Page 3 of Fighting for Tawny

“You’re a troublemaker, Tawny, and I don’t like troublemakers.”

Tawny sat rigidly and crossed her arms over her chest in a protective and defiant gesture. “Trouble finds me. I don’t invite it.”

Warden Stoltz effected a concerned yet puzzled expression. “It would appear so.” He paused, deliberately creating dramatic tension. His eyes flicked over her well-toned body beneath her dull gray jumpsuit with the word INMATE emblazoned in huge black block letters on the back. The initials CIFW were embroidered on the front.

“I don’t like troublemakers,” he repeated, “but I’ll make an exception in your case. I have big plans for you.”

Tawny didn’t blink or move a muscle. “Forget it, Warden. I’m not interested in being your?—”

His eyes blazed with sudden fury, and Tawny believed he might strike her when he clenched his hand. “Do not insult me, or I might change my mind.”

She relaxed a little. This could be the break she needed to figure out what was happening here. “So, talk. What kind of plans?”

“You’re going into solitary for a week for fighting. After you get out, you’ll be enrolled in fire school.”

Tawny frowned. Fire school? Before Warden Stoltz took over the position, CIFW had a thirty percent success rate of inmates graduating from the program, earning early release, and becoming full-fledged firefighters with Cal Fire. Since she’d been incarcerated, she hadn’t heard of a single woman who’d made it all the way out.

“Make a spot for Yolanda, and it’s a deal.”

Warden Stoltz scowled. “You’re in no position to bargain with me or strike deals.”

“Well, then, you can take your big plans for me and shove them up your ass.”

Heat flared in his eyes and face again. He didn’t like her insubordination, but Tawny sensed she was integral to his “big plans.”

“All right,” Warden Stoltz conceded. “If you and Yolanda avoid any further trouble after you are released from solitary, I’ll send both of you to fire school. In the meantime, you can keep tutoring the women who need to pass their GEDs.”

“Shall we shake on it?” she asked caustically, spitting into her hand.

The sour expression on his face suggested he would rather suck on a lemon than touch her. She laughed. “I guess that’s a no.”

“Officer Pomeroy!” the warden called.

Tawny knew better than to leave the chair and waited for Pomeroy to burst through the door. She held out her hands, and he snapped the handcuffs around her wrists. He helped her stand on her feet and led her toward the door.

“Take her to solitary,” Warden Stoltz commanded with a wave of his hand.

Tawny’s mind ran rampant on the way to solitary. She hated it. No shower for a week. Only an hour of exercise a day in a yard hardly larger than a dog run, and times were staggered so no one could socialize. Meals were cold by the time they were delivered. Her biggest concern was developing an infection. And the rats. She heard them scratching in the walls, and once, she felt one scurry across her feet as she lay on the hard metal cot with a thin mattress and a threadbare blanket. Tawny wasn’t squeamish, but rats terrified her. She imagined herself in Poe’s “The Pit and the Pendulum” or Orwell’s Room 101 in 1984.

When the iron door slammed shut behind her and the bolt slid into place, despair and helplessness threatened to take her down a dark path. She fought against it by focusing on Finnigan. She conjured the grin on his gorgeous face when he learned she’d be attending fire school. His father, Marcus Finnigan, Sr., had been a well-respected firefighter and died in the line of duty. Finnigan hated being asked why he hadn’t followed in his father’s footsteps. Wasn’t being a member of SWAT far more dangerous? His answer was typical of Finnigan. He told them to fuck off; it wasn’t any of their damn business. She let out a small laugh at the memory and whispered his name.

“Tawny, is that you?” Yolanda’s voice sounded faint and far away.

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay? Did that SOB make you do him?”

“Nah. If he had, we’d both be dead. I would have killed him, then they would have killed me.” Tawny paused. “What about you? You ever get forced to do somebody?”

“Yep. More than once.”

Tawny’s stomach tightened with anger. “Did you report it?”

“Sure did. Others, too. The old warden cared about us. He protected us. Those goats who used us got fired. He made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate that sort of thing, even between inmates. But this new warden, he don’t give a shit about us and turns a blind eye.” Silence for a moment, then, “What did he want with you?”

“He said he had ‘big plans’ for me.”

“That don’t sound good.”

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