Escape Clause Read online

  It took great self-control for Tasker to wait the five minutes until after they’d left the warden’s office before he started questioning the lovely and mysterious R. A. Chin, also known as Renee. The narrow hallway crowded with staff and trustees wasn’t the right setting, either. Finally they came to a set of offices and, inside one of them, Renee turned to face him.

  “I know, I shouldn’t have sprung it on you, but when you walked in and I recognized you, I turned on purpose. I still like the look on your face.” She smiled, revealing perfectly straight white teeth with only one flaw: her second tooth in the front had a chip that cut it at an angle. It was dazzling regardless.

  “You did surprise me. And I know you enjoyed taking me the long way so I couldn’t speak until now.”

  “You’re very observant. You’re right, we could’ve turned right and come in over there, but where’s the fun in that?” She leaned back on a solid oak table and casually crossed her long legs. She wore Dockers pants and a polo shirt with the Department of Corrections DOC logo across the pocket over a T-shirt with sleeves that came to her elbows.

  “I’m afraid of what other surprises you have in store for me.”

  “None, here. I was told to be your tour guide, liaison and interpreter.”

  “For what language?”

  “Prison-speak. Our correctional officers and inmates have their own language of acronyms and shortcuts.”

  “And this way the warden knows everything I hear.”

  “You are smart.”

  “You treat all your visitors like this?”

  “If they’re under orders from the governor.” She smiled and winked. “Anytime someone is in a position to say something positive to our administration, we try to take care of them.”

  “And I’m sure the fact that you’re a knockout has nothing to do with you helping me with my investigation. What was the plan if I was gay, Captain Norton would be my liaison?”

  She laughed at that, then said, “If you were gay, I’m quite certain the good captain would have you beaten. He’s five feet eight of sour mood and limited patience. I was the only choice. First of all, that’s what inspectors do, and second of all, Sam Norton has no use for anyone but his cronies.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Renee kept her perfect brown eyes on him and asked, “Any questions so far?”

  “Actually, a few.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Okay. I thought the head of a correctional facility was called the ‘superintendent.’ ”

  “That was the title until a few years ago. Then a new Secretary of Corrections wanted to go old-school and make the titles sound tough, so he changed it back to warden.”

  “I’m guessing this prison was named under a different secretary.”

  She smiled. “You don’t think Manatee sounds tough?”

  “As tough as Snapper or Key Deer prison, not as ominous as Union or Starke.”

  “Starke isn’t a prison, it’s a town, and I wouldn’t express your views on the prison name in front of Captain Norton or some of the other veterans, who wanted this place called Hell or Bleak prison. They never use the name ‘Manatee,’ just ‘the facility’ or sometimes ‘the Rock,’ because they liked the movie.”

  Tasker snickered at the thought of grown men ashamed of the prison’s name. “How do you like working for the DOC?”

  “Good outfit. Tough job. Think I’ll stay, though.”

  “I expect you’ll move up the ladder.”

  Renee Chin flashed that pretty smile and said, “Maybe. One day.” She paused and said, “We’re all waiting to see what effect the private prison has when it goes into operation. We may lose people to the corporation running it.”

  “But that won’t be a maximum security facility.”

  “No, but plenty of people are worried around here.”

  Tasker inspected the long room. Four tables were spaced before a permanent walkway into the next room, which was lined with books. “What’s this room for?”

  “Study room for the law library.”

  “For the prisoners?”

  “No. The trustees can look things up and then deliver the books to each cell. If we had this inside the walls, the prisoners would be hiding things in the books and using them for exchanges all the time.”

  A trustee came out of the main library room with an armful of books. The older black man looked like he was in good shape and had been around the block. There was something familiar about him, though, as he waited for Tasker and Renee to move so he could get by. Unlike the other trustees, this man made no effort to be friendly or deferential.

  Renee turned to the solid man. “Who’re all those for, Luther?”

  “Sergeant Janzig said that Dorm C could have a garden. These are texts on such activities as relate to the endeavor.”

  Tasker heard the voice and use of language and snapped to attention. “Cole Hodges?”

  The man slowly looked at Tasker. “In here, they call me Luther Williams, Mr. Tasker.” He paused to look at Inspector R. A. Chin and said, “Special Agent Tasker and I are acquainted.”

  Renee kept her eyes on him. “I see.” She looked at Tasker and said, “You just know everyone, don’t you?”

  Luther Williams took his time walking to Dorm C. It was quite a shock to see the cop who’d figured out who he really was and then, indirectly, had him sent to this hellhole. He had had a fine life as “lawyer” Cole Hodges after he escaped from the Missouri State Penitentiary over twenty years before. When things had gone bad with his community action group, the Committee for Community Relief, he tried to flee with the million five he had skimmed, but other people had wanted the money, too. When it was all said and done, this state cop had been the only one smart enough to realize he wasn’t the prominent attorney he’d pretended to be. A quick plea on his part had gotten him ten years Florida time, to be followed by twenty more in Missouri. He’d taken it because he’d figured on a shorter sentence, much shorter, and knew he could hide a hell of a lot better in Florida, with the contacts he had and the other money he had stashed, than in Missouri. This smart cop might prove valuable.

