Page 7 of Harper's Song

That’s a lie. Smoking is one of the few pleasures I still have in here and I’m not about to give it up. But Gene needs the cigarettes more than I do.

He looks at me and nods, and the gratitude in his eyes is so childishly innocent a part of me wants to smack him for being such a damn pussy. But mostly I just feel bad for him.

He lights up, then leans in, scanning the yard to see if anyone is close enough to overhear, doing it in such an exaggerated way that a few of the other inmates who couldn’t care less about either of us actually do start paying attention to us. There’s so much he needs to learn about this place. I should start teaching him. But Gene is friendless weakling and therefore an easy target for anyone having a bad day. And if I get too close to him, that’s what I become too. But he’s a tiny guy getting picked on by a bunch of beefed-up bullies and that’s not something I can just stand by and watch.

He opens his shirt and shows me a set of gleaming silver keys sticking out of his pocket. “You don’t have worry about the bleach anymore. I got the keys. I’m getting out. And you’re coming with me.”

I nudge him away. “What the fuck are you doing? Put that away.”

I hope my angry, loud tone will be enough to convince all the sets of eyes currently on us that this is something other than the prison weakling showing off the keys to the kingdom, as it were. Good thing I chose a bench with the wall behind us, so I don’t have to worry about anyone behind my back.

Gene gasped wheezily and recoiled. Now he’s looking at me with absolute terror in his dark brown eyes, while fat drops of sweat form along the line of his permanently greasy black hair.

“I thought you’d be pleased,” he whines.

The others have gone back to minding their own business, for the most part. Except the two Riders who are still gazing my way every so often.

“You’ll need more than just keys to get out of this place,” I whisper instead of telling him that I currently still only have a year to do after which I’ll be a free man. But an escape attempt will add at least five onto that sentence. That’s if I make it out without a bullet in my back.

“I have it all figured out, though,” he says in a near whisper. “We use the laundry service. You have access to the truck that brings the fresh sheets every month and takes out the old ones, and I have the keys. We’ll just ride out through the walls.”

“The laundry truck isn’t due for another week,” I say. “They’ll miss those keys in your pocket long before then.”

As if that’s the only problem with this plan. Gene grins at me, and for the first time since I met him, he looks confident.

“These were sent in as a clerical error and I’ve since erased all trace of said error,” he says smugly. “I can also have the laundry truck come in earlier, as early as tomorrow.”

Given his extensive knowledge of computers from his white collar life prior to being stuck in here, Gene works in the office. Another thing that’s not making him too popular among the other inmates.

Out of friendship, he had me moved from the license plate workshop to the laundry room, which is still a far cry from the cushiest of all positions, namely being a customer service rep for one of the largest software companies in the North West.

“Escape isn’t something you just do overnight,” I hiss at him. “It takes planning. Coordination. We can’t just cover ourselves with a bunch of sheets in the back of the laundry truck and say a prayer. That’ll never work. They’ll just add a bunch of years to our sentences. I’m assuming you want to get out of here eventually.”

The confident smugness drains off his sallow face at my harsh tone and fear creeps back into his eyes.

“Why are you being so negative?” he mutters. “You’re facing life if that asshole you knocked out doesn’t wake up.”

No one’s gonna miss that guy. He’s in here for raping and killing a seventeen-year-old girl, among other things, but I’ll get life for taking his nonetheless. Funny how that works. But that’s a problem for another day.

The two Riders have stood up and are cracking their knuckles as they gaze at me with open aggression now. They have the two Renegades at their back. Four of them, one of me, and now the wall at my back is suddenly a trap.

“We’ll talk more later,” I mutter to Gene. “Don’t do anything stupid without me.”

I stand up and roll my shoulders which have locked up after sitting hunched over for so long. “You should make yourself scarce now. There’s something I gotta deal with.”

Gene sees the advancing men and looks at me with a fearful expression in his nervously blinking eyes. “I’ll stay… help you out… ”

I almost laugh out loud but manage not to. It’s the thought that counts and I’m not about to get Gene killed for something that’s my bill to pay.

“Get inside, Gene,” I tell him. “You got your own problems. We’ll talk later.”

He’s not moving though and the Riders are almost on us.

Two guards come into the yard through the metal door to my left. They always travel in pairs and I’m not entirely sure the wide one in front—Smith—will stop the fight that’s about to break out. Sometimes he lets us beat each other to a pulp before stepping in. Trash taking out the trash, he calls it.

“Moore Junior,” Smith barks at me. “You got visitors. Come.”

It’s absolutely the last thing I expected him to say and it takes me a couple of moments to make sense of it.

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