But that didn’t make sense. Hanley had been in long enough to know that the prison had a firm rule on hostages — they were considered dead the moment they were taken. No consideration could be given to their safety. In the escape attempt of 1956 five correctional officers had been sacrificed; in 1971, four. So Hanley would know better than to try to bull his way out with hostages.
Besides, that wasn’t his style. He used surprise moves and lightning performance in his bank operations; no reason why he should not work the same way in a break.
The next day during noon yard time, Dwyer passed the word to Hanley that everything was set. He was caught off guard when Hanley told him to put the operation in motion the very next morning.
“Tomorrow?” Dwyer asked, surprised.
“Any reason why not?” Hanley asked back, instantly suspicious.
“None at all,” Dwyer assured him. “I just didn’t think you’d be ready this soon. But no sweat. How do you want it handled?”
“Have the three passes delivered to my cell before lockdown tonight. Have the three sets of whites stashed in the refrigerator locker on the kitchen loading dock by nine o’clock tomorrow morning. And have my package transferred from the shoe shop to the sheet-metal waste bin by the same time.”
“Where’s the package?”
“In an unopened barrel of shoe paste. A sealed plastic bag about four inches under the surface. The barrel has a green dot stenciled on the shipping label.”
Dwyer nodded. “Got my money?”
Hanley took a paperback novel from his hip pocket and handed it to Dwyer. The old convict thumbed through it. Ten new one-hundred-dollar bills were inserted at various places between the pages. “Okay,” he told Hanley. “Everything’ll be ready.” He started to leave.
“Aren’t you gonna wish me good luck?” Hanley asked tonelessly.
Dwyer paused and looked steadily at him. “Make your own luck. That’s what I’ve always done.” And he walked away.
Before the break went down the next morning, Dwyer had figured it out. It came to him as he was putting his part of the operation into motion. He got the forged passes from Charley Davis and slipped them to the tier tender where Hanley celled. The tier tender would pass them to Hanley as he picked up outgoing mail that the cons put on their cell bars. As Dwyer was on his way to see Gus Monetti, he figured out the first stage of the break. Hanley and his two partners would all check out for sick call the next morning. That way, by meeting at the dispensary, the three of them could get together from the various locations where they worked. Then they would use the forged passes to get them from the dispensary to the kitchen.
At the shoe shop Dwyer made arrangements with Gus Monetti to retrieve the plastic package from the shoe-paste barrel and transfer it to the sheet-metal shop waste bin. That gave Dwyer the second stage. As Hanley and his partners went from the dispensary to the kitchen, they would pause briefly behind the sheet-metal shop and pick up their guns. Now, Dwyer thought, they’re armed and heading for the kitchen.
He kept figuring as he left Gus Monetti and went over to the laundry to see Leo Ripley. Giving Leo instructions about the white bakers’ uniforms, Dwyer guessed at the third stage. Hanley and his partners would arrive at the kitchen, go back to the refrigerator locker on the loading dock, and change into the whites. But what then?
His errands finished, Dwyer went over and sat on the bleachers to think. Three armed cons wearing bakers’ whites, in the refrigerator locker just after nine o’clock in the morning. Where do they go from there? They could mingle with the kitchen workers, but what would that get them? They might make their way to the officers’ dining room and take a few hostages — but Dwyer had already decided that Hanley was too smart for that. Maybe they intended to go out on the dock and commandeer a truck, try to crash out through the front gate—
No, wait a minute! Dwyer’s weathered old face lighted up. They were going to commandeer a truck, all right, but not to ram the front gate. They were going to take over the dairy truck that delivered milk from the honor farm. Sure! It was a natural! Stick up the shotgun guard and change places with the three trusties who wore white dairy workers uniforms. Perfect!
The tower guard at the gate would see the same thing he saw every day — the dairy truck going back out, carrying one guard and three white-clad trusties. Hanley and his partners could ride through the gate without firing a shot, while the real trusties shivered back in the refrigerator locker with that day’s delivery of milk. Yeah. That had to be it.
Dwyer nodded his head in admiration.
Beautiful.
Max Hanley’s break ended five minutes after the dairy truck got out the front gate.
A roadblock of state police prevented access to the main highway, while a cordon of radio cars fell in behind the truck to keep it from turning back. Machine guns were trained on them from both sides of the road. Hanley and his partners never had a chance. By noon they were in the hole, charged with escape, kidnaping the trusty guard, and unlawful possession of firearms by felons.
The prison was locked down tight. Everyone who could have even remotely been connected with the break was scheduled for an interrogation session with the deputy warden-custody. Dwyer was called in on the third day. Leo Ripley, Charley Davis, and Gus Monetti were already seated on the bench outside the DWC’s office when Dwyer got there. Ripley was clenching his jaw and Monetti was sweating. Only Charley Davis was cool. “We got anything to worry about?” he asked Dwyer under his breath.
“I don’t think so,” Dwyer answered, speaking to all three of them. “They’re checking every forger in the joint, Charley, so you’re just routine. Gus, there’s a rumor around that traces of shoe paste were found on the guns, so everybody in your shop will be suspect. But there’s no reason for them to single you out, not with your good record. Leo, they’re gonna figure those whites came from the laundry, but it could have been anybody that works there. As long as nobody saw you put the whites in that refrigerator, you should be okay.”
Just then the office door opened and a guard said, “All right, Dwyer, you’re next.”
Cap in hand, Dwyer entered the DWC’s office and stood in front of the desk. The DWC waited until the guard left before speaking. Then he smiled and said, “Another good job, Dwyer.”
“Thank you, sir.” Dwyer handed him the ten new one-hundred-dollar bills. “Will you put this in my account in town?”
“Glad to,” said the DWC, taking the money. “Well, a thousand dollars. You’re going to have quite a nice little nest egg in that account when you get out.”
“When do you think that’ll be, sir?”
“Shouldn’t be too much longer. Not the way you’ve been helping the administration these past seven or eight years. I’ll see what I can do at the next parole hearing.” The DWC stood up. “Well, we don’t want to keep you in here too long — your friends might become suspicious. Is there anything I can do for you, Dwyer?”
“Yes, sir, there is. One of the men waiting outside is Ripley, number 117230. I think I’d like for him to take the fall for furnishing the whites. You can put the word out that somebody saw him stashing the bakers’ uniforms in the refrigerator. I’d appreciate it if he could be transferred to the prison downstate.”