Tracy fought wildly to get loose. Suddenly, she felt Big Bertha being lifted off her. Ernestine had the huge Swede by the neck and was throttling her.
“You goddamn bitch!” Ernestine was screaming. “I warned you!” She slashed her fingernails across Big Bertha’s face, clawing at her eyes.
“I’m blind!” Big Bertha screamed. “I’m blind!” She grabbed Ernestine’s breasts and starting pulling them. The two women were punching and clawing at each other as four guards came running up. It took the guards five minutes to pull them apart. Both women were taken to the infirmary. It was late that night when Ernestine was returned to her cell. Lola and Paulita hurried to her bunk to console her.
“Are you all right?” Tracy whispered.
“Damned right,” Ernestine told her. Her voice sounded muffled, and Tracy wondered how badly she had been hurt. “I made my Ruby-do yesterday. I’m gettin’ outta this joint. You got a problem. That mother ain’t gonna leave you alone now. No way. And when she’s finished fuckin’ with you, she’s gonna kill you.”
They lay there in the silent darkness. Finally, Ernestine spoke again. “Maybe it’s time you and me talked about bustin’ you the hell outta here.”
“You’re going to lose your governess tomorrow,” Warden Brannigan announced to his wife.
Sue Ellen Brannigan looked up in surprise. “Why? Judy’s very good with Amy.”
“I know, but her sentence is up. She’s being released in the morning.”
They were having breakfast in the comfortable cottage that was one of the perquisites of Warden Brannigan’s job. Other benefits included a cook, a maid, a chauffeur, and a governess for their daughter, Amy, who was almost five. All the servants were trusties. When Sue Ellen Brannigan had arrived there five years earlier, she had been nervous about living on the grounds of the penitentiary, and even more apprehensive about having a house full of servants who were all convicted criminals.
“How do you know they won’t rob us and cut our throats in the middle of the night?” she had demanded.
“If they do,” Warden Brannigan had promised, “I’ll put them on report.”
He had persuaded his wife, without convincing her, but Sue Ellen’s fears had proved groundless. The trusties were anxious to make a good impression and cut their time down as much as possible, so they were very conscientious.
“I was just getting comfortable with the idea of leaving Amy in Judy’s care,” Mrs. Brannigan complained. She wished Judy well, but she did not want her to leave. Who knew what kind of woman would be Amy’s next governess? There were so many horror stories about the terrible things strangers did to children.
“Do you have anyone in particular in mind to replace Judy, George?”
The warden had given it considerable thought. There were a dozen trusties suitable for the job of taking care of their daughter. But he had not been able to get Tracy Whitney out of his mind. There was something about her case that he found deeply disturbing. He had been a professional criminologist for fifteen years, and he prided himself that one of his strengths was his ability to assess prisoners. Some of the convicts in his care were hardened criminals, others were in prison because they had committed crimes of passion or succumbed to a momentary temptation, but it seemed to Warden Brannigan that Tracy Whitney belonged in neither category. He had not been swayed by her protests of innocence, for that was standard operating procedure for all convicts. What bothered him was the people who had conspired to send Tracy Whitney to prison. The warden had been appointed by a New Orleans civic commission headed by the governor of the state, and although he steadfastly refused to become involved in politics, he was aware of all the players. Joe Romano was Mafia, a runner for Anthony Orsatti. Perry Pope, the attorney who had defended Tracy Whitney, was on their payroll, and so was Judge Henry Lawrence. Tracy Whitney’s conviction had a decidedly rank odor to it.
Now Warden Brannigan made his decision. He said to his wife, “Yes. I do have someone in mind.”
There was an alcove in the prison kitchen with a small For-mica-topped dining table and four chairs, the only place where it was possible to have a reasonable amount of privacy. Ernestine Littlechap and Tracy were seated there, drinking coffee during their ten-minute break.