Alcatraz!

by Dakota Chase

  He wondered how badly Al was hurt. Did Capone die at Alcatraz? He didn’t know, or at least he didn’t remember. If Al died, what would happen to his stuff? It would probably be packed up and sent to his next of kin. The locket would be shipped off with the rest of it. He and Grant would be stuck in Alcatraz for the rest of their lives.

  Would Merlin know what’d happened? Or would it be as if they’d never been born? His head hurt trying to sort out all the what-ifs. Merlin had told them they couldn’t change the past, that if they did something to alter history, the universe would find a way to right it again. For example, if they went back in time and killed Hitler, a different monster would rise in his place and commit all the atrocities Hitler had. Nothing would change except the name in the history books.

  But if historically Al died from his wounds, then they were royally screwed. The thought chilled him more than the cold, dank cell. He didn’t want to live his life as a prisoner in Alcatraz. He didn’t even want to live as a free man in 1936 San Francisco. He wanted to go home to fast food, television, internet, and video games. He wanted modern medicine and microwave popcorn. He wanted his own bed and his own clothes. He wanted sneakers, for God’s sake.

  He started shivering both from the cold and from fear. Teeth chattering, he whispered under his breath. “Grant, please, figure out how to get me out of here!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  GRANT STEELED himself, then rapped sharply on the front door of the warden’s house. He waited only a minute or so before the door swung open, answered by the Constantine, the warden’s elderly butler.

  “What you be wanting here, boy? He ain’t called for nobody today.”

  “I have information for the warden.”

  Constantine narrowed his eyes, bushy white brows knitting. “What information?”

  Grant wasn’t about to share what he knew with the butler. He didn’t know if Constantine could be trusted and didn’t want to take a chance. “It’s for the warden’s ears only. I was here a few days ago, remember? You told me to come back, and here I am. Tell him I need five minutes of his time.”

  “Y’all better come back later. He’s busy.” Constantine started to close the door in his face, but Grant was having none of it. He needed to see the warden before Hocks could move the stash.

  Grant stuck his foot in the door and winced when the door wedged it against the threshold. “He’ll want to see me. He finds out I was here and you kept me out, and you’ll spend the rest of your sentence cleaning toilets in the cellblock.”

  Constantine scowled at him, and for a minute it looked as though he was going to slam the door shut in Grant’s face anyway, but then Constantine seemed to think better of it. “Wait here. I’ll go see if he really wants to see you, and you’d best hope he does. If he don’t, you’re gonna wish all you had to do was scrub toilets.”

  He stepped inside and waited in the hallway for Constantine to return. He was sure the warden would want to see him, and he knew he was right from the sour expression on Constantine’s face when the butler returned.

  “Come on. He said he’ll see you.” Constantine sounded disappointed but turned and led him toward Johnston’s office, grumbling under his breath the whole time. “Don’t know why he wants to see you. Coming here unasked, acting all uppity like you wasn’t just some snot-nosed guard with no sense.” He was still mumbling to himself when he closed the door to Johnston’s office behind Grant.

  Johnston sat behind his desk, writing diligently in a ledger. The scratch of his pen against the paper was the only sound for a few moments. Then he finally looked up at Grant. “Yes?”

  “Um, I have some information, sir.”

  “About?”

  “Hocks, sir.”

  Johnston blinked and put his pen down. He sat back in his chair and then folded his hands on his blotter. “Tell me.”

  “He’s buying drugs from Dr. Kearney. I think he’s selling them to inmates.”

  “You think? Or you know?”

  “I know, sir. Well, at least I know he’s buying drugs from Doc Kearney. Opium. I saw it. He’s got it stashed in his locker in the office. I can only assume he’s going to sell it to the inmates.”

  “You’ve seen it, huh? The opium? Saw him store it in his locker?”

  Grant nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  A slow smile spread on Johnston’s face. “Excellent work. Vaughn, was it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You haven’t mentioned this to anyone else, have you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good. Go on back to work. Keep your eyes open. I want to know what he’s doing with it, and if he’s selling it, which inmates are buying.”

