Susan swallowed the lump in the back of her throat and tried to muster more saliva. Then, careful to keep her sentences short, she told Brewster how the ventilation shaft could be used in a rescue effort. He toyed with an ivory letter opener while she spoke—and nodded when she was through.
“Short and to the point. I like that,” Brewster said, as he studied her. “Some women don’t know when to keep their mouths closed.”
Susan saw Corly flinch out of the corner of her eye. “It’s hard to know for sure,” Brewster continued conversationally, “but I have a suspicion that you might look pretty good without those overalls. Or anything at all, for that matter.
“So here’s what I want you to do. Accompany Boss Cooper back to Tunnel Five, pull the crew out of Tunnel Four, and report to me. Oh, and one other thing.”
By that time Susan was scared, and sorry she had put her idea forward. What had begun as an attempt to help some fellow inmates had turned into a nightmare. “Sir?”
Brewster jerked his head in Corly’s direction. “Take that piece of shit with you.”
More than two hours had elapsed since the cave-in by the time a tripod was set up over the ventilation shaft and Susan was lowered down through the narrow chimney that connected Tunnel Five with Tunnel Four. She used a claw hammer to bang away at the worst obstructions as the beam produced by her headlamp played across the glittering surface in front of her.
Then she arrived in a circle of light, where three anxious women were waiting to receive her. Mundy’s face was smeared with dirt. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Farley. We owe you.”
“You’d do the same,” Susan replied, and wondered if it was true. “How’s Liddy?”
The other woman shook her head. “She stopped breathing. We couldn’t bring her back.”
“I’m sorry,” Susan said soberly.
“Yeah, we all are,” Mundy replied. “We’ve got a splint on Johnson’s leg. We’ll send her up first.”
They spent the next hour piling rocks over and around Liddy’s body while a succession of women were winched through the shaft to the lateral above. Finally it was Susan’s turn. Her body twirled gently as the rope pulled her upwards. Eager hands were waiting to pluck her out of the hole and unbuckle the harness. A boss named Riley had arrived to take charge. Cooper couldn’t meet her eyes. “Let’s go, Farley! It’s time to get cleaned up. The warden is waiting for you.”
“Yeah,” Riley put in, as he grinned lasciviously. “Brewster wants to thank you in a very special way!”
Cooper didn’t laugh, but a couple of the women did, which showed how hard some of them had become. Susan was following Cooper towards the elevator when a hand touched her arm. As Susan turned, her light came around to illuminate Corly’s battered face. She blinked.
“Farley?”
Susan paused. “Yes?”
“Be careful. He’s mean.”
“Why did he hit you?”
Corly looked away. Tears cut tracks through the dirt on her face. “I told him that I’m pregnant.”
“I’m sorry,” Susan said softly. “But I have some good news for you.”
Corly wiped her nose with the back of a wrist. “Really? What’s that?”
“Brewster is going to die.”
Corly might have spoken, might have asked how, but Susan was gone by then.
It took Susan about an hour to finish a lukewarm shower, fix her hair as best she could, and apply some color to her cheeks and lips with a borrowed lipstick. Then, certain in the knowledge that she wouldn’t be back, she made her way through the sparsely furnished dormitory. The workday was over, so the other inmates were present, and all of them knew where she was going. Most of the women pitied her. A few no doubt thought she was a slut. Some even envied her, absurd though that clearly was.
But Susan’s thoughts were elsewhere. She wasn’t sure exactly when the decision to kill Brewster had been made. The last time she was groped? When she saw Corly’s black eye? It hardly mattered. What did matter was to do the job quickly. Always take your first opportunity. Odds are there won’t be a second one.
That was what she had learned at the Freedom First training facility near Custer, Montana, during the run-up to the assassination attempt on President Grace. The crime for which she had been arrested, tried, and sentenced to a federal penitentiary. Except that facility had been overrun by the stinks—causing the government to send her to Canon City, and then to the mine. So unlike the other inmates, even those convicted of murder, Susan was a trained killer. And that could make an important difference.
Taking Brewster out wouldn’t be easy, however; she knew that, and what felt like a lead weight was riding in the pit of her stomach as Cooper waited for her to step off the elevator. Susan was received quite differently now that she had been selected to serve as Brewster’s companion. There were no lewd comments, and no unnecessary physical contact, as Cooper rode the elevator down and Susan was subjected to a perfunctory search.
“Okay,” Pardo said, gesturing towards the tunnel. “It’s time to go to work.”
“Yeah,” Olson agreed. “We’re counting on you to keep the warden real happy!”
The guards were still chuckling as Susan walked the length of the passageway. She pushed one of the shower curtains aside and entered the cavern beyond. Brewster was seated at his desk, oiling the Colt .45. He put the pistol down on a rag next to a handful of gleaming bullets. “Not bad,” he said admiringly. “Not bad at all. And I hear the rescue was a success.”
Susan came to a stop in front of the desk. Her eyes took everything in. That included Brewster, the Colt, and each object on the desk. She spotted a variety of weapons to choose from besides the pistol. An ivory letter opener. A pair of scissors. Even the ruler had some potential. “Yes, sir,” Susan replied woodenly.
“‘Sir’ might be a bit too formal,” Brewster said, as he stood. “I have a first name, you know. It’s Hiram.”
“Yes, sir. I mean Hiram.”
“That’s better,” Brewster said, as he circled the desk. “I like your style. No attitude, no games, no silliness.”
Susan turned to face him so that he couldn’t get between her and the desk. She forced herself to maintain eye contact with Brewster as he ran a knuckle down the curve of her cheek. She shivered. “Are you afraid of me?”
“Yes,” Susan answered honestly, as she turned a couple of degrees to the left.
“Good. If you do what I say, and behave yourself, life could be very comfortable.”
Susan knew that Brewster was going to kiss her, and as their lips met, she forced herself to kiss him back. She even went so far as to open her mouth for him as she completed the half-turn and felt his hands begin to explore her body. The desk was directly behind her now and at least two feet away.
Brewster was kissing Susan’s neck by then—and chuckled as he felt her fingers fumble with his belt buckle. “You are a hot little minx! No messing about! I like that.”
And he was telling the truth, which became quite apparent as Susan pushed his pants down and cupped his genitals. “I want to do something special for you,” she whispered huskily. “Are you ready?”
Brewster grinned. “I was born ready!”
“Really?” Susan inquired sweetly, as she closed a callused hand around his testicles. “Let’s see if you’re ready for this.”
Brewster screamed, and his hands went to his groin as he fell over backwards. That was Susan’s cue to turn and snatch the Colt off the desk. First she had to thumb the loading gate open. Then she had to insert the cartridges while rotating the cylinder. But it was child’s play, really, since she had been taught to fire her father’s .45 at age fourteen, and mastered the weapon shortly thereafter.