Taking the Heat. Brenda Novak
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give him some Tylenol.
“I HEARD we had a little excitement here yesterday.”
Gabrielle put her sandwich down and swallowed so she could answer Officer Bell, who’d just entered the yard office, ending her precious solitude. Normally part of her shift, Bell had been off yesterday, so she’d missed the Tucker beating. But Gabrielle was sure the other guards had already shared every detail, including her role in it.
“Four members of the Border Brothers ganged up on Randall Tucker. It wasn’t pretty,” she said, taking a drink from her water bottle.
Bell dropped some change into the soda machine, pressed the Pepsi button and retrieved the can that clunked into the small opening. Then she threw a furtive glance over her shoulder toward the gray steel door that stood open to the hallway beyond. “That kind of thing’s been happening a lot lately,” she murmured.
Gabrielle watched as Bell took a seat across from her. “Why do you suppose that is?”
She popped the top of her soda and lowered her voice. “Hansen’s out of control, if you ask me. Thinks he can get away with anything.”
“You’re saying he’s responsible for what’s going on?”
Bell didn’t answer immediately. “Well, it’s not something in the water. You know what I’m saying?”
“But if he’s staging fights, all we have to do is go to the warden and—”
Bell interrupted her with a disbelieving look. “Oh, yeah? Good luck. Hansen’s the warden’s nephew.”
Gabrielle let her breath seep out. No wonder Hansen felt so comfortable in his job. She remembered the “survivor” speech he’d given her in his office after the fight yesterday and did a mental eye roll. I’ve been workin’ here since college, nearly fifteen years, and I’ll be workin’ here in fifteen more. It’s only the weak who have to worry, the young, the old, the fairer sex… As though being related to the warden had nothing to do with his longevity!
“So the warden knows Hansen is abusing his power?” she asked.
Bell took a drink of her Pepsi, then played with the condensation on the outside of the can. “Abusing his power? That’s subject to interpretation. So far, no one’s been killed or seriously injured.”
“So far? ‘So far’ acknowledges that it could happen in the future,” Gabrielle said, finishing her tuna sandwich. “Randall Tucker’s injuries might not be life-threatening, but I’d call them serious. And they could’ve been much worse.”
Bell grimaced, took another drink of her Pepsi and adjusted the ponytail that held her long dark hair off a rather plain face. “He’s an inmate. Life on the inside isn’t supposed to be pleasant. You want pleasant, work at a day care, that’s Hansen’s philosophy.”
“Is it the warden’s?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t asked him. We have a chain of command here.”
“Will it do any good to go to the lieutenant?”
“Are you kidding? Whitehead and Hansen spend their weekends together barbecuing and drinking beer. You could try one of the captains, but I doubt you’ll get anywhere with them, either. Or the assistant deputy warden, for that matter.”
“Then the warden is our only option.”
“Believe me, he’s no option.”
“So you don’t want to do anything?”
“What can we do?” Bell demanded. “Our jobs are tough enough as it is. You know what it’s like being a woman in a place like this. We make waves, and we won’t be around long.”
“But what Hansen’s doing is serious and you know it. Tucker could’ve been killed! I could have been killed trying to stop something that never should have happened in the first place. Next time, it might be you or someone else—unless we do something.”
“Listen, I’m not involved in what Hansen’s doing,” she said, growing angry. “I just put in my time and collect my paycheck so I can feed my little boy. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“We can’t close our eyes just because we’re women,” Gabrielle replied, finally understanding why Bell had opened up to her in the first place. She’d thought they could commiserate because they were both women and therefore fighting the same battles. But she’d wanted Gabrielle to come to the same conclusion she had—that she was justified in ignoring the guards’ abuses—so she’d feel better about avoiding responsibility. Bell wanted her to say, “Yep, it’s not our problem, nothing we can do.”
But Gabrielle didn’t agree. Someone had to stop what was going on, and she sure as hell knew it wouldn’t be Brinkman, Roddy or Eckland. “We could see the warden together,” she suggested. “I’m not excited about going over Hansen’s head anymore than you are, but if we—”
“No.” Bell shoved away from the table and stood, glaring down at her. “I’m not a whistle-blower.”
“Do you realize what could happen if we don’t?”
“I don’t care. I need this job.”
“But—”
“Forget it. I’m sorry I said anything. I think the others are right. You’re nothing but trouble.” She threw her can in the trash and stalked out.
Gabrielle sat with her lunch wrappers spread out on the table in front of her, staring after the other woman. She felt more alone than she ever had in her life—and she was used to feeling alone. No matter how many people surrounded her growing up, she’d always remained detached, a guest in her adoptive parents’ home, an outsider looking in. She’d married David to escape the emptiness, but even that hadn’t worked. When she’d left him, she did it believing there had to be one place in life where she’d fit, in a down-to-the-soul kind of way, but she was beginning to think she’d never find it.
At least she wasn’t going to find it here, at the prison. Especially if she ratted on Hansen.
She pictured Randall Tucker’s face when he’d finally looked up at her while playing Scrabble. He was a hard, unfeeling man. He hadn’t been very receptive to her help. And he probably was getting exactly what he deserved. Why risk anything for him?
Dropping her head in her hands, Gabrielle pressed her palms to her eyes. Why? Because it was the right thing to do.
GABRIELLE LET HER CAR IDLE, hoping the air-conditioning in her late-model Honda Accord would stave off the incredible heat that shimmered up from the asphalt. The magnificent Arizona sun was melting into the horizon like butter, creating streaks of red and gold far more vivid than anything she’d ever seen in Oregon. But Gabrielle hadn’t come to watch the sunset. She was parked across from a Spanish-style stucco house on the other side of town, waiting for Naomi Cutter, her birth mother, and hoping for something else: the courage to approach her.
Sitting in her car seat in the back, Allie clapped her hands and kicked her feet. They’d taken this drive several times already; Allie loved the movement of the car, loved seeing everything fly past her window. But it wasn’t as joyful a ride for Gabrielle. Watching her birth mother arrive home from wherever she worked during the day, gather her things from her silver Toyota Camry and enter her small, neat house at 1058 Robin Way was a bit like pressing on a bruise—it hurt, but Gabrielle just couldn’t leave it alone.
Today she’d knock on the door and demand to know why her mother had given her up, she decided. David was right. She needed to get it over with. Her adoptive parents had told her that Naomi had been having financial difficulties, but she’d also been twenty-four at the time, old enough to figure out some way to keep them together.
As a child, Gabrielle had made up plenty of excuses for her mother. Naomi had cancer and was going to die.