I straightened my torn jacket, ran my fingers through my hair. I felt like hell.
Edna came down the gallery.
“I told you to scram, didn’t I ?” she said bitingly. “All right, wise guy, you’re going before the Warden.”
I backed away, my eyes darting to the cell next to the mad woman’s. I could see a woman lying on the cot; a woman with honey-coloured hair. My heart lurched. I knew who that was.
“Don’t get mad,” I said in a croaking voice. “I didn’t mean any harm. I wanted to see what this cuckoo looked like.”
Edna smiled spitefully. “Well, you’ve seen her. I’ve a mind to stick you in with her and let her
work on you. Come on, you rat, you’re finished here. The Warden will fire you out.”
I knew then it was Edna or me. I eyed her small body over. She looked capable, but I was sure I could handle her. I had to get my hands on her throat before she could raise the alarm.
I slouched towards her, looking crestfallen, sullen.
“You might give a guy a break,” I muttered, as I reached her.
“You’ll get no break from me …” she began.
I shot out my hands, seeking her throat. Then I got the surprise of my life. Moving like a lizard, she caught my wrists, pulled me towards her, bent. The next second I was flying through the air. I thudded against steel bars, bounced to the floor. I lay there, stunned.
“I told you I could handle anything on this floor,” she said, standing over me. “And that includes you.” She drew back her foot and kicked me in the face. “Get up, and come quietly, or I’ll break your goddamn neck.”
Gritting my teeth, cold with rage, I rolled towards her, grabbed at her legs. I heaved. I heard her quick gasp as she lost her balance, but she was smart enough to throw herself forward, breaking her fall on me.
I clutched at her body, hard as steel under my fingers. I tried to jab her in the face with my head.
She hit me in the eye with bony knuckles, rammed her knee in my chest and caught hold of my wrist with both hands. She was strong and full of jiu-jitsu tricks. She was getting a lock on my arm which threatened to break it. Pain crawled into my brain.
“I’ll teach you to fight me,” she panted, heaving down on my arm.
Somehow I rolled over, taking her with me. She clung to my arm like a bulldog as I threw her about. Each heave I gave sent fresh waves of pain up my arm. My sinews cracked.
I caught a glimpse of her blonde head and I slammed a punch at it. My fist caught her in the neck. She let go of my arm, flopped on the floor.
I got slowly to my knees, my right arm useless. There was| no keeping her off. She raised up, swearing softly, her blonde hair down to her shoulders. She came back at me. I was ready for
her, and socked her in the ribs with a left that travelled about three inches.
She went over, completed a somersault and was on her feet before I could get to mine. She scared me. She was as tough and as dangerous as any man.
This time she didn’t rush me, but spun on her heel and ran towards the grill gate. I was after her in a lurching run. Whatever happened she mustn’t give the alarm.
I grabbed her as her finger was reaching for the red button of the alarm bell. I tried to close with her.
She clutched me to her, fell straight back, her feet in my stomach. I shot over her head, crashed against the grill. By the time I sorted myself out, she was climbing over me to get at the bell. I got my hands around her waist and pulled her down. She bit, punched and scratched. We rolled over. I pounded her body. At first she hit back, but after three or four of my punches she tried to keep them out with her elbows. They were hurting her as I meant them to hurt. She was panting and sobbing with rage. I caught hold of her throat, but she dug her thumbs in my eyes. I let go. I heaved away from her, my eyes streaming. She staggered to her feet, came at me again, wobbly, but out to finish me. I set myself and hit her with a long, raking left in her throat.
Her mouth opened, and she gave a thin wail as she fell against the door of the mad woman’s cell.
There was a moment’s pause. I, on my knees, she, with her shoulders against the bars, her knees buckling; then two greedy, claw-like hands shot between the bars and closed round her throat. She gave a wild scream as she felt the hands touch her. Her scream was throttled back into her throat almost before it sounded.
The mad woman, yammering with excitement, pulled backwards. The bars were a shade too narrow for Edna’s head to pass through. She couldn’t scream, because the mad woman’s hands were squeezing her windpipe. She kicked and twisted. One of her shoes flew off and hit me in the face. Her knees burst through her stockings. I couldn’t move. I stood against the grill, shivering, staring.
The mad woman continued to pull, bracing hard with her feet. Edna tried to reach inside the cell, but her arms weren’t long enough. She looked at me, her eyes starting out of her head, her tongue swelling in her mouth. The mad woman gave a sudden jerk. A horrible muffled sound came from Edna’s throat as her head passed through the bars, leaving skin behind. One side of
her face was a mass of blood.
“I’ve got her,” the mad woman whispered to me. “Thinks she can handle anything up here, does she? We’ll see.”
She sat on the floor, her arms raised, her hands round Edna’s throat.
The raddled old woman tried to see what was going on, but she couldn’t. She hammered on the door with her hands, cursing in a rasping voice.
Edna was arched backwards, her heels digging into the rubber flooring, her head through the bars. Her hands clutched at the bars for support and to relieve her weight from her head. Blood from her face ran down on to the floor, dripped on to her Nylon hose.
The mad woman, grinning at me, not looking at Edna, began to take in and let out slow, long breaths. Her shoulders seemed to grow lumpy, sweat appeared on her face.
I hooked my fingers into the wire mesh of the screen, and watched.
The raddled old woman, her face against the bars, suddenly stood still, listening.
Edna’s face, where it wasn’t blood-stained, was liver-coloured. Her eyes stood out, blind. Her tongue came out blue between bluish lips. Her slender body writhed. One of her hands began to beat on the bars, mechanically, without force.
The mad woman nodded to me, closed her eyes and strained. Edna’s hand stopped beating on the bars. There was a muffled crack, almost immediately, a sharper one. Edna did not writhe now. She sagged, her head still trapped between the bars.
Sick with horror, I stepped past her dragging feet towards the next cell.
The mad woman let go of Edna’s throat, sprang to the bars and reached for me. I pulled my gun and beat down her hands with it.
She jumped back, howling.
Even with that horror so close to me, I could now only think of Miss Wonderly.
She was in there. She lay flat on the cot, her eyes closed, her hair like spilt honey on the coarse pillow.
I unlocked the cell, stepped in.
The mad woman’s fingers grabbed my arm. Half-crazy with fear, revolted, I struck her between the eyes with my gun butt.
Her eyes rolled back and she dropped.
Shuddering, I snatched up Miss Wonderly and blundered from the cell.
The raddled old woman began to scream.
7
I slid back the door of the elevator, peered into the passage. Mitchell, wide-eyed, hopping with excitement, was standing at the far end. He waved to me.
Up on A floor the old woman continued to scream.
I ducked back into the elevator, scooped up Miss Wonderly’s limp form in my arms and stepped into the passage. As I did so, Mitchell waved me back, then turned and bolted up the stairs.
Warned, I laid Miss Wonderly on the floor, reached for my gun.
