“There’s a prisoner here called Alan Whiteside. He’s from Dublin and he knows who I really am. He thinks I’m still in the police and he’s jumped to the conclusion I’ve been sent in here as a mole, which is about the only good news. He was trying to blackmail me into getting him released immediately – for not blowing my cover. Seeing as there was no way we could do that, I improvised and made it look like he attacked me. He’s got five days in solitary, which hopefully means that he can’t inform his mates that I’m a copper and my name isn’t Rourke.”
Bunny gave a heavy sigh. Somehow saying it out loud made it all seem even worse.
“So, forget figuring out how to manage this thing over a few months. We’ve got until Sunday, at best, or else, well – let’s just leave it at ‘or else’.”
“Shit,” said Gold, not looking up. Then he looked up at the ceiling, exasperated. “If you don’t want me to say that to him, then don’t say it to me. Mute the damn mic!”
Gold looked at Bunny and rolled his eyes before lowering his gaze to the wooden table top again. “She says, ‘OK – we can work with that.’ She doesn’t sound convincing at all.” Gold stopped again. “I have been asked to point out that last bit was me …” Pause. “… And I will not make any further comment.”
Bunny watched a man flip the bird at his own ear.
“OK. She wants to know if you’ve made contact yet?”
“No,” answered Bunny. “I can’t speak to Breida. I got brought by the head guard called Blake into the warden’s office – with the fucked-up rattlesnake collection – and together they made that very clear. They went full on. Basically, if I speak to him, I’m a dead man. Everyone refers to Breida as the Quiet Man. ’Tis feckin’ mental. You know how you said the footage from the camera covering his cell was weird? That’s why. Nobody is allowed to talk to the lad and I’ve no idea why.”
“She says, ‘Right.’ And, ‘That is weird.’”
“Yeah. There’s a guy in the next cell. Older fella. Goes by Cuts – he seems to bring him his food. Other than that, as far as I can see, the lad lies on his bed and watches Jeopardy all day and reads comics.” Bunny hesitated and then decided to say it. “And … he gave me a choccy bar. Last night, after I’d said to the guards I was starving, I found a bar on my pillow.”
He felt stupid saying it, but given the circumstances, it wasn’t like they had much else in the way of information on the guy. It wasn’t like a cartel assassin wouldn’t offer somebody a snack, but still.
Gold nodded. “She says you have to make contact.”
Bunny threw his hands in the air then, remembering himself, recovered his mouth again and tried not to look up at the camera above Gold’s head. “How in the feck am I supposed to do that under twenty-four-hour surveillance? It was already tricky, but this morning has made Blake even more suspicious.”
Gold listened for a moment. “She says, ‘Look at the red light under the camera.’”
Bunny looked directly at the camera above Gold’s head. There was a red light there. It was on all of them. He stared at it for a good thirty seconds, expecting something to happen before the realisation hit. “Ah, right. I get it. You’re telling me you’ll turn off the camera on the cell so I can get some privacy.”
Gold paused. “Yes.”
“Won’t they notice that?”
There was a longer pause. “She says – hoop?” Gold then bit his knuckles in frustration. “You do realise how offensive it is to tell a deaf person to listen carefully, right?” Pause. Gold looked at least partially appeased. “Yes, so you should be.” Then he looked up at Bunny. “Loop – she said loop.”
Bunny nodded. “Ah, right. You’re going to loop the camera?”
“She says yes.”
“What time?”
“She says two in the morning. It’s when the night guard eats his lunch.” Despite himself, Gold raised his eyebrows. “How can you … Y’know what – never mind. I just remembered I do not want to know.” He looked at his watch. “C’mon, the clock is ticking here.”
Bunny said. “How are you coming along with the escape plan?”
“She says they’re working on it.”
“You’ve still not got the foggiest how we’re going to do this, do you?”
“She says they’re working on it,” repeated Gold.
“Fantastic. Well, you’ve improved my morale no end. Thanks a bunch.”
Gold nodded. “She asked is there anything else they need to know.”
Bunny shrugged. “I think that’s— Oh no, wait. Shitty – I mean, Alan Whiteside is apparently a member of them racist fuckwit Aryan Brotherhood types now, so they’re after me because of our little run-in earlier.”
Gold looked up at Bunny. “She’s said a word that I’m not comfortable repeating.” Gold looked down at the table again and shook his head. “Like I said, mute the damn mic!” He twirled his finger in the air, the universally accepted gesture for “move this crap along, please”. “She says some stuff about hanging in there, they’ll get you through this. Blah blah. It’s all fairly standard, ra-ra speech kind of stuff. What? Well, it is!”
Bunny had never seen a man who looked as if he were about to punch his own earhole before, so he could add that to the list of new experiences he’d had in the last twenty-four hours.
“Right,” said Gold. “She wants to know if there’s anything else?”
“Actually,” replied Bunny, “yes, there is. Could you please explain to me what in the hell you people think are biscuits and gravy?”
Chapter Nineteen
Freddie Draper strode down the hall, phone strapped to his ear.
“Yes, I understand that Ms Featherstone got away, Detective. My question is, what are the LVPD doing about finding her? This
