Part 3

"Do you fall out of bed often?"

Peck let out a lecherous chuckle. "I normally prefer to fall 'in' bed," he replied. "Especially with a beautiful woman!"

Judy Bowcott regarded him with eyebrows raised. It was a hot day and the warm breeze was blowing into the small cramped room in which they sat. How she longed for a little A/C, a fan even but such luxuries were off limits – this was a prison after all!

The real reason she felt hot and stifled was her complete lack of progress with her newest interviewee. It never ceased to amaze her that such sexist dinosaurs continued to exist in the world. God this guy had gotten stuck in the 1980s somehow and all the subsequent progress of the feminist movement seemed to have past him by. It was a shame really because physically he had been a very attractive man, and she could see that he had aged well too, but every time he opened his mouth he uttered a totally un-politically correct statement. How arrogant of him to think that she would in any way be interested in a lecherous old fool like him!

She had suspected it when she had read through his files previously, her reservations had only increased when she saw the knowing light twinkle in his eye as she had entered the room earlier. And ever since then, every single answer to her questions had been steeped in double entendre and sexual undercurrent. She regarded him now, keeping her voice studiously neutral and wondered if he had any notion of just how pathetic she found him!

She guessed not, from the continuing twinkle in his eyes, to the over-confident smile of his lips – he seemed to be enjoying himself. She bit down the urge to vomit and schooled herself that she should be professional about this. So the guy was an asshole; most of them were, that shouldn't interfere with her job; she was here to do a psychological assessment and that's what she would do! Still he wasn't making it any easier for her by a full on flirting technique which may have worked on her mother twenty years ago but was not appreciated by Judy in the twenty first century.

She jotted down a few notes, more to delay the next question and his ribald response to it than from any need to express her thoughts on paper.

"I didn't realise they let pretty ladies like you in to do stuff like this," he said.

She stifled down the cringe his words had brought her, forcing away the bitter retort that sparked in her brain about not being a lady and why should her physical appearance influence which job she chose to do, instead she made herself respond calmly. "Why would you think that?"

"Well," he said leaning forward, his eyebrows scrunching suggestively. "There are a lot of men starved of a woman's company in here. Being alone with a beautiful girl like you, who knows where a man's sex drive might take him? And her?"

She fixed him with a stern stare, wondering if this wasn't all some big joke, was this guy setting her up? But she could detect no irony in him, he seemed completely sincere. "I am a black belt in karate; I can handle myself," she said. "Besides, there is a guard just outside the door, and he could hear my scream."

"Black belt," he repeated nodding, seemingly impressed. "He would hear your scream but would he hear your moans of passion and ecstasy?" His eyebrows went skywards once more.

She stared at him eyes wide as the scarlet anger raged through her. She had been hanging on to her temper all afternoon but now she could control it no longer. She did not care, she had heard enough. "What did you say?" she growled.

"Oh come on, dear," he said. "I saw the way you looked at me when you walked in. You have been sending me the signs all afternoon and like every good soldier I am famed for reading signals. I'm a celebrity, a star – I can tell that you want it from me, and I am more than willing to deliver. You come flouncing in here, wearing next to nothing, flicking your long blonde hair at me and blinking those eyes. Hell darling, I'm a man not a monk!"

She stood up in a rush of fury, the scrape of the chair on the floor a discordant accompaniment to the anger that flashed through her. "How dare you!" she spat. "You arrogant, conceited neandethal! Do you have any idea of how stupid you sound!"

"Come on girl," Peck was standing too. "I know you want it!"

"Guard!" Judy shouted. "Guard!"

The door swung open and the guard, Jeffers, stuck his head round the door. "Can I help you any, Miss?" he asked.

Judy threw her notes into her briefcase and thundered towards the door. "You sexist prick!" she shouted over her shoulder at Peck as she retreated. "What century do you live in – dinosaur!"

Peck rolled his eyes and sat back down again. Jeffers chuckled. "I thought you were supposed to be a ladies' man," he said.

"Officer, you weren't listening at the door were you?" Peck said in mock indignation.

"That's my job," Jeffers pulled two cigars out of his pocket and offered one to Peck. "Got to protect the psychologists from sexual predator inmates like you!"

