s with these two convicts, he really wanted an answer to his question since it concerned Al. “What is it?”
“Syphilis, son. You best go see Doc Kearney. If they catch it early, sometimes they can cure it.” Sam drank the last of his coffee, sat back, and belched.
A guard finally took notice of them and ended their conversation before Ash could get any more information. “Quiet over there. I hear you jabbering like three old women. Maybe a crack upside the head will shut you ladies up.”
Did Al really have a venereal disease? It gave Ash a skeevy feeling to think so. It was entirely too personal and, honestly, too gross for him to want to think about. Was that why Al wasn’t at supper? Was he in the hospital room? What if he was really sick and got sent to a hospital in San Francisco? Did they send inmates who were desperately ill off the island?
Before he had a chance to whisper the question to Sam or Galveston, the guards called for cleanup. He carried his tray to the appropriate place, then lined up for the obligatory head count.
His mind was in a whirl as he walked in line back to his cell. Once he was locked inside, he lay down on his cot and tucked his arms under his head. How could he find out where Al was? Asking a guard wouldn’t do any good. They’d never tell him anyway. He’d have to wait until the next morning. If Al wasn’t at breakfast, then he’d know something was seriously wrong.
Maybe Grant would be on cellblock duty again. If he was, then maybe he could find out more information on Al’s whereabouts. They had to find him. He had the locket, and without it, they’d be stuck on Alcatraz.
“Hey, psst. Kid. You awake in there?”
Relief washed through him as Al’s voice reached him from the cell next door. He sat up on the cot so swiftly he got a little light-headed. “Al? You okay?”
“Yeah, sure, kid. I’m fine. Why?”
“You weren’t at supper.”
“Aw, and you got worried? I’m touched.” Al softly snickered his hoarse, guttural laugh.
“Come on. I was just wondering where you were.”
“Sure, you were. Listen, kid, you owe me big-time. There’s a present under your bunk. I had to pay through the nose to get it, not to mention have it put in your cell. You tell Billy Ray you and him are even, you hear?”
Ash gasped and immediately dropped off the edge of the cot to his knees and peered under the bed. He reached under and felt along the cold floor. His fingers closed on a slender metal bar. “I got it!”
“Shh! You want the whole fucking cellblock to hear? Listen, kid, you get caught with that and you’re looking at spending the rest of your sentence in the Hole, and that’ll be after they beat you within an inch of your life, capisce?”
“Okay, okay. Sorry. Al, thanks so much. I can’t believe you got it.”
“Of course I did. Capone takes care of his friends. Someday, maybe, I’ll need a favor, right?”
“Right.” Not that Ash planned to be around long enough for Al to collect on it, but it didn’t seem wise to mention it. “Sure thing, Al. Thanks again.”
“In the morning you slip that down your pant leg into your sock. Don’t let anybody see it, capisce?”
“Absolutely.” He wondered where to hide it, and finally stuck it under his mattress. He lay back, feeling the bulge under the thinly stuffed pad. “Hey, Al, where were you today? I heard you went to see the doctor.”
“Yeah, I did. Haven’t been feeling too good since I got here.”
He didn’t elaborate, and Ash wasn’t sure Al would appreciate someone he’d practically just met asking nosy questions about his health, and it really wasn’t any of Ash’s business, anyway. Plus, knowing wouldn’t serve any purpose except to satisfy Ash’s curiosity.
But really, wasn’t that reason enough?
“I heard you have, um, you know….”
Al’s voice suddenly sounded razor sharp, as if the sound alone could shred a man’s skin. “You know, what?”
“Uh, nothing, Al. Nothing at all.” He figured he had his answer anyway, just from the tone of Al’s voice. It was perfectly clear Al didn’t want him getting up in Al’s business, and Ash’s mother didn’t raise a fool for a son. He dropped the subject. “Good night, Al. And thanks again.”
Al didn’t answer, and the silence stretched uncomfortably long until finally Ash heard him start to snore.
THE METAL rod was half as long as Ash’s leg from his ankle to his knee, and it made walking a bit uncomfortable. Still, he managed to make it to the dining hall for breakfast without raising the guards’ suspicions. He’d stuck the lower half of the rod into his sock, as Al had suggested, then tore a small piece of fabric from the bottom of his bed sheet and used it to tie the top part to his calf to keep the rod flush against his leg.
Breakfast was eggs, oatmeal, toast, and an orange. He pushed his cup of coffee toward Al as they sat at the table. “Hey, Al, are you mad at me?”
Al glanced at him over the rim of his coffee cup. “Nah. Why?”
“I just thought…. Sometimes I’m too nosy for my own good.”
