Ticket to Yuma (10 page)

THIRTY-TWO

Deputy Warden Lloyd Simon watched as the guard walked Angus Fowler out of the warden's office and took him back to his cell.

“Lloyd?” the warden said from his door.

“Yes, sir?”

“Would you come in here, please?”

“Of course.”

Simon left his desk, entered Warden Gordon's office, and closed the door.

“What's this I hear about the Gunsmith being in my prison?” the warden asked.

Simon stared at the older man. The deputy warden was in his forties, tall and handsome, and ambitious. He had his eye on the warden's job, and was determined that when he got it, he would know what was going on in every corner of Yuma Prison.

“You're not supposed to know that, sir.”

“Well, I do.”

“We get paid a lot of money to look the other way on some prisoners.”

“But the Gunsmith?” the warden asked. “That's dangerous. Who put him here?”

Simon knew it was the mayor and the police chief of Prescott, but that was also something the warden wasn't supposed to know.

“I hate to think who else is inside these walls I don't know about,” the warden said.

“No one else of that ilk, I assure you,” Simon said.

“Is he going to be killed here?”

“If he is,” Simon replied, “no one will hear about it.”

“Jesus . . .” the warden said, rocking back in his chair. “This is too much.”

“Relax, Warden,” Simon said, “I have everything under control.”

“I never should have let you talk me into this.”

“Gordon, we're making a lot of money,” Simon said. “And having the women here is turning out to be pleasant, isn't it?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then continue to be guided by me,” Simon said. “I'll handle everything.”

Simon studied the warden, hoping that the man was not suddenly acquiring a mind of his own.

In the next moment, his fear was realized.

“I want to see him,” the warden said.

“What? See who?”

“Clint Adams,” the warden said. “I want you to have him brought to me.”

“I don't think that's a very good idea,” Simon replied.

“I'm still in command here, Lloyd,” the warden said, “despite our little side venture.”

“Well, yes, sir, that's true—”

“I want to talk to him,” the warden said. “Who do you have on him?”

“Rock is guarding him.”

“Excellent,” the warden said. “Rock is a good man. Have him bring the Gunsmith to me this evening.”

“Sir—”

“Do it, Lloyd,” the warden said. “This is not negotiable.”

Simon wondered about arguing further, but decided against it. The proper move was probably just to go ahead and get it done.

“All right, Warden,” Simons said, “I'll have him brought here this evening. I'm sure he's eating with the others, so as soon as mealtime is over—”

“He's in with the general population?” the warden asked.

“Just for meals.”

“I'm not sure that's wise, Lloyd,” the warden said. “We'll talk about that after I've seen him.”

“Yes, sir,” Simon said, “as you wish.” He hoped the warden would not notice he was gritting his teeth.

THIRTY-THREE

“You know a man named Harlan Banks?” Clint asked Cates.

Because of everything that had happened in Prescott, this was the first time Clint had asked this question since arriving in Yuma. He didn't want the population to immediately know who he was looking for. He was tired of being lied to every time he mentioned Banks's name.

“Who?” Cates asked.

“Banks,” Clint said, “Harlan Banks.”

“Naw,” Cates said, “don't know 'im.”

Clint nodded. They were waiting for the word to return to their cells.

“But that don't mean he ain't here.”

“How's that?” Clint asked.

“There are some prisoners inside these walls,” Cates said, “who are here . . . let's say, unofficially.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Like you,” Cates said. “I'll bet there ain't a file on you in the warden's office. In fact, I'm surprised they bring you in here to eat with us.”

“How many prisoners are we talking about?”

Cates shrugged and said, “Maybe half a dozen.”

“And what's the point?”

“Money.”

“Somebody's paying to have these men held here unofficially?”

“Yup.”

“Who's making the money?”

“Deputy Warden Simon,” Cates said, “maybe even the warden himself. But Simon's in charge.”

“What kind of man is Simon?”

“Easterner,” Cates said, “with an education.”

“What's his ultimate goal?”

“He wants to be warden,” Cates said. “He'll make a lot more money that way.”

“Tell me,” Clint said, “how long has this been going on?”

“Probably a year and a half. Not long.”

“And in that time,” Clint said, “have any of those prisoners . . . let's say, disappeared?”

“Oh, yeah,” Cates said. “You're askin' me if they been killed? Yeah, the answer's yes.”

“But is that the point?” Clint asked. “To bring them in here and have them killed?”

“Don't seem to be.”

“Are they ever released?”

“Not that I know of.”

“So there are men in here serving unofficial life sentences?”

“I guess you could say that,” Cates said. “And your guy may be one of them.”

At that point the guards told them to stand and line up. Clint was then yanked from the line by his guard, Rock, and walked back to his cell.