  Coming toward him on the walkway was the largest of the Aryan Knights. Luther stayed clear of them mainly because he didn’t need the aggravation. He thought about Vic Vollentius’ message. It was vague, but enough to put him on edge. He still wasn’t afraid of any man, no matter how many weights the guy lifted or how often he shadowboxed in the yard. This one was tall, maybe six-foot-three, and had a lot of meat on him, not much of it fat. He gave Luther a hard stare from more than thirty feet away. Luther couldn’t figure out what had turned these morons so nasty the last few weeks, but he was getting tired of it. In the cafeteria he had been jostled by two of the Knights, and now Vic Vollentius seemed to be keeping a close eye on Luther’s activities.

  As the younger man came closer, he shifted more toward Luther, who refused to give up ground to this monster. Then, when they were next to each other, the Aryan Knight leaned into him and bumped Luther hard, almost off his feet.

  Luther wasn’t the chatty type. He knew this was an assault on his stature. The big Aryan Knight stopped and stared, like he was daring Luther to take action.

  Luther kept calm, and placed his hands on his waistline, where his belt should be and the long, thin metal strip he used like a fencing foil was hidden. Luther looked past the Knight’s shoulder and nodded to the empty space. When the Knight turned to see who was coming up on them, Luther jerked the end of the foil and, by the time the Aryan Knight had turned back around, shoved the metal strip deep into the man’s right bicep.

  He withdrew it instantly and quickly pulled it between his two fingers to remove the thin sheen of blood.

  The wounded man grasped his upper arm. “Motherfucker. You’re gonna pay for that.”

  “Now?” Luther could not help but smile. He knew the wound wasn’t lethal but it affected this man’s head. He obviously loved his big, defined bice
ps and didn’t know what having a metal strip run through them would do.

  The big man said, “Soon. Your time is coming soon, jungle bunny.”

  Luther chuckled. “Jungle bunny. That’s the best you can do? C’mon, son, I grew up in the sixties in East St. Louis. I’ve heard nuns call me worse names.”

  The man backed away, still clutching his injured arm.

  Luther secured his weapon and continued on his way like he had just stopped to chat with a friend. He was at Dorm C a few minutes later.

  As he entered the forty-bed dorm with the observation cage in the middle, which was now, due to budget cuts, unoccupied, he announced to the lounging inmates, “I have reading material to enrich your minds.” He smiled as their heads turned. He opened one book and took out a bag, which had been flattened inside. He held it up and shook it as the white powder fell to one corner of the clear plastic. “And something to expand your consciousness.”

  He smiled as they lined up, some stopping to dig in their stash holes for money.

  He knew he’d make a living wherever he landed.

  seven

  Tasker looked out over the yard from Renee’s second-story office just outside the perimeter fence of Manatee state prison. The eight main dorms, eight secure dorms and the lockdown building were all in view. About thirty inmates were in the exercise yard, the most ever allowed at one time. It kept down the trouble and the chance to plan escapes. Since the famous Glades prison escape of 1993, rules for pleasant treatment and inmate exercise needs had been scrapped.

  Renee, sitting behind her neat and orderly desk, said, “So where do you want to start? The crime scene? Interviews?”

  He turned from the window and said, “First, I’d like to know how a black woman in Gladesville ended up with a name like Chin, then I’d be interested in how you learned to punch like you did the other night in the bar.”

  She smiled. “First, I was born in Jamaica, where twenty percent of the population has some Chinese DNA and odd middle or last names. And, second, I have two brothers and six years as a correctional officer and inspector.” She kept her smile. “Now you can tell me about Luther Williams.”

  “Nothing to tell. He was an active crook in Miami and an escaped convict and we arrested him.”

  “I heard he was known as Cole Hodges, had assumed someone else’s identity, but that was it. He behaves, you know. He’s one of the few really bright guys out here.”

  “Yeah, he’s smart. He copped a plea that included no one looking into what happened to the real Cole Hodges. I guess the state attorney figured he’d be behind bars until he died.”

  Renee said, “Out here, almost everyone is behind bars until they die.”

  Luther Williams was still a little annoyed and concerned that the Aryan Knights had suddenly seemed to realize he was black. They hadn’t bothered him until the last few weeks. Why now? He carried those thoughts with him as he entered the visitors’ center. He was now annoyed at his visitor. He had told her not to come early. He wanted the guards to get used to her coming late on visiting days. He was angry but couldn’t show it as he entered the room where certain prisoners received non-relative visitors through a thick sheet of glass and a telephone. Not even these Neanderthal guards would believe this woman was related to him. She wanted to be and he’d marry her if it would help his plans, but right now this tall, hundred-and-eighty-pound lump of white flesh obviously showed no signs of shared DNA with Luther. The best he’d be able to do is a relation by marriage, which didn’t really thrill him.

  He sat at the small counter in the hard wooden chair and picked up the handset for the intercom as she did the same. He feigned a smile, showing off the store-bought teeth he had been able to afford a few years ago. “Hi,” was all he started with.

  A broad smile sparked across her pretty face. “It kills me not to see you for a whole week.”