"Arrh, don't mind if I do," Peck breathed accepting the cigar. "Although I hope this isn't a violation of policy that the warden will take into account when he considers my parole." He nodded toward the 'no smoking' sign that silently shouted from the wall above the door.

"Damn stupid policy!" Jeffers shook his head. "Reckon I owe you one, Peck. You're a brave man, coming out with that stuff in this day and age," Jeffers said as he leaned across to light it. "Haven't had such a laugh in a long while – you got her underwear in some mighty twist, serves her right with such high and mighty ideas! "

Peck blew out a mouthful of smoke, his face beaming with an appreciating smile. "I did, didn't I? Fair play though she held on to her professional detachment longer than I thought she would. There was a point when I thought she realised that I wasn't being entirely serious but then her sense of humour seemed to self destruct and she was fair game. I guess I feel a little sorry for her, though."

Jeffers chortled. "Don't reckon she'll be coming to follow-up her assessment real soon!"

Peck raised his cigar. "Colonel Hannibal Smith I salute you!" he said. "You taught me that attack is sometimes the best form of defence!"

Jeffers hooted. "Ain't it the other way round?"

"Not in my case," Peck replied. "Certainly not in my case. Now, may I be allowed to return to my cell. If I am not very much mistaken I am due a new copy of my favourite publication – Feminism Today and I really do like to read it as soon as I can!"

Jeffers guffawed. "You're always entertaining, Peck, good value!" he said as he moved to open the door. "Gonna miss you when they let you out. They don't make 'em like you any more!"


"You did the right thing, kid," Hannibal's familiar voice came from close by and if Peck closed his eyes he could see the grey haired man beaming beside him. "You can't give anything away, not about me. People like psychologists would not understand, trust me on this."

Peck drew in a long breath. "I just didn't like giving her a hard time – she must have thought I was such a jerk."

"Doesn't matter, Face. You achieved what we needed, kept our secret safe."

Peck was sitting on his bed, taking advantage of the time to reflect on what had happened and to try to assess what he needed to do. He had been in Folsom State Prison for the last 118 days. As he had been quick to inform the warden, the day of the fight in the showers, he had had only nine days left of the sentence the Parole Revocation Hearing had given him, following his arrest after he turned himself in the day after the Christening.

He let his mind wonder back to the day when the hearing panel had decided there was 'a preponderance level of evidence to show good cause that he, Templeton Peck, had violated a condition of parole'. He had been lucky; his attorney had informed him that he could have been returned to custody for 12 months. But on hearing the Board proclaim his sentence of 120 days, Peck had felt his stomach lurch and his resolve weaken. One hundred and twenty days in a penal institution, one hundred and twenty days denied his freedom, one hundred and twenty days at the mercy of the authorities and the inmates but worse of all one hundred and twenty days without Murdock! He had suddenly felt very weak and cursed himself for turning himself in.

But the lack of belief had not lasted long. Peck had survived thus far by taking all that life had to throw at him and enduring it. He was not about to change that strategy now. He was streetwise and clever; he knew he could survive the time if he applied himself appropriately and so that was precisely what he had done. In the first 111 days he had played the game, keeping his nose clean, biting back the wise retorts that threatened to spring from his mouth, and fighting but only when he was forced to in order to prove his reputation was well-earned and to make the point he was off limits to anyone that might come sniffing. He had worked hard at keeping out of the power politics of the gangs that unofficially ran the prison. He had, as he had promised the warden, been a model prisoner and when he came before the Parole Hearing the Board had little option but to agree his return to society after his sentence was served.

But that had changed when he had made the decision to go up against the Black Coyotes in the shower. He had done it secure in the knowledge that in lifting his head above the parapet he was risking a lot more than just a simple beating and that had proved to be the case. Now his parole was in doubt and he had come to the notice of the black brotherhood, things were going to get exciting!

Still, as he had told Murdock, he did not regret his actions. Robby Blake was a smart-assed, over-confident kid sure, but Peck didn't see that as a problem. In fact Peck saw definite potential in the boy and even if he hadn't, put in the same situation again he would make the same choice. Hell that was what he did – what the Colonel had taught him!

