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“What about during family visits?” James pressed.
“Again, not much. Mostly parents visit, a few boyfriends and kids. Even the contraband confiscations have dried up to nothing.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. Nothing was panning out and the stress was getting to me.
“We only have a few months of clearance unless you two can provide more details and reasons to stay undercover inside the prison.” My gut clenched because every day we were here meant potential for Maris to get hurt and shit to blow up in our faces. I thought about the girl, Benedicta—no, I reminded myself—Nene, who was serving five years for manslaughter. Instinctually, I knew the system had done her wrong, but that wasn’t enough to overturn her conviction. The urge to help her was taking over my thoughts and time. I figured James might be able to help with a little quid pro quo, but I hadn’t asked him to help yet. I’d played this game before. Everything had a price, an exchange rate even when contracting information aboveboard. I’d been doing my own looking into this on the side but I didn’t have the time or resources I needed.
I led in with, “One of the inmates here, I think she might have been wrongly convicted.”
“Aren’t they all?” James reluctantly discussed it, but when I thought about Nene stuck here when I left I got a terrible feeling I couldn’t shake.
“Is there any way to look over her case? Maybe not reopen it per se, but at least make sure things were handled correctly. We’ve got people who can at least review it for chain of evidence, burden of proof…” I asked. James impatiently tapped his fingers on what I assumed was his desk or the steering wheel of his car in the background like I was wasting time on this.
“Cohen, don’t get all soft and mushy on prison pussy. Stay focused on the goal and get out of there.”
“But James, there’s so much that doesn’t add up.” Not like I knew shit about her case besides the bare bones file, but when stuff didn’t add up, it usually meant there was something missing from the equation.
“It rarely does, but to turn over a state conviction is going to take a shit ton of manpower we don’t have to devote to it. She didn’t assassinate Kennedy and she’s not Charles Manson. Fuck the girl and get it out of your system. I just don’t want to hear about it at an ethics committee. So unless she’s going to turn over evidence or rat on the Tribe to help bring Hector down there’s not much we can do.”
“So we just ignore it?”
James sighed.
“Hand it over to the Innocence Project and see what happens.” As if they weren’t already overworked.
“Don’t they deal with death row inmates?” James was great at delegating when he wanted to drop something. Too bad for him I didn’t. If they made her case public it would blow any cover we had because they would want to know why my unit was here undercover to begin with.
“Look, beggars can’t be choosy, and you already have a job to do in there. Don’t borrow more trouble than you already have. Now, get me the evidence to connect the Tribe to Hector.” James wasn’t going to help me on this unless I could give him something in exchange. I doubted Nene would cooperate. Heck, I couldn’t get her to answer a direct question without attempting to jump into her pants.
“I’ll call if anything comes up.”
&nb
sp; “Thanks, and Cohen…”
“Yeah?”
“You’re a good guy and a good agent; don’t let this shit cloud your head.” That was Jame’s way of telling me to not get caught. It wasn’t a green light, but it wasn’t a clear no either.
“Thanks.”
I hung up the phone as the lockdown alarms sounded. Blaring sirens and red lights flashed from the hallway and I stood up feeling the fear for the girls, very capable women, but no less vulnerable in this environment tingle down my spine. Guards ran from posts past the hallway and out into the yard. Reaching into my desk I pulled out my service revolver and put it into my shoulder holster. I wasn’t bringing a plastic spork to a knife fight in here. Garcia barged into my office looking wild eyed.
“Fight in the yard,” he said before running back out. Under his professional mask he seemed elated by this and it disgusted me. I had to find a way to get him fired before this was over.
I went to the window and looked at the flurry of limbs flailing. It was a gang inspired fight for sure. The Sunshine Sisters had yellow threads, probably confiscated from the laundry room, woven into their hair. I wasn’t clear on how they dyed the fabric and I wasn’t about to ask. The ladies from the Red Tribe had pink bands around their wrists made from shit stolen from the rec room craft supplies. Both gangs brawled, fighting over god only knew what. Guards were already peeling women apart tossing them on the ground.
I had to make sure Nene and Maris were okay. Before I could turn away from the train wreck, I heard it. Bleating screams that sounded like someone had been stabbed. It was too far for me to see much except dots of dark color staining orange cotton. I’d seen wounds before in my work, but this was different. My preconceived notions of women’s fragility had been bent and broken in a place like this. They were fighting to survive as much as the next person. Difficult circumstances yielded unexpected results as I stood there momentarily frozen.
In the span of seconds, I watched guards rush in only to retreat. Tasers were discharged and three bodies fell back, wiggling in the dirt. I hoped none of them were Nene and Maris. My legs burned running down from the office into the yard trying to get to them as quickly as possible.
“Warden Shepard.” One of the female guards called over to me, holstering her stun gun. She’d been the one to escort Nene from my office last time.
“Officer Pettigrew, what happened out here?” I searched for their faces, but the guards held me back, and I had to refrain from breaking through and calling out to Nene and Maris.
“Looks like a verbal altercation that went south. Someone had a paper shank and stabbed another inmate. I had to stun one and then the bitches got crazy.”
“That puta shanked my girl!” An inmate I recognized as Evangelina Corazon held up one of the inmates in her lap whose dark hair covered her face. My gut cramped, knowing those curves intimately.
Maris.
