The Payback Man

by Carolyn McSparren

  Selma snickered. “Maybe. I think Mike Newman is angling for a cushy job indoors. He’s not much into the great outdoors, ’specially when it’s still so warm.”

  “I’ll ask the warden if we can keep you. You seem pretty relaxed around the men. They don’t tense up around you the way they did with Newman.”

  “That’s because even the nastiest con usually has a soft spot for his mother. In some cases I can’t understand why they would, but they do. Anyway, that’s how they see me. I have kids and grandkids, and I try to keep my temper. But a couple of them already know I can come down on them hard if I have to.”

  Eleanor raised her eyes as a truck labored up the rise toward the barn. In the back were a dozen prisoners. “The painters have arrived. Let’s get started.”

  She walked back to her own team and told them what they’d be doing. She met the painters’ team leader, asked him to give her guys paint and brushes, and followed them to the piles of wood.

  She knew immediately that something was wrong with Steve. He moved like an old man, carefully keeping his torso erect and shuffling his feet slowly, keeping his knees straight with obvious effort. She started to say something to him, then shut her mouth. She watched the men set up makeshift sawhorses and saw him bend to pick up one end of the first board.

  He nearly fell on his face. Slow Rise caught the end of the board, hefted it easily and put a hand in the center of Steve’s back to help him straighten up. Something was very wrong, but the men apparently didn’t want anyone to know.

  She went back to her truck, unlocked it, picked up her laptop computer and carried it back with her.

  “Hey, Chadwick,” she called.

  He turned pained eyes her way.

  She’d better make this good. “You know anything about computers?”

  He nodded.

  “Good, then I’ve got some extra work for you. The rest of you keep on with what you’re doing. Chadwick, let’s go into the office.”

  She turned on her heel and marched away through the barn as though oblivious to anything behind her.

  The government-issue steel desk, two desk chairs, a table and a couple of file cabinets sat in a jumble in the middle of what would eventually be the cattle-operation office. An equally utilitarian steel credenza sat against the wall beside the door. She walked in, waited for Steve to pass her, then shut the door and set the computer on the credenza.

  “Can you sit?”

  “I’m not supposed to sit unless you do.”

  “That wasn’t my question. Can you sit?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Of course you do. How badly are you hurt?”

  The lines around his mouth tightened, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed. “I’m not hurt.”

  “Bull. Turn around.”

  He didn’t move.

  “I said, turn around.”

  “Against the rules to be alone without a guard and the door closed.”

  “Then we’ll leave the door ajar.” She opened the door a dozen inches and called to Selma, “This shouldn’t take but a couple of minutes. Okay with you?”

  “Whatever,” Selma replied. “It’s your show, Doc, within limits.”

  “Thanks. Now,” she said to Steve, “do as I asked, please.”

  He turned around carefully.

  “Assume the position if you can. Hands flat on the desk.”

  He managed not to groan, but she heard the sharp intake of breath. She hadn’t wanted to ask him to do that, but it was the only way she knew to make certain he wouldn’t interfere with her examination.

  She reached for his shirt and began to tug it out of the waistband of his jeans, pulling slowly and with infinite care.

  “Stop that.”

  “Shut up. I want to find out what’s wrong with you.”

  His shirt came free and she lifted it as high as she could. She caught her breath. “Oh, my God, who did this to you?”

  “I fell over a curb.”

  “Newman. How many times did he hit you?”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Steve—” She couldn’t conceal the anguish in her voice. “Please sit down. Let me help you.”

  She slipped under his armpit, put her arm across his back to his shoulder and lifted to take the weight off his hands. She felt the tension in his muscles, heard his breath sough in his chest. She tried to turn him so that she could slide one of the desk chairs under him.

  “No. Forwards.”

  She caught the chair with her left foot and pulled it across in front of him, then lowered him so that he straddled it. She sat in the other chair, knee to knee with him. He closed his eyes.

  “I’ll get you to the infirmary, then I’ll go straight to the warden. I’ll have that bastard fired.”

  Steve shook his head. “He’s civil service and union with high seniority. You can’t touch him.”

  “But if the others saw it…”

  “They didn’t see anything.”

  Eleanor was certain he was lying.

  “Why did he do it?”

  “He doesn’t need a reason.”

  “It’s because I humiliated him in front of the men, isn’t it? He took it out on you.”

  He looked up and into her eyes. He wasn’t certain she recognized the connection between them. Newman had certainly picked up on it. He guessed the others were aware of it, as well.

  He nodded. “Yeah, I think that was his reason.”

  He had rested his hands on the back of the chair he sat in. She covered them with hers. They were warm and strong, and yet gentle. The touch flashed along his nerve endings.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, and snatched her hands away as though she had only that moment recognized the intimacy of the gesture. She stood up and moved to the back of the office to look out the single dirty window. “I wanted to make things better, not worse.”

  He was so used to hearing only commands from his captors that the pain in her voice caught him off guard.

