The Tower

When he looked up, Greener was surprised by the sudden intensity in his eyes. "You remember, Greener." Hackett stabbed his finger in the middle of Greener's chest. "A veteran never relinquishes his weapon." They stood silently for a moment.

"And the lawyer?" Greener asked.

"You know what always happens to the lawyer."

Both men laughed, their breath showing in the cool, misty air.

"The kid punctured his neck and was drawing pictures on the ground with his blood by the time anyone else showed up. When I got there, he was peaceful and as cooperative as a baby. Came with us, no problem."

"When did he off the prisoners?"

"Almost two years apart. He killed the first when he got there. In the shower. Gave him a forehead to the nose and put it through his brain. Put in seclusion for a week, and he was good when he came out. It really scared him, seclusion."

"The other?"

"About a month ago, he put a spoon through someone's eye in the cafeteria."

"Why a spoon?"

"Cuz what do you think, they give 'em knives to cut their prime rib with?"

"How 'bout a fork?"

"No forks either."

"How do you kill somebody with a fucking spoon?"

"You hold the spoon end like this"-Hackett prepared his imaginary spoon-"bending it so it sits flush against your palm, with the long end sticking out between your second and middle finger. Then you jab your fist at an angle. Hit the eye. Up and in."

Greener whistled. "I don't even know how they think of this shit."

"That's why you're out here, Greener, and they're in there."

Hackett turned and started another lap around the tight perimeter. As he passed Greener, he faked a jab at him. Greener, who had been flipping the slicker, flinched to the side. He shot out his hand to grab the jacket and knocked it over the side of the Tower. "Shit," he said as he watched it drift away, a green spot on the dark water.

Hackett laughed. "If you're that scared of an imaginary spoon.. ." He chuckled again as Greener started to smile.

"He must be a smart bitch to think that one up," Greener said.

Hackett pressed his lips together as he looked out over the rolling waves. "He's a fuckin' genius, that kid. Shouldn't have let him read so much shit at Maingate. They tested him at the ward. Twice. Thought they fucked up the first time. A genius." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Which makes him all the more goddamn dangerous."

They stood silently for a while, finishing their cigarettes as the sun dipped to the hazy horizon. A few seagulls flew overhead, then wrangled over some dead crabs that had washed ashore.

A burst of thunder swept across the gray sky.

"We'd better get dinner ready now in case we have to close the Hatch on account of rain," Hackett said.

"What's on the menu this morning, boss?"

"Yogurt," they both said together, and Hackett reluctantly joined in Greener's laughter.

Greener went into the small shed on the roof of the Tower and pulled out the tray with loaves on it, grabbing the pronged metal arm. The arm enabled the guards to deliver the loaves from the elevator, sliding them through the food hole at the base of the door. Maximum distance, maximum safety. It also had a plastic loop that the guard put around his wrist so a prisoner couldn't yank it away.

Greener checked the monitor that displayed the prisoners' location sensors. Eighteen blinking lights lined up in two rows. One red flashing light after another.

When he walked out of the shed, Hackett passed him the keys. "Why don't you grab another jacket out of storage," he said. "Last thing I need is you getting even more wet behind the ears." He grinned affectionately as Greener took the keys and hooked them through his belt. "And grab a couple of extras while you're down there."

"All right, hotshot," Greener said, leaning over to pick up the tray

Chapter 7

H E A D I N G onto the elevator, Greener launched into what had become his customary routine: "Okay, kids, wake up! The menu today consists of, surprisingly, a fucking loaf. We were flying in a new recipe straight from Paris-that's in France, Cyprus-where they've been doing experimentation with escargot souffles. Unfortunately, the plane crashed, so you get to eat this shit again."

"Fuck you, Greener-"

"Greener, you asshole-"

He smiled. "The choirboys speak."

He placed a loaf down on Level Eleven and, extending the arm, slid it under the door of Unit 11A. Claude Rivers did not stir.

"Here you go, Van Winkle. Try not to choke on it." He held the elevator control with its big red buttons in his left hand. It was a remote unit that could fit into a front pocket. "All right, here we go. More four-star dining. Looks like we'll be skipping Jonsten today." He shook his head at Spade as the elevator platform settled at Level Ten. "Spade, you sicko. Don't we feed you enough?"

"Yeah, fuck you."

"Well, it's good to see your vocabulary's expanding in here. I'll put in a good word to your parole officer-oh wait. That's right. You don't have a parole officer."