“His wife,” Ethan nodded. “Transfer date: October 14, 1998. Amount: $150,000.
That was the first tranche from the same mob fund.” Val let out a low whistle. “One hundred fifty grand.
Back in ’98, that could buy half a town. And that son of a gun had us living on slop.” “Keep writing,” Ethan said, closing his eyes.
“Archive access code: 77alphaomega. That’s the key. If North’s people on the outside use it, they’ll open the full transfer history.
They’ll see Doran has been skimming from them for three years.” Val wrote the last digits. His hand shook.
He stared at the scrap of cheap gray paper torn from a notebook. It was just numbers. But to the right people, it was a death warrant.
“You sure this works?” Val asked hoarsely. “North’s old-school. He doesn’t trust paper.
He trusts people.” “He trusts money,” Ethan said flatly. “These aren’t just numbers, Val.
This is blood from his own operation. Doran skimmed from the fund that supported men inside. You don’t argue over that. You cut throats over it.”
In the corner Corkscrew stirred.
He sat hugging his knees and rocking. His withdrawal had entered the worst stage. He was shaking.
His teeth chattered. “You’re dead,” he whimpered, staring at the others with wild eyes. “Doran will find out.
He’ll find out. He promised me.”
“What did he promise you, Sam?” Ethan turned toward him. The pain in his hand made his words sharp and clipped.
“A fix? Freedom?” “Parole,” Corkscrew whispered. “In a month.
Clean papers.” Ethan gave a bitter smile. “Look at me, Sam.
Look at my hand. You think Doran lets witnesses walk?” He stood, swaying a little.
He walked toward Corkscrew, though every step sent a pulse through his broken fingers. “You’re a fool, Sam. We’re a pressure cell.
We’re the dirtiest room in this whole jail. We know how Doran breaks people. We know his orders.
We know his secrets.” Ethan swept a glance around the cell. “Val is a former cop Doran framed.
You’re a junkie who’d sell out his own mother for a fix. Silent Mike is a black box. And I’m the accountant who knows where Doran’s money is.”
He leaned toward Corkscrew. “Doran is building a career. He needs a clean uniform.
And we are stains on it. The minute I sign and take the fall, this cell burns. Or there’s a fight. Or an overdose.”
Corkscrew froze.
His pupils widened. “They’ll clean us out.” Ethan said it calmly, like a weather report.
“All four of us. Because dead men don’t talk. Dead men don’t ask for heroin.
Dead men don’t blackmail with account numbers.” Val crushed an empty cigarette pack in his fist. “He’s right,” the former cop said dully.
“If I were Doran, I’d do the same thing. No witness, no problem. Standard operating procedure.”
“But he’s the boss,” Corkscrew said, crying now. Tears ran down his dirty face. “He’s the authority.”
“He’s not the authority here,” Ethan said, turning toward the table where the sheet with the numbers lay. “Information is. And right now, we have it.”
He looked at Silent Mike. Mike sat on the lower bunk, watching in silence. In his hands was a piece of bread he was kneading into a soft paste.
“Ready?” Ethan asked. Mike nodded. “Then make the capsule.”
Val tore a small piece of plastic from Ethan’s property bag. He rolled the note into a tight thin tube, wrapped it in the plastic, and sealed the edge with a lighter. It became a tiny waterproof capsule the size of a bean.
Silent Mike took it and pressed it into the ball of bread. With practiced fingers he rolled it smooth into a perfect sphere. Then he rubbed soot from the ashtray over the outside so the “mask”—that’s what they called these little hidden packages—would blend in with grime or trash if it fell.
“How’s it going out?” Val asked. “By line,” Mike rumbled. “Through the plumbing to 205.
Drifters in there. From them, up the chain to North’s wing. By morning the old man reads it.”
“If it doesn’t get intercepted,” Corkscrew muttered. There was a strange hope in his voice. Ethan turned sharply.
Corkscrew was staring at the door. He wasn’t listening to the rescue plan. He was thinking how to sell it to Doran for a fix, right now.
“Val,” Ethan said quietly, “we have a problem.” Val followed Ethan’s gaze. He saw it too—the sticky, darting look in Corkscrew’s eyes.
“Sam,” Val said gently, “come here.” Corkscrew pressed himself into the corner. “No.
You’ll kill me. You made a deal.” “We’re trying to save you, idiot,” Val said.
“If you snitch, Doran kills you first as a loose end. You understand that?” “No he won’t,” Corkscrew shrieked.
“He needs me. I know how to work. You… you’re traitors.”
He lurched to his feet, bracing himself on the wall. “I’ll call the guard. I’ll tell him you’re planning something, writing a note.”
Ethan saw the muscles tighten in Val’s neck. Val took a step toward Corkscrew. “Sit down,” he growled. “No.”
Corkscrew darted for the door and sucked in a breath to yell…
