The Killing Floor Blues (Daniel Faust #5)(33)

17.




“Jake,” I said, “how late do the garage details run?”

He shrugged. “Depends on the day. Sometimes as late as five. We knock off just before the dinner bell rings.”

My fingers danced over my cards, turning them, laying them out like a crude pasteboard map as I drew upon my memories of the walks to and from the visitor center.

“Here’s the hive,” I said, tickling the face of the jack of hearts, “and here’s the exit checkpoint. From here you can reach the visitor center or, turning left on this corridor, head toward the motor pool.”

“Yeah,” Jake said, “there’s another checkpoint at the end, though. Sealed gate, and the guard on the other side has to buzz you through.”

“Speaking of guards,” I said, “they don’t have nearly enough of them. That’s the flaw in their armor. One flaw, anyway. I just had a visitor; so did a couple of other guys. They sent one guard to walk us all there and back again. Is that common?”

“Sure.” Westie nodded up toward the central tower. “They all want to play at being a badass sniper up in the towers. Prisoner-escort duty is shit work.”

I tapped the card that stood in for the access hallway.

“That’s how we do it. See, right around the end of visiting hours, while Jake’s working in the motor pool, the rest of us are going to get visitors.”

Paul shook his head. “Nobody’s come to visit me in years.”

“That’s okay. I’ve got a bunch of friends on the outside. They’ll be your friends, too. It won’t matter anyway, because we won’t be going to the visitor center.”

Jake put the pieces together quick. “Four men against one guard.”

“I figure you all heard about the dustup in the showers this morning,” I said. “I took a knife off one of the hitters. Mean-looking mother of a blade, too, not some two-bit shank. Right here, at the hallway bend, that’s where we do it. Convex mirrors here and here, but no camera coverage.”

“You gonna carve him a new smile?” Westie asked.

I shook my head. “Not if I don’t have to. A live hostage is more valuable than a corpse. I figure we introduce ourselves and ‘convince’ him to walk us over to the motor pool. If he can talk us through that checkpoint, we’re halfway home. If not, I take his gun and make the checkpoint guard open up for us. Either way, once we’re through, we bum-rush the place. Jake, you’ll already be on the scene, so we’ll need you to create a distraction. Something to draw the guards out of that booth with the keys, so we can jump them from behind.”

Jake rubbed the thick stubble on his granite jaw. “Yeah, I can do that. I’m pretty good at causing a commotion. Now, those Wildcats are two-seaters. There’s five of us, so somebody’s gonna have to hang on tight to the back. Strap a couple of gas cans to each buggy, so we can go the distance…damn, I think this might actually work.”

“Two problems,” Paul said. “First, no matter which way we go, there are two ten-foot gates standing between us and freedom. One of which is electrified.”

“We’ll have hostages,” Westie told him.

“Uh-uh. Getting through a checkpoint by threatening a hostage? That’s one thing. But if we call up Warden Lancaster and tell him we’ve got his men, he won’t open the gates for us. He’ll lock the whole prison down and send in a ‘rescue’ team with orders to shoot us on sight.” Paul tossed a card onto the table and scooped up another pair. “And I repeat, once again, you can’t cross the desert in the dark. We won’t make it five miles without headlights. With headlights, we get spotted by the choppers. Same outcome.”

I glanced up to the tower. The shadows of men prowled behind the smoky glass, rifles slung over their shoulders. I thought back to my first night behind bars, watching them in the dark.

“After the hive goes into lockdown for the night,” I said, “the tower guards put on night-vision goggles. Fancy gear. I figure, we get our hands on a couple of pairs, and whoever drives the Wildcats—”

“Dibs,” Jake said.

“—whoever drives,” I repeated, “won’t need headlights to see.”

Paul nodded toward the span of open space around the tower, marked off by a fat stripe of red paint.

“You see that line?” he asked me. “That’s not a joke. You take one step across it, even by accident, they will gun you down. I’ve seen it happen. How the hell are we going to get to the top of the tower, let alone steal two pairs of night-vision goggles?”

“That’s my job,” I said. “Opening the gate, too, that’s on me. I just need to know if you’re down for the rest.”

Westie gave me a long, hard look. Taking my measure.

“I’m game—for my part of the job—but if you foul this up, we’re all gonna be flatliners. You’re sure you can pull this off, friend? Would you bet your life on it?”

“I am betting my life on it,” I told him.

“I’ve heard things about you,” Jake said. “Some of the shit Winslow’s said when he’s drunk…yeah, all right. If it was anybody else, I’d walk away. But if you say you can do it, you can do it. I’m in.”