“Ah. Nah, we’re golden, kid.” He smiled and accepted Ash’s cup of coffee.
Ash nodded and felt relieved. If Al was angry, he’d never part with the locket. “I hope I’m assigned to shoe repair again today.” He almost said because he had to give the rod to Billy Ray, but stopped
himself in time. He didn’t need Sam and Galveston asking questions.
Al nodded. “Probably. I hear Johnson is still up in the Treatment Unit.”
“Good.”
“Wow, kid. You got a thing for old shoes, or what?” Sam chuckled over a mouthful of toast and eggs.
“Shut up, Sam. It’s an easy job, ain’t it? I don’t blame him. He gets to sit down and work, not lug goddamn bags of laundry like a mule.” Al cut Sam a black look.
“I was just kiddin’ the guy, Al. Take it easy, huh?”
“Yeah, well, it ain’t funny.”
“Jeez, look who got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Sam grumbled but looked down at his tray and seemed to concentrate on eating. Ash felt kind of bad for him. He was all bluster and no bite.
Ash bit back a smile. He knew some kids at school like that. Quick to bully somebody they felt was weaker than them, but just as fast to back off when confronted by somebody with a backbone.
No matter what Al said, Ash remained on pins and needles until after breakfast and head count when the guard informed him he was to work in the cobbler’s shop again. He almost grinned in response but restrained himself at the last minute. He didn’t want to seem overly eager—the guard might wonder why he was so excited about working in the shoe shop and ask questions.
Officer Blake was again in charge, and it was midmorning before he stepped out for his first smoke break. Ash and Billy Ray worked in silence, gluing new soles on old shoes and repairing tears in the leather uppers. The only sound was the patter of their hammers as they tapped tacks into the hard leather soles.
When Blake finally left, Ash let out a long breath, feeling as if he’d been holding it in all morning when the door closed behind Blake.
Billy Ray noticed. “What’s with you?”
He didn’t answer but pulled up his pant leg and slipped the metal rod free. “Here. This is what you wanted, right?”
“Holy shit, you got it!” Billy Ray grabbed the rod and examined it, unable or unconcerned with hiding his excitement. He glanced at the door and then slid the bar under a pile of leather at his workstation. “How’d you get it so fast?”
“I didn’t get it. Al Capone got it as a favor to me. Now, Al says we’re even, right? No more problems between us.”
Billy Ray’s eyes narrowed at him. “We’ll be square when I say so, not Capone. I’m not done with you yet.”
Ash gaped at him, stunned. “Now, wait a minute, Billy Ray. You said if I got the bar spreader for you we’d be done.”
Billy Ray bared his teeth at him. “Shut up. Blake’s not the smartest guy, but he’s not deaf. You want him to hear you? I’ll fucking tear your tongue right out of your head first.”
Ash scowled back but lowered his voice to a whisper. He was getting pissed off, and it was hard to keep his temper in check when all he wanted was to scream in Billy Ray’s face. He had enough to worry about without wondering if Billy Ray was going to decide to knife him for shits and giggles. “Sorry, but you said we’d be even!”
“Well, you’re stupid for believing everything you hear. Who would ever think a convict might lie, huh?”
“What do you want from me? There’s nothing else I can get for you. I already owe Capone big-time for this!” Of course, he left out the fact that he had no intention of paying his debt to Capone. It wasn’t the point, anyway. A deal was a deal. He’d kept his end of the bargain, but Billy Ray was welshing.
“Johnson was supposed to be my partner, but he’s too sick. I can’t depend on him no more. I need a second pair of hands and eyes, so guess what? You’re elected. Congratulations.” He grinned and held up the bar spreader. “You’re gonna break out of Alcatraz.”
Chapter Fourteen
AS SOON as he left the Treatment Unit, Grant ducked into a shadowed hall and opened the bag. Inside were two small dark brown bottles. Graceful Asian lettering marked the labels.
Grant was in no hurry to give Hocks the drugs. Instead, he tried to sort out his next move. He knew he had to give the bag to Hocks eventually. If he didn’t, Hocks would catch up to him and bash his head in. It was a small island, after all. There weren’t many places on it where Grant could hide and not be found relatively quickly.
Besides, even if he could find a hidey-hole, he couldn’t duck his head and wait it out. He had to find a way to help Ash get the locket from Capone.
He could, he reasoned, take the bag directly to Warden Johnston. Johnston would probably call both Hocks and Kearney into his office, and that’s when things might get hairy for Grant. It would be his word against both Hocks and Kearney—he highly doubted either of them would tell the truth about the opium—two longtime employees of Alcatraz. He, however, was a newbie whose background information would never hold up if anyone decided to check it out.
