Alcatraz!

by Dakota Chase

  “God, you’re stupid. No, the Hoe House.” He gave Grant an exasperated look. “Where the warden lives. It’s next to the lighthouse.”

  Oh, okay. Good. He remembered where the lighthouse was. Maybe.

  Grant slid out of the bunk and jumped the couple of feet to the floor and realized he hadn’t even taken off his shoes the night before. Giving Roberts a sheepish smile, he ran out of the room.

  When he got outside the bachelor guard dorms, he looked up and immediately spotted the lighthouse. The light was out since it was daytime, but it was the tallest point on the island. He hurried up the path leading in that direction.

  What could the warden possibly want with him? He hadn’t done anything wrong that he could recall—at least not anything anyone knew about. He’d visited Ash in the cellblock the night before, but no one knew he’d been there.

  Except for Hocks.

  Hocks knew Grant was in the cellblock when he shouldn’t have been. But Grant had been so sure Hocks had fallen for his lie. Now, he wasn’t so sure he’d been so convincing. Had Hocks gone to the warden to rat Grant out? Why would he bother? What would it gain Hocks?

  Maybe nothing. Maybe Hocks was just an asshole.

  The thought worried Grant. If Hocks got him in hot water with the warden, he could get fired and kicked off Alcatraz. Then there’d be no way for him to get back and help Ash find the locket. Plus, in order for Merlin’s magic to bring them home, they needed to be together.

  Even if he didn’t get fired, he was worried that any close scrutiny by the warden would reveal Grant wasn’t really a guard. He didn’t know how well Merlin’s magic would hold up. What if the warden discovered he was an imposter? He might find himself locked up in one of Alcatraz’s cells.

  None of which made him feel any better. Panic tightened his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. Sweat dotted his forehead and pooled under his arms despite the nip in the air.

  Get hold of yourself. You have to do this. Whatever it is, you can talk your way out of it, right? Of course you can. You talked yourself out of trouble lots of times. Except for the last time, that is. You know, the one that landed you at Stanton’s School for Boys and in Merlin’s class with Ash. Ugh.

  Lucky for him, his feet followed the path of their own accord since his mind spun wildly with worries. Otherwise, he’d probably still be standing in his dorm room. He was almost surprised when he found himself staring up at the front door of the warden’s house.

  He had no idea why they called the warden’s house the “Hoe House.” He doubted if it had anything to do with prostitution, and it didn’t look a damn thing like a farm, but that’s what the guards all called it. It had three floors, and he’d heard it was decorated inside like a mansion.

  You’d never know it from the outside, though. The building was plain, whitewashed adobe. The front door was wooden, an anomaly on the island where everything seemed to be carved from stone, but it still wasn’t ornate. Three little windows in a diagonal line were its only decorative feature. Still, it couldn’t have unnerved him more if it were made of three-foot thick steel and electrified to boot.

  He forced himself to climb the three white stone steps and then lifted his hand, knuckles poised to knock. After taking a deep breath and willing himself to stop shaking, he rapped on the door.

  After a moment or two, the door was answered by an old man of at least seventy years. He was dressed in a dark suit, shirt, tie, and a pair of pristine white gloves.

  Grant blinked in surprise. This was definitely not what he expected. “W-warden?”

  The old man cackled. “Oh, that’s a good one, ain’t it? Me, the warden. Why sure! And that fella over there with the pruning shears? I suppose you think he’s President Roosevelt!”

  Grant glanced over and saw a man in convict clothing clipping a hedge that bordered the house. “Oh, sorry. I’m here to see the warden.”

  “Of course you are. I’m old, not stupid. Come in. You been keeping him waiting long enough, and he don’t much like it.” The old man pulled the door fully open and stepped aside for Grant to come in.

  The foyer and living area beyond proved true the rumors about the house being a mansion. The floors were laid with lustrous, dark wood, scattered over with thick, jewel-toned rugs. While the walls were painted plain white, they were spotless, and hung with bright paintings in ornate frames. The ceilings were edged with elegant crown molding, though, and the furniture looked expensive as well, gilded and trimmed with velvet cushions.

