Page 64 of Calder Country

The woman chatted on. She didn’t seem to care whether Ruby replied. But her description of prison life brought home the enormity of Mason’s sacrifice. He could have left her to face the two agents on her own. If he had, he would be free.

He had done that for her.

The woman stopped talking as the train slowed for Deer Lodge and stopped at the station. The visitors filed out of the car, wearing their badges. Ruby followed, keeping to the rear of the procession.

The prison wasn’t far. Of course, there’d be no way she could get inside to see Mason. Even if she could, making her presence known could get them both killed. She could only stand across the street and gaze at the enormous structure, seething with cold hatred. Her father had died here. And as long as Mason was inside, he was in danger every minute.

Built by convict labor more than fifty years earlier, the thick red brick walls, fortified with stone and rising out of a deep trench, were bounded at all four corners by massive turreted towers where armed guards kept constant watch. Heavy iron bars covered every window. Looking from an angle, she glimpsed more structures built onto the back of the main building, all of them fortified and guarded.

Escape from such a place would be unthinkable. Privacy would be rare and hard to come by. Yet one clever, ruthless man had found a way to run an entire smuggling operation from inside the prison. And that same man had found a way to murder her father.

Staring up at the looming structure, Ruby was overcome by a sense of helplessness. What happened inside these walls was beyond her control. Mason would be on his own, and there was nothing she could do to help him.

All she could do was keep herself safe and be there for him when he got out of prison. Her most useful refuge would be a place where Mason had friends and family, a place where he could find her once he was finally free.

She turned away from the prison and walked down the main street, looking for someplace to buy a cheap car. She needed a way to Blue Moon.

* * *

Mason faced his old mentor in the prison exercise yard. He’d been gone for just a few months, but Julius Taviani appeared to have shriveled with the passing of time. The old man had to be seventy, at least, and it showed. Even so, he exuded power and an evil aura that Mason could feel like the touch of an icy hand.

Taviani’s new bodyguard stood behind him, a hulk of a man with the physique of a gone-to-seed professional fighter. He was as tall as Mason, with shoulders like a barn door and huge hands that looked strong enough to bend iron bars . . . or snap the neck of a slight man like Art Murchison.

His eyes narrowed to a squint as he took Mason’s measure. Clearly the big man saw him as a threat. Without a word spoken, Mason sensed that he’d already made a dangerous enemy. But it was Taviani who wielded the power here—Taviani whose word would be obeyed.

The old man scowled up at Mason. “Well, you didn’t waste much time getting back here,” he said. “What the hell happened?”

Mason shrugged. “I got busted by the feds. The woman already had them tailing me.”

“So, did you do what I asked you to?”

“I didn’t have time. The woman’s gone. The feds told me she left the state for parts unknown. So you can call off your hounds if they’re out there. She won’t be back, and she can’t do you any more damage.”

Taviani swore, his breath hissing out through a gap in his yellowed front teeth. “What about Colucci?”

“I thought you were going to take care of him.”

“I was. But thanks to your screw-up, I’ll have to keep him around until I can figure out a replacement. Meanwhile, with his pilot gone, he’ll be about as much use as tits on a boar. I can’t send more product unless he’s got the means to deliver it.” He hawked and spat on the gravel. “This whole airplane delivery thing has been a bust. Maybe I should go back to using trucks. They had their problems, but at least they didn’t crash.”

Falling silent, the old man surveyed the prison yard. The area was surrounded by high stone walls, with guards at all stations. The guards on the wall had high-powered rifles. The ones on the ground were armed with clubs. The prisoners, dressed like Mason in humiliating black-and-white striped pajamas, jogged the inside perimeter, tossed a half-deflated ball, or stood around watching and chatting. Some smoked.

Now and again a prisoner would glance toward Taviani, then quickly look away. Everyone knew who the old man was. It was rumored that even the warden feared him.

Mason moved casually among the men, taking stock of who was gone, who was new, and which of them were hanging together. He hadn’t expected Taviani to be pleased with him, but the old man had been downright cold. It might take time to get back into his confidence. At least Ruby had made a safe escape. Now he had to stop thinking about her and do the job he’d come for.

“Dollarhide, I thought that was you.” Mason wheeled at the sound of a cocky voice behind him. Wallace Timbo, a rat-faced little man doing time for forgery, wasn’t exactly a friend. There were no real friends in this place where the rule was every man for himself; but Timbo could be counted on as a source of the latest prison gossip.

“Nobody expected you to be back, especially so soon,” Timbo said. “What happened?”

“Maybe I missed your ugly face,” Mason said.

Timbo chuckled, then nodded toward Taviani and the big man who stood behind him. “It looks like somebody stepped into your old job. And something tells me he won’t be moving aside for you.”

“That’s what I figured,” Mason said. “Tell me what you know about him.”

“Everybody calls him Piston. Don’t know what his real name is, but he’s doing twenty to life for second-degree murder. Killed a guy with his bare hands in a fight over a woman.”

“Murder? Why isn’t he in solitary?”