had chosen this place for a particular reason. Or was he reading into it?
He doubted inmates were permitted to be in here unsupervised. If caught, he could not disclose that Voorhees had suggested they meet for a counseling session. Per the officer’s orders, he had a few minutes before he could leave, so he set out to locate something he could use as a weapon.
There was nothing overtly obvious-no knives, no ice picks or awls, hammers-no tools of any sort, for that matter.
MacNally crouched down, then pressed his stomach flat against the floor and brought his eyes from the furthest left wall across to the- Wait… In the corner, something thin, oblong, and brown. He knelt in front of a tall, wooden ladder, reached under the bottom rung, and wiggled his fingers. He caught the item with a fingernail and flicked it toward him.
A rusted 3/8-inch bolt, roughly five or six inches in length.
It wasn’t sharp, but it definitely could serve as a weapon. He shoved it into his pocket, then gave one more look around the room. There were no other devices, utensils or hardware he could find. The bolt would have to do.
MacNally pulled the door open and walked out, then headed for A- Cellhouse to find Gormack and Wharton. He did not have to go far: both were in the yard having a smoke.
MacNally walked into the hot sunshine, then stopped. He needed to think this through. He had never attacked anyone-had never even had a bar fight-but he had seen a few. His observations told him that the victor wasn’t always the best brawler, but the one who hit hard and fast, aggressively, and unrelenting… The man who was possessed and who did not stop until forcibly yanked away.
He reached into his pocket and felt the ribbed threads of the thick screw, then approached his adversaries. Gormack was the bigger threat: the one to neutralize first.
MacNally took five steps-and stopped. Two men were approaching his targets. They laughed and started jawing at one another. The odds were no longer in MacNally’s favor. Despite the need to act fast, it would be foolish to force his hand. Acting prematurely could-likely would-get him killed-in which case, his damaged reputation would be moot. As problematic as being labeled a lop would be, he had to exercise restraint. At this point, an hour or two’s delay would not matter-and might, in fact, be time well spent.
He had to channel his anger and use it effectively. Given what he had been through the first night in his new cell, summoning up his rage was not difficult. If there was any doubt that he could raise a weapon and drive it through another man’s skin, it vanished each time he flashed on what his cellmates had done to him. The anal soreness would likely not subside for weeks.
But the emotional scar would remain long after his torn rectal skin had healed.
“Be right there,” Vail called to Dixon. She grabbed a couple tissues from the bathroom vanity, wrapped up the note, and slipped it into her jacket pocket.
When she pulled open the door, Dixon was standing there, her blonde hair disheveled and concern evident in fisted hands that were wrapped around her SIG Sauer handgun. She glanced around and behind Vail, into the room.
“Everything okay?”
Vail stepped aside. “It’s clear. He’s-he’s gone. Key’s on the desk.”
Dixon squinted at Vail, then moved into the room. Convinced all was okay, she holstered her sidearm, then walked over to the far end of the room and placed both hands on her hips. “Jesus Christ. He was in our room.”
“Yeah, Roxx, I know that.”
“That’s it?” she said, her eyes scanning the room. “Nothing else-just a key?”
The key and an incriminating note that relates to information he somehow got about my past. “What do you think it means?” Vail asked, skirting Dixon’s question. She hated lying to her friend. Omission of information was as much of a lie as answering her with a fictional response. But it didn’t feel quite as dirty.
“I think it’s pretty goddamn obvious, don’t you?” Dixon looked around the room, moving things aside with her shoe. “Did you call Rex Jackson? What did Burden say?”
Vail jutted her chin back. Shit. I’ve totally blown this. Where the fuck is my head? I know where it is. Where it was.
“No, I-I didn’t,” she stammered. She pulled out her BlackBerry and started punching numbers. “It kind of rattled me. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It took me fifteen minutes to get here. You just sat here the whole time? What the hell were you doing?”
“I don’t know, Roxx. I- It-” Burden answered. “Yeah, Burden, listen. I’ve got a situation here.” A situation? She mentally slapped herself. “I got back to my room, and I found-there’s a brass key on the desk. Just like the ones we found before.”
“In your hotel room? The scumbag was in your room?”
“That’s what I’m saying. He- It’s all clear. Roxxann’s here now. You want to get Jackson over here? Dust the place?”
“I’ll call him. Meantime, get out of there, wait in the hall.”
“Yeah. Right.” Of course. What the hell’s wrong with me?
Vail hung up and shoved the phone in her pocket. “He wants us to-”
“Get out of here. What you should’ve done,” she said, walking toward the door. “Get your head screwed on, Karen. I’ve never seen you like this.”
That makes two of us.
MacNally wished he had access to tools like the ones he had used on the Flaherty construction job. His momentary reflection on his time in Alabama only set him back to thinking about Henry. Although the First National robbery had gone as horribly sour as a glass of turned milk, he realized he had enjoyed working with his son-as perverse as it now seemed-while planning the heist and then executing it.
MacNally had no one… With Doris dead, his parents long gone and no siblings he kept in touch with, his existence was unusually solitary. It was not something he thought about when he and Doris had gotten married at such a young age-they had known each other since grammar school and had
