“All right, dear.” Sue Ellen was still not satisfied. She picked up her needlepoint and began stabbing at it. The subject was not closed yet.
“Why can’t it work?”
“I tol’ you, girl. The guards search every truck going through the gate.”
“But a truck carrying a basket of laundry—they’re not going to dump out the laundry to check it.”
“They don’ have to. The basket is taken to the utility room, where a guard watches it bein’ filled.”
Tracy stood there thinking. “Ernie…could someone distract that guard for five minutes?”
“What the hell good would—?” She broke off, a slow grin lighting her face. “While someone pumps him full of sunshine, you get into the bottom of the hamper and get covered up with laundry!” She nodded. “You know, I think the damned thing might work.”
“Then you’ll help me?”
Ernestine was thoughtful for a moment. Then she said softly, “Yeah. I’ll he’p you. It’s my last chance to give Big Bertha a kick in the ass.”
The prison grapevine buzzed with the news of Tracy Whitney’s impending escape. A breakout was an event that affected all prisoners. The inmates lived vicariously through each attempt, wishing they had the courage to try it themselves. But there were the guards and the dogs and the helicopters, and, in the end, the bodies of the prisoners who had been brought back.
With Ernestine’s help, the escape plan moved ahead swiftly. Ernestine took Tracy’s measurements, Lola boosted the material for a dress from the millinery shop, and Paulita had a seamstress in another cell block make it. A pair of prison shoes was stolen from the wardrobe department and dyed to match the dress. A hat, gloves, and purse appeared, as if by magic
“Now we gotta get you some ID,” Ernestine informed Tracy “You’ll need a couple a credit cards and a driver’s license.”
“How can I—?”
Ernestine grinned. “You jest leave it to old Ernie Little-chap.”
The following evening Ernestine handed Tracy three major credit cards in the name of Jane Smith.
“Next, you need a driver’s license.”
Sometime after midnight Tracy heard the door of her cell being opened. Someone had sneaked into the cell. Tracy sat up in her bunk, instantly on guard.
A voice whispered, “Whitney? Let’s go.”
Tracy recognized the voice of Lillian, a trusty. “What do you want?” Tracy asked.
Ernestine’s voice shot out of the darkness. “What kind of idiot child did your mother raise? Shut up and don’t ask questions.”
Lillian said softly, “We got to do this fast. If we get caught, they’ll have my ass. Come on.”
“Where are we going?” Tracy asked, as she followed Lillian down the dark corridor to a stairway. They went up to the landing above and, after making sure there were no guards about, hurried down a hallway until they came to the room where Tracy had been fingerprinted and photographed. Lillian pushed the door open. “In here,” she whispered.
Tracy followed her into the room. Another inmate was waiting inside.
“Step up against the wall.” She sounded nervous.
Tracy moved against the wall, her stomach in knots.
“Look into the camera. Come on. Try and look relaxed.”
Very funny, Tracy thought. She had never been so nervous in her life. The camera clicked.
“The picture will be delivered in the morning,” the inmate said. “It’s for your driver’s license. Now get out of here—fast.”
Tracy and Lillian retraced their steps. On the way, Lillian said, “I hear you’re changin’ cells.”
Tracy froze. “What?”
“Didn’t you know? You’re movin’ in with Big Bertha.”
Ernestine, Lola, and Paulita were waiting up for Tracy when she returned. “How’d it go?”
“Fine.”
Didn’t you know? You’re movin’ in with Big Bertha.
“The dress’ll be ready for you Sattiday,” Paulita said.
The day of Ernestine’s release. That’s my deadline, Tracy thought.
Ernestine whispered, “Everythin’ is cool. The laundry pickup Sattiday is two o’clock. You gotta be in the utility room by one-thirty. You don’ have to worry about the guard. Lola will keep him busy next door. Paulita will be in the utility room waitin’ for you. She’ll have your clothes. Your ID will be in your purse. You’ll be drivin’ out the prison gates by two-fifteen.”