  “This way, boy. Step lively!”

  Grant tore his attention from the room and followed the old man down a hallway. They stopped in front of a door, and the old man knocked sharply. Without waiting for an answer, he opened the door, then stepped aside for Grant to enter first. “This here’s the one you sent for, sir.”

  “Thank you, Constantine.”

  The room was a study or office, appointed as luxuriously as the rest of the house. A huge desk of gleaming cherry wood commanded the center of the room. A flag of the United States—there would be forty-eight stars in 1936, if Grant remembered right, and wouldn’t Merlin be proud if he did—trimmed with gold fringe, hung from a pole on one side of a broad window behind the desk. The California state flag, a brown grizzly on a white background with a broad red strip below, hung from a pole on the opposite side of the window. Grant could see the warden had a terrific view of the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance.

  Warden Johnston sat behind the desk, writing in a ledger. Grant remembered seeing him the day before in the dining hall. Stern-looking, with neatly parted graying hair and round spectacles, Johnston was a slender man who gave the impression of being much larger than he actually was. After a moment or two, during which nervous sweat continued to drip down Grant’s spine and collect uncomfortably in the small of his back, Johnston looked up.

  “Took you long enough. I believe I called for you at seven thirty.” He glanced at the ornate clock on the wall to his left. “It is now eight fifteen. Did you go for a leisurely stroll about the grounds?”

  “No, sir. I came right away, straight from the bachelor’s quarters.”

  “Then it must’ve been the messenger who took his time. Shall I have him punished?”

  Grant felt his stomach drop. “N-no, sir. It wasn’t his fault. I… I didn’t want to get up.”

  A tiny smile quirked the side of Johnston’s mouth. “Good. If you’d lied and said it was not your fault, you would’ve been on the first boat off the island. I don’t put any stock in a man who cannot or will not take responsibility for his own actions.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Grant knew when to kiss ass, and he could pucker up with the best of them when he felt the situation called for it. Happily, Ash wasn’t there to see it.

  “That said, don’t let it happen again. If I summon you, I expect you to hightail it double time.”

  “Yes, sir. I will.”

  Johnston nodded and set the pen he held down. He motioned to a chair set in front of his desk. “Have a seat. Officer Vaughn, is it?”

  “Yes, sir. Grant Vaughn.”

  “Good name. Solid. Of the San Francisco Vaughns?”

  “Um, New York, sir.”

  “Ah. An eastern Yankee, hmm? I myself was born and bred here in California.” He folded his hands on the desk blotter and stared hard at Grant.

  Grant found it difficult to sit without squirming under Johnston’s stern gaze. He felt like he was back in the headmaster’s office at school. Should he ask why he was summoned? Or should he sit there and wait for Johnston to explain? He opted for the latter, but it wasn’t easy.

  The quiet stretched between them, and then it seemed to bloat, filling in all the available space in the room and leaving precious little for oxygen. Luckily, Johnston gave in first in their undeclared war of silence and spoke.

  “I suppose you’re wondering why I called for you this morning.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You
’re new here. Brand-new. Just started yesterday, I believe.”

  “That’s right, sir.” Oh, God, please don’t let him start asking me questions about how I was hired! That’s all I need right now.

  “Good. I need a man who hasn’t had time to establish relationships with anyone on the island.” He leaned in over the desk and lowered his voice. “Are you a man to be trusted, Vaughn?”

  “Yes, sir.” As long as you’re not trusting me to tell you the truth about who I am and where I came from or why I’m here, that is. Otherwise, sure, I’m honest to the core.

  “Fine. Let’s make one thing clear. Should you betray my trust, you’ll not only be out of a job, you’ll be prosecuted on whatever charges I can legally press against you. Do you understand?”

  Grant felt leery but nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. What I’m about to say doesn’t leave this office. I have reason to suspect that one of my officers, Gerald Hocks, is corrupt.”

  Grant’s eyes widened. “Officer Hocks?”

  “You’ve met?”

  “Yes, sir. He… well, he doesn’t much like me. I saw him hitting an inmate, and Lieutenant Merloch had to practically force him to stop. Then later, well, he made it known I’m not one of his favorite people. I think he was angry that I witnessed the incident.”

