The Pinkerton Files Five-Book Bundle by David Luchuk Page B

exploded. Pushing the teller aside, I reached out as if to snatch the cheque. The manager was so slow that I grabbed it without meaning to. I had to pitch halfway over the counter to justify dropping it at his feet again.
    â€œTake it easy, mister.” Ray said.
    Everyone in the bank clutched their wallets. A giant black man with whip lashes across his face made them shake in their boots.
    I lunged at the manager again. He had enough wit to hold onto the cheque this time.
    Ray advanced toward me. I jumped at him, using the counter as a springboard. We tumbled. I punched him twice on the jaw. The impact sent a shudder up to my elbow.
    Ray pretended to be knocked out. I pretended my arm wasn’t in agony.
    Police rushed into the bank. I charged as though to escape. Three officers held me down while a fourth restrained me in a harness like the one that killed Timothy Webster.
    I flailed, hissing at old ladies now protected by men who had rediscovered their bravery. Once the scene was brought to order, police asked patrons what happened. By that time, Ray had long since walked away. He was sly.
    Ray loomed as an even bigger part of the story after he was gone. Bank clients described him in mythic terms; an African Hercules. Their wild exaggerations made me seem supernatural. If I had been crazy enough to attack that behemoth, and strong enough to knock him down, there was no telling what I might do next.
    Police took me away, pistols at the ready. I was rushed from the local jail to State prison.
    The State penal machine was impossible to mistake. I stepped from a splintered wagon into a transport capsule.
    The low ceiling was lit from above. As I entered, the walls shifted. Panels on all sides slid in unison. The entrance closed. In the same motion, planks on the far wall flipped down to create a bench. Boards of many shapes were connected in a single unbroken piece, moving together.
    I had heard former prisoners describe the laboratory efficiency of the State system. It was a thrill to experience it for myself.
    Across from the bench, two drawers slid open. One was empty. The other contained blue coveralls and a pair of leather boots.
    â€œPrisoner. Remove your clothes. Place them in the bin provided.”
    I did as I was told. Standing naked under the light, I was aware of a rumbling all around. Things were shifting but it didn’t feel like the capsule was moving. A sense of disorientation set in. The thrill was becoming uneasiness.
    â€œPrisoner. A penitentiary uniform is in the bin adjacent. You will wear this on arrival.”
    I took the uniform out. The drawers slid back, turned on end and disappeared.
    I leaned down to look at the seams between boards and saw hundreds of scratches and punctures in the surface of the wood. Inmates had tried to pry these panels loose.
    The light overhead went out. Rumbling outside seemed louder in the dark. I pulled the coveralls over my shoulders and hurried to buckle the boots.
    Floorboards rose under my feet. The capsule rattled then the ceiling peeled back. Hazy light and the smell of unwashed men poured down from above. The capsule fell away, every panel collapsing into the others before sliding into the gap beneath my boots.
    As it came apart, I saw that I had arrived at Ryker’s Island prison. I fastened the last button on the coveralls. A guard clamped restraints over my arms.
    â€œYou’re lucky.” The guard said. “Some guys don’t get those on in time.”
    He led me onto a moving walkway that slid from the staging area to a holding bay. Inmates leered at me.
    After Ray brought it to mind, I decided to keep my eyes open for Saul. If he was at Ryker’s Island, so long as I spotted him without being recognized, there would be no problem.
    I was thinking this when the walkway slid under a row of open cells and I looked up to see Saul leaning against the fence, staring right at me.
    Robert, you idiot.
    *   *   *
    Allan