by Susanne Beck
"Mmmm. I’ll just bet it was."
Oh, she’s good. "It was," I agreed. "Very . . .exciting. Stimulating, even."
Her eyes widened infinitesimally before the smug expression slid back down over her complacent features. "I heard you were . . .quite good. With a very fluid stroke."
I narrowed my eyes. "Yes, well, I’ve been doing it since I was a young girl."
"A young girl, eh?"
"Oh yes. I have lots of experience, you know. Don’t let these innocent looks fool you, Corinne."
"Lots of experience, you say?"
"Indeed. Just ask around. There are plenty of women here who’d be happy to prove my point."
We looked at one another for a long beat of silence before both breaking out in gales of laughter. I laughed so hard that tears ran down my face in buckets. It provided an excellent release of the sexual tension that had been building since I’d woken up that morning.Not quite how I wanted to release the tension, mind you, but it would do. For starters.
When we both managed to calm down, Corinne dragged herself out of her chair and came over to me, bearing the sheaf of newspapers I’d requested. Setting them down in front of me, she took the chair next to mine and lowered herself into it. "My apologies for teasing you, Angel. Though you certainly have learned to give as good as you get. It’s just that you have this sort of glow about you this morning and I have the feeling it’s from more than just winning a softball game."
I patted her hand as I looked into her solemn eyes. "Corinne, I don’t think it’s any surprise to you that I’m in love with Ice." At her nod, I continued. "Well, yesterday I found out that she feels the same way about me. So, if you see a glow about me, let’s just say it’s been well earned and leave it at that, ok?"
Her smile, this one almost one a proud parent might bestow a favored child, reappeared on her face and she nodded. "Fair enough, Angel. Fair enough." She gestured to the stack of newspapers lying before me. "So, what of these? I thought you’d already given them a good going over. What more do you hope to find?"
"I don’t know, exactly. But there’s got to be something here. Something I’m missing." A week earlier, Ice had given me permission to share the full story of Cavallo and his cohorts with Corinne and I did so without hesitation. I was bound and determined to see justice done against Morrison and Cavallo, and to see it served well before Ice had the chance to do anything damaging to herself and her soul. Corinne, with her wisdom and street-smarts, was a perfect compatriot in my quest.
I looked up at my friend. "Corinne, do you think I’m doing the right thing? I know Ice wants to handle this herself and I know I’m kinda prying here, but . . . ." I sighed. "I just don’t want to see her get hurt."
Corinne looked back at me, compassion in her eyes, knowing I was talking about far more than mere physical injuries. "A little digging won’t hurt matters any, Angel. But if you get to the point where action’s needed, you’d best speak with her first before doing anything. She doesn’t take well to betrayals. Even if they’re supposedly in her own best interest." She finished the last with a pointed look and I read the message clearly.
Taking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly, my eyes scanning over the newsprint that I’d already studied a dozen times over. Logic warred with my heart. My heart won. I eyed Corinne. "Looking can’t hurt anything. I promise, if I find anything, I’ll go to Ice with it, alright?"
My friend smiled. "It’s not me you need to be promising that to, Angel."
Chagrinned, I nodded. "Yeah, I know. And I will. Take it to her, I mean. When I’ve found something worth mentioning. Until then . . . ." Running a hand through my hair, I set out, once again, to try and read between the lines of the text, scanning every inch for a clue well hidden. "If I could only get a hold of the trial transcripts," I half-muttered, more to myself than anyone.
I didn’t see the brief smile that crossed Corinne’s lined face as she pushed herself away from the table and returned to her desk.
* * *
With a strangled moan, I collapsed down on top of Ice, snuggling into her strong, sweaty frame as I tried to regain control of my breathing. Withdrawing her hands from their pleasurable task, she enfolded me in an embrace and pulled the sheet up to cover my naked body from any prying eyes that should happen to be about.