* * *

Clint reclined on his cot and thought about what Cates had told him. It seemed obvious that Harlan Banks was one of those “unofficial” prisoners Cates had been talking about. Now what he needed to do was figure out a way to get to him.

And what about the three women? Were they “unofficial”? He hadn't had time to ask Cates about that, but maybe he'd get a chance to ask Amanda—if he got to see her again.

He heard footsteps coming toward his cell, and then Rock was standing just outside the bars.

“Let's go,” the guard said. “Somebody wants to see you.”

He put the key in the lock and opened the door.

Clint stood up, wondering if he was again being taken to see Amanda. But if so, why by Rock? Why not by her two guards, Ace and Danny?

“Come on, come on,” Rock said. “Let's go.”

Clint went to the front of the cell and stepped out. Rock then prodded him with his stick.

“Where are we going?” Clint asked.

“You'll see.”

They walked down several halls, Rock steering Clint with nudges of his stick. Finally, they came to a door that said
WARDEN
on it.

“The warden?”

“Quiet!”

If he was being taken to see the warden, did this mean that he wasn't one of the unofficial prisoners Cates had been talking about?

Rock knocked on the door with his stick and said to Clint, “Open it.”

Clint did so.

“Inside, Adams,” Rock said, placing his stick in the small of Clint's back and pushing him hard. “The man wants to meet you himself.”

THIRTY-FOUR

“I'm Deputy Warden Simon,” the man at the desk said to him.

“I thought I was being brought to the warden.”

“Oh, you will,” Simon said. “I just wanted to talk to you first.”

“What about?”

“Your treatment while you're a guest here.”

“Guest?” Clint asked. “Is that what prisoners here are called?”

“Well, that depends,” Simon said, “if you want to be treated like a prisoner, or like a guest.”

“What have I been so far?” Clint asked.

“A guest.”

“Seems to me I've been a prisoner,” Clint said. “Especially given what you've been feeding me.”

“You can get better food,” Simon said. “You can have a better cell. You can even have . . . company.”

“And what do I have to do for all that?”

“Just tell the warden what he wants to hear.”

“And what's that?”

“That you haven't been mistreated.”

“That's it?”

“That's all.”

That wasn't such a stretch. In truth, he hadn't been particularly mistreated to that point—except for the food. And an occasional poke in the back or ribs by Rock's stick. And with the extra benefits, maybe he'd have more of a chance of breaking out. Or finding Harlan Banks.

“Do we have a deal?” Simon asked.

“Why not?” Clint asked.

“Good,” Simon said. “I'll take you in now.”

He stepped to the warden's door and knocked, then opened it and stuck his head in. “Clint Adams is here,” Clint heard him say.

“Good, good,” a man's voice said, “bring him on in.”

Simon waved at Clint and opened the door wide. Clint walked in.

The portly man behind the desk said to Simon, “That's all, Lloyd. Thank you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Simon withdrew and closed the door.

“Mr. Adams,” the warden said, “I'm Warden Gordon Scott. Please, have a seat.”

Warden Gordon, Clint thought, chuckling at the rhyme.

“Can I give you something to drink?” the warden asked. “A glass of red wine?”

“Red wine would be good.”

The warden stood up, poured Clint a glass from a bottle that had already been opened, and handed it to him.

“Thank you,” Clint said. He took a sip. Usually, he preferred beer, but after the tepid water he'd been drinking for a week, the wine tasted like nectar.

“I want you to know, it's just come to my attention that you were in my prison.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yes, indeed,” the warden said. “I certainly would have had you brought up here long ago if I had known.”

“I appreciate that, sir,” Clint said. “But now that I'm here, can you tell me why?”

The warden shrugged and said, “Just for a talk. I'd like to make sure you're being treated fairly.”

“Well,” Clint said, “I'm not even sure what ‘fairly' means in a prison.”

“Are you being mistreated in any way?” the warden asked.

That was the question Clint was waiting for.

“Mistreated?” Clint asked. “No, I can't say I'm being mistreated. Aside from the fact that I'm in prison for something I didn't do.”

“I'm sure you can understand that I hear that quite a bit.”

“And I'm sure it's true in a lot of cases.”

“Well . . . some,” the warden said.

Clint finished his wine. “Is that all you wanted to know?”

“Well . . .”

“Don't you want to know why I'm in here?” Clint asked. “What I was charged with?”

“Yes, of course . . .”

“Murder,” Clint said. “I was charged with two murders.”

The warden looked surprised.

“I know your reputation, Mr. Adams,” he said. “I know you've killed many men, but I never heard anything about you being a murderer.”

“That's because I'm not,” Clint said. “And if I could get out of here, I could prove it.”

“Well, well—”

“I know,” Clint said. “You've heard that many times before, too.”

