Meredith Fletcher - Vendetta

The other jailer slid her nightstick from her belt and swung at the prisoner’s head. In a blur of movement, the prisoner lifted her left arm, trapped the jailer’s arm under it, then spun back outside of the jailer’s reach. The prisoner delivered two punishing elbows to the jailer’s temple. The jailer crumpled but the prisoner stripped the nightstick from her hand before the woman collapsed.

Marion stepped forward but wasn’t certain what she was going to do. Before she reached the prisoner, the woman whirled and smashed the nightstick across Marion’s forearm.

Pain ignited in Marion’s head. Her senses screamed. Driven more by instinct than any planning, she tried to step back. But it was too late. The prisoner circled behind her and slid the nightstick across her throat.

“Okay, muffin,” the prisoner said in that nasal accent. “It’s just you and me now.”

Maricopa County Jail

Phoenix, Arizona

Thursday, May 16, 1968

The Past

Panic swelled through Marion as the prisoner held her. The crushing pressure against her windpipe was merciless. She knew she was only inches from death.

“How do you feel now, muffin?” the prisoner whispered in her ear. “Are you afraid? Fear isn’t going to get you out of a situation like this. You’ve got to control your fear. Use it. When you can work with it, fear makes you faster, stronger. You’re never more alive than when you’re at the edge of death. Don’t you feel it?”

Marion didn’t answer. She reached for the nightstick.

The prisoner pulled the nightstick tighter. “Don’t. Get your hand down or I’ll snap your pretty little neck.”

With effort, Marion got control of her fear and dropped her hand. She swallowed hard and hoped she didn’t throw up. Her senses swam, but she was certain that was more from the blood flow getting cut off to her brain than anything else. She almost fell.

The pressure from the nightstick lessened.

“Don’t pass out on me, muffin,” the prisoner commanded. “We’ve got places to go. Things to do. We’re going to start with getting out of here.”

Across the room, Whitten got to her feet. The big woman gasped and wheezed. She helped one of the other jailers to her feet. The jailer cradled her broken arm.

The third jailer lay on her back. Blood pooled beneath her from the laceration on her face. Whitten touched the woman’s neck. Marion’s stomach gave another sickening lurch when she realized Whitten was checking to make certain the woman was still alive.

“I didn’t kill her,” the prisoner snarled. “I could have if I’d wanted to.” Savage joy resonated in her words. Marion heard it. But desperation was there as well. “I could have killed you too, piggy.”

“You’re not getting out of here,” Whitten croaked.

“I think I will.” The prisoner shook Marion. “I’ll bet nobody around here wants their token women’s libber in the D.A.’s office to end up dead this morning.”

Whitten beat on the door without taking her eyes from the prisoner. Marion saw anger on the big woman’s face, but she saw fear as well.

The door opened and a deputy shoved his head inside. He took in the scene at a glance, drew his weapon and started to come into the room.

“Stay out,” the prisoner ordered. “Or I’ll kill her.”

The deputy froze.

“Get the sheriff,” the prisoner said. “Get Keller.”

The deputy stepped back outside. Whitten started to step through the door, too.

“Not you, piggy,” the prisoner said.

Whitten pointed at the unconscious woman lying on the floor. “She needs a doctor.”

“She can wait.”

Marion felt the prisoner’s breath hot against her neck and ear.

“Are you still with me, muffin?” the prisoner asked.

Speaking past the nightstick pulled tight against her throat was hard, but Marion managed. “I’m still here.” She was surprised at the defiance in her voice.

“You sound spunky. Good. I don’t need you passing out on me when we walk out of here.”

“I’m not going to pass out.” Marion held on to her anger and used it to bolster her strength.

“I hope not. But just so you know, if you do pass out I’m going to drag you out of here anyway.”

Marion forced herself to focus through the panic that threatened to paralyze her. Her heart hammered inside her chest. You can get out of this. Even as she told herself that, though, she realized she had no doubt that the prisoner would kill her.

She couldn’t help thinking how her parents would react if something happened to her. Three weeks ago at an accidental death, she’d seen parents devastated by their son’s overdose on heroin. She didn’t want to put her parents through that.

“Let’s go, muffin,” the prisoner grated. She pushed Marion toward the door. “Stay back, piggy.”

Whitten glared at the prisoner but lifted her hands in the air and stepped back from the door.

Out in the hallway under the bright fluorescent lighting, Marion felt light-headed. Panic ripped at her with sharp claws. Her legs trembled with the desire to run.

The prisoner stayed close behind Marion. She felt the woman’s body pressed against hers. The warmth took away some of the chill of her damp clothing.

Six deputies stood in the hallway with drawn weapons. Sickness swirled in Marion’s stomach. She forced herself to sip air.

“Keep moving, muffin,” the prisoner ordered.

“Y-you’re not h-helping your case,” Marion said. Embarrassment flooded her as she heard her stuttered words.

The prisoner laughed. The sound was totally without mirth. “You sound like you’re still going to try me.”

“I am. Y-you’re not going to g-get out of here.” Marion wished she could keep from stuttering. That would have helped her sound more convincing.

“I’m going to get out of here,” the prisoner replied. “I don’t have a choice about staying here. If I stay here, I’m dead. There are people who’ll kill me long before you ever get me to trial.”

Marion seized on those words and wondered what the woman meant by them.

“If you play your cards right,” the prisoner went on, “you’ll get out of here, too.”

“H-how do I know you w-won’t kill me like you did Marker?”

“I don’t have a reason to kill you.”

“What reason did you have to kill Marker?” Marion couldn’t believe she was asking questions with her life on the line. But she couldn’t be quiet and there were so many questions swimming in her mind.

“That’s my business and none of yours.”

“H-how did you f-find him?”

The woman sounded irritated. “You talk way too much, muffin. This isn’t part of a guided tour. Keep your trap shut.”

Sheriff Frank Keller stepped into view at the end of the hallway. He had a two-handed grip on his revolver and stood with his left foot forward.

Marion closed her eyes for just a moment and resisted the urge to be sick. You’re going to lose that battle one of these times, she told herself.

“Hold it right there,” Keller thundered. His pistol never wavered.

Marion tried to stop, but the prisoner kept pushing her from behind.

“Move,” the prisoner commanded.

“You’re not leaving this building,” Keller declared. “If you don’t cease and desist this instant, I’m going to shoot you.”

Disbelief swept over Marion. She stared at the cavernous mouth of Keller’s big pistol. Surely he was kidding.

“Are you that good a shot?” the prisoner taunted.

Marion knew the woman was crouched tightly behind her. She stared at the unwavering muzzle of the pistol Keller held. Bare inches of the woman had to be exposed.

Keller’s face was cold stone. “I think I am.” He thumbed the hammer back on the pistol. “I’m not going to tell you again.”