  “But, sir—”

  “Go, Vaughn. I have work to do, and so do you.” He picked up his pen and returned to his writing. He didn’t look up again.

  Grant stared at him for a moment longer, a little shocked that Johnston wasn’t going to jump on the information he’d gathered on Hocks. But he realized there was nothing he could do to force the issue, and left, albeit with reluctance.

  What an ass. Speaking of which, I need to talk to Ash. What’s taking him so long to get the stupid locket? Can’t he just yank it off Capone’s neck?

  No, don’t be an idiot. How could he get away with it? There are guards all over. They’d never let him keep it, and he’d get in trouble besides. Plus, after pulling a stunt like that, Capone would never give him the locket freely.

  Ugh! Why is this trip back so hard? You’d think it would be easier since we’re in a time when there’s electricity and indoor plumbing, right? I swear we had an easier time when we were running from witch hunters or crapping in the woods!

  To say he was feeling frustrated was the understatement of the century. He hadn’t been able to get anywhere near Ash’s cell in two days because his name wasn’t on the work schedule. Evidently, guards who had a couple of days off from work hightailed it off the island as fast as they could, and the fact he not only remained on Alcatraz but actively sought to get inside the cellblock made him look suspicious. He’d had to cool his jets before people started asking questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.

  Try as he might, Grant couldn’t spot Ash in any of the industry buildings either. He wasn’t in the shoe repair shop—Blake, the guard on duty, had looked at Grant like he had three heads when he asked about Ash—or in the laundry building, at least not where Grant could see when he peeked in the windows. They must have him working inside the cellblock, and I can’t get in there.

  Funny thing was, he didn’t see Al Capone in any of those places, either. Was it only a coincidence, or was something going on Grant didn’t know about? The not knowing was driving him crazy.

  He’d find out this evening, though. He was due back at work at 11:00 p.m. for the graveyard shift, and he fully intended to be on time. As soon as he could, he’d make his way to Ash’s cell and find out what the hell was going on.

  Time ticked by slowly. He ate more at supper than he had in the last couple of days, the knowledge he’d be able to talk to Ash soon allowing for a better appetite. Supper was Salisbury steak, which was basically a hamburger drenched in brown gravy, but it was tasty enough. Along with a mound of mashed potatoes and a pile of cooked carrots, it filled his belly. He rounded out his meal with a piece of apple pie and felt better afterward than he had in two days. More energized and far less depressed.

  He was whistling softly when he made his way to the office where he stored his weapon in his locker. The secretary was long gone by that hour, and there was no guard in the office at the moment. The schedule was taped to the wall next to the door, and he ran his finger down it, looking for his name.

  Thankfully, he’d been put on Cellblock B again. For once, things were going his way. He smiled and walked through the door into Times Square.

  Grant didn’t know the name of the guard he was relieving, but he smiled and tossed off a saucy salute just the same. He was upbeat and excited about
finally getting the opportunity to talk to Ash.

  At 11:00 p.m. sharp the guards started head count. He called off the numbers as he walked down Broadway, checking to make sure there was a man in each cell that was supposed to be occupied. Finally, he got to Ash’s cell.

  “Ash? Ash, it’s me.” He clicked on his flashlight and shone it into the cell.

  It was empty.

  Grant frowned and looked around as if he expected to find Ash standing behind him, laughing. Of course, there was no one there. He went to the next cell. His flashlight revealed Al Capone stretched out on his bunk.

  Capone threw an arm over his eyes when the bright light swept over his face. “Hey, people are trying to sleep here.”

  Not that Grant cared in the slightest. “Where’s Ash? The guy in the cell next to you. He’s not in there. Where’d he go?”

  “What do I look like to you? A private dick?”

  “You don’t know?”

  Al chuckled softly. “I didn’t say that. I asked if I looked like a gumshoe. I know where he is. Question is, you’re a guard. Why don’t you know? And why do you care?”