  He longed to stand, go to her, tell her he’d survive, that it wasn’t her fault, that he’d had worse, but he didn’t think he could manage to stand without help. “Newman was looking for an excuse. You were only the trigger. It’s personal with him.”

  “Because you’re not like the others.”

  “I’m exactly like the others. Don’t ever forget that.”

  “No, you’re not. I don’t know what you did that brought you here, but I know that Newman is a redneck who resents you because you’ve managed to keep your dignity even in this place. He can’t endure it.”

  “Then I’m the one who has to endure it. If I make trouble, he’ll find some way to send me back to Big Mountain. I can’t—I don’t want that.”

  He could see from her expression that she thought she understood that he didn’t want the soul-numbing life behind steel bars, that he preferred to serve his time in the open air. He let her think that was what he meant. He wasn’t certain whether she would be a help or a hindrance in his flight plan. She was already a distraction.

  She sighed deeply, then said, “I’ll have to respect your wishes this time. You understand the dynamics of the place better than I do.” She squared her shoulders and became all business. “I wasn’t kidding about needing some computer help. I hope you weren’t kidding about knowing how to work the things.”

  “I’ve had experience.” More experience than anyone within ten miles, probably.

  “I need a database to keep track of the cattle program, start to finish. I know the basic information I need to be able to track—vaccinations, insemination and calving dates, that sort of thing. I know some of the ways it should be cross-referenced, but I have no idea how to set up the program. Can you do something like that?”

  “Doesn’t sound too difficult.”

  She nodded. “That’s a legitimate way of keeping you in here and sitting down for a couple of days. Since Lard Ass isn’t here, at least he won’t know about today.”


  “He’ll know, all right.”

  “It will still be my choice, not yours. I’m going to request that we keep Selma and find another job for Newman. If he does come back, I’ll put the fear of God and the warden into him.”

  He caught her hand. She drew in her breath sharply, braced against him.

  “You will not.” It was the voice of command. He hadn’t used it in three years. Amazing how quickly it came back.

  “Let go of me,” she said softly.

  “Sorry.” He released her and struggled to his feet.

  He could see from her eyes that she was suddenly uncomfortable with him, perhaps even a little afraid. He dropped his hands. “I apologize. But I’ve got to make you see that you can’t interfere with Newman on my behalf or the behalf of any of the other men.”

  “Of course I can. He’s a stupid man.”

  “He’s a sadistic bastard, but he’s clever at that, if nothing else. He’s also dangerous, and not only to me and the other men. If you cross him, he’ll find some way to hurt us. And he may hurt you, too.”

  “Hurt me?” She laughed and walked to the computer. “He wouldn’t dare use his baton on me. What’s he going to do, get me fired? I don’t think so.”

  Steve shook his head. “Not fired and not hit with a baton. And not by him directly. Probably not even on prison property, but hurt, nonetheless.”

  “You’re serious.” She wrapped her arms around herself and hunched her shoulders.

  He longed to pull her close, feel the warmth of her body against him. The very thought shredded his nerve endings. He didn’t dare allow her warmth to seep into his soul. He might begin to question his goals.

  He had to teach her how to be careful. She was more vulnerable than she knew. “This place has its own unwritten rules. A man like Newman has power that reaches outside the prison gates, to men who owe him, who know they may be under his control again someday.”

  She raised her eyes. They were hazel, the color of the last leaves of autumn. She leaned toward him and, without the consent of his body, his hands reached for her arms.

  “Hey, Doc, you okay in there?”

  They jumped apart like a couple of guilty adolescents caught in the hayloft.

  “Absolutely.” Eleanor opened the door the rest of the way. “Come in, Selma. You need to know what’s been going on and what we’re planning.”

  Steve shook his head. He knew she saw the gesture, but whether she’d keep her mouth shut about Newman’s attack, he had no idea.

  She shut the door behind Selma and leaned against it. “Okay, here’s the deal. Chadwick, here, knows enough about computers to set me up a database to track the cow program. It’s fairly complicated, and heaven knows we can’t afford to pay one of the computer geeks at the university to do it. Any problem with that?”

  Selma looked from one to the other. “Nope. He’s working for you. You want him to dig a hole to China, he starts digging.”

  “Will the others resent it?”

  “Sure. Not much we can do about that.”

  “I can handle the others,” Steve said quietly.

  “Good. Then let’s get started,” Eleanor said. “What’s happening with the painters?”

  “I am going to kick Sweet Daddy all the way to the mess hall at lunch,” Selma replied. “Other than that, we’re okay.”

  “I thought the men were brown-bagging it.”

  “Not until tomorrow. You know changes take time when you work for the state.”

  “Okay. Tomorrow. Today, I’m the one going out for lunch. Raoul Torres is picking me up here at eleven-thirty. I’ll get Steve—Chadwick—started with what I want and leave him with it.”

  “Fine.” Selma turned to leave.

  “Leave the door open all the way, will you?” Eleanor said.

  “Sure thing.”

  The moment the CO left, Eleanor said to Steve in a businesslike tone, “I spent last night making notes about what I want in the database, but they’re very rough. I’m not precisely certain what should connect with what.”