Making love in Ice’s cell hadn’t been my first choice, but when I’d come up there to visit with my new lover, one thing quickly led to another and soon any cares of being spied upon were swept away in the rising tide of our passion. I lay smiling on my human mattress, listening to the music of Ice’s heart as it gradually slowed its frantic beating and feeling warm tingles that spread though my spent body in time to her tender stroking of my hair and upper back.
I had found a haven in this hell, or, more accurately, a Heaven. It was here, in the all-encompassing embrace of the woman I loved, surrounded by sure strength and the perfume of clean sweat and musky arousal. My very pores were open wide, drinking it in, fusing it to me in a primal mating of the senses. My eyes fluttered closed and I rested in a cocoon of love.
Sometime later, I woke up out of a wonderful dream and immediately flushed with embarrassment as the living reality of my situation filtered down through my sleep-fuzzed senses. Lifting my head slightly, I wiped a bit of drool from Ice’s warm chest. Her low laugh sounded as she tousled my hair affectionately. "God, I am so sorry," I mumbled, struggling to pull away from her in my mortification of falling asleep on her. Literally. "I must be crushing you."
Her arms gave no quarter as she pulled me back down on top of her. "Relax. You didn’t do anything wrong, Angel."
"I fell asleep!"
"So?"
"I . . .well . . . . I . . .um . . .I’ve never done that before."
Her laugh sounded once again. "Then I’ll take it as a compliment."
"Yeah, but it wasn’t very fair to you."
Her hand slipped down and tilted my chin up to meet her gaze. "Angel, let me decide what is and isn’t fair to me, alright?" She sealed her statement with a kiss that drove away embarrassment still lingering within me. Pulling away after a long, wonderful moment, she playfully tapped me on the end of my nose. "I love you, Angel. And if you wanna fall asleep on me, that’s perfectly alright with me." Her grin turned rakish. "As long as you don’t do it while we’re otherwise engaged."
I snorted. "Morgan Steele, if I live to be a hundred, I will never, I repeat never fall asleep on you while we’re otherwise engaged."
When the laugh I expected didn’t materialize, I looked up into Ice’s stormy eyes, my heart clenching at the look of desolation I saw there. Easing myself up her body, I reached out to gently cup her cheek and turn her head to face me. "Ice? What’s wrong? Did I say something . . . ?"
Ice tightened her embrace around me. I could hear her throat working as she tried to put whatever emotions were running through her head into words. I caressed her cheek again, offering whatever support I had to give and praying to any god who would listen to give her the strength to open up to me.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, she turned her head completely toward me and pressed a kiss to my forehead. Then she pulled away slightly, looking down into my eyes, her own completely open and unguarded. "It’s nothing really. It’s just that . . . ." her throat worked again as she swallowed, "your talking about being old and gray makes me realize all over again how this, what we have, will only last for a short time."
"I don’t understand, Ice. What do you mean?"
She smiled sadly. "Angel, there’s gonna come a time in the near future when you’re gonna be able to walk out of this dump. And don’t think that I don’t wish every day for that to happen. And when it does, you’ll be free and I’ll be . . .here," she finished with a whisper.
As I looked at her, many ways to answer this came to mind. My spirited heart overruled the others and made me speak the words closest to it. "Then why don’t you fight it?"
"What?"
"Y
ou heard me, Ice. You’re in here for a murder you didn’t commit. You know that. I know that. The warden knows that. For God’s sake, Josephina knew it and she died for it."
"I know all this, Angel. I’m living it, remember?"
"Yes, Ice, I do remember. What I wanna know is why you won’t fight it. And don’t give me the ‘because I belong here’ routine, either. I didn’t buy it then and I’m not gonna buy it now."
She stiffened, as if about to push me away, but I grabbed her hard and held on. "No, Ice. You’re not running away this time. I won’t let you. I know you’ve killed, Ice. I’ve got that down pat already. I know you feel guilty about what you’ve done. That’s patently obvious to anyone with half a brain. What I don’t get, no matter how often I think about it, is how someone who is so strong and so courageous can just lie down and roll over without putting up any fight at all! You were framed, Ice! You were betrayed by someone you thought you could trust and cut off from people you considered your family! Certainly that has got to be worth something to you!"
