Red Highway by Loren D. Estleman

shade of lipstick she had adopted, or the fullness in her cheeks that had replaced the Garbo-like hollows? At least the warden had seemed to appreciate her looks. But then, he was an old man. It was likely that he would find any young woman attractive. But would Virgil? She was considering these questions when the dark young guard appeared in the mirror and took his place beside the door. She snapped the compact shut and looked up. Virgil was standing on the other side of the table, gazing down at her.
    He was wearing a gray linen uniform with the number 28715 stencilled across a patch on his shirt pocket. For a moment, Hazel was reminded of the days when gray work clothes were the only kind of apparel Virgil owned. But one look at the hard lines in his face was enough to wipe away any resemblance between this Virgil and the old Virgil. This man was a caged animal.
    The guard who had escorted him to the receiving room remained beside the door, his face a blank mask. Virgil slid out his chair and sat down opposite his visitor.
    â€œHello, Hazel.” The greeting was flat and unemotional.
    Hazel smiled uncertainly. “Hello, Virgil. You look healthy.” Actually, his complexion was sallow and he looked quite ill.
    He ignored the observation. “I saw you at the trial. You didn’t come over to where I was sitting.”
    â€œI was—afraid.” She lowered her eyes for an instant, then brought them back to his. “I thought you didn’t want to see me.”
    Virgil didn’t answer, but kept watching her face.
    She went on. “You didn’t come to see me for so many months. I thought you had somebody else. That I didn’t mean anything to you anymore.”
    â€œYou’re a fool.” There was a faint trace of tenderness in his tone. “You’re mine, no matter how long I’m gone. I thought you knew that.”
    â€œI’m yours. That’s why I couldn’t bring myself to speak to you at the trial. That’s why I’m here now.” Tears shone in her eyes. “I came to tell you that I’ll be waiting when you get out.”
    â€œDon’t.”
    Hazel blinked. A tear came free and rolled swiftly down her right cheek. “What?”
    â€œI said, don’t wait.” Virgil’s face was impassive. “Hazel, I’m gonna be in here for the rest of my life. I’ll never come out. What good is it gonna do for you to wait?”
    â€œStop, Virgil! Please don’t say any more.”
    Virgil showed no sign that he’d heard her. “I’m not making any sacrifices,” he said. “I’m just trying to stop you from doing something stupid like becoming an old maid for my sake. It isn’t worth it.”
    â€œStop!”
    â€œFind some guy and marry him. Have kids. But please don’t make me feel like a heel because we can’t be together. I can’t live with that. Not in stir.” He rose and summoned the guard who had brought him. The man in uniform came over.
    Hazel stood up an instant after Virgil did, her fingers clutching the iron grid that separated them. “Virgil! Don’t go!”
    Virgil smiled for the first time since he entered the room, a genuine, cocky grin. “So long, Garbo.”
    â€œVirgil!” shouted Hazel, but it was too late.
    There was no Ralph Moss in McAlester to occupy Virgil’s time by planning great robberies. When he wasn’t manning the big steam press in the prison laundry, he spent the few minutes of leisure time allowed him hanging around the inmates’ barber shop. While the barber, a trustee, snipped away at his fellow convicts’ locks, Virgil would sit down in the chair nearest the radio and listen.
    It was a big set, one of those knob-studded metal cabinet receivers with a huge horn speaker curving up from its top like the funnel of a battleship. Virgil would cross his legs and pretend to read a magazine while in reality keeping his ear