He did, however, regret his behaviour with Judy Bowcott. Deep down he had always wanted to be loved, with a natural desire to please especially where women were concerned. He still remembered the look of sheer hatred she had thrown at him as she exited the room and it crucified him. He wished it hadn't been necessary to behave in that way but he had simply been defending himself. Through his prison sentence, in his times of extreme loneliness and doubt, he had begun to hear Hannibal more and more. What had first manifested itself under the influence of Lorelei's drugs had become a daily occurrence. A habit that Peck had begun to cling to so desperately that he refused to contemplate it further. For him it was simple; Hannibal was with him, he embodied the strength that Peck could not find in himself, he supported him, he got him through and it was enough.

But deep inside Peck worried about the phenomenon and feared its exposure. That was why he had been so unnerved by the thought of a psychological assessment and why he had behaved in the way he had to Ms Bowcott. Sure enough it had worked; she had never even gotten close to peeling away his layers of mystery, choosing to see only the shallowness he served up for her. And Hannibal remained with him, undetected and giving him the strength to survive. But it was a dangerous place to be; the dreams were back and Peck knew he often woke his cellmate as he thrashed about in the darkness. It was only a matter of time before somebody discovered his secret.

"For how long?" he voiced his worry now. "You're dead and gone, Hannibal! I shouldn't be able to see you, talk to you…"

"Who are you talking to?" Robby Blake's handsome face was puzzled as he hovered on the lip of the entrance to Peck's cell.

Goddamn it! Peck cursed himself – all that time and energy trying to keep it secret and he revealed it by simply not keeping his defences up. Jesus, how the hell could he be so stupid? Pushing the panic away he forced his features into its usual mundane mask. "What?" feigning innocence came naturally to Peck as he indicated that the boy should enter.

Hands thrust nonchalantly in his pockets Blake stepped inside. "You were talking to somebody," he pressed.

"Who me?"

Blake shrugged, looked around the empty cell suspiciously. "Guess it must be voices from outside," he said uncertainly.

Peck nodded. "There's always somebody talking in this goddamn overcrowded place."

Blake smirked. "I blame all those damn parole jumpers that they drag back here to take up the space us proper criminals should have."

Peck rolled his eyes. "Well I'll give up the space I'm taking up in here anytime for a 'proper' criminal, no sweat!"

"Wouldn't we all?" Blake laughed. "How you doing, man? You heard about your parole yet?"

"Nope, but I'm a firm believer in being positive – no news is good news." Peck frowned slightly. "Hope they tell me soon though – I got such a lot to pack!"

"I'm sorry, Peck," Blake's eyes were wide. "I didn't mean to screw it up for you. I still don't see why you did it and don't give me that bullshit about your cleaning!"

Peck snorted. "Let's just say that I know how you felt; I've been to that place, Robby. It's not a good place to be and I wouldn't want anyone to suffer it if I could stop it."

"You're quite a guy, Peck. Is it true what they say about you being some sort of vigilante?"

Peck smiled. "Hell no – you know what crap gets around in prison. I'm just a conman who ran one too many cons. Never meant to end up here but looking back I guess here is the only place I was bound to end up."

Blake looked uncomfortable but nervously licking his lips, he asked, "That guy that comes to visit you. Is he… is he your partner?"

"Why do you ask?" Peck snorted and ran his hand through his hair; he really didn't want to discuss this at anytime but especially not now. His eyes were burningly intense as he gazed at the younger man shuffling nervously before him. "I didn't help you in the shower so I could have your pretty ass instead of the Coyotes if that's what is worrying you, Robby."

"No," Blake answered too effusively. Then he shrugged and forced indifference into every part of his body. "I'm not worried about that and it's none of my business, I know. I'm just trying to understand."

Peck blinked as he looked away. Blake controlled the shudder that threatened to flash through him as if the temperature was suddenly chilled by ten degrees. "There's nothing to understand," Peck shrugged ineffectively. "I just made a lot of mistakes in my life and I'm trying to sort them out, that's all."

"But…"

"Oh man, what a pitiful confession!" Rumba's deep voice cut across Blake's higher pitched one.

Suddenly the cell was vastly overcrowded as the Black Coyotes filed dutifully into it behind their leader. Both Peck and Blake stepped backwards away from the over-muscled specimens bearing down on them. Unfortunately there was only so far the two of them could move until they were backed up against the hard granite rock of the outer cell wall.

Then there was no where further for them to retreat…..


TBC