~ Hey all, here's ch2 reviews are nice, no flames please! Let me know what you think, how I can improve it, etc.! Wee bit of a cliff hanger, here J ~
I went down to the Judge's first. I walked into his office and gave his young secretary a smile.
"What can I do for you, ma'am?" he asked.
"Well, I need to take a look at some files for a murder that just happened her a while back."
"Mrs. Harper's?"
"Yeah."
"We don't get many of those. Sorry, ma'am, but that's private information. I can't give it out to just anyone." I dug around in my bag and pulled out my reporter's badge.
"Oh, sure--" he said, and walked in back. He returned in a few minutes with a thick wad of files.
"Here ya go, ma'am."
"Thanks! Can I borrow these? I'm only in town for the day, I'll get 'em back to you before five."
"Sure," the attendant said.
"Thanks --" I walked out and back down to the diner. The same waitress walked over.
"I think I'll take you up on that beer, now," I said with a smile.
"Sure," she said, and walked off.
For the next three or four hours, I poured over the files. There was a hole in the information, but I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong with it. Something just wasn't right. I groaned in frustration and took a sip of the cup of coffee that had replaced my beer.
"Trouble?" I looked up to see an attractive man peeking down at me, giving me a flirtatious grin. I smiled up at him.
"Just trying to figure something out," I answered and closed the file.
"Well, let me buy you a drink, then. Maybe it'll help you think."
"No thanks, I already had one."
"Well, at least give me your name."
"Katie."
He extended a hand.
"Katie. I'm Jay."
"Jay … nice to meet you." So this was the guy.
"Mind if I pull up a chair?"
"Sure. Go ahead." He sat down.
He chatted with me for about an hour. I wasn't really paying too much attention, but I noted that for a guy whose wife had died less that two months ago, he sure wasn't very aggrieved. He was flirting majorly. I considered the other stuff I'd been reading earlier, and suddenly, something clicked. The motive. The motive that Luke supposedly had for killing Jay's wife. While Luke had maintained innocence, Jay had said he had been on pain medication for an old wound that had made him violent. Luke had apparently said it was a load of crap, and I was beginning to agree. The late Mrs. Harper supposedly was pretty rich. I didn't particularly care for this guy. Suddenly, I got an inspiration.
"Jay … do you do much hunting around here?"
"Quite a bit. Duck hunting, mostly."
"You a hunter?"
"Oh, yeah. You oughta come over one of these days and check out my stuffed ones."
"How 'bout right now?" I asked.
"How 'bout right now," he said, grinning.
His house was a big place. The late Mrs. Harper was pretty rich.
The guns were propped up against the wall, under the various mounted ducks.
"Shotgun with buckshot in it? What do you keep that around for?" I asked, picking up one of the guns.
"We get a little bit of deer hunting around here in the winter."
I grinned, suddenly, and thought, Got him! I thought about the tape recording going in my pocket. There were no deer in this part of the country. None.
"Say …" I said. "Isn't that what your wife was killed with?"
He was caught completely off guard and he stared at me. He stammered,
"Uh … uh … no! It was a … uh … .22, I uh --"
"Seems you got one of those, too."
"Yeah … uh, well, my uh buddy, see he killed her with one of my guns…"
"I thought it was at his house."
"Well, uh, yeah, he … uh… took them … it … from … here!" I smiled.
"Nice meeting you, Jay," I said, and walked out, clicking off the tape recorder.
I put together the packet of all the information I'd collected, points highlighted, and a cover letter, and sent it off to the supreme court. I didn't even think about returning the papers, nor did I remember that I had had other purposes for visiting town, such as sending a few notes to my editor about life in a chain gang. I just rode on back into camp. I was a little amazed that an innocent man had been sent to prison. It scared me. How many more innocents were in some chain gang, working their lives away? I suddenly had an inspiration for my article. I would no more simply give an account of my experiences: I would tell Luke's story.
I walked into the building and threw a wave to a couple of the other inmates that I'd gotten to know. I'd broken every "boss to inmate relationship" rule that there was, but the bosses were so enamored of me that it didn't matter. I walked over to Luke's bunk and leaned on the rim.
"Hello," he said, giving me one of his already-infamous smiles.
"Hi," I said. "I've got news for you. I went on a daytrip today."
"Yeah, where?"
"Small town. 'Bout three miles south of here." His eyes widened. "I know you're innocent. I sent in a packet for the Supreme Court Board of Reviews to check out. You may get a return trial. And your buddy is a greasy fellow. I don't like him."