  Grant was put off for a moment by the pointed question. He certainly couldn’t tell Capone the truth. “Um, it’s the head count. He’s supposed to be in his cell, and he’s not. I’m not going to get in hot water over a missing inmate when the numbers come up wrong. Before I sound the alarm for a possible escape, I figured I’d ask if you knew where he was, seeing how you’re friendly with him and all. I’ve seen you at mealtimes, being all chummy.”

  Al blew out a raspberry. “Figures. Stupid screws always looking to cover their own asses. For your information, the kid saved my life the other day. Bastard named Lucas attacked me in the shower. Coward stabbed me in the back. The kid knocked me down and kept Lucas from finishing the job. Got sent to the Hole for his trouble too.”

  Grant felt as if his stomach dropped all the way to his shoes. “He’s in solitary? Is he okay?”

  “Why the hell do you care so much?”

  “Um, he, uh, seemed like an all right guy. Didn’t give me any trouble. Who put him in the Hole?”

  “Hocks, the son of a bitch. Didn’t care that Ash was a goddamn hero.”

  Grant shut off his flashlight and tucked it back into the loop on his belt. The Hole! Those cells were in D Block. He hurried down Broadway, rushing through the head count. He had to get to D Block and get Ash out of there. Not only was it probably god-awful in those cells, and not only did Ash not deserve to be there, but they’d never get the locket if Ash didn’t have access to Capone!

  And they were in the perfect position to get the locket from Capone. Ash had saved Capone’s life! Al admitted it, and said he was in Ash’s debt. What better way to show gratitude than by giving Ash something personal and meaningful, like the locket?

  Once he’d finished the head count, he raced through Times Square to D Block, practically skidding to a stop when he reached it. He tried to slow down and loosen up, to appear as if it was a casual visit, but it was difficult when his heart was racing a million miles an hour.

  Luck held out for him. The guard on duty was his roommate, Gus, who smiled when he saw Grant approaching. “Hey! What are you doing slumming in D Block?”

  Grant gave him a slanted smile. “Guess what? Hocks made a mistake—a big one. He put an inmate in the Hole who doesn’t belong there.”

  Gus grunted. “Hocks, make a mistake? Impossible.” The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable. “I really don’t like that guy.”

  “Yeah, me either.”

  “So, which inmate is it?”

  “Walsh. Ash Walsh.”

  “The one who stabbed Capone?”

  “No, that was the mistake! Ash didn’t attack—he saved Capone’s life.”

  “Aw, don’t that figure. So, you need to get him out?”

  “Yeah. I’m on B Block tonight so bringing him back to his cell is my responsibility.” Grant glanced toward the forbidding gray metal doors at the end of D Block. “Which one is he in?”

  “He’s in the Strip Cell.” Gus looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Listen, Grant, I like you and all, but I gotta worry about my job here, you know? When Hocks finds out we let one of the cons out of the Hole without him knowing, he’s going to be really angry.”

  “I’ll take full responsibility. I swear.” Not that he planned to be around, but he figured Hocks was going to get fired eventually anyway because of the drugs, so Gus’s job would be safe.

  “Okay.” Gus removed a large key ring from his belt and began sorting through the keys. “Funny how he put the innocent con in the worst cell.”

  “The worst cell?”

  “Sure! Didn’t you get the full tour when you started? There’s only one Strip Cell. The only worse unit in the building is the dungeon. There’s no toilet, no sink, no light, and no mattress except at night. We got to take it out during the day. Those are the rules. No clothes in there, either. It’s really cold and damp and awful.”

  Grant felt sick to his stomach. Once, when they’d gone back in time to medieval Germany, Grant had been locked up in a dungeon after being beaten. It almost killed him to think Ash was suffering like he had. “Jesus. Let’s get him out of there!”

  Gus nodded and hurried to the last cell in the row, the one with the solid metal door. He fumbled a little with the key but managed to open it. Inside was another door made of bars like the doors of all the other cells, and inside, curled up on the floor, was Ash.

