Poe (17 page)

Though everyone stared at them as they crossed the yard, there was one inmate in particular who caught Alex’s attention. Medium-sized and steely-eyed and wearing a hijab. Though the rest of her face was covered with a scarf, Alex was sure it was one of women who had been with El-Hashim in her cell.

And she seemed very interested in Alex.

* * *

F
IFTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS
a day
, Alex thought as the doctor sewed up her cut. Stonewell was getting one hell of a deal.

The infirmary examination room was broken up into several individual stations. Each of the women involved in the altercation had been taken into her own, curtains drawn for privacy.

Not complete privacy, of course. Alex was willing to bet that Frida and the other woman were enjoying the company of one of the guards, like she was. Hers had been kind enough to keep staring at her as she removed her torn and bloodied dress and given it to a nurse, who had whisked it away.

So far, a new garment had yet to materialize, and this asshole seemed to be having a helluva good time staring at Alex’s breasts. If he didn’t start showing her a little respect very soon, she might have to knock that grin off his face.

The doctor tugged on the needle and poked it into her skin again. He said something unintelligible and it took her a moment to realize he had spoken in thickly accented English, the word “pain” the only thing she understood.

He was asking if it hurt.

“Just a little,” she said, knowing that her “little” was probably a lot to some people.

He seemed to be trying to decipher her response, so she held her thumb and forefinger about a quarter inch apart.

“Little,” she said.

“Ahhh.”

He nodded, offering her a doctorly smile. After he finished closing off the wound, he examined the other scrapes and bruises she’d received, then ducked around the curtain and left without another word.

Sitting there on the cold, uncomfortable table in only a thin pair of panties, with a guard about two threads of spittle away from full-on drool, Alex felt the urge to fold her arms and cover herself, despite the wound that would make such a task difficult. But then she decided,
Screw it
. She wasn’t going to act like some shy schoolgirl because this asshole couldn’t take his eyes off her.

It wasn’t as if he’d ever see or get any more than this.

Not from her. Not ever.

So enjoy the show, numbnuts.

Finally, a different nurse returned and handed her a dress identical to the one she’d been wearing, only clean. The guard’s disappointment was palpable as Alex eyed him defiantly and slipped it on.

From the infirmary, she was taken to see the warden. Frida was already there, sitting in one of the chairs outside his office, and Alex was pushed onto the seat next to her.

“You all right?” Alex asked.

Frida nodded. “Thank you.”

It was the first time they’d had a chance to talk since the fight.

“So how did it start?”

“You think this was first time?”

“Your black eye from before. The same woman?”

Another nod.

“What’s her problem?”

“I do not know. A month ago she just decide to beat me. I had never even talked to her before. It was like she chooses me…” Frida demonstrated pointing at several people before stopping on one.

“Randomly,” Alex suggested. “Without any reason.”

“Yes. No reason.”

“Well, she’s not going to pick on you for a while.”

“But when she gets better? Then what?”

Alex could say that she would help, but given she wasn’t planning on being around very long, it would be a hollow promise. Instead she asked, “Why didn’t you just walk away when the guards showed up? They didn’t know you were involved.”

A half smile. “If you come by yourself, they probably not believe you. But they know Kalyna has hurt me before, so better if I tell them what happened.”

“Kalyna? That’s her name?”

Frida nodded.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” Alex said.

“You help me, I help you.”

It was an admirable philosophy, but one that might ultimately cause Frida more trouble.

A few minutes later, they were ushered into the warden’s office together. In her halting, slow Ukraine, Frida gave her version of the events, and did the best she could to act as an interpreter for Alex. At the end, the warden rattled on for over a minute, then brushed his hand in the air, dismissing them.

“What was that all about?” Alex whispered when they were out of the office.

“He is not punishing you since you are so new, and…” She paused. “And you might not understanding the…rules? Rules like ‘do this,’ ‘do this,’ ‘do this,’ yes?”

“Like laws. Guidelines.”

“Yes, same. You not understanding rules of fighting.”

“I think I understand the rules of fighting just fine. I believe I just beat the crap out of your friend Kalyna.”

Frida smiled. “I mean rules that there is no fighting here.”

“Uh-huh,” Alex said. “And, tell me, does anyone ever follow that rule?”

Frida’s smile faltered. “Not really.”

“Well, knock me over with a feather.”

* * *

A
LEX AND FRIDA
separated after they entered Building One, Frida staying on the ground floor while Alex took the stairs up to level three. Passing through the cellblocks, she couldn’t help but notice that the other prisoners grew quiet as she walked by.

So much for keeping a low profile.

Her cellmates were all there when she walked in. Like the others, they also stopped talking and simply stared at her as she stretched out on her mattress.

“What?” she said.

In a panic, they turned away as if she wasn’t even in the room.

All right
.
Be that way
.

She tried to make herself comfortable, turning first one way then the other. As she started to flip onto her side, something scratched her calf. She winced, climbed out, and felt around the bunk, thinking something might have gotten between the blanket and mattress.

There was nothing there.

Frowning, she lay back down. And felt it again.

This time, it was clear the scratch had come not from the bed, but her new dress. Specifically, the hem. At one spot, it was stiff.

She twisted the dress around as best she could for a better look. Surprisingly, it appeared as if the hem had been cut and resewn—hastily, by the looks of it. But that wasn’t what was stiff. The hem was about an inch wide, and within it, right where it had been redone, was what felt like a piece of paper.

Alex ran a finger across the seam and found a loose thread. It put up little resistance as she gave it a gentle tug and worked it out.

After checking her roommates and confirming they were doing everything they could not to look in her direction, she fished out the piece of paper. It had been folded twice, which accounted for why it had felt so stiff.

She quietly unfolded it.

It was a note. In English.

