Read Online April Fool by William Deverell - Free Book Online Page B

they call Protective Custody, the wing for dangerous sexual offenders, the DSOs, as they call them, plus other unpopular people like gays and trannies and squealers doing a reduced bounce for co-operating with Her Majesty.
    The deputy warden was not entirely convinced by the Owl’s exaggerations that a barbarian in the main wing threatened to cut his balls off, but the deputy didn’t want to take a chance on this prized catch, didn’t want to deliver him up to the courts without all his parts. Also helping Faloon’s cause was being a possible nutcase, though the deputy wasn’t buying that. Nor was the couch doctor who analyzed him a few days ago, a young guy, Dr. Dare, who was onto Faloon’s game, he brought a Dutch interpreter with him. Faloon didn’t try to come out as Gertrude, it would have blown up in his face. The shrinker spent fifteen minutes with him, asking a few questions that seemed innocuous but were probably loaded with double meaning, and walked out laughing.
    Among the advantages to PC in addition to not getting castrated is that there’s a decent lounge for visitors, and some of the other guests are interesting and intelligent people. There’s a defrocked priest in here who has a problem with underage boys, and they talk about religion, Faloon playing along that he’s a Christian, and there’s a former jail guard waitingsentencing, looking to do both hands for manslaughter or, in his case, wifeslaughter. Faloon gets called Gertie by the gay guys.
    Though he has a hope that DNA fingerprinting will clear him, he can see himself eating pressed turkey for all Christmases to come. He shouldn’t have panicked in Bamfield, should have brazened it out, now he’s dug a hole for himself with this Gertrude Heeredam act.
    The only thing looking up is that he has a lawyer. Faloon asked Willy the Hook Houston to scratch around for one, but in the meantime out of nowhere Mr. Brian Pomeroy phoned, and he’s coming by this afternoon. He may not be in the league of Arthur Beauchamp, but comes highly recommended in the joint–though you have to look at the source of such endorsements, Mr. Pomeroy didn’t get them off. According to Willy, who is raising a defence fund, he’s a good talker, smart without being sleazy.
    Claudette St. John hasn’t visited yet, but she sent a teary letter saying she knows he’s innocent. Faloon is buoyed by that, Claudie being so true-blue despite her suspicions about his night with Holly Hoover, the logging-camp tramp. He kicks himself for that mistake, Claudette’s a superior woman, he’s never known anyone with such an open heart.
    He hasn’t been sleeping well, and a couple of nights ago he found himself sleepwalking again, banging into the cell door while unconsciously going out to the deck of the Nitinat Lodge to take a piss.
    It is just after the morning count that his new mouth shows up, and the screws let them have an isolated table in the lounge. Pomeroy’s face is somehow familiar, maybe Faloon has seen him in court. He’s forty-five or so, looks a little depraved, maybe because of all the character lines in his face.
    After opening courtesies, Faloon asks why Pomeroy has taken an interest in him, and learns a “concerned gentleman left a message.” Faloon doesn’t feel invited to inquire further, assumes it must be Jacoby, his financial adviser.
    â€œI’ve been following your career,” Pomeroy says. “Impressive.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œI’m hoping there’s a psychological basis for Gertrude, it’s not just a hustle.”
    â€œI thought it was worth a try, Mr. Pomeroy. I lost my head.”
    â€œI don’t want to hear that. I want to hear that you became Gertrude. Where did you get the women’s clothes?”
    â€œWell, my job is a thief, and I keep different outfits depending on the occasion. I was arrested in a dress once