  He was naked, filthy, and shivering. Grant took one look at him and felt fury rush rise like a geyser. “Gus! Get a blanket!”

  Gus looked confused for a minute, then nodded and hurried off. Grant knelt beside Ash and put a gentle hand on Ash’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy. It’s me.”

  Ash’s eyes fluttered open. “G-Grant? Is it y-you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. You’re going to be okay. I’m getting you out of here.”

  “G-Going h-home?”

  Grant sighed, wishing he had a different answer. “Not yet. Soon, though. Real soon.”

  Gus returned, carrying one of the rough, threadbare blankets given to the inmates. Grant took it and carefully helped Ash stand up, then wrapped the blanket around Ash’s body. He kept an arm around Ash’s shoulders, afraid if he let go, Ash would fall down.

  “Jeez, he’s only been in there a couple of days.” Gus closed and locked the cell once Grant had Ash outside. “He looks like he’s been in there for a month.”

  “Hey, you go strip off and lock yourself in that hellhole for a couple of days and see how you look.” Grant had no patience for anyone who wasn’t sympathetic to Ash’s suffering, not even Gus, who was a pretty nice guy.

  “Sorry. I was just making an observation, you know? Go on, better get him back to his cell.” He held his arm across his nose. “He stinks too. Maybe you ought to go hose him off, first.”

  The last thing Ash needed was a hosing down with cold water, but a hot shower might not be a bad idea. “I’ll take him down to the showers. Give him a proper shower, then I’ll bring him to his cell. Can you cover for me on B Block?”

  Gus chewed his lower lip. “I don’t know, Grant. If I get caught leaving my post, I’ll get in trouble.”

  “Come on, man. I need your help.”

  “Why do you care about this guy so much?”

  Grant felt himself flush at the pointed question. “Because he’s a human being, and no matter what he’s done, he deserves to be treated as one. Especially since he didn’t do anything wrong!”

  Gus didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Okay. Just make it quick, okay?”

  “Sure thing. In and out.” Grant urged Ash toward the archway leading to Times Square.

  “I’m okay, Grant.”

  Grant blinked and looked at Ash, who was grinning at him. “What?”

  “I’m okay. Jeez, he was right. It’s only been two days. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t the worst experience of my life.”

>   Grant pushed him away, scowling. “Then why did you—”

  “Pretend to be practically catatonic? I wanted out of there, and I figured if I hammed it up, the other guard wouldn’t give you too hard a time about it.”

  “His name is Gus, and he’s actually a good guy, and you’re an ass!” He punched Ash in the arm for good measure. “You scared the shit out of me!”

  “Ow!” He rubbed his arm. “Sorry. Listen, I really do stink, though. Can I still get that shower?”

  “I ought to let you stew in your own stench.” Grant blew out a breath. “Fine. Gotta hurry, though. I need to get back on B Block before somebody notices I’m gone.”

  “Really? Why do you care about your not-really-your-job anyway?”

  “I have to keep up appearances until you get your filthy fingers on that locket. I can’t risk being fired and sent off the island.”

  Ash smirked. “Sounds like a bad version of Survivor.”

  “Yeah, well, it feels that way too. Listen, I heard you saved Capone’s life the other day. Is that true?”

  “I guess.” Ash shrugged. “I just reacted to the situation. Somebody jumped him in the shower, tried to stab him in the back.”

  “Yeah, that’s what Capone said.”

  Ash gaped at him. “You talked to Al? He’s okay?”

  “Yeah. He was in his cell. That’s how I found out where you were.”

  “Well, he said he was really grateful to you. Said you saved his life. I was thinking you might ask him for a reward.”

  “Huh. Like, how much do you think?”

  Grant whacked him on the arm again. “Not money, you idiot. The locket! Ask him for the locket.”

  “What reason can I give him about why I’d want it? It has photos of his family in there.”

  “He can have the pictures. We just need the locket. Tell him it reminds you of one your dad had or something. Make it sappy—cry a little if you can. Tell him the time you spent in the Strip Cell made you miss your family.”