The Payback Man

“So you can’t handle it?”

“I didn’t say that. There’s not that much difference between a three-thousand-pound Beefmaster and a two-thousand-pound Brahma, except that the Brahma is probably a whole lot meaner.”

“Those are details we can discuss later if and when we decide to employ you,” Portree said.

“There is one thing that bothers me. Animals don’t work business hours. They often require care twenty-four hours a day, and most cows decide to calve at night. I know your prisoners sleep in dormitories in an inner compound. Will I be allowed to keep them at the barn when I need them? Nights, weekends?”

Leo Hamilton spoke up again. “The bakery begins work at three o’clock in the morning outside the compound. The mess-hall staff works weekends. We have a number of men who leave the prison each day for work release and return each evening. The men who are already here and the ones who’ll continue to arrive until we reach capacity are considered trusties. They are well aware that if they try to escape, they will be returned to maximum-security prisons and lose the good time that they have accrued.”

“So nobody tries to escape?”

“Occasionally,” Warden Portree said, “but not often, and we invariably catch them. The general rule among prison professionals is ‘three and three.’ Escapees are caught within three hours and within three miles of the prison.”

“So the men on my team will be able to work overtime?”

“When absolutely necessary,” Hamilton said. “They can be signed out by you or a CO and signed in again when they return.”

“I won’t abuse the privilege.”

“That’s all we ask,” Portree said. “Now, on to another subject. You know that a cottage on the grounds comes as part of the stipend?”

Eleanor nodded.

“It’s one in a row of overseers’ bungalows, built sometime in the forties. We’ve brought it up to code, but it’s not fancy.”

“I don’t need fancy.” She felt her spirits lift. Surely they wouldn’t be talking about housing if they weren’t going to offer her the job.

“You mind living inside the prison gates?” Torres asked.

“But outside the internal compound, right?”

“Yes. Just inside the perimeter fences.”

“There are five or six other cottages, aren’t there?”

“Yes, but not all occupied yet. We hope to have the work done—by inmates—by the middle of February. Then we’ll put the remainder up for bids to our top staff.”

“Good idea.”

“At the moment,” Torres continued, “it’s pretty lonely—only three or four others occupied.”

“I’m used to being alone. And I like being close to my charges. Besides, Creature Comfort is only ten minutes away by car, so it works out well.”

“All right, Doctor, what say we call you in a couple of days with our answer?” Portree asked.

Eleanor nodded and stood to shake hands all around. Raoul Torres winked at her and gave her a small thumbs-up.

She felt their eyes on her back as she walked out. The moment the door to the conference room closed behind her on their murmurs, she leaned against the wall and let out a deep breath.

“Did you get it?”

Eleanor felt Precious Simpson’s hand on her arm. Precious, principal of the general education program at the prison, had called her boss at the clinic, Rick Hazard, about the job posting in the first place.

“I have no idea.” She thought a minute. “Maybe.”

“Great. We’ll be neighbors. Those bungalows aren’t much, but it’ll be fun having another woman close by. Right now all I’ve got is a couple of crotchety old COs who don’t have any family.”

Precious was the warm, golden brown of a ripe peach, and wore her hair in tiny braids that hung down to her shoulders.

“I think Leo Hamilton really hates that I’m a woman and what he calls ‘attractive.’” Eleanor wrinkled her nose. “You’re a beautiful woman. How come he doesn’t worry about you?”

“Leo probably doesn’t consider my type beautiful.”

“Does being inside scare you?”

“Sometimes. A lot of the inmates they’re bringing in are huge. Most prisoners pump iron constantly. Sometimes when I’m walking in a group of them past the mess hall or into class, I realize I’m one woman among a bunch of convicted criminals who haven’t had a woman since they were sentenced.”

“How do you handle it?”

“Keep my eyes front, walk like I know where I’m going and don’t stop to chat. Then I duck into the staff common room, have a cup of coffee and shake for a while.”

“But you keep coming back.”

“Hey, the pay is great, the rent is free. But what keeps me here is the occasional success—like when some tattooed crack dealer reads Crime and Punishment and actually gets it.”

Precious walked Eleanor out to the staff parking area. As they stood beside Eleanor’s truck with Creature Comfort emblazoned on its side, a yellow school bus pulled through the gates and stopped by the administration building, a battered two-story brick building left over from the Second World War. The bus door opened, and a corrections officer stepped down and shouted to the passengers.

Their hands were cuffed in front of them, but they weren’t wearing leg or waist irons. They wore identical blue work shirts under jean jackets, jeans and running shoes.

“You’re right,” Eleanor whispered. “Most of them are enormous. My Lord, look at that one.”

A gigantic man, probably close to seven feet tall, who weighed at least three hundred pounds and all of it muscle, stepped from the bus and stood blinking in the sun. His skin was almost pure white—prison pallor. His white-blond hair was cropped so short it looked like peach fuzz.

“Move,” the CO shouted.

The big man shuffled forward obediently. From under his brows he noticed the women watching and smiled at them shyly. His eyes were pale blue. Eleanor thought he had the sweetest smile she’d ever seen.

Then she glanced at the man behind him. He, too, was tall and well built, but didn’t walk with that muscle-bound swing several of the others had. He didn’t have any visible tattoos and he carried himself easily. His gaze moved from side to side as though he was drawing his new surroundings in his head for future reference.

He looked straight at Eleanor. She caught her breath. So much anger, so much bitterness, so much grief. It was as though in that one glance she’d been able to see inside him. A second later he dropped his eyes and became simply another con shuffling along with the others.

“Move, you.” The CO dug the man in the kidneys with his baton.

She didn’t like that moment of recognition. She hoped he wouldn’t wind up on her team. With luck, she’d never see him again.

CHAPTER TWO

PLANNING WAYS TO KILL Neil Waters had kept Steve Chadwick sane during his three years in prison.