“All right,” Drake said.
Drake went back inside the prison. Linderman climbed into the van and sat with Wood. Still breathing hard, he watched the storm rage around them.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Wood said.
Linderman did as well, but said nothing. He had long ago accepted that bad feelings were part of his work, and would only go away the day he turned in his badge.
Drake reappeared and tried to get in the car. Linderman got out, and made him stand in the rain. He was not going to have a conversation with Drake without looking him in the eye. It was the only way to gauge if Drake was telling the truth.
“Tell me what happened, and don’t leave anything out,” Linderman said.
“Thunder was still in the cafeteria. I got the money and left,” Drake said.
“What did you say to him?”
“I told him I wanted my dough.”
“How did he react?”
“He just laughed, said I had shit for brains.”
“He wasn’t suspicious?”
“Hell, no. I’ve forgotten the money before.”
“You’re not lying to me, are you Eric?”
“I swear, I’m telling you the truth.”
He stuck out his hand. “Give it to me. All of it.”
Drake removed a rolled up tube of bills from the pocket of his shirt. Linderman tore the rubber bands away and counted the money. It was all there.
“Is the deal still on? Am I still going to Arizona?” Drake asked.
“Yes,” Linderman said. “Now get the hell out of here.”
Chapter 23
Crutch lay on his cot, listening to the storm.
He thought about a girl he’d fallen in love with in the tenth grade. Lee Chambers, with shoulder-length blond hair and shimmering blue eyes, had sat behind him in science class, and was the most perfect creature he’d ever seen. They’d become friends, and had started eating lunch together in the school cafeteria. His feelings for her were only real feelings that he’d ever felt toward another human being that did not involve violence or death. It had made him think there was still hope for him.
One summer, he’d gone away to camp. Upon returning home, he had discovered that Lee’s family had moved away. Heartbroken, he’d gone to his mother for help. His mother didn’t know where the Chambers family had gone, and had told Crutch that he’d just have to adjust to the loss.
Crutch had cried for days. He could not stop thinking about his mother’s response. Another mother might have helped him get Lee’s forwarding address, and encourage him to form a pen-pal relationship. Not dear old mom. She had chosen to crush him instead.
That was when he’d started hearing a voice inside his head.
Kill the bitch, the voice had said.
The voice would not go away. A few months later, he had killed his mother and three sisters at the dining room table. That was when he’d discovered the beauty of killing, and the equitable sharing of unendurable loss, and suffering.
The steel door leading into the cellblock opened, and light flooded the cellblock. A night guard entered, and stood in the center of the cellblock with his arms crossed.
Thunder shuffled in behind the guard, carrying a bag of cell phones. Thunder was a huge Latino, his face dotted with scars and cryptic tattoos. He went to Leon’s cell first, and handed the black inmate his cell phone.
Crutch gripped the bars in sweaty anticipation. Prison life was defined by waiting. Waiting for meals, waiting to be let out in the yard, waiting to hear from lawyers. The timetable was always someone else’s. Tonight, it was Thunder’s.
“Yo peckerwood, how’s it hanging?” Thunder said, coming to his cell.
“Big and long,” Crutch replied.
“Glad to hear it.”
Crutch stuck his hand through the bars. Thunder slapped the cell phone onto his palm. The moment it touched his skin, Crutch knew something was different.
“What’s this?” he asked suspiciously.
“What do you think it is?”
“It’s new.”
“My source got into a wreck, smashed up the old ones. He had to buy new phones.”
Crutch brought the new phone up to his face. It was a Nokia. He flipped it open and studied the keypad. The numbers looked bigger.
“Give it back. I’ll rent it to someone else,” Thunder said.
Crutch continued to stare at the phone. He did not like change. It raised every suspicious fear in his body.
“No, I’ll keep it,” he said.
“Take it easy, peckerwood.”
The Latino left the cellblock with the night guard. The steel door shut behind them, plunging the cellblock into darkness.
Sitting on his bed, Crutch powered up the new cell phone. The face was brighter than his previous phone, and easier to read in the dark. Thunder purposely delivered the phones at night, when the surveillance camera could not see into the cells.
He punched in the number Killer X had given him last night and hit Send. Each time he spoke to Killer X, his friend ended the call by giving him a new phone number to call. The numbers were always to payphones. Killer X knew all the angles.
“Hello?” Killer X answered.
“It’s me,” Crutch said. “How was your day?”
“Not good.”
“What happened?”
“The police are hunting for me. I heard them talking over my scanner. They’ve even given me a name. They call me Mr. Clean.”
“You should be proud of yourself. Only special people get names.”
“They tried to trap me.”
“Really? How?”
“With a web site. Someone went to the site, and told the police what fools they were. The police thought it was me. They caught a girl at the public library.”
“A girl? Who is she?”
“I don’t know. I went to the library and watched from a safe spot across the street. Later, I called the library, and told them I was a reporter. A guard answered my questions.”
“That was ballsy.”
“I have more bad news.”
“What?”
“The FBI is involved. I spotted one of their agents at the library. A little blond bitch. She had an FBI decal on the dashboard of her car. She was running things.”
Crutch stared into the darkness of his cell. While Special Agent Linderman had searched his cell this morning, another FBI agent had been chasing Killer X in Fort Lauderdale. He did not believe in coincidences. The FBI were on to them.
“What should I do?” Killer X asked.
“Let me think about this. How is the boy doing?”
“The boy is strange. I don’t think he’s right for the Program.”
“How so?”
“He doesn’t seem angry enough.”
“He fits the profile perfectly. Keeping working with him. He’ll come around.”
“Your voice is fading.”
“We’re having a bad storm.”
“This is different. You sound far away, like at the bottom of a well.”
Crutch’s breathing grew short. Tiny gasps really, clinging at life. The new cell phone had bothered him the moment it had touched his skin. Now, he knew why. The FBI had bugged it, and Special Agent Linderman was tracing the call, and probably listening in as well. There could be no other explanation for why he’d gotten a new cell phone the same day the FBI agent had searched his cell. If he didn’t act quickly, his friend in Fort Lauderdale would be apprehended.
“Are you there?” Killer X asked.
“Still thinking.”
“I don’t want to be caught. I can’t be caught.”
The fear in his friend’s voice was palatable. Crutch imagined himself hurtling down a black, bottomless pit. His body bounced off the walls, crushing his bones and snapping his head like a rag doll. He screamed at the top of his lungs, knowing it would never end.
He pulled himself back to reality. Beads of sweat did a death march down his face. Then, he had an idea.
The FBI was on to him, but he was also on to them. He could use that to his advantage, and turn their lives into living hell.