Johnston did suspect Hocks of corruption, though, which should weigh in Grant’s favor. He might just use the drugs as an excuse to fire Hocks, if not Kearney, but then again, what if he didn’t?
Could doctors legally prescribe opium in the ’30s? He had no idea, but what if they could? What if Kearney swore he was prescribing it for Hocks? That would give Hocks a perfectly valid reason to have the opium. The whole thing could blow up in Grant’s face. What if they turned the tables on him and he was charged with possession and arrested?
He couldn’t chance it.
What he needed, he realized, was to have the warden catch Hocks red-handed. But how? He chewed his bottom lip, thinking.
Maybe if I spy on Hocks after I give him the drugs, I can find out where he keeps them, and who his customers are. If nothing else, I’ll have a lot of information I can give the warden, and I won’t have the drugs on me if anything goes wrong. More than ever he wished Ash was with him. He needed a sounding board, someone he could bounce ideas off and get input from. It was really hard and more than a little nerve-wracking making these sorts of decisions on his own.
Nut up, boy! He smiled, hearing Ash’s voice in his head. Ash would definitely tell him to stop whining and get moving. He tucked the small bag in his pocket, and when he left the hallway and started down toward the first floor of the prison, he felt more confident.
He reached the shoe repair shop without anyone stopping him. Aside from a couple of guards who were accompanying a small contingent of prisoners on yard duty, there was no one around, for which he was grateful. Not that anyone could see the bag in his pocket—his coat was roomy enough to hide it—he just didn’t want to have to answer any questions about where he’d been or where he was going. KISS—keep it simple, stupid—was always the best way to go. The fewer lies he had to tell, the less likely he was to get tripped up and found out.
He peeked through the small window in the door to the building where the shoe shop was located but didn’t see anyone in the hallway. After he let himself in, he edged toward the chain-link cage in which the shoe repair shop was located. Ash and another convict were the only prisoners in the room.
Hocks had a chair tipped back on two legs, and had his feet propped up on the worktable. His arms were tucked behind his head, and his eyes were closed.
Ash grinned at him, but he gave his head a little shake, warning Ash not to say anything. He didn’t want to give Hocks any indication that they knew each other. It would leave way too much for him to need to explain.
Luckily, Ash picked up on his signal and stayed quiet. Grant cleared his throat to get Hocks’s attention.
Hocks opened his eyes and yawned. He brought the chair down with a bang and stood up before rolling his neck. “About time you got back. What’d you do? Take a nap up in the Treatment Unit?”
Grant bit his tongue, wanting to reply “like you were just doing?” Saying so would only piss Hocks off, and he needed to remain on a friendly basis with Hocks for the time being. “Sorry it took so long. I, uh, had to wait for the doc to finish doing something.”
“Doing what?”
Grant blinked. “I don’t know. Something medi
cal.” Oh, what a convincing lie! He didn’t miss Ash’s eye roll, either.
“Well, never mind. You got my package?”
He fished the small bag out of his coat pocket and held it up. “Right here.”
Hocks stepped up and unlocked the gate in the chain link, then walked through and locked it behind him. He took the bag and opened it. “You looked inside?”
“I didn’t have to. Doc told me what it was.” He lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. “He said his price is going up another C note. The stuff is too hard to get.”
Hocks scowled and swore a blue streak. His fist banged against the chain link, rattling and shaking it. “Who the fuck does he think he is? Another hundred? Not on his life. He’s trying to bleed me, that’s what it is. I’ve got a good mind to go up there right now and rearrange his fucking face.”
Grant took a full step back, just in case Hocks decided that, since Kearney wasn’t in front of him, Grant would make an ideal stand-in. “I, uh, don’t want to tell you your business, but do you have somebody else who can get you this stuff? Because if not, you might not want to hurt the one guy who can.”
Hocks breathed noisily through his nose for a minute or two, his eyes narrowed to slits under his heavy forehead. Grant was tempted to take another few steps back in case Hocks was winding up to take his frustrations out on Grant’s face.
Surprisingly, though, it seemed he was taking what Grant said into consideration. After a couple of moments, he seemed to relax, the anger visibly draining from his expression. “Yeah, you know what? You’re right. I need a new connection, but until I get one, I got to play nice with Kearney.” He gave Grant a slanted, malicious smile. “You’re a smart cookie. Smart enough to know not to flap his gums about any of this, right? Because if you do, the only way you’ll leave this island is in a box. Got me?” He unlocked the gate and stepped back into the shoe repair shop. “You better make tracks before Blake gets back from his break.”