a file in his hand, opened it and read through the contents.
A minute later he slipped off his glasses and gazed across at Stone. “Anthony Butcher, triple murderer, fortunate enough to have done it in a state that does not believe in capital punishment. So you received a life sentence without possibility of parole instead of the execution you so well deserved. Transferred out of four different correctional facilities over the last twelve years, including the supermax in Arkansas, because you have an anger issue.” He glanced down at the file. “And a problem respecting authority.”
Stone glanced at Knox and then back at Tyree, his anger at what was being done to them building beyond all hope of containment. Stone knew he shouldn’t but he also couldn’t stop himself. “How much does one of those scripts cost, Howie? They must come in real handy in your line of work.”
The warden tapped his thumb on the table and one of the guards handed him his billy club and a towel along with a bungee cord. Tyree stood, took his time wrapping the towel around the head of the club and secured it there with the cord.
The next instant Stone was slumped sideways in his chair, blood running down his battered face.
Tyree sat back down after dropping the bloody club on the table. He resumed looking at the file after methodically wiping a speck of Stone’s blood off his glasses with a handkerchief he pulled from his pants pocket.
“With the towel it doesn’t really leave much of a mark,” he murmured in a casual tone. “We find that helpful in keeping order here. Prisoners have far too much time to complain about trivial things.”
He thumbed through more pages of the file and then pointed at Knox. “You’re Richard Prescott, a.k.a. Richie Patterson from the great state of Mississippi. Killed two people in an armed robbery in Newark twenty-one years ago and one more since you came into the correctional system. The Garden State didn’t want you anymore so you’re now our guest for the rest of your natural life.” He said all this as though he were reciting tedious lecture notes to an auditorium full of bored college freshman.
“My name is Joseph P. Knox of the Central Intelligence Agency. And in about twenty-four hours there’ll be an army of feds at this place, and the next thing you know, you assholes are the ones who’ll be rotting in a supermax.”
Tyree hit Knox so hard with the billy club that the chair tore loose from its underpinning and he fell over unconscious onto the slab floor.
Tyree closed the file. “Get ’em up.”
The guards unhooked them from the chair shackles and pulled the men to their feet.
Tyree looked at the unconscious Knox. He said in a weary tone, “Wake him up, George. He has to hear this.”
A bucket of water was thrown in Knox’s face. Gagging, he came to, spitting up water and his own blood.
Tyree waited for Knox to catch his breath and then paced in front of the two with his hands clasped behind him.
“This is the Blue Spruce Supermax Prison. It is unlike any prison you gentlemen may be familiar with. My name is Howard W. Tyree. I am privileged to be the warden of this outstanding facility. Here, we receive from all over prisoners who have problems adjusting to the life of incarceration, or simply who have problems in general. Our sister prisons sent you here because at Blue Spruce we specialize in being problem solvers. We have never had any disruptions here or, needless to say, any escapes. We are a professional organization. So long as you follow the rules, you will have no reasonable cause for concern for your personal safety either from your fellow prisoners or the fine men who guard this place.”
Blood from both Stone and Knox dripped onto the floor as Tyree was talking. He impatiently flicked a finger at one of his men, who quickly cleaned it up with the billy club towel.
“Excessive force is only used here when absolutely necessary. Just so we’re clear on the boundaries, I will demonstrate.”
He stopped pacing and faced the two men.
“If a prisoner does not instantly obey a command from a guard, this level of force can and will be utilized.”
Tyree took the billy club from the guard and slammed it point first into Stone’s gut. Stone bent over, throwing up what little there was in his belly, and then dropped to the floor.
Tyree calmly kept going. “Please keep in mind that at Blue Spruce, unlike other correctional institutions, warnings to inmates of any kind are not required and typically will not be given. Unauthorized action on the part of any inmate will be met with immediate consequences.” Tyree paused to let Stone be wrenched back to his feet, still heaving and gasping for air.
Continuing, Tyree said, “If a prisoner in any way verbally abuses a guard, this level of force can and will be utilized.”