"Neither do I," he said with another smile.
The next few weeks passed without incident. It was brutally hot and the prisoners were fainting left and right in the heat. I wanted to say something about the load of work the men were being forced to do, but I was here to observe, not reform. It was horrible -- the physical labor was sickening. It made me furious. But it was quite obviously the norm, because everyone else took it in stride.
Two days into the fifth week, I got a perfunctory letter from the Review Board, and the packet I had sent them, almost entirely unruffled, as if it had never been sorted through. Luke had watched me open it, and I saw him walk away and leaned on one of the bunks. But he turned around momentarily, his normal good humor returned.
"Nobody wants to hear from anybody in prison," he said, with a grin. "Guess I'll just be serving my time."
I frowned.
"You shouldn't have to."
"There's a lot of things I shouldn't have to do." He appeared completely undisturbed, and I was amazed. Luke had become somewhat of a legend in the gang -- the icon of pure coolness. He just refused to let the bosses mess with him. He instead messed with them, but everything he did was nothing they could pin down and punish. It was driving them nuts and it was making the rest of us laugh. The only boss he would obey completely was me. I was catching him looking at me sometimes. I'd look him in the eye on those occasions and he'd grin back, and say,
"How can I not keep my eyes on the most beautiful woman in the compound?", to which I would respond,
"Luke, I'm the only woman in the compound."
But I was catching him looking more and more frequently.
I sent back a letter to the Review Board, stating the evidence I'd collected a little more concisely. When they returned this letter as well, I decided not to just wave it at Luke. He'd want to read it, and that wouldn't be something I'd want to do out front in the middle of the compound. They were on an outdoor release one Saturday and I called him around back and handed him the letter. He read it, his face never changing, shrugged, and handed it back to me.
"I'm sorry, Luke. I can try sending back to your original judge, but I don't think that will do much good."
"It's okay. Don't worry about it. Hey, I'm much appreciative you tried."
I knitted my brows.
"I just -- it makes me so angry! Luke -- I'm … I'm not here as a boss, really." I broke off and he looked at me. It was irrational, but for some crazy reason I just trusted him.
"I'm an undercover reporter for the New York Times and I'm doing an article on chain gangs." I finished in a rush. He laughed.
"I wondered what you were doing here, because you hate the system."
"Is it that obvious?"
"It is to me."
I chuckled and suddenly realized he was staring at me again.
"What?" I asked.
He extended a hand and brushed a finger across my cheek.
"You're crying."
I hadn't realized it until then, but it made me choke up.
"I'm just so upset -- you shouldn't be here." I dropped my head.
"Hey, hey -" he said, catching my chin in one hand and bringing it up.
"It's okay - it's nothing to cry about," he said, soothingly. Then, to my very great surprise, he bent in and kissed me full on the lips. When we broke apart, I asked,
"What was that?"
"Not sure yet," he said. "I'll figure it out in a minute." Then he kissed me again. This time I found myself returning the kiss. We wrapped our arms around each other and stood there for a long moment, even after we had ended the second kiss.
"They'll miss you," I said thickly. "We'd better go back."
"Yeah…" he said, and stepped back slightly. He brushed a loose strand of hair out of my face and tucked it behind me ear. I wiped my tears and stepped away from him, with difficulty. We walked back around front.
I was almost afraid to speak to Luke after that. I harbored a fear that someone knew that we'd gotten involved. Rationally, I knew that no one did, but I still worried. It could completely blow my cover. And that would ruin everything. In the meantime, summer was reaching its pinnacle. The heat was intense. It was on one of the hottest days of the summer when Luke ran again. I knew he was going as soon as he started. I was tempted to stop him, but realized he would only run again. There was no keeping him locked up. There was no beating him down. He needed to run again. I shivered, though. If he was caught, it wouldn't be pretty.
They let the hounds out almost immediately. I listened to them sing. Hounds hot on a trail always gave me shivers, but today it was an unpleasant shiver, instead of the delicious ones I usually got.
It was two weeks later when the magazine and the picture came, addressed to one of his buddies. On the back of the picture, it said, Love that Reporter - I chuckled. No one else saw his little note, but it made me happy. He was obviously happy, wherever he was. But the picture itself almost made me want to cry. He had two blondes hanging off his arms and that made me unhappy. Had he so quickly forgotten that afternoon, that had so touched me? I wished I knew where he was. I wanted answers. But I wouldn't have to wait long.
