The Racketeer

“In a few minutes?” I say, shocked.

“That’s the plan. Is there anything in your cell that you ca

“Yes. I have some personal stuff, paperwork and such.”

“Okay. We’ll get the prison to box up everything tomorrow and we’ll get it to you. It’s best if you don’t go back there. If someone saw you gathering your things, they might ask questions. We don’t want anyone here to know you’re leaving until you’re gone.”

“Got it.”

“No farewells and all that crap, okay?”

“Okay.” For a second I think about my friends here at Frostburg, but quickly let it go. This day is coming for all of them too, and once you’re free, you don’t look back. I doubt seriously if friendships made in prison endure on the outside. And in my case, I will never be able to catch up with the old pals and reminisce. I am about to become another person.

“You have $78 in your prison account. We’ll forward that to Fort Wayne, and it’ll get lost in the system.”

“Screwed once more by the federal government,” I say, and again they think I’m fu

“Any questions?” Hanski asks.

“Sure. How did you get him to confess? He’s too smart for that.”

“We were surprised, frankly. We used a couple of our veteran interrogators, and they have their methods. He mentioned a lawyer a couple of times but backed off. He wanted to talk, and he seemed overwhelmed by the fact that he’d been caught, not for the escape, but for the murder. He wanted to know how much we knew, so we kept talking. For ten hours. Through the night into the early morning. He didn’t want to leave and go to jail, so he stayed in the room. Once he became convinced that we knew what we knew, he broke down. When we mentioned the possibility of his family being indicted, along with most of his gang, he wanted to cut a deal. He eventually gave us everything.”

“And by everything you mean?”

“His story is basically what you told us. He bribed Judge Fawcett with $500,000 to save his nephew, and the judge screwed him. Kept the money and nailed the kid. In Qui

“How much of the money was left?”

“About half of it. Qui

“And I guess he felt he had to kill them?”

“Oh sure. He couldn’t leave two witnesses behind. There’s no remorse, Mal. The judge had it coming; the secretary just got in the way. Now he’s facing two counts of capital murder.”

“So it’s a death penalty case?”

“Most likely. We’ve never executed anyone for killing a federal judge, and we’d love to make Qui

“Did he mention my name?” I ask, certain of the answer.

“Indeed he did. He strongly suspects you’re our source, and he’s probably plotting revenge. That’s why we’re here now, ready to go.”

I want to leave, but not so fast. “Qui

“True, but let’s keep them guessing. It’s also important for your family and friends to believe you’re still locked up.”

“Are you worried about my family?” I ask.

Pat Surhoff finally speaks. “On some level, yes, and we can provide protection for them if you so choose. Doing so will obviously disrupt their lives.”

“They’ll never agree to it,” I reply. “My father would throw a punch if you mentioned it to him. He’s a retired state trooper who’s certain he can take care of himself. My son has a new father and a new life.” I ca

“We can discuss it later, if you’d like,” Surhoff says. “Let’s do that. I’m having far too many random thoughts right now.”

Hanski says, “Freedom awaits you, Mal.”

“Let’s get out of here.” I follow them down a hallway and to another building where three COs and the captain are waiting. I’m handcuffed and shackled at the ankles, then escorted down a sidewalk to a waiting van. An uninformed bystander would think I’m being led to my execution. A marshal named Hitchcock is behind the wheel. Surhoff slides the door shut beside me and climbs into the front passenger seat. Away we go.

I refuse to look back for a parting shot of Frostburg. I have enough images to last for years. I watch the countryside pass by and ca

Soon, we accelerate onto Interstate 68 and head west. It’s almost springtime, and the rolling hills of far western Maryland are showing signs of life. The first few moments of freedom are almost overwhelming. For five years I have dreamed of this day, and it is exhilarating. There are so many thoughts competing for attention. I can’t wait to choose my own clothing, to put on a pair of jeans. I can’t wait to buy a car and drive anywhere I want. I long for the feel of a woman’s body and for the taste of a steak and a cold beer. I refuse to worry about the safety of my son and father. They will not be harmed.

The marshals want to talk, and so I listen. Pat Surhoff is saying, “Now, Mal, you are no longer in the custody of anyone. If you choose to enter the Witness Security Program, more commonly known as witness protection, we, the U.S. Marshals Service, will take care of you. We provide for your security, safety, and health. We will get you a new identity with authentic documentation. You will receive financial assistance for housing, living expenses, and medical care. We’ll find you a job. Once you’re up and ru

He sounds as though he’s reading from a brochure, but the words are music. Hitchcock chimes in, “We’ve had over eight thousand witnesses in the program, and not a single one has ever been harmed.”

I ask the obvious question: “Where will I live?”

“It’s a big country, Mal,” Hitchcock replies. “We’ve relocated witnesses a hundred miles from their homes and two thousand miles away. Distance is not that crucial, but, generally speaking, the farther the better. You like warm weather or snow? Mountains and lakes or sun and beaches? Big cities or small cities? Small towns are problematic, and we recommend a place with a population of at least 100,000.”

“It’s easier to blend in,” Surhoff adds.

“And I get to choose?” I ask.

“Within reason, yes,” Hitchcock says.

“Let me think about it.”

Which I do for the next ten miles or so, and not for the first time. I have a pretty good idea of where I’m going, and for what reasons. I glance over my shoulder and see a familiar vehicle. “I’m assuming that’s the FBI right behind us.”

“Yes, Agent Hanski and another guy,” Surhoff says.

“How long will they follow us?”