Tyree slammed into the still dazed Knox, knocking him to the floor. He pushed the billy club against his throat until the man turned blue and his body started to spasm from lack of oxygen.
Tyree got up, tossed the club to one of the guards and a gagging Knox was heaved back to his feet.
Dusting off his pants, Tyree went on. “If a prisoner in any way threatens bodily harm to and/or physically attacks a guard, deadly force can and will be utilized without prior warning.”
Tyree nodded at one of his guards, who pulled out his pistol and handed it to the warden. He checked to make sure there was a round in the chamber, popped off the safety, lifted the gun up and aimed at Stone’s head.
“For Chrissakes! Don’t!” screamed Knox through his busted mouth.
The door opened and a tall black man was hauled in, his face bloody and swollen, and his hands and legs chained together, forcing him into a prisoner shuffle. The guards slammed him up against a section of wall that was paneled in a rubbery material covered in pockmarks and then moved away.
Tyree explained, “This man attacked a guard barely five minutes ago. He felt it violated his civil rights to be beaten for extending his middle finger to one of my men because he’d made a silly little joke about this fellow’s mama.”
Tyree swung the pistol around and fired a round into the black man’s head. He slumped to the floor, an exit crater blown into the back of his head. A part of his brain along with the slug was embedded into the rubber wall behind, leaving another large pockmark.
“And he was shot while trying to escape after taking a hostage, all of which we have duly documented for regulatory review.”
Tyree handed the gun back and resumed his pacing. “Those are basically the rules here. We keep them short and simple so that you will have no trouble remembering and thus following them. Please also keep in mind that here you have no privacy, no rights, no dignity and no reasonable expectation of anything except what we say you can have. At the moment you walked into this facility you ceased to be human beings. Indeed, because of the crimes that you have committed against humanity you have forfeited all rights to be considered human beings. No guard at this prison will have any compunction about ending your life at any moment and for any reason. You now will be officially processed into this prison’s inmate population. If you give us no trouble, I can reasonably assure that you will live out your lives here in relative peace and security, though I cannot say how long that life will be. Supermax facilities are by their very nature dangerous places. We of course will make all reasonable attempts to ensure your safety, but there are no guarantees.” He paused and faced them. “Welcome to Dead Rock, gentlemen. I can guarantee that you will not enjoy your stay with us.”
CHAPTER 62
ANNABELLE WALKED INTO RITA’S, pausing at the door to survey the landscape. Half the tables were filled, as were all the stools at the counter.
“Can I help you?” A man came around the bar and was looking at her.
“I was looking for Abby Riker?”
“She’s not here. She’s at home.”
“Midsummer’s Farm?”
“Who are you?”
“Sheriff Tyree told me to come and see her.”
“Oh, well I guess that’s okay then. You might want to call out
to the house and talk to her.”
“Do you have her number?”
Annabelle made the call. When Abby answered it was clear that she had been crying. She didn’t want to talk to Annabelle until she mentioned the man Abby knew as Ben.
“He’s my father.” Annabelle quickly told her the same story she’d told Tyree.
“He told me his daughter and his wife were dead,” Abby said coldly.
“My mother is dead. Has been for decades. He told you I was dead because that’s how he protects me.”
“Government spy type? I knew there was something about him. Just different, you know?”
“Yep, that’s my dad. Different. Do you have any idea where he might be?”
“He was at the hospital yesterday. Along with my son, Danny. Now they’ve both disappeared. I’m worried sick for a lot of reasons.”
“Sheriff Tyree told me about what’s been happening around here. I guess you have good reason to worry. Can I come out to see you?”
“Why?”
“Right now you’re the closest lead I have to my dad.”
“I told you I don’t know where he is. Or my son either.”
“But you might remember something if we keep talking about it. Please, it’s my only shot.”
“All right.” Abby told her how to get to the place and a little while later Annabelle was seated across from Abby in her living room. Caleb had parked the van well back and had stayed there with Reuben. Annabelle tried various lines of questioning and Abby answered each of them, but nothing she learned helped her.