  Johnston grunted. “Sounds like Hocks. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard he’s been overenthusiastic in regard to punishment. That’s not my biggest gripe with him, though. I have reports that he’s taking kickbacks from some inmates for preferential treatment and running some sort of black market for the convicts. I won’t tolerate such behavior from my officers. However, when I’ve questioned other officers about Hocks, I’ve met with resistance. There’s a hesitation among the men to speak badly of one another, especially to me. Usually I commend them for their discretion, but their solidarity doesn’t suit my purpose this time. Someone like you who’s new, who hasn’t yet forged relationships with the other guards, might be forthcoming, particularly if I were to grease the wheels of his career. Am I correct?”

  So he wanted someone who’d tattle on the other guards. Grant felt a stab in his pride—ordinarily he’d be offended if someone accused him of being a snitch—but he quickly brushed it off. He couldn’t afford to cause offense to the warden. Plus, getting in tight with the head guy might prove helpful. “Yes, sir. I understand. You can count on me.”

  “Very good. You’ll report anything untoward directly to me. I want to know everything you see and hear, including any gossip or rumors involving Hocks. In return, I will personally guarantee you a promotion to lieutenant within six months, with a raise in pay and all benefits associated with the rank. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” He certainly didn’t expect to be there in six months, but saying so would be a really stupid move on his part.

  “Good. I don’t think I need to impress on you the need for secrecy. No one is to know about our agreement besides you and I.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course.”

  “Good. Go on then. I expect regular reports from you.” He picked up his pen and began writing in his ledger once again. Grant had obviously been dismissed both from his office and his mind.

  Grant turned around and forced himself to walk slowly from the study, when all he wanted to do was bolt. How the hell did this happen? How did I become a spy for the warden? All I want to do is get the locket, grab Ash, and go home! Do I look like freaking Jason Bourne? Not to mention if Hocks finds out, I’m dead meat. He’ll kill me and dump me in the bay without blinking. Shit! Every time I think things can’t get any worse, I get my ass handed to me. Now what do I do?

  Chapter Nine

  OF ALL the inmates at Alcatraz, how is it I have to get stuck with the one who hates me? Does the universe really despise me so much? Man, if karma is a thing, I must’ve been a serial killer in my former life. Ash gaped at Billy Ray, unsure of what to say, if anything at all. He wanted to turn and run but knew he wouldn’t get far before the guard dragged him back, and probably clocked him with a nightstick for good measure.

  Billy Ray’s lips stretched into a slow, wide smile. “Well, lookee who we got here. If it ain’t the new fish with the big mouth. You know I lost my job at intake because of you. Easiest job on the Rock. Lost privileges, too, and spent two nights in the Hole.”

  “I, uh, I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to do anything, Billy Ray. I just got here, and—”

  Billy Ray glanced at the guard who stood in the corner of the room. The guard was watching them in a desultory fashion, and Ash figured Billy Ray wanted to keep it that way because he shrugged and spread his hands. “Look, let’s just say it’s all water under the bridge, huh? The Golden Gate Bridge. Get it?”

  Ash laughed along with Billy Ray at the stupid pun, mostly because he figured even the tiny hammer in Billy Ray’s fist could do plenty of damage if he gave Billy reason to swing it, and he wasn’t sure if the guard would intervene. The guard looked bored as hell, and for all Ash knew the guard might think a little inmate-skull-bashing might be just the thing to liven up an afternoon.

  “So, you’re one of Capone’s men now, huh? That was quick.”

  Ash glanced sideways at the guard. He didn’t like where the conversation seemed to be heading. “Um, I wouldn’t say I’m one of his men. I don’t even know what that means, really. He’s been nice to me, that’s all. He’s in the cell next to mine.”

  “Yeah, well, be smart. Friendship on the Rock is never free, and it don’t come cheap.”

  Ash just nodded, unsure of what to say. He didn’t fully trust Capone either, but he trusted Billy Ray even less, although he wasn’t stupid enough to let Billy Ray know it. He decided it would be best to steer the conversation to safer waters and gestured toward the half-repaired shoe on the table. “So, what do I need to do here?”

