A Knife in the Heart by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Published: 2020-07-06T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The prisoner serving as crew foreman of the cell block construction loved his job and was happy to show Fallon all the progress being made that morning.

“We’re gonna have twelve hundred cells here, Warden Fallon, suh,” he said in a Texas twang. “And maybe I can get to build ’em all.”

Fallon stared at Inmate Number Four-Four-Nine-One. “How long are you in here, Hermann?”

“Six years, seven months to go,” he said, smiled, and added. “For the first conviction. Then another fourteen. The judge, he said, there was no way he could justify concurrent sentences. Lucky me, I guess.”

Fallon said, “I guess.” He looked at the door, and a though struck him. “What about the locks?”

“Oh, I’m glad you asked that,” Hermann said. “That ol’ miser over at the hardware store, why, the price he said we’d have to pay was . . . well . . . downright criminal, I mean to tell ya, Warden, suh. But we outfoxed that sly ol’ fox. Wesley Westinghouse, he agreed to do all the locks for us. He’s a locksmith.”

“I see.”

“A darned good one, by all reports,” Hermann added.

“Very good. We’d want good locks.”

“Well, you won’t find none better.”

Fallon waited for Hermann to look him into the eye. It never happened. Wouldn’t have happened had Fallon waited ten more years. That’s the kind of convict Hermann Schultz was. His eyes locked on Fallon’s feet.

“Who’s making Wesley Westinghouse’s lock?” Fallon asked.

The convict closed his eyes, raised his head toward the clear blue sky as if seeking an answer from the heavens, and finally busted out laughing. “Oh, I get it, Warden, suh. You wuz bein’ funny.” He slapped his hands together. “By golly, suh, that’s a real good one. Yes, suh. Who’s makin’ the lock for the locksmith? He could just open his own lock real easy and walk all the way back to his wife or his hussy in Iowa City, Iowa.” The man howled like a rabid coyote. “Yes, suh. A real good one. Make his own lock.” He sniggered.

After shaking his head, Fallon thanked Hermann and left the compound for his office.

* * *

Fallon counted the counterfeit money twice, looked up across the desk in his office, and began putting the fake money in an envelope. Without looking up, he said, “What’s on your mind, Tim?”

Big Tim O’Connor sighed, shuffled his feet, and began wetting his bottom lip with his tongue.

Fallon sealed the envelope, which he then slipped into his inside coat pocket. “Go on.”

“Well,” the big Irishman said. “I guess I just never met a warden like you.”

Fallon laughed.

“You sure this is what you want to do?”

“You think I’m wrong?”

“I think you might wind up in one of these new cells that are being built.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Standing up, Fallon grabbed his hat off the rack and corrected his statement. “My first time in prison. It would be my first time in the U.S. Penitentiary, of course. But I don’t think it’ll come to that.” He stopped next to the big guard and held out his right hand.

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