Ice’s eyes, so warm and tender during out lovemaking, became cold and stony as an arctic beach. Her face was set in grim lines and I could practically feel the anger radiating from her tense body.
"I don’t want to talk about this right now, Angel." Her voice held a clear note of warning.
I refused to be cowed, though I well knew exactly how much danger I was in. I could feel her heart pound strongly beneath my breast but I continued to keep hold of her. It was like trying to harness a lightening bolt, but I was nothing if not determined. "I know you don’t want to talk about it, Ice. You never want to talk about it. But I have news for you. It’s not going away. This self flagellation kick you’re on is not going to take care of the problem. You need to do something. If not for yourself, then do it for Josephina."
Her eyes narrowed, blue flame licking out and burning through me. "I intend to do something, Angel." Her voice was a deathly purr.
"How? Through murder?"
Her smile was death itself. "That’s right. It’s who I am. Remember?"
"It’s not who you are, Ice. It’s not. You can fight this through legal avenues. If Josephina knew, that means Salvatore did as well. And who knows who he told? And Morrison knows too! There’s a whole slew of people who know the truth, Ice. Demand your case be reopened!"
"Like you did?"
I stiffened against her. "What?"
"You heard me, Angel. You’re no more guilty of your crime than I am of mine. Yet you sit here while your own case gets moldy in some file drawer somewhere. Tell me, Angel, why are you so hot on me getting my case reopened when you left yours to die?"
Stunned, I could only look at her for a long span of moments. Logically, what she said in some ways made perfect sense. In my mind and heart, I knew I was no more guilty of murder than of jay-walking, yet I never once thought to appeal my case. And, if I were being totally honest with myself, it was because . . . . "Ice, my husband died because of me. I crushed his skull with a baseball bat."
"While he was raping you, Angel. It’s not like he came home drunk one night and you clubbed him to keep him from waking up the neighbors. It was self defense! You don’t belong in jail for that."
Releasing my grip on Ice, I slid from her body, lying between her and the cool concrete wall.
"Now who’s running, Angel?"
"I’m not running, Ice. I’m right here. I just need to think."
"About what? The facts are plain to see. We’re both in the same boat here."
"No we’re not. Not really. I’m here because my husband is dead and I killed him. I pled self-defense, but a jury of my peers decided otherwise. You didn’t kill that man, Ice. In fact, when you found out who he was, you refused to kill him. There’s a big difference between our situations and you know it."
"Is there? We’re both here for a crime we didn’t commit. Your husband is dead, yes. You killed him, yes. But you didn’t commit a crime."
After a long moment of silence between us, I looked back up at her. "I’ll try if you will."
"Angel . . . ."
"Ice . . . ."
"Angel, listen. Please. You have a chance. I don’t. Look at this logically. You have the word of a prison warden who’s managed to get a bunch of powerful people elected in this state. And against him, you have the word of a convicted murderer, a psychotic inmate, a dead woman, and a Mafia don. They’ll laugh the case right out of court. Can’t you just accept my word that I’ll handle this in my own way?"
"I want you to try to do it the right way, Ice. The legal way. Just sign a note to obtain your trial transcripts. I’ll even write it for you if you want. It can’t hurt anything for you to just look them over, can it?"
"You’re really passionate about this, aren’t you?" Her eyes held a slight hint of incredulity.
"Yes, I am. Will you do it?"
For a long time, I didn’t think she was going to answer me. I contented myself with watching the fascinating interplay of emotions as they crossed through her almost colorless eyes. Finally, her white teeth flashed as she bit her lower lip. She sighed. "Fine. I’ll do it. But if they’re released, which I doubt, I look at them first, deal?"
I grinned so broadly that I though my face would split in two from the force of it. "Deal."
"And you try and get yours too. I’m not going through this alone."
After a moment, I nodded. "Alright. Though I don’t think I’ll find . . . ."
She silenced me with a kiss. When it ended, I’d forgotten what I was going to say as my hormones played etch-a-sketch with my thoughts.