  “Rules of the institution, my dear.”

  “Rules that break my heart.” She gazed at him with her green eyes.

  He thought, Rules that keep me from having to look at you more than once a week. But instead he smiled again. “There is an opportunity on Sundays as well. You could come at the same time.”

  “Really? I could come earlier in the day so we could have more time together.”

  “Believe me, four-thirty is the best possible time.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  He forced a smile and said, “What news of the world do you have for me?”

  “You probably heard about the amendment to reduce class size coming under fire.”

  He frowned. “No, my dear, I didn’t mean that. I get to read the newspapers. I meant about my remaining business interests.” This woman had fallen for him based on news stories she had seen about his past. She felt he had changed and bettered himself and was not being given a proper chance to get ahead in life. In turn, he had made her the manager of his few remaining business interests and pretended to love her as much as she loved him.

  She looked at him and put her masculine hand to the glass. “Everything is fine. All the rent on the apartments is up to date and the gas stations are all doing well. Herbert says he wishes you were able to talk to the wholesalers because they don’t show him the respect you got.”

  “You tell Herbert to start paying one of the gangs, maybe the Eighth Street Boyz, a few hundred bucks to show their faces to the wholesaler once in a while. Maybe have them stop his truck and explain it. Tell him to do that, then for him to come see me in two weeks.”

  “But then I won’t be able to visit that week.”

  “A tragedy, my dear, to be sure, but necessary.”

  She accepted the news, then said, “I had a check sent to Florida A and M for Teresa. It’ll look like it’s part of the scholarship.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Why don’t you tell her who’s been providing for her for so long?”

  Luther stared at her. “I’m not particularly proud of my situation at the moment. Perhaps if things change.”

  “The girl has a right to know who you are.”

  “I have a right to handle it as I see fit.”

  She cast her head down and nodded, then returned her hand to the window.

  He placed his hand opposite hers. “One more thing. You need to time it to come right at four-thirty from now on, no excuses.”

  “Why?”

  He twitched slightly and let his nostrils flair. “Because I just told you to.”

  Tasker used his afternoon to visit his odd but pleasant neighbor, Warren Kling, at his archaeological dig. They stood in an open field ringed with sugarcane big enough to hold a football stadium with a full parking lot. Tasker waited while the portly figure finished a call on his tiny cell phone.

  Kling nodded as if the person on the other end could see him. “I know, I know, Rick.” He listened to his caller. “No problem the dig will go that far. I promise.” He listened to his caller and said, “No, Rick, it doesn’t. Seminoles are not Florida’s original people. They came from other territory, so they aren’t considered OPs.” Then after only a few seconds, “I have company. I’ll call you later.”

  The pudgy man shrugged at Tasker, saying, “Sorry, business.”

  Tasker waved him off and said, “You got plenty of room out here.” He snapped a couple of photos with his digital camera.

  “My site is right here and probably drifts a few hundred feet that way.” He pointed into the open field. “That’s one of the sites they’re considering for the private prison you hear everyone talk about.”

  Tasker looked over at a crude, hand-painted sign with the numbers 19650 scrawled on a flat piece of wood. “Is that to identify the site?”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s the address on US 27.”

  “Where’s the other site?”

  “Three miles down the road.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “The difference is if one owner can sell to the state rather than the other. Lots of money
involved.”

  Tasker looked out at the rabbits, which appeared to be swarming to something now, if rabbits actually swarmed. “They displace a lot of rabbits when they cut the fields.”

  “You have no idea. If the PETA people saw what happens, they’d invade and kill all the migrants out here.”

  “What happens?”

  “They burn the fields to make the soil last longer. When they start the fire, the bunnies all run to the edge of the field in a tiny herd. The local kids get a dollar apiece for the rabbits, for their pelt, feet and, in some cases, meat. The kids take a four-foot stalk of cane and smash them as they run from the fire. See.” He pointed to dark spots on the ground. Hundreds of dark spots.

  “What are those?”

  “Rabbit remains. The spots can stay for a year or more. The ones by our apartments are from last season.”

  Tasker looked out over the field at all the bunnies. “How are there still so many?”

  “They screw like rabbits.”

  Tasker nodded at the obvious response.

  Later, Tasker sat in a folding canvas chair under a wide plastic cover, surveying the series of shallow trenches, digging tools strewn on the edges. He took a photo of the site and one of the professor climbing out of a trench. Then he took one of the professor with the wide-open field behind him.

  “What’re you, a professional?”

  Tasker smiled. “It’s digital. My kids gave it to me, so when I remember it I snap a lot of photos. The storage card is filling up.”

  “I’d never figure something like that out.”

  Tasker smiled, then looked around the dig. “Okay, Doc, what have you turned up? Incas? Leif Eriksson’s first expedition?”

  The professor smiled. “You’re pretty smart considering where you went to school.” He flopped into the chair next to Tasker. “No, what Billie and I have uncovered here are the remnants of the Seminoles who fled the third Seminole war. I always thought they had an interim home before settling in the Big Cypress farther south and west, but never had any proof. Every day we find more to support my hypothesis.”