  “I’ll take a look at what you’re proposing, then I can make suggestions about changes and additions. Okay with you?” He kept his voice as businesslike as hers. No one overhearing them would think they’d had any sort of personal encounter.

  “Be my guest.” She pulled a folded-up sheaf of lined yellow pages out of her jacket pocket and dropped it on the desk. “Can I bring you some lunch? The walk up to the cafeteria is going to be painful.”

  He shook his head. “Cheeseburgers alone down here? Against the rules. Don’t worry. I’ll make it. I’m already feeling better.”

  “I’m only an animal doctor, so I can’t prescribe for human beings, but I can offer some horse liniment that might help, so long as it’s our little secret. I use it myself for aches.”

  “Thanks.”

  She picked up the computer and placed it on the desk. “Good luck.”

  “Right.”

  He sat behind the desk and watched her walk out of the room, back straight, hair swinging. Sweet Daddy would call her “fine”—if he called her anything printable. Fine she was, and not only her sleek body. There was a directness, an honesty about her that he found disarming even as it worried him. That very directness might be her downfall. He wouldn’t be able to watch his back and hers, too, not if he got out of here safely.

  Somebody had to look out for her, that was for certain.

  At the door she turned. “You said not to forget you’re just like them. I can’t believe that.”

  As she turned and walked out of sight, he said softly, “One difference. I’m innocent.”

  ELEANOR HAD NO IDEA whether Steve had intended her to hear his comment or not. But she had heard, and now she wondered….

  At eleven-thirty Raoul Torres’s dusty white minivan pulled up by the barn. She hurried toward it and opened the passenger-side door.

  “Oh, sorry,” he said. “Just dump that stuff in the back.”

  She scooped up a stuffed bear, a plastic dinosaur, six CDs for children, and a stack of books and papers and laid them on the seat behind, next to a pink child’s seat. She climbed in and fastened her seat belt.

  “Where to?”

  “Anywhere as long as it’s out of here,” Eleanor said as they headed down the driveway toward the open gates at the front of the farm.

  “Rough morning?”

  She ran a hand over her hair and leaned back against the headrest. “You might say that. Lard Ass Newman beat up on one of my guys last night, and the victim won’t let me say anything.”

  “He’s right.”

  “Why?” She turned in her seat so that she could see Raoul’s profile. “Why is everybody so afraid of rocking the boat? There are rules against that sort of thing.”

  “You ever have a really bad teacher?”

  “Of course. Most people have at least one.”

  “But they go on teaching every year because the rules and regulations they serve under require such meticulous documentation to do anything about them, and they have such power to pass or fail you that you just endure it.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

  “Ratchet that power up to about a million, and that’s how much power the COs have. The pay is lousy, the hours suck, certainly the ambiance, if you can call it that, is one step lower than the sewers of New York, and the people they are supposed to guard are dangerous. They have to have leeway to protect themselves. They have to be able to count on the support of the warden and administrators. Most of the people who work here are decent people trying to do a decent job. But sometimes even the good ones can be corrupted.”

  “Power corrupts, I know.”

  “Yeah, and these guys have almost absolute power. It’s a battle between good and evil, and mostly evil wins.”

  “Can I avoid corruption?”

  He grinned at her. “I don’t know. Can you?” He pulled into a second-rate strip mall and parked. “You like Tex-Mex?”

>   She nodded.

  “Then let’s go stuff ourselves.”

  When they were settled in Texas Pete’s and busily scooping up salsa on tortilla chips, she said, “I think I need to know the criminal records of my team.”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “I already know about Slow Rise. I can’t believe it, but I know it. And what could a sweety like Big possibly do to wind up in prison? Somebody must have led him astray.”

  “I warned you.”

  “And this morning one of them said he’s innocent.”

  Raoul laughed so loud he choked on a tortilla chip and had to wave her away while he gulped down half a glass of iced tea. When he finally got his breathing back to normal, his eyes were tearing and his nose was red. “Didn’t think it would happen so quick, that’s all. I warned you in that first interview that most of the people in prison say they’re innocent.”

  “But—”

  “Certainly there are miscarriages of justice. DNA testing has freed a lot of convicted rapists and murderers who turned out to have been innocent. But the odds are still very high in favor of the justice system. Confessions, plea bargains and smoking-gun evidence are the order of the day. Take it from me, if he’s in for it, he did it.”

  “That’s the thing—I think I need to know what ‘it’ is.”

  “Okay. Your choice. I can copy your team’s records. I still think it’s a mistake, but I’ll do it for you. I can drop them by your place on my way home tonight.”

  “Thanks. Actually, Raoul, I may decide not to look at them after I have them. I just want the chance to make that choice.”

  “Good. Ever hear of Pandora’s box? Or Bluebeard’s chamber? Open the box or the door, and you can’t ever shut it again.”

  “What if I find that there has been a miscarriage of justice?”

  He leaned back as the waiter set a steaming platter in front of him. “Ah, I hate to think of what these fajitas will do for my arteries, but I can’t resist.”