I went down to the Judge's first. I walked into his office and gave his young secretary a smile.
"What can I do for you, ma'am?" he asked.
"Well, I need to take a look at some files for a murder that just happened her a while back."
"Mrs. Harper's?"
"Yeah."
"We don't get many of those. Sorry, ma'am, but that's private information. I can't give it out to just anyone." I dug around in my bag and pulled out my reporter's badge.
"Oh, sure--" he said, and walked in back. He returned in a few minutes with a thick wad of files.
"Here ya go, ma'am."
"Thanks! Can I borrow these? I'm only in town for the day, I'll get 'em back to you before five."
"Sure," the attendant said.
"Thanks --" I walked out and back down to the diner. The same waitress walked over.
"I think I'll take you up on that beer, now," I said with a smile.
"Sure," she said, and walked off.
For the next three or four hours, I poured over the files. There was a hole in the information, but I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong with it. Something just wasn't right. I groaned in frustration and took a sip of the cup of coffee that had replaced my beer.
"Trouble?" I looked up to see an attractive man peeking down at me, giving me a flirtatious grin. I smiled up at him.
"Just trying to figure something out," I answered and closed the file.
"Well, let me buy you a drink, then. Maybe it'll help you think."
"No thanks, I already had one."
"Well, at least give me your name."
"Katie."
He extended a hand.
"Katie. I'm Jay."
"Jay … nice to meet you." So this was the guy.
"Mind if I pull up a chair?"
"Sure. Go ahead." He sat down.
He chatted with me for about an hour. I wasn't really paying too much attention, but I noted that for a guy whose wife had died less that two months ago, he sure wasn't very aggrieved. He was flirting majorly. I considered the other stuff I'd been reading earlier, and suddenly, something clicked. The motive. The motive that Luke supposedly had for killing Jay's wife. While Luke had maintained innocence, Jay had said he had been on pain medication for an old wound that had made him violent. Luke had apparently said it was a load of crap, and I was beginning to agree. The late Mrs. Harper supposedly was pretty rich. I didn't particularly care for this guy. Suddenly, I got an inspiration.
"Jay … do you do much hunting around here?"
"Quite a bit. Duck hunting, mostly."
"You a hunter?"
"Oh, yeah. You oughta come over one of these days and check out my stuffed ones."
"How 'bout right now?" I asked.
"How 'bout right now," he said, grinning.
His house was a big place. The late Mrs. Harper was pretty rich.
The guns were propped up against the wall, under the various mounted ducks.
"Shotgun with buckshot in it? What do you keep that around for?" I asked, picking up one of the guns.
"We get a little bit of deer hunting around here in the winter."
I grinned, suddenly, and thought, Got him! I thought about the tape recording going in my pocket. There were no deer in this part of the country. None.
"Say …" I said. "Isn't that what your wife was killed with?"
He was caught completely off guard and he stared at me. He stammered,
"Uh … uh … no! It was a … uh … .22, I uh --"
"Seems you got one of those, too."
"Yeah … uh, well, my uh buddy, see he killed her with one of my guns…"
"I thought it was at his house."
"Well, uh, yeah, he … uh… took them … it … from … here!" I smiled.
"Nice meeting you, Jay," I said, and walked out, clicking off the tape recorder.
I put together the packet of all the information I'd collected, points highlighted, and a cover letter, and sent it off to the supreme court. I didn't even think about returning the papers, nor did I remember that I had had other purposes for visiting town, such as sending a few notes to my editor about life in a chain gang. I just rode on back into camp. I was a little amazed that an innocent man had been sent to prison. It scared me. How many more innocents were in some chain gang, working their lives away? I suddenly had an inspiration for my article. I would no more simply give an account of my experiences: I would tell Luke's story.
I walked into the building and threw a wave to a couple of the other inmates that I'd gotten to know. I'd broken every "boss to inmate relationship" rule that there was, but the bosses were so enamored of me that it didn't matter. I walked over to Luke's bunk and leaned on the rim.
"Hello," he said, giving me one of his already-infamous smiles.
"Hi," I said. "I've got news for you. I went on a daytrip today."
"Yeah, where?"
"Small town. 'Bout three miles south of here." His eyes widened. "I know you're innocent. I sent in a packet for the Supreme Court Board of Reviews to check out. You may get a return trial. And your buddy is a greasy fellow. I don't like him."
