Michael Prescott - In Dark Places

"There's a chocolate-chip granola bar left on your plate."

"Can't we just send it to India or China or someplace?"

"It would never survive the trip."

"You kidding?" Meg took a grudging bite. "These things could survive a nuclear war."

"At least there'll be something for the cockroaches to eat." Robin set the last of the plates in the rack and wiped her hands on a towel. "So have you managed to forget everything you committed to memory in your study group last night?"

"I retain some residual knowledge. I think it will last until I've handed in my test."

Robin sat opposite her at the kitchen table. "There's a chance I could be late again tonight."

Meg raised an eyebrow. "Another mystery dinner like last night?"

"What was mysterious about that?"

"Stopping for a hamburger when there's plenty of more-or-less edible food here in our fridge? Why would a person do that?"

"I was conferring with someone."

Both eyebrows went up. "A male someone?"

"A police officer."

"A male police officer?"

"Yes."

"A date."

"An informational get-together."

"Sounds very romantic."

"It was very informative."

"Did he kiss you?"

"Meg amp;"

"You didn't say no."

"There was no meeting of the lips."

"Was there a meeting of the minds?"

"Not really."

"But you're seeing him again tonight?"

"This afternoon. I'm not sure how late I'll be."

"I smell something developing here."

"There's nothing developing. Why are you so interested, anyway?"

"Hey, you're always on my case about meeting boys."

"Fair enough." The memory of Gray's late-night phone call came back, and Robin shifted in her seat. "Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Met any?"

"I know lots of boys. Roughly fifty percent of the Gainesburg School's student population consists of boys."

"But none you're interested in?"

Meg seemed suddenly intent on finishing her granola bar. Her eyes didn't meet Robin's. "Nope."

Robin took a breath, hating herself for any suspicions she might feel, since Gray had planted them.

"Meg," she said slowly, "if you were involved in any kind of relationship amp; I mean, something serious amp; you'd tell me. Wouldn't you?"

Finally Meg looked up, a quizzical expression on her face. "Jeez, Mom. What do you think, I'm running around with a congressman or something?"

"I just meant amp;" Robin brushed aside the thought. She would not be manipulated by Gray's mind games. "Forget it."

Meg got up and came around the table, smiling. "Don't worry about me." She kissed Robin on the cheek. "I'm turning out okayreally. Everything's copa" She caught herself. "I mean, everything's fine. My lifestyle is Ozzie and Harriet, not Thelma and Louise."

"Right. I got it. Go brush your teeth."

"Aw, I brushed 'em yesterday," Meg teased, and went up the stairs with a wave.

Robin sat at the table, feeling foolish and, perhaps irrationally, just a little bit concerned.

"Okay, Justin. Stand away from the door."

The voice of a Deputy Dawg, reaching him over the intercom. Gray swung off the cot and saw two guards standing outside the glass wall of his cage.

He keyed the intercom microphone. "What's happening, dudes?"

"You know what the fuck is happening. It's time for your trip to the vet."

"Ain't that tomorrow?"

"It's today. Step to the rear of the cell."

Gray retreated. He hoped they bought into his act. He didn't want the Dawgs to know how he'd been counting the hours throughout a sleepless night and a restless morning, when his last bowl of oatmeal mush had been pushed through the slot in the door. He'd been too goddamned nervous to eat, so he'd flushed the shit down the toilet. Same for lunch. He was wired, man. He was stoked. Now, finally, the time was heretwo-thirty p.m. on Tuesday, May 13, his lucky day. His last day in Twin Towers.

The guards scoped him out, making sure he wasn't concealing some of his own pee or shit to toss at them. Some of the other no-hopers around here had pulled that stunt, but not Gray. To his way of thinking, it didn't make much sense to pick a fight with the monkey-strong hillbillies they recruited for this job. That was a fight he wasn't going to win.

The bolt on the cell door slid back. The guards entered, watching him.

"You know the drill," one of them said.

Gray stripped. He felt no humiliation about it. He liked showing off his tattoos. His whole body was a work of glorious fucking art.

They made him bend over and cough. One of them pushed a gloved hand up his asshole to probe for a shank. Gray figured the goddamned Dawg was getting off on it.

When they were done, Gray pulled on his yellow jumpsuit. "Find anything interesting?" he asked the hack with the rubber glove.

The guard told him to shut up.

"Just seems to me you guys have an unhealthy fixation with my cornhole, you know? I gotta wonder what's up with that."

This time both screws told him to shut up.

Like most of the deputies in Twin Towers, these two were young, in their early twenties, just a few years younger than Gray himself. Guard duty was assigned to new recruits to the Sheriff's Department, who had to put in three years in the jail system before they could go out on the streets.

They made a final check, looking inside his mouth like amateur dentists. Then they clapped on the wrist manacles and the leg shackles.

"Let's go, asshole," one of the guards snapped. "Don't want you to be late for your distemper shot."

"Yes, sir," Gray said. Yes, sir, you weak-ass, dumb-ass, lame-ass, pussy-ass, bitch-ass, punk-ass, candy-ass, dick-strokin' motherfucker, sir .

They led him out of the cell and down the hall of the prisoner-on-display area, past the row of glass cages and the blank, staring faces inside. Gray took a last look at the homeboys and assorted psychopaths preserved under glass. He gave them a silent good-bye.

He and the screws left the POD and went through sliding steel-reinforced doors to an elevator, which dropped them to ground level. At the rear gate sally port, under the eye of a closed-circuit TV camera scanning overhead, another guard ran a wand over Gray's body. The inspection was completed without incident, and then the hydraulic lock on the exterior door was retracted by remote control, and Gray was outside, in the loading bay, where a Dodge van waited. Large groups of inmates rode a prison bus, but for special runs the van was big enough.

Everything depended on how he handled the next stage of the operation. If he fucked up, he would be finished before he even got started.

Just outside the door he stopped short, blinking at the May sky. "Man, that sun feels sweet."

One of the guards gave him a light shove from behind. "Move."

He stayed put. "Just lemme breathe in some of that LA smog. Shit, my lungs've been achin' for it."

The guard reacted the way Gray knew he would. He slammed Gray between the shoulder blades, driving him forward. "I said move!"

It all happened fast then. Gray got his shackled feet all tangled up and fell heavily on his stomach, shouting a curse. The hacks told him to stop dicking around and get up. Gray grabbed hold of a fire hydrant for support and boosted himself to his feet. He patted down his jumpsuit to smooth out the wrinkles and brush off the dirt. He was talking about police brutality and prison reform. The deputies weren't listening.

"You goddamn move when we tell you to," one of them said irritably. "Jesus."

The two Dawgs handed over their charge to a pair of transportation deputies. To Gray, they were indistinguishable from the first two guys. Something about their blue-and-gold duds made all these losers look the same.