Fugitive

“I’m sending out Charlie. He’ll tell them what we want. And I’d better get it.”

“IS FREDDY INSANE?” Collins asked when he and Charlie were far enough from the storeroom so Freddy couldn’t hear him through the door.

“Are you referring to his mental state or his plan?” Charlie answered bitterly.

“The question was rhetorical,” said Collins, who knew that Freddy was a head case and that Charlie knew what “rhetorical” meant.

“I don’t know why Freddy does this shit,” Charlie complained. “But then neither does he, half the time.”

“Well, you better do something. McDermott’s in charge. He’s got the prison locked down and SWAT is on the way.”

Michael McDermott, the assistant warden, was a deeply religious man, who had started as a guard and worked his way up to his present position as second in command. McDermott despised Warden Pulliams and he hated the inmates. He had no faith in rehabilitation and viewed incarceration as punishment for sin. The assistant warden longed for the good old days when flogging, chain gangs, and sweatboxes were the rage.

McDermott was waiting outside the library door, cradling a shotgun across his massive forearms and glaring down at Charlie from six feet five inches above ground. Several armed guards stood behind him, but none were as big. McDermott was a bull with a thick neck, broad shoulders, and tree-trunk torso and legs.

“Who’s this?” McDermott asked Collins.

“Charlie Marsh, sir,” answered the trustee, his voice quivering. “He’s Clayton’s cellmate.”

“Okay, Marsh. What’s going on here?”

“Mr. McDermott, sir, I just want to say that I had nothing to do with this. I’m up for parole in…”

“Did I ask for your life story, Marsh?” McDermott said in a tone that would have been a bone-chilling growl if it had come from a rottweiler.

“No, sir. I just wanted you to know that this was all Freddy’s idea. See, he doesn’t think so well at times, and this is one of them. We were working on a legal writ when Warden Pulliams stopped at our table with these three ladies. Next thing I know, Freddy’s got a knife and he’s threatening to kill one of the women if the warden doesn’t do what he says. Now, the warden, the women, and a guard are tied up in the storeroom.”

“Let’s go in and take him out,” suggested a buzz-cut guard who was almost as big as McDermott.

“With all due respect, sir, that might not be wise,” Charlie said. “Freddy doused everyone with paint thi

“Talk,” McDermott ordered.

“Freddy and I grew up together. We’ve been close since elementary school. I know exactly how his mind works. Freddy has a short attention span, real short. He gets crazy ideas and acts on them without thinking, but he loses interest fast. You can get everyone out of this unharmed if you have a little patience.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Freddy’s got demands. He wants a jet plane to fly him to a tropical island and two million dollars.”

McDermott laughed harshly. “Where’d he get that from, TV?”

“Probably, or some movie. But he’s fixed on these demands, and once Freddy is fixed on an idea there’s no way to change his mind until he gets bored. So we have to make him think you’re trying to put the deal together and let me work on him. I’ll try to get as many people out of there as I can, and I’ll try to talk Freddy out as soon as I see he’s losing interest.

“I don’t want anyone hurt. Freddy is my best friend. He had a real rough time growing up and it screwed up his mind. Also, he’s not too smart. If it’s possible, I want to keep him, the warden, the guard, and those ladies alive.”

“What’s in this for you?” McDermott asked.

“Nothing. I’m only in on a credit card fraud beef. I’m up for parole real soon. I just want everything back the way it was before Freddy went off on those people.”

“All right. Tell Clayton I’m working on getting him the plane and the money.”

“The hostages will need food soon, and water.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” McDermott said. “And you’re doing the right thing by helping us, Marsh. I remember cons who do the right thing.” He paused. “And I particularly remember those who don’t.”

The assistant warden waited until Charlie reentered the library. Then he turned to the guard with the buzz cut.

“Find out where the SWAT team is and let’s get some more men up here.”

“Are you going to wait for Marsh to work on his buddy?”

“I’ll give him some time, but not much,” McDermott answered, his close-set eyes concentrating on the library door as his mind swept through various scenarios, all of which ended with Freddy Clayton’s bullet-riddled body being dragged out of the storeroom by his heels.

A RABID CONVICT holding three helpless women and a prison warden hostage is the answer to a twenty-four-hour news station’s prayers, but there was no television or radio in the library, so Freddy was unaware of the media circus that had sprung up around the prison. Charlie knew about the news coverage because McDermott had given in to requests to let a pool of reporters from the papers and television into the prison. The lights on the TV cameras would flash on whenever he stepped out of the library door to continue his dialogue with McDermott.

During the next two days, Charlie shuffled back and forth between the storeroom and the hall outside the library as Freddy’s patience dwindled to almost nothing. As it turned out, the assistant warden and Crazy Freddy had about the same tolerance for inaction. Charlie was constantly talking his friend out of cutting throats and McDermott out of sending in the troops. An arson expert had informed McDermott that the flammable qualities of the paint thi

The prison standoff came to a head on the third day. The close air in the storeroom stank of sweat, fear, and paint thi

“This is it, this is it,” Freddy mumbled under his breath. His eyes were bloodshot and his jaw was clenched so hard that his skin was drawn tight across his cheekbones.

“Be cool, Freddy,” Charlie said, trying to sound confident through his exhaustion.

“The motherfuckers are stalling. The SWATs are coming any minute. I can smell them.”

“I don’t think so. I really believe they’re getting the money together.”

Freddy stopped pacing and stared at Charlie.

“Bullshit.”

Normally, Freddy yelled and ranted, but now his voice was calm and pitched low. His self-possession terrified Charlie.

“They’re not sending a plane. They’re playing you. It’s time to show those motherfuckers I mean business or they’ll lose respect for me. Once that happens it’s the SWATs for sure.”

“They’ll definitely send in the troops if you send out a body. You’ll be giving them no choice.”

Freddy’s shoulders sagged and Charlie knew that his friend had given up all hope of lying on the beach of a tropical island.

“I don’t give a fuck anymore. The SWATs come in, I’m a dead man. I go out there, I’m a dead man. You don’t think some accident is go