“I think it’s about time you tol’ me what your big hurry is to bust outta here,” Ernestine suggested.
Tracy hesitated. Could she trust Ernestine? She had no choice. “There—there are some people who did things to my family and me. I’ve got to get out to pay them back.”
“Yeah? What’d they do?”
Tracy’s words came out slowly, each one a drop of pain. “They killed my mother.”
“Who’s they?”
“I don’t think the names would mean anything to you. Joe Romano, Perry Pope, a judge named Henry Lawrence, Anthony Orsatti—”
Ernestine was staring at her with her mouth open. “Jesus H. Christ! You puttin’ me on, girl?”
Tracy was surprised. “You’ve heard of them?”
“Heard of ‘em! Who hasn’t heard of ‘em? Nothin’ goes down in New Or-fuckin’-leans unless Orsatti or Romano says so. You can’t mess with them. They’ll blow you away like smoke.”
Tracy said tonelessly, “They’ve already blown me away.”
Ernestine looked around to make sure they could not be overheard. “You’re either crazy or you’re the dumbest broad I’ve ever met. Talk about the untouchables!” She shook her head. “Forget about ‘em. Fast!”
“No. I can’t. I have to break out of here. Can it be done?”
Ernestine was silent for a long time. When she finally spoke, she said, “We’ll talk in the yard.”
They were in the yard, off in a corner by themselves.
“There’ve been twelve bust-outs from this joint,” Ernestine said. “Two of the prisoners were shot and killed. The other ten were caught and brought back.” Tracy made no comment. “The tower’s manned twenty-four hours by guards with machine guns, and they’re mean sons of bitches. If anyone escapes, it costs the guards their jobs, so they’d just as soon kill you as look at you. There’s barbed wire all around the prison, and if you get through that and past the machine guns, they got hound dogs that can track a mosquito’s fart. There’s a Na tional Guard station a few miles away, and when a prisoner escapes from here they send up helicopters with guns and searchlights. Nobody gives a shit if they bring you back dead or alive, girl. They figure dead is better. It discourages anyone else with plans.”
“But people still try,” Tracy said stubbornly.
“The ones who broke out had help from the outside—friends who smuggled in guns and money and clothes. They had getaway cars waitin’ for ‘em.” She paused for effect. “And they still got caught.”
“They won’t catch me,” Tracy swore.
A matron was approaching. She called out to Tracy, “Warden Brannigan wants you. On the double.”
“We need someone to take care of our young daughter,” Warden Brannigan said. “It’s a voluntary job. You don’t have to take it if you don’t wish to.”
Someone to take care of our young daughter. Tracy’s mind was racing. This might make her escape easier. Working in the warden’s house, she could probably learn a great deal more about the prison setup.
“Yes,” Tracy said. “I’d like to take the job.”
George Brannigan was pleased. He had an odd, unreasonable feeling that he owed this woman something. “Good. It pays sixty cents an hour. The money will be put in your account at the end of each month.”
Prisoners were not allowed to handle cash, and all monies accumulated were handed over upon the prisoner’s release.
I won’t be here at the end of the month, Tracy thought, but aloud she said, “That will be fine.”
“You can start in the morning. The head matron will give you the details.”
“Thank you, Warden.”
He looked at Tracy and was tempted to say something more. He was not quite sure what. Instead, he said, “That’s all.”
When Tracy broke the news to Ernestine, the black woman said thoughtfully, “That means they gonna make you a trusty. You’ll get the run of the prison. That might make bustin’ out a little easier.”
“How do I do it?” Tracy asked.
“You got three choices, but they’re all risky. The first way is a sneak-out. You use chewin’ gum one night to jam the locks on your cell door and the corridor doors. You sneak outside to the yard, throw a blanket over the barbed wire, and you’re off and runnin’.”