“Indeed.”

“But in my case it happens to be true. I'm not even sure those murders took place.”

“So you were framed?”

“Exactly.”

“Why?”

“To get me out of the way.”

“Of what?”

“I'm not really sure,” Clint said. “Do you know the chief of police of Prescott?”

“No.”

“The mayor?”

“No.”

No, he wouldn't, Clint thought. Obviously, it was the deputy warden, Simon, who had all the connections.

“Warden, there is something you could help me with.”

“What's that?”

“I would very much like not to get killed while I'm in your prison.”

“We can probably do something for you on that count,” the warden said.

For a moment Clint was going to ask the warden if he'd ever heard of Harlan Banks, but he was sure one of two things was true. Either the warden would say no and mean it, or he'd say no and be lying.

“How about another glass of wine?” Clint asked.

THIRTY-FIVE

Rock took Clint back to his cell, only it wasn't the same cell. This one was in a different part of the prison. It was larger, and the cot had a softer mattress pad on it.

“Better?” Rock asked.

“Some.”

“Wait until you have your first meal,” Rock said. “This is a whole different part of Yuma.”

Now it came to Clint. He thought the route had looked familiar. He was in the same section of the prison that Amanda was in. And maybe the other two girls. And maybe . . .

“Who else is here?” he asked.

“Other guests,” Rock said, looking through the bars. “Now just relax, I'm gonna bring you some better clothes. And later you can have a bath.”

“Well, well,” Clint said, “I'll bet the people in this section of the prison just never want to leave.”

“You got that partly right,” Rock said.

“Partly?”

“It's not that they don't wanna leave,” Rock said. “It's just that they don't.”

* * *

Amanda took Ace's big cock into her mouth and sucked it, wetting it thoroughly, fondling his balls with one of her hands.

“Aw, geez . . .” he moaned.

“So what do you say, Ace?” she asked. “Do I get to see Clint Adams again?”

“Aw, girl,” he said as she slid her tongue along the underside of his cock, “you keep doin' that and you can have anythin' you want.”

“What about Danny?” she asked. “Will he go along?”

“Sure,” he said, “I can get Danny to do anythin' I want him to.”

“Oh, Ace,” she said, kissing the head of his cock, “you're my man.” She opened her mouth and took him deep inside, then sucked him until he exploded.

* * *

Amanda had done much the same thing to Danny a few hours earlier. It had taken her that long to get these two guards when they weren't together.

“Whataya wanna talk to Adams about?” Danny has asked while she sucked his penis. “Unless maybe you wanna do more than talk?”

“Oh, no,” she assured him, “you boys keep me plenty busy and satisfied. No, I just want to talk to him. After all, he's a legend.”

“Well,” Danny said, “legend or not, he ain't gonna last much longer inside.”

“All the more reason for me to talk to him,” she said, “before he gets killed.”

“Oh, all right,” he said while she stroked his hard cock, “I can set it up.”

“What about Ace?” she asked. “Will he go along with it?”

“Sure,” Danny said. “Don't worry about Ace. I'll take care of him.”

“You're too good to me,” she told him, and took him into her mouth . . .

* * *

She'd heard that Clint Adams had been moved, after a meeting with the warden. Now he was in the same section of the prison that she and the others were in. That should make it easier for her to get to see him.

But she knew something was wrong. If the warden knew that Clint Adams was in Yuma, then something was wrong. Usually, he was kept out of the loop when it came to the “special” prisoners. The fact that he wasn't did not sit well with her. If she was going to use the Gunsmith to get herself out of Yuma, it would have to be soon.

* * *

Rock found the deputy warden waiting for him just down the hall from Clint Adams's new cell.

“Is he in?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

“What's gonna happen now, sir?”

“You'll bring him a nice breakfast in the morning,” Simon said, “and then you'll take him for a bath.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you'll let him bathe alone. Understand?”

“I understand, sir,” Rock said. “He bathes alone.”

“And let me know when it's over,” Simon said. “Not the warden. Me.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

Cates saw the guard come up to his cell and stand with his back to the bars. He got up from his cot and walked to the bars.

“What's goin' on?” he asked.

The guard, Ray Burke, said, “It's gonna be tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

“That's what I hear.”

“How?”

“Rock's gonna take Adams for a bath in the morning, after breakfast.”

“They move Adams to the special section?”

“Yeah.”

“Ray,” Cates said, “I think I feel the need for a bath comin' on.”

“It's gonna cost ya, Cates.”

“Doesn't it always?”

“Okay, then,” Burke said. “After breakfast.”

“Okay,” Cates said. “Thanks, Ray.”

Burke nodded and walked away. Cates went back to his cot. He didn't have any trouble falling asleep that night.