by Jeff Siebold
“I’m thinking that if I’m taking the risk, I need to be cut in on the action,” said Zeke, standing his ground.
Simpson said, “That’s what you think, is it?”
“Seems fair. I appear to be taking all the risk, here.”
“What’s your guess?” asked Cornfeld. “What’s in the box?”
“Drugs or cell phones, I think. Or cigarettes. Probably cell phones, since the drug dog at the prison entry didn’t notice any contraband when I came in,” said Zeke.
Simpson looked at Zeke. They were both standing in Zeke’s personal space, trying to intimidate him.
“Probably get about a thousand bucks each for them inside,” Zeke continued. “At least that’s what they sold for in Gowanda, where I worked before.”
“OK, you’re a smart guy,” said Simpson. “But there’s no extra points for you to get cut in. Dix says you need to shut up and do what you’re told. And he’s the man around here.”
Cornfeld said, “There ain’t any extra for you, Traynor.”
Zeke looked at each of the guards. “I’ll bet you paid the guy before me, Ronnie Knox, when he was here.”
“You got a complaint, take it up with Dix,” said Simpson. “Meanwhile, just do what you’re told.” He pushed Zeke on the shoulder, hard, and turned and walked away. Cornfeld picked up the boxes and followed him out of the kitchen.
* * *
“I’m pretty sure there’s a regular delivery of contraband,” Carl Turow told Zeke. He was working in the prison kitchen, helping Zeke and the staff prepare for the evening meal. He set a large box of produce on the table and went to hoist another.
When he’d returned with a second box, Zeke said, “There’s definitely some coming in through the guards and staff.”
Turow nodded and said, “But I think there’s more than that. Ran into a brother with a pair of wire cutters. That’s pretty high risk, not something you can buy in the prison yard, ya know.”
Zeke nodded. “If they can get wire cutters in, they can get guns and knives in.”
“My thought exactly,” said Turow.
“If someone is smuggling things in over the fence- and that could include wire cutters or guns or knives or explosives or worse- it would probably be at night, right?”
“Sure, with a drone or remote control helicopter or something to breach the fences.”
“But you’d have to be in the yard to retrieve the contraband, wouldn’t you?” asked Zeke. “They wouldn’t just drop it off in the middle of the yard, in the middle of the night.”
“Probably not,” said Carl.
“So how would an inmate get out in the yard at night?”
They thought for a minute while Carl retrieved another box of produce.
“What about the dogs?” asked Zeke.
“The therapy dogs?” repeated Carl. “Yeah, they’re inside with us. But they don’t go in and out the gate.”
“But can the inmates get out to the yard?” asked Zeke.
“The only ones that do are walking their dogs after dark, before lockdown…” said Carl. “Wait, you think they use the dog-walk time to pick up their delivery?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Zeke.
Carl shook his head. “Makes sense.”
“And if they’re out in the yard after dark, they can use the dog to find the delivery,” said Zeke. “All they’d need to do is make the package smell attractive to the dogs.”
“Those are some smart dogs,” said Carl. “I could see that happening.”
Chapter 15
The man is unbalanced, Zeke thought. He and Carl were talking, standing in an open area of the correctional kitchen, near the beginning of the serving line. The man, a small inmate with a red do-rag tied around his head was suddenly screaming at Zeke from the serving counter a few feet away. Most of what the man said was unintelligible, interspersed with creative cursing and words of violent intent.
“Imma kill you, you white motha…”
Just then a second inmate, a big man carrying a floor mop, stepped up and interrupted the first.
“You a cop,” said the second man. “Worse than a snitch. We shank you for that.”
Zeke looked around the large cafeteria. The room, usually bustling with working prisoners and prison guards was suddenly vacant.
He looked back at the two men and noticed a sharpened plastic toothbrush taped to the end of the mop handle.
Under his breath Carl said, “You need help?”
Zeke shook his head. “Why do you think I’m a cop?” he asked calmly. Carl stepped to the side, back from the fray. He stayed in a position to jump in if he was needed.
“Don’t need to tell you nuffin’,” said the first man, stepping closer to Zeke. “You dead, anyways…”
“Did O.Z. tell you that? That I’m a cop?” he asked.
“Don’ you worry ‘bout O.Z. You need ta worry ‘bout you own skin,” said the second man staying back, obviously the smarter of the two.
“Look, I’m just a food supplier here…” Zeke started.
Suddenly, the man with the mop grabbed the handle with both hands and pointed it at Zeke, sharp edge first. He held it like a shovel and started shoving it at him. The other man stepped in next to it.
Zeke moved quickly toward the mop, parrying it with his forearm, getting inside its radius. He was close to both men now. He squared his shoulders and quickly punched the man with the do-rag in the solar plexus, a short, straight blow that sent him to the ground gasping.
Without hesitating, Zeke quickly climbed up the mop handle, hand over hand toward the second man, who waited two seconds too long to release the weapon. The moment Zeke was in range, he let loose with an elbow to the man’s ear, followed by a front kick to his crotch. Before he hit the floor Zeke executed a sweep that knocked the man’s feet from beneath him. He landed on his side, his head making a sound like a ripe watermelon hitting the pavement.