"Fight over?" she asked, a touch of amusement in her voice.
"Yes."
"Good. Cause I can think of a couple things I’d rather be doing right now."
The rest of the evening melted away in a haze of absolute bliss.
* * *
"You’re sure you don’t have them."
"Positive Ma’am. I’ve checked and rechecked the files. Nothing with that name or docket number shows up here. As I’ve told you before, Ma’am, you need to call the Hall of Records. We don’t usually keep court transcripts here unless there’s an active appeal."
"I’ve called the Hall of Records. I’ve written the Hall of Records. They keep sending me to you!"
"I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Ma’am, but as I said, I really can’t help you here. Perhaps you might think about putting in a call to the District Attorney’s office?"
"I’ll . . .think about it. Thanks for your help."
"Sorry I couldn’t do more, Ma’am. Goodbye."
"Bye."
Stonewalled. Again. Frustrated beyond words, I slammed the phone back down on its hook so hard that the bell jangled back at me in outrage. Running my hand through my tangled hair, I spun away from the wall so quickly that I almost managed to knock Corinne, out in the prison square on a brief sojourn from her library, flat on her keister.
"Struck out again, huh?" she asked as she adroitly avoided our near-collision.
"Yeah," I replied, resisting the urge to rip my hair out of my skull just to relieve the pent up frustration. "The newest suggestion is to call the DA’s office."
"That might be a possibility."
"Not one I’m ready to explore yet, Corinne. I’d rather keep that particular office out of the loop for the time being. No telling what would come up if they found out Ice has a sudden interest in her case, if you know what I mean."
"All too well, unfortunately." She slipped a hand through the crook of my arm, tugging slightly. "Come on back with me to the library. I think you’ve given our friends enough of the ‘Angel blows her cool’ show for one day, don’t you?"
I looked around for the first time, noting the interested gazes of my fellow prisoners, and just managed to keep the blush from coloring my cheeks. "Alright. Not much more I can do today anyway."
When we arrived in the library, I threw myself down into my chair as Corinne busied herself at the hotplate. It
had been two of the most frustrating months of my life. It began simply enough. I had typed up a letter requesting access to the transcripts in Ice’s name and brought it up to her for her signature. To my surprise, she signed it with little fuss and even wished me luck, though with an expression that was a hair short of patronizing.
Ignoring the look, I happily went about my business, sending the letter away and waiting for a response. I received one, two weeks later. It appeared I had forgotten to put the docket number on the letter and the records could not be found using the case name. After several phone calls, I was able to track down the docket number and so sent another letter. That came back saying I was missing some other important piece of information. And so on and so on, world without end. Amen.
When I finally got a letter off that had all the required information in the required fields with the required names and the required numbers, I received a phone call from a very nice woman who kindly informed me that she had no record of either the case name or the docket number in her files. She then told me that perhaps it was better if I spoke to someone in the Hall of Justice and gave me the name and number of some clerk or other who might be able to help me find what I was looking for.
I would have done my mother proud with my utter politeness, disguising as it was the fits of apoplexy I was undergoing at the time. Back and forth I went, talking to one low-level clerk after another, all without success. Like the Dodo bird, Ice’s court transcript seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth.
When a mug of steaming tea was slid in front of my face, I broke out of my frustrated musings, smiling as I breathed in the bracing aroma. Lifting the mug to my lips, I took a grateful swallow, then almost spit it right back up again when the hard burn of a strong liquor hit my stomach. I turned a hard-eyed look at Corinne, who grinned at me, totally unrepentant.
"Don’t tell me you’re a teetotaler, Angel."
"No. It’s not that, really. I just wasn’t expecting it." And that was the truth, as far as that went. As for the other, liquor and I usually didn’t cross paths. On the few occasions I was allowed it at my parents’ table, I hadn’t liked the taste very much. Plus, you must remember that I lived with a man for whom liquor was a cruel mistress. Seeing its effect on Peter didn’t make me want to run for the bottle any time soon.