Home concerned about timeline. Increase speed as much as possible. When ready to leave, request new dress. Until then, no more fights.

The only person it could be from was Traz, the inside contact, who apparently worked in the administration building. That made sense, given that Traz was supposed to help her get out.

But who was it?

Request new dress.
Someone who worked in the storage room? The female guard? Or it could have been any of the medical staff—the nurse who’d taken her bloodied dress away, the one who’d brought her a new one, hell, even the doctor.

The only thing she knew for sure was that it had been someone who had gotten a few minutes alone with the garment before it was brought to her. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in the position to conduct a full-scale investigation.

She read the note again. She had a pretty good idea why McElroy would want her to speed up the schedule—that bastard judge back in Simferopol. He’d already fleeced them for more cash once, and chances were good he’d try again, threatening to expose her as a “foreign agent.” So McElroy would want her done and gone before anything else blew up.

Whether or not this was his reasoning, she was completely in agreement. Prison life was not suiting her at all, and the sooner she was out, the better.

Of course the question she couldn’t answer was how the hell to make that happen.

“
Nice job on
Kalyna.”

Alex looked over her shoulder. The dusty-blonde woman who had just fallen in behind her in the dinner line was lean and tall and, surprisingly, in possession of an accent very similar to Alex’s.

“Sorry. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Apparently every else does, because they’re all talking about it. And I was a witness. Saw the whole damn thing. Not the first time you’ve ever been in a fight, is it?”

Alex shrugged. “I’d rather not get into it.”

The line moved forward, allowing both women to set their trays on the counter.

“Sure, I get it,” the blonde said. She held out her hand. “I’m Rachel. Rachel Norman.”

Alex hesitated, then shook her hand. “Maureen Powell.”

“You know, when I got here a few days ago, I thought I was gonna be the only one from the States. Can’t tell you how good it is to meet someone from home.”

“You’re still the only one,” Alex said. “I’m Canadian.”

“Oh.” Rachel appeared to be momentarily caught off guard, then she smiled. “Close enough, I guess. At least we both know how to string a couple sentences together without tying our tongues in a knot. I’m getting pretty tired of trying to decipher every other word that’s thrown in my direction.”

While it was nice to hear a voice from home, Alex had neither the desire nor the time to make friends. She’d already gotten too close to doing that with Frida.

“So…where?” Rachel asked.

Alex realized she’d missed something the blonde had said. “I’m sorry?”

“Where in Canada? I’ve been to Toronto once. And Vancouver when I was a kid.”

“Winnipeg.”

“Where the hell’s that?”

“Right in the middle.”

“Sounds cold. Me, I’m from San Diego. You ever been?”

Alex had, but she shook her head, and moved forward with the line.

“Pacific Beach, Mission Beach…oh, and the Gaslamp district. Man, I miss it.”

Alex glanced at her and was about to grunt, “Uh-huh,” when she noticed a large woman wearing a hijab enter the room.

Alex recognized her height and body shape. No question, it was one of the women who’d been with El-Hashim in her cell. Which was weird; this wasn’t her building. She seemed to be searching for someone, because her eyes suddenly locked on to something, and she headed quickly across the room, disappearing into the kitchen.

As Alex lay in her bunk prior to dinner, she had formulated an action plan for the evening. After she finished eating and before everyone was locked up for the night, she would pay El-Hashim’s cellblock another visit. At worst she might be able to gain some more intel, and at best, she might find herself in a position to make contact.

Having one fewer member of El-Hashim’s entourage in play might facilitate that very situation.

“So what did they put you in here for?” Rachel asked. “They popped me as an accessory for a stolen car. The guy I was hanging out with took it, and I didn’t even know—”

“I’m sorry,” Alex said, stepping out of line. “I forgot something. It was nice meeting you.”

Returning her tray and dish to the stack at the head of the line, she exited the cafeteria as quickly as possible.

* * *

T
HE SUN WAS
still an hour from setting as she stepped into the near-empty prison yard. Painfully aware of how visible she was, she stayed close to the buildings, in hopes they would mask her presence. It seemed to have worked, as she was able to slip into Building Two without raising any alarms.

There, she took the stairs down to the cafeteria. Though McElroy’s information indicated El-Hashim seldom left her room, seldom was not never, so the woman could be downstairs for dinner.

Alex paused just outside the doorway so as not to be seen, and scanned the dining room. Neither El-Hashim nor her protection detail was there.

Alex went back to the stairs and took them to the second floor. The first block was completely empty, but as she entered the second, she could hear noise coming from cell 259—at least two voices, talking low. She hugged the wall, moved all the way to the cell doors on the right. Keeping just as tight to them, she made her way toward the voices and stopped just short of El-Hashim’s cell.

There had been no interruption in the conversation, no indication they’d heard Alex’s approach. This close, she could clearly hear what they were saying, and surprisingly, could even understand them for the most part, as they were speaking French.

“…for the best, I think,” one of them was saying.

“Not sitting in this pit would be for the best,” another replied, not sounding happy. “I need to leave this place.”

“Yes, but that isn’t an option right now. A few more days, a week at most, and you should be out again. But until then—”

“Until then, Marie, we have
this
to deal with, too!”

There was no question in Alex’s mind the unhappy one was El-Hashim. What was interesting was that it seemed something more than just sitting in prison was upsetting her.

Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to make an approach, Alex realized.

As she turned to retreat to the block entrance, a new voice spoke up in the cell.

A male voice.

What the hell?

“I know this news is distressing,” he said in halting French. “But it is better to know than not.”

His tone was familiar, but the French was throwing Alex off, so she was having a hard time placing it.

“You tell me that my life is in danger, but you don’t tell me from whom,” El-Hashim said. “It would be better if you had a name!”