  “We’re cobblers. You know that word? Where I come from, it means a fruit pie. My mama made great cherry cobblers. Melt in your mouth. On the Rock, though, it means fixing shoes.”

  “Ah. Okay. Cobblers. Got it.”

  “So, what you do is you take a pair of shoes from the stack here. Make sure you keep the ticket with them or else we can’t get them back to the right con….”

  Ash’s attention wandered as Billy Ray explained the intricacies of replacing soles, punching holes for grommets, and other fascinating details of the fine art of shoe repair. He nodded where he thought it appropriate and muttered “uh-huh” and “sure, got it” a lot. He didn’t get any of it, actually, and didn’t care either. He didn’t plan on being around long enough to need to worry about honing his cobbler skills.

  “You know, you’re an okay guy.” Billy Ray glanced at him over the new, shiny sole he’d just finished gluing onto a shoe. “You and me, we’re gonna be buddies. I can tell.”

  “Yeah, sure, Billy Ray. That’s cool.”

  “Cool? In here?” Billy Ray shrugged. “I guess. It’s cooler than in the laundry room, I’ll tell you what. Gets so hot in there a man feels like he can’t breathe sometimes. That’s why I like getting assigned to shoe repair.”

  Ash nodded, not wanting to explain. “Ah. Okay. So, we do this all day? Fix shoes?”

  “Yeah. We get a break for lunch, then back to work until quittin’ time. Not today, of course. We get rec time out in the yard today. Get busy—we got a quota to fill before lunch.”

  Oh. Maybe he should’ve paid a little attention at least. Ash grimaced, then picked a pair of shoes from the bin and sat down on a stool. He examined the shoes. The left one was okay, but the right had a hole torn in the upper part near the laces. “How do I fix a tear?”

  Billy Ray looked over. “Huh. Wonder how that happened.” He shrugged. “Don’t matter. Okay, you got to take this leather repair kit, see?” He demonstrated cutting a corresponding piece of leather from a piece kept with the kit and gluing it in place to fix the hole.

  “Thanks, Billy Ray.”

  “No problem, kid.”

&
nbsp; They worked in silence for a while, but then the guard spoke up. “Gotta take a leak and have a smoke. You two play nice while I’m gone, or I’ll slam your skulls together and throw you both in the Hole. Got it?”

  Billy Ray answered for both of them. “Yeah, sure, Officer Blake, sure. We’re got it.”

  Ash was really uncomfortable with the idea of being left alone with Billy Ray, even for a short time. Billy Ray seemed to be over whatever bug had crawled up his butt with Ash, but who knew what he really thought?

  The guard stepped outside, and as soon as the door closed behind him, Ash found out he had reason to worry.

  “Okay, listen up, you little punk. You owe me big-time for making me lose my job in intake, and the time I spent in the Hole, and I know just how we’re going to get square. Listen up good. One word of what I’m going to say gets out, and you’ll be dead by morning. You think you’re safe in your cell? You got another think coming. Not on the Rock. Nobody’s safe here.”

  “I… I thought we were good?”

  “We will be, so long as you do exactly what I tell you. I need to get your friend, Capone, to have one of his buddies in the metal shop make me a bar spreader.”

  “A what?” Ash blinked in confusion. He felt blindsided. The last thing he expected was for Billy Ray to try to blackmail him. “I don’t even know what that is!”

  “Stupid kid. It’s a gadget you put between cell bars to spread ’em wide enough to get out. They can make ’em in the metal shop. So, listen. Capone gets me the spreader, and you get to live. He don’t get it, and your throat gets slit ear to ear.” He grinned and lifted a corner of his shirt to reveal a sharp-looking piece of metal he’d stuck into his waistband. “Understand?”

  “Wait a minute!” Ash stood up from his stool and felt the blood rush out of his head to his feet, making him light-headed. Things just went from uncomfortable to downright terrifying in a matter of a couple of minutes. “Capone isn’t my good buddy. He’s just been nice to me, is all. Why would he do anything I asked him to do? He doesn’t owe me any favors. I just got here yesterday!”