The first man, the smaller one was up again, but wobbly. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. He looked at the mop, now lying on the ground, and then at Zeke. He thought about it too long.
Zeke walked directly to do-rag and hooked the man’s neck with his left elbow. He squeezed hard, all the while plummeting the man’s face and head with hard punches. The man, his do-rag having fallen to the ground, grabbed Zeke’s arm with both hands, trying to twist free.
By this point, the fight was essentially over. Zeke released him and quickly stamped on the man’s insole, particularly vulnerable in the rubber shower sandals he was wearing. Then, when he bent down in pain Zeke grabbed the collar of his jumpsuit and ran him headlong into the stainless steel serving counter. The clang reverberated across the empty room.
Carl looked at Zeke and whistled softly. “Damn,” he said.
* * *
“What provoked the attack?” asked Clive. Zeke had joined Kimmy in Clive’s D.C. office to debrief.
“Nothing. Nothing happened to provoke the attack. It must have been a planned hit,” said Zeke.
Kimmy said, “Had you seen those inmates before?”
Zeke shook his head. “No, but I’ve only been out there a few days. There are about 1,400 prisoners at Cumberland.”
“Well, word certainly spread quickly in the prison,” said Clive. “How did those two fare, then?”
“They’ve had better days,” said Zeke. “Carl played it smart. He stayed close in case I needed help, but he made it look like he wasn’t a part of the fight. If he’d jumped into the fight, it would have blown his cover.”
Clive nodded.
“I spoke with the warden,” said Clive. “He suggested that we rotate you out of there, in light of the trouble.”
“No,” said Zeke. “I think I’m getting close to the killer. Someone told these two that I’m a cop and set me up.”
“How should we handle the rumors, then?” asked Clive.
“Let’s tell Warden Clark to isolate those two inmates in the infirmary while
they recover and then transfer them out quickly. We can contain this.”
“How about you?” asked Clive.
“I think I’ll step out for a few days and go back to New York while this all cools down.”
* * *
Dressed in khaki shorts and a blue polo shirt inscribed Gun Runner, Julia Conners rolled her small carryon bag behind her as she walked up the gangplank. The ship sparkled in the Hilton Head Island sun, its brightwork gleaming and reflecting the movement of the blue water.
“Welcome aboard,” said Captain Abdul. “We were told you were coming.”
“Yes, thank you,” said Julia. “When do we sail?”
The captain said, “Soon. We have just a bit more preparation to do, and then we’ll be heading to the eastern Caribbean. It looks to be a smooth ride.”
Julia looked around. She said, “I’m ready for that.”
A mate standing nearby said, “I’m glad to show you your cabin. I understand you’ve toured the ship?”
“Yes, I have. That would be wonderful,” said Julia.
They descended two levels and then the mate walked ahead through a narrow corridor and stopped at a teak door. “Here we are,” he said, opening the stateroom door.
The room was well appointed, with a small curtained porthole and a single bunk. There were two wooden drawers under the bunk and matching cabinets above. On the other side of the small room was a desk and chair.
Julia set her carryon on the bed, thanked the mate, and began unpacking.
* * *
The band poster at the Parkside Lounge was taped behind the window glass facing the sidewalk. The photo on the front showed four twenty-somethings standing in front of a pale green brick wall, one looking at the camera, one at the ground, and the other two gazing at each other dreamily. The name of the band was the ‘Gypsy Moths’, and Candi was one of the gazers. In the picture, her hair was short, spiked, and colored bright red and blue.
Zeke pushed into the small, crowded bar and was immediately greeted by the sounds of an Indie rock track being played on the small stage. He found an empty seat at a small table closer to the pool table. A moment later, a young girl approached.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked over the music.
“Do you have Stella Artois?” Zeke asked.
She nodded and made a note.
“What time do the ‘Gypsy Moths’ come on?” he asked.
“Um, I think they start around ten,” she said. She looked at her watch. “Twenty minutes.” Then she turned away.
* * *
Candi said, “I’m glad you were able to come by.” The ‘Gypsy Moths’ were on their first break after playing an opening set, and Candi had spotted Zeke in the audience.
“I’m glad you told me about the Parkside,” he said. “It’s an interesting place.”
“It’s edgy,” said Candi. “But we have a stage here. And the owner’s a friend.”
“How did your evening go with G’s group?”
“It was OK. I told you that my girlfriend works for him, didn’t I? I think they invite me because I’m a local celebrity or something,” said Candi. “But they spend most of the time talking in some foreign language. My friend and I, we get bored.”
“Hence the Blue Kamikazes,” he said.
“Sure,” she said. “What’s a girl to do?”
“I’m enjoying your music,” said Zeke. “You have a great voice.”
“Thanks.”
“Have you been singing long?”
She said, “Since High School. Then I went to Julliard.”
Zeke nodded. The server brought him another Stella.
“Did you want a drink?” he asked Candi. “Anything except a Blue Kamikaze.”
She nodded and asked the server for a glass of white wine. “Thanks.”
