Elmore Leonard: Escape from Five Shadows

Their transfer came unexpectedly. Bowen, Manring and four other convicts-one of them Pryde-were taken from their cells one evening soon after supper. Nineteen days later, a wagon rolled through the barbed wire gate of the convict camp at Five Shadows as Frank Renda stood by to greet them.

In their three months here, Bowen had talked to Manring more often; and only a few days before the supply trip to Pinaleño, Manring had hinted at a plan of escape. But by then, Bowen had made up his mind to try it his own way and Manring’s hints had been too vague to even arouse his curiosity.

Still, he thought now, Manring had considered him in his escape plan. That was the point. That was the main reason Pryde’s story of Manring informing on him left a question in his mind.

There were twenty-two marks on the wall the morning Brazil opened the door and told them to come out. As soon as they were outside, both men lifting a hand to shield the sun from their eyes, and unexpectedly noticing the convicts grouped along the front of the barracks watching them, Brazil slammed the heavy door and walked away.

“It’s Sunday,” Bowen said.

Pryde was looking toward the convicts. “He’s not there.”

“Let me worry about Manring,” Bowen said.

He walked along the front of the barracks, every convict in the yard watching him, and those near him nodded as he approached then moved aside as he entered the barracks. Over the yard there was a silence.

Two convicts playing a card game looked up as he entered. They seemed to hesitate. Then one of them began dealing the cards again. The other convict looked past the dealer, down the length of the adobe, down the row of straw mats that were lined along the wall, before his gaze dropped to the cards again.

Manring was lying on his side, his eyes closed and his left arm pillowing his head. Then his eyes opened, raising from Bowen’s shoes up to his face.

“Corey, you look thinner.”

Bowen said nothing, but his gaze remained on Manring’s bearded face. He heard a step behind and he knew it was Pryde.

“And a few shades paler,” Manring said.

There was a momentary silence before Bowen said, “You might be about to get your teeth kicked out.”

Manring pushed himself up. “You better go easy.” His eyes shifted to Pryde, then to Bowen again. “What for?”

“You told Renda I was going to jump the wagon.”

“Ike told me…the first day.”

Manring’s eyes went to Pryde again. “And what exactly did Ike tell you?”

“That Renda said something to you…like, ‘You said not till the grade.’ ”

“When was that?”

“Right after I jumped.”

Manring’s jaw relaxed. “How would Ike know? He’d just had his head busted with a Winchester.”

“But he was still awake.”

“All right.” Manring shrugged. “Maybe Renda said that. I don’t know-there was a lot of shooting going on. But if he said it, he didn’t say it to me.”

“Who would he say it to, Brazil?”

“Who else is there! Listen, you’re accusing me of something you don’t know anything about. Get your facts straight before you come marching in here like a couple of vigilantes!”

“I got mine straight,” Pryde said. “You know it and I know it.”

Manring shook his head. “After Brazil busted you, you started hearing things.”

“Corey might not be sure,” Pryde said. “But I am. I was there. I heard Renda say it right to your face-”

“What did I say to his face?”

Renda stood in the doorway behind them, then came forward a few steps as Bowen and Pryde half turned. “What did I say?”

Pryde shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Ike, you want to go back in the closet?”

Pryde did not answer and for a long moment Renda stared at him. His eyes moved to Bowen then. “You two spend three weeks in the house and when I let you out you come right back in.” He paused. “You like being inside?” He answered his own question saying, “All right, we’ll give you some inside work. Ike, you and your friend Corey go over and clean out the stable. Rub down the horses, too.” He turned to go, then looked back. “And Ike…don’t come out till the sun goes down.”

Lizann Falvey watched her husband finish the whiskey in his glass, seeing his hand come down slowly to the table and release the glass almost reluctantly. The table was across the room, at least a dozen feet away, but she could see that the bottle was empty.

Now a trip to Fuegos, she thought. She was sitting in a canvas chair studying Willis and wondering how long he would last.

He’ll go to Fuegos to finish what he has started and come back tomorrow with six bottles, three in each saddle bag. You can look forward to that. And in a few days you can look forward to it again. Then again…and again-

She sat and watched him, waiting. Waiting for him to look up from the table, but he continued to study the label of the whisky bottle and finally she said, “Willis-”

His head turned. “What?”

“In the top drawer of my dresser,” Lizann said, “there’s a gun. I believe you called it a.25-caliber Colt. Why don’t you take it and go for a ride up into the hills.”

Willis frowned. “What?”

“Or just go behind the adobe,” Lizann said. “I thought at first I’d rather not hear the shot, but on second thought it really wouldn’t matter.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m not trying to say anything. I’m telling you to put a gun to your head and be done with it.”

The whisky had relaxed him, had made him drowsy and it cushioned somewhat the shock of her words. His expression scarcely changed.

“You sincerely hate me, don’t you?”

Lizann shook her head. “That’s putting it too simply. I suppose there are moments when I think I hate you, but most of the time I can feel only disgust. You hate a man like Frank Renda who is strong enough to be hated and you would hate even a memory of him. With your kind, Willis, you feel either sorrow or disgust and when that’s passed you’re hardly worth a memory-a feeling of indifference at best.”

Willis stared. “Why don’t you leave me?”

“Don’t you think I would if I could?”

“What’s stopping you?”

“What’s stopping me?” Lizann repeated without tone in her voice. “Willis, I think I’m beginning to feel sorry for you. You don’t even fully realize the kind of man you’re dealing with. Do you think Frank Renda would let me leave?”

“You go for rides. You could keep going.”

“I have never gone out without one of Salvaje’s men following me.”

“I go to Fuegos,” Willis said. “No one follows me.”

“Renda doesn’t have to watch you. He even admitted that. You’re your own watchdog, Willis.”

“Renda’s very sure of himself.”

Lizann shrugged. “He’s in a position to be.” Her expression softened then. “But, Willis…he doesn’t have any more on you than you do on him.”

“So?”

“So…report him.”

“Just like that.”

“Be a man one time in your life!”

“Which is easy for you to say. But you’re not the one that goes to prison.”

“You’re already in prison. We both are.”

“Then,” Willis said, “we might as well stay where we are.”

Lizann rose from the chair and walked to the window. Her gaze went over the yard to the convicts sitting and leaning against the front of the barracks, then came back as she saw Frank Renda leave the shade of the ramada and start across toward them. Her eyes followed him until he reached the barracks and went in the first door, then she turned to her husband again.

“Are you going to Fuegos today?”

Willis looked up. “I thought I would.”