"Neither do I," he said with another smile.
The next few weeks passed without incident. It was brutally hot and the prisoners were fainting left and right in the heat. I wanted to say something about the load of work the men were being forced to do, but I was here to observe, not reform. It was horrible -- the physical labor was sickening. It made me furious. But it was quite obviously the norm, because everyone else took it in stride.
Two days into the fifth week, I got a perfunctory letter from the Review Board, and the packet I had sent them, almost entirely unruffled, as if it had never been sorted through. Luke had watched me open it, and I saw him walk away and leaned on one of the bunks. But he turned around momentarily, his normal good humor returned.
"Nobody wants to hear from anybody in prison," he said, with a grin. "Guess I'll just be serving my time."
I frowned.
"You shouldn't have to."
"There's a lot of things I shouldn't have to do." He appeared completely undisturbed, and I was amazed. Luke had become somewhat of a legend in the gang -- the icon of pure coolness. He just refused to let the bosses mess with him. He instead messed with them, but everything he did was nothing they could pin down and punish. It was driving them nuts and it was making the rest of us laugh. The only boss he would obey completely was me. I was catching him looking at me sometimes. I'd look him in the eye on those occasions and he'd grin back, and say,
"How can I not keep my eyes on the most beautiful woman in the compound?", to which I would respond,
"Luke, I'm the only woman in the compound."
But I was catching him looking more and more frequently.
I sent back a letter to the Review Board, stating the evidence I'd collected a little more concisely. When they returned this letter as well, I decided not to just wave it at Luke. He'd want to read it, and that wouldn't be something I'd want to do out front in the middle of the compound. They were on an outdoor release one Saturday and I called him around back and handed him the letter. He read it, his face never changing, shrugged, and handed it back to me.
"I'm sorry, Luke. I can try sending back to your original judge, but I don't think that will do much good."
"It's okay. Don't worry about it. Hey, I'm much appreciative you tried."
I knitted my brows.
"I just -- it makes me so angry! Luke -- I'm … I'm not here as a boss, really." I broke off and he looked at me. It was irrational, but for some crazy reason I just trusted him.
"I'm an undercover reporter for the New York Times and I'm doing an article on chain gangs." I finished in a rush. He laughed.
"I wondered what you were doing here, because you hate the system."
"Is it that obvious?"
"It is to me."
I chuckled and suddenly realized he was staring at me again.
"What?" I asked.
He extended a hand and brushed a finger across my cheek.
"You're crying."
I hadn't realized it until then, but it made me choke up.
"I'm just so upset -- you shouldn't be here." I dropped my head.
"Hey, hey -" he said, catching my chin in one hand and bringing it up.
"It's okay - it's nothing to cry about," he said, soothingly. Then, to my very great surprise, he bent in and kissed me full on the lips. When we broke apart, I asked,
"What was that?"
"Not sure yet," he said. "I'll figure it out in a minute." Then he kissed me again. This time I found myself returning the kiss. We wrapped our arms around each other and stood there for a long moment, even after we had ended the second kiss.
"They'll miss you," I said thickly. "We'd better go back."
"Yeah…" he said, and stepped back slightly. He brushed a loose strand of hair out of my face and tucked it behind me ear. I wiped my tears and stepped away from him, with difficulty. We walked back around front.
I was almost afraid to speak to Luke after that. I harbored a fear that someone knew that we'd gotten involved. Rationally, I knew that no one did, but I still worried. It could completely blow my cover. And that would ruin everything. In the meantime, summer was reaching its pinnacle. The heat was intense. It was on one of the hottest days of the summer when Luke ran again. I knew he was going as soon as he started. I was tempted to stop him, but realized he would only run again. There was no keeping him locked up. There was no beating him down. He needed to run again. I shivered, though. If he was caught, it wouldn't be pretty.
They let the hounds out almost immediately. I listened to them sing. Hounds hot on a trail always gave me shivers, but today it was an unpleasant shiver, instead of the delicious ones I usually got.
It was two weeks later when the magazine and the picture came, addressed to one of his buddies. On the back of the picture, it said, Love that Reporter - I chuckled. No one else saw his little note, but it made me happy. He was obviously happy, wherever he was. But the picture itself almost made me want to cry. He had two blondes hanging off his arms and that made me unhappy. Had he so quickly forgotten that afternoon, that had so touched me? I wished I knew where he was. I wanted answers. But I wouldn't have to wait long.