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Authors: Ed Griffin
Tags: General Fiction
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he had forced himself not to watch a woman guard walk down the tier. He had work to do.
As to Joe and Maggie, they were the kind of settlers he needed, people who looked at Adak as an opportunity, not a sentence. And Joe would make a perfect cop.The feds had him down as a crazed killer, but the cons respected him, even feared him. When trouble came and he needed some muscle of his own, Britt would be perfect.
The difficulty would be getting the council to go along with the idea of having a cop on an island full of cons. Even though it was in the plan to have convict police, Frank hadn't brought the subject up yet to the prisoner council. But he was determined to not just appoint a police officer. This island was to be a democracy.
"Earth to Villa. Earth to Villa." It was Boss Gilmore.
Frank stared up at Gilmore's ironic, mocking face. "Mister Gilmore." Here was the man who would ruin everything he'd worked for. Frank glanced at his clothes: prison blues spotless, a gold pen in the spotless shirt and - a Rolex on his wrist already. How did the man manage to look so in control?
Frank looked at Gilmore's wife. Quietness seemed to emanate from her. Her smooth skin rested in stillness; she moved softly as if not to disturb the silence around her. What a contrast to this wind-buffeted island with out-of-control convicts on it. If only he could rest with such a one, for a minute, for an hour, for…
"Je-SUS, Villa. Stay with us."
Frank pointed to his map. "There are some barracks up here on Bering Hill that you and your wife can - "
Gilmore flicked his hand at the map. "Sure, sure, but where's the Holiday Inn?"
Frank said nothing.
"Well, then where's the officers' club?" Gilmore glanced sideways at Latisha and slipped into black dialogue. "See, Mista Charlie, the brothers jes got out of the pen. They needs to PAR-TY."
Gilmore was mocking him. The man normally spoke like any other middle class American. "You know damn well where the officers' club is."
Latisha didn't laugh at his accent. "I'm Latisha Gilmore," she said.
Gilmore looked at her strangely, as if she didn't normally talk to people. "Sorry. This is my wife, Latisha."
"You've done a great thing here, Mister Villa."
A wave of strong feeling swept through him, almost to the point of bringing tears to his eyes.The quiet one, the deep one, the beautiful one had complimented him. "Thank you," he murmured.
What was happening to him? He was losing control. Was he just tired? Was it that he couldn't function in this strange world where women were something besides prison guards and caseworkers?
Gilmore kept at him. "Come on, Villa. I think you should loosen up, man," he said, an easy smile on his face. "Let the guys party. Nobody's done anything special for these guys in a long, long time.Give them a little party and they'll be able to put up with this weather." As if on cue a fierce wind flapped a corrugated steel panel on the roof.
Gilmore finished his thought, pointing outside. "Let the guys party."
Frank felt the anger rise inside him. "Gilmore, we got one, maybe two month's supply of food and heating oil. Then the lights go out and the heat goes off and the Feds stop flying in food, unless we send them a big check. So you can forget partying and concentrate on money!"
"Chill, Villa, chill." Gilmore retained his easy smile.
Frank took a calming breath and returned to his notes. "Like I was saying, you can make your home up here on Bering Hill at least temporarily."
"Sure, Villa, sure. Home.Now what I had in mind - "
Gilmore's words were cut off. A fierce wind grabbed the corrugated steel panel and sent it sailing like a giant Frisbee. Through the window Frank saw a convict walking away from the air terminal, carrying his family's luggage and Frank saw the steel panel heading for his back. "Look out!" he yelled, but it was no use.
As to Joe and Maggie, they were the kind of settlers he needed, people who looked at Adak as an opportunity, not a sentence. And Joe would make a perfect cop.The feds had him down as a crazed killer, but the cons respected him, even feared him. When trouble came and he needed some muscle of his own, Britt would be perfect.
The difficulty would be getting the council to go along with the idea of having a cop on an island full of cons. Even though it was in the plan to have convict police, Frank hadn't brought the subject up yet to the prisoner council. But he was determined to not just appoint a police officer. This island was to be a democracy.
"Earth to Villa. Earth to Villa." It was Boss Gilmore.
Frank stared up at Gilmore's ironic, mocking face. "Mister Gilmore." Here was the man who would ruin everything he'd worked for. Frank glanced at his clothes: prison blues spotless, a gold pen in the spotless shirt and - a Rolex on his wrist already. How did the man manage to look so in control?
Frank looked at Gilmore's wife. Quietness seemed to emanate from her. Her smooth skin rested in stillness; she moved softly as if not to disturb the silence around her. What a contrast to this wind-buffeted island with out-of-control convicts on it. If only he could rest with such a one, for a minute, for an hour, for…
"Je-SUS, Villa. Stay with us."
Frank pointed to his map. "There are some barracks up here on Bering Hill that you and your wife can - "
Gilmore flicked his hand at the map. "Sure, sure, but where's the Holiday Inn?"
Frank said nothing.
"Well, then where's the officers' club?" Gilmore glanced sideways at Latisha and slipped into black dialogue. "See, Mista Charlie, the brothers jes got out of the pen. They needs to PAR-TY."
Gilmore was mocking him. The man normally spoke like any other middle class American. "You know damn well where the officers' club is."
Latisha didn't laugh at his accent. "I'm Latisha Gilmore," she said.
Gilmore looked at her strangely, as if she didn't normally talk to people. "Sorry. This is my wife, Latisha."
"You've done a great thing here, Mister Villa."
A wave of strong feeling swept through him, almost to the point of bringing tears to his eyes.The quiet one, the deep one, the beautiful one had complimented him. "Thank you," he murmured.
What was happening to him? He was losing control. Was he just tired? Was it that he couldn't function in this strange world where women were something besides prison guards and caseworkers?
Gilmore kept at him. "Come on, Villa. I think you should loosen up, man," he said, an easy smile on his face. "Let the guys party. Nobody's done anything special for these guys in a long, long time.Give them a little party and they'll be able to put up with this weather." As if on cue a fierce wind flapped a corrugated steel panel on the roof.
Gilmore finished his thought, pointing outside. "Let the guys party."
Frank felt the anger rise inside him. "Gilmore, we got one, maybe two month's supply of food and heating oil. Then the lights go out and the heat goes off and the Feds stop flying in food, unless we send them a big check. So you can forget partying and concentrate on money!"
"Chill, Villa, chill." Gilmore retained his easy smile.
Frank took a calming breath and returned to his notes. "Like I was saying, you can make your home up here on Bering Hill at least temporarily."
"Sure, Villa, sure. Home.Now what I had in mind - "
Gilmore's words were cut off. A fierce wind grabbed the corrugated steel panel and sent it sailing like a giant Frisbee. Through the window Frank saw a convict walking away from the air terminal, carrying his family's luggage and Frank saw the steel panel heading for his back. "Look out!" he yelled, but it was no use.
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