The Warden

“Eww gross.” Raina didn’t know the half of it, but maybe the smell would keep the more violent of the crazies away.

After lunch, I managed to avoid the Tribe members by keeping close to Sharee. She introduced me to a few members of the Sunshine Sisters, an African American gang that she hung out with. She was like the prison den mother, acting as a liaison of sorts between the grou

ps and organizing the smuggling of contraband. She was a regular Boston Tea Party Patriot, minus the Boston part, the tea, and the patriotism.

Each new day was a learning experience. I was shocked to hear that women smuggled in porn, they hooked up inside, and then some resumed a normal life of sorts outside of here. Whatever the definition of normal was, it wasn’t for me. I got along well with the other women and kept my mouth shut. Getting back to our cell after dinner I found a bundle on top of my bunk.

“Sharee, what’s that?”

“What’s what, honey pie?”

“Uh, you know what.” Annoyed, my brow furrowed as I looked over my shoulder. “I asked you to not get me anything.” I reached up pulling the stuff down. Shit like this was going to be nothing but trouble for me.

“Girl, I didn’t talk to nobody. You get your crazy head on straight.” Waving me off, she resumed doing her own thing, checking out her own stash of items. Would we always be this particular about the few meager possessions we had?

“Right, okay.” I looked over the items in my hands. A pair of shoes, new, and my size were the most obvious. The best part was how clean they smelled, new rubber soles and fresh. I never thought new shoes would be that life affirming and hopeful, but they were. Inside the one shoe was a bottle of shampoo and conditioner, a new toothbrush and toothpaste, the kinds of things I wouldn’t be able to buy from the comissary yet. In the other shoe, a pair of pale pink cotton underwear tucked down into the toe. It wasn’t the regulation white cotton shit everyone else got. This pair was pretty, delicate, and edged in lace so fine it rippled against my fingertips as I touched it. I’d have to be careful wearing them because I didn’t need any undue reactions if I was caught with something pretty. Something someone might covet. I just didn’t need any more attention.

My fairy godmother or guardian angel had come in and given me the basic necessities for surviving in here while making me feel girly again. I was cautiously grateful if a little paranoid.

Who did stuff like this?

“Anything good?”

“Nothing worth sharing,” I lied prying off my disgusting wet shoes in favor of the new ones. I used a rough paper towel to wipe my feet clean putting the shoes on. I went to put the underwear in my one drawer under the stack of three white pairs I was currently issued. Unrolling them, a small piece of paper fell out, and I looked around and picked it up. Sharee was busy straightening her stuff and giving her bed tucked in hospital corners. No one was paying me any attention for once. My back to the room, I unrolled the paper cautiously so it wouldn’t make a sound and read the hastily scrawled note.

No need to say thank you. I hope they’re the right size.

The note was unsigned, but there was only one person who could have done it.

The warden, damn him. I didn’t know if I should smile or cry.

Six

Cohen

I thought about Benedicta often and at the worst possible times. Her smirking expression teased me when I passed by her in the halls or watched her sitting in the corner of the cafeteria with her click of friends. Long brown hair with caramel highlights and eyes of changeable color haunted me. I thought of nothing but tangling my fingers in the strands and holding her captive until her pouty mouth gave me more than the answers to my questions. I broke more pens than the state funds allotted clicking them to death as I read through mindless reports.

Listening to a parole hearing for another inmate and vaguely attentive, I shifted in my seat wanting to see her. It was an impossibility. Seeking her out was out of the question. Our investigation into the gang recruitment hadn’t gotten very far, but I’d been immersed in the politics of prison life, dealing with red tape bureaucracy every time I turned around. I should have been paid double unravelling the mess the previous warden had left while I spent my nights gripping my cock until my desire was strangled from me. It felt like an impossible situation. She was the girl I should not want, could not have, and yet my mind held onto the idea in a death grip.

My latest fantasy included shedding her of the orange jumpsuit and laying her out on my desk. Her hair would tumble over the edge and her wrists bound with my tie instead of silver handcuffs. I’d start by tasting her pussy licking slowly between her folds until she screamed so loud that the only banging heard above my hips thrusting into hers moving the desk across the floor would be the guards at the door unable to gain entry to my office. I’d gone as far as to change Garcia’s post so that he would have less access to Benedicta. Besides the gifts I paid handsomely to have snuck into her room it was the only real thing I could give her. I didn’t even know if she was innocent except for the doubt that wavered in my mind about her trial.

As the weeks passed, Maris and I settled into a routine. We were stalled in our investigation and time was running out if we were going to make any charges stick to the girl gang involved. I rarely saw Benedicta which was for her benefit as much as I tried to ignore her presence. I was at the prison five days a week, full-time, but I found myself working longer hours, studying the dynamics of the inmate culture and pushing through reforms I probably had no business changing. Apparently, I was taking my undercover responsibilities too seriously. James even called to tell me to lay off before the State of Texas offered me a real job.

It seemed unfair when the weekends hit. I had to leave while Maris stayed behind working her leads and Monday rolled around far too slowly. I spent plenty of nights on my couch reading the file about a pint sized girl with a mighty swing in my rented condo ten miles from the prison grounds. I wasn’t supposed to take files from the prison, but I couldn’t help looking them over, again and again. The mug shot photo was worn from my fingers rubbing over the edges curiouser with each thought.

Benedicta Alejandra Cruz had a manslaughter charge based on some pretty circumstantial evidence. I wasn’t a lawyer, but even I knew some of the shoddy forensic findings could have been tossed out of court if challenged correctly by her idiot lawyer. It gave me a few ideas of where to start, including a call to one Zeke Wells and the court clerk. First, I wanted answers from the young woman herself.

“Garcia,” I buzzed from my desk. I hadn’t seen Benedicta in a few weeks hoping she was acclimating well. “Bring inmate Cruz to my office please. I have few things to go over with her regarding a job in the library.” A place I thought she might be safer within the prison.

“Sure thing, Warden Shepard.” Garcia wasn’t high on my list of trustworthy prison personnel, but I knew he wouldn’t question me about seeing an inmate alone in my office. He wasn’t exactly above board himself, and I had yet to figure out how to get him fired while I was here. Moving around his shifts under the auspice of personnel changes seemed the best I could do. Several minutes later, my door opened and shut.

I could smell her from across the room. Barely there strawberry shampoo, which I had been secretly supplying her with, the new clean shoes and a few other toiletry items, seemed to have eased a permanent furrow of her brow at least temporarily.

“You asked to see me.” She stood still, her back ramrod straight and hands folded in front of her.

“Sit down, Cruz.” I gestured to the chair in front of my desk where she hesitantly took a seat. She looked thinner which she didn’t need, wiser if possible, and cautious which was never bad in a place like this. Good girl.

“Am I in trouble?” Her expression pinched and I surmised that she probably thought she was in fact in trouble. I’d heard about an incident in the laundry room the week before. No one had been hurt, but a few Tribe members were disciplined including Maris. Our last encounter was still seared into my mind with my trouble-seeking partner.