The Territory (Josie Gray Mysteries #1)(65)
“Give me ten minutes to run an errand,” Bloster said. “I’ll be right back.” He pressed the intercom. “Maria? I need back through again. Then I’ll relieve Dooley for supper break.”
The door buzzed and the lock clicked loudly. Bloster maneuvered through the series of locked doors, with each step expecting disaster.
Once outside, he felt a rush of adrenaline and a tinge of hope that he might actually accomplish the prisoner exchange without becoming one himself. He avoided eye contact with the guardsmen, now standing outside their trucks and talking in small groups in front of the jail. Bloster took the sidewalk beside the brick building to the back parking area, where the van and his own patrol car were parked.
The driver of the van wasn’t in the driver’s seat, but his head appeared after Bloster knocked on the window. The van was running and the driver lowered the window. He was a middle-aged man dressed in the uniform worn by jailers at the federal penitentiary. Bloster had never been to the jail, but he recognized the federal patch below the man’s name on his pocket.
“You here for the prisoner transport?” Bloster asked, his blood pounding like a hammer in his head.
“You got four for me to take back?”
“Yes, sir.”
The driver passed Bloster paperwork through the window, and he was shocked to see that it appeared legitimate, with signatures and times and the names of the prisoners. With the paperwork in his hand, Bloster realized he was making what would look like a legitimate transfer. He couldn’t believe the Mexicans had that kind of access to the inner workings of their prison system, but at that point, he was glad they did.
“You need help with the prisoners?” the driver asked.
Bloster said no, that he would bring them out to the loading dock on the basketball court. He had started to walk away when the driver called him back to the van.
“Let’s do this now before the prisoners are out here,” the man said. He reached down between the driver and passenger seats and picked up a briefcase, which he laid on his lap. He flipped the latch and opened the case to reveal stacks of twenty-, fifty-, and hundred-dollar bills.
“You want to count these?” the driver asked.
Bloster shook his head and attempted to keep his paranoia in check, forcing himself to face the driver and not look over his shoulder.
“You get all four prisoners in the van, I give you the case, and I’m out of here. I don’t like that convoy of National Guard sitting out front. The faster we get out of here, the better.”
“What happens to me when it’s discovered these prisoners were never received in Houston?”
“The paperwork is done. As far as your jail is concerned, the prisoners were taken as planned. These men get erased from the system, and you made a good day’s wages.”
Bloster directed the driver to pull the van to the gym entrance, where a large garage door would open via Maria in the central hub. The van entered, the door was shut again, and the basketball court was secure now for a prisoner exchange. The van turned around and backed up to the only entrance to the jail from the court while Bloster went back around the front. Maria buzzed him in, and he moved directly to the pod of prisoners again. Dooley, who was supposed to get off for supper, grumbled, but he helped Bloster handcuff the first three prisoners.
Dooley asked Bloster, “Does that driver know he’ll be taking rival gang members?”
Bloster looked at him blankly. He felt as if his brain could not process any new information.
“These three are from the Medrano cartel. They were the three that crossed the border to blow this one out of jail.” Dooley turned and pointed to a prison cell behind him, where Gutiérrez stood watching from behind the bars. “I figured they’d send two vans. One for these three, and one for the La Bestia dirtbag behind us.”
Bloster could think of nothing to say. He just knew he needed all four prisoners out of the jail by midnight. “Let’s get these three loaded. We’ll get their hands and feet locked into the bars on the van. They should be safe enough.”
Dooley raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Whatever.”
Each of the three prisoners’ hands was handcuffed separately to a bar behind their lower backs. Each of their feet was shackled in a similar manner to the floor of the van, and a chain was wrapped around their waists like a belt and attached to another hook behind their backs. Under some circumstances, Bloster would have thought the setup was overkill. Tonight, he thought it was a good idea. Bloster didn’t know what might be in store for the four prisoners, but he suspected Gutiérrez was in trouble.
Back at the cell, Dooley held his nightstick in one hand and the handcuffs in another as Bloster unlocked the cell door. Dooley rocked back on his heels, jutting his large stomach out farther and tapped his nightstick on his palm, letting the handcuffs dangle from his finger.
As the door opened, Gutiérrez moved to the back of his cell, his face stricken. “You can’t take me with them! They’ll kill me!”
Dooley smiled at Bloster. “Get a load a this. This guy thinks it’s okay for him to kill people, but it’s not okay for people to kill him. He didn’t watch Sesame Street when he was little.”
Bloster ignored Dooley and turned Gutiérrez around, twisting his arm in the sling until he cried out in pain. Bloster gritted his teeth and snapped the cuffs on. Finally in enough pain, Gutiérrez submitted to Bloster and Dooley and made the trek to the transport van, walking between the two of them.