“I don’t want to seem obsessive, but what else do you know about G? What kind of business is he in?” Zeke asked.
“Why do you ask?” she said.
“Well, he seems young to be running a business in Manhattan. And I think I’ve seen him before. I just can’t place him. That’s all.”
“No, I think his father owns the business. He always has enough money. But I’m not sure what they do. Something to do with entertainment,” Candi said.
Zeke looked at her.
The server set a glass of wine on the table and moved back toward the bar.
“But not my kind of entertainment,” she continued. “Something having to do with international rights to screen plays and books, I think.”
Zeke nodded as if disinterested.
“Hey, Ezekiel, I know you’ve got a girl. I just don’t care,” said Candi with a wink.
“I do,” said Zeke. “And she’s a keeper.”
Candi nodded and hummed a couple bars of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”
Zeke laughed.
“What’s her name?”
“Tracy. And be careful, she’s with the Secret Service.”
“Like In the Line of Fire?” she asked.
“You remember that movie?” asked Zeke.
“I love movies about Secret Service agents,” she said. “I’m an addict. Clint Eastwood in that one. Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard. Dennis Quaid in Vantage Point…”
Candi turned her head toward the stage and checked her drummer. He nodded.
She turned back to Zeke. “I’ve gotta get back up there, we’re starting soon. We get off at one tonight,” she said. “But I’ve got to make it an early night. I have an audition tomorrow morning.”
“No worries, I’m heading to D.C. in the morning.”
She made a face. “And I’m scheduled to work.”
“At a bistro on Eleventh Street, you said.”
“That’s right. But don’t worry, I’ve still got your digits.”
Chapter 16
“Have we gotten anywhere with the killings?” Warden Clark asked.
Zeke and Clive sat across from him in his office in the prison Administration building. They were alone.
“We’re tracking it backwards,” said Zeke. “In addition to the contraband coming in- mostly cell phones and cigarettes and drugs, from what we’ve seen- there have been a number of weapons showing up.”
“The weapons are very disturbing,” said Clark. “As are the inmate deaths.”
“Yes. Symptoms of a larger problem,” said Clive.
Warden Clark looked at Clive. “What are you thinking?”
“It appears that we may be nibbling around the edges of the real issue,” he said.
“How so?” asked Clark.
Clive looked at Zeke and gave him a single nod.
Zeke said, “The MO in each killing was the same, with the weapon found near the body. So we assume that all of the killings are interconnected. We assume that they’re part of a larger plan.”
“Is there evidence of that?” asked Warden Clark.
“Some. But let’s explore it for a minute. The first piece, and the most disturbing, are the four inmate deaths over the past twelve months.”
Clark nodded in agreement.
“We’ve studied the files. We’re looking for a pattern, a reason, a motivation,” said Zeke. “We’ll come back to that.”
“I guess we know it’s not random,” said Clark, mostly to himself.
“Second, we’ve got a prison that’s overrun with cell phones. Over fifty cell phones were confiscated from prisoners in the last week,” said Zeke.
“And most have been replaced rather rapidly,” said Clive. “Even though we’re now able to track the new phones and monitor their calls and information.”
“Information?” asked Clark.
“Sure, the StingRay device can identify the location of the cell phone, but also, acting as a signal tower, if you will. It gets the cell phone to identify itself and its history of calls. It actually tricks the phone into giving up information about what it’s been doing,” said Zeke.
“Hmm,” said Clark.
“I won’t ask if that’s legal.”
“Third, we’ve identified guards and ex-guards sneaking contraband into the prison. That’s how the new cell phones are getting in, and we don’t know what else,” said Zeke. “Fourth, we know that we have weapons getting into the prison and into the prisoners’ hands.”
Clark said, “Worrisome.”
“We don’t think weapons come in the same way as the other contraband,” said Zeke. “There’s too much risk of being caught at the point of entry, or in a random search. Or through a snitch giving up the source. We think the weapons are coming in over the wall.”
“How?” asked Clark. “Drones? My guards watch for drones and such…”
“We believe they’re bringing the weapons in the dark, at night,” said Clive. “Over the prison wall and into the yard. We think guards are looking the other way.”
“How do the inmates get them from the prison yard, then?” Clark asked. “The prison is in lockdown at night.”
“We think it’s the dogs,” said Zeke. “They walk the therapy dogs before lights out or first thing in the morning, then pick up their deliveries while they’re out.”
* * *
“Now let’s circle back to the four killings,” said Zeke.
Clark looked at him, maintaining his military bearing even while seated.
“We studied the files you sent over. Here’s what we found,” said Zeke. “First, some observations. From thirty-thousand feet, so to speak.”
“OK,” said Warden Clark.
“The national death rate for prisons is two-sixty-four per hundred thousand,” said Zeke. “About a quarter of a percent of the prison population. You’re at more than twice that number, and that’s not counting suicides, heart disease, or cancer.”
Clark said, “Those are the three largest causes of death in prison.” He nodded. “I agree with your numbers.”
“We noticed that all of the recent victims at Cumberland FCI were black except one. All of them had been incarcerated within the past two and a half years,” said Clive.
