What Goes Around, Comes Around

(A Sweet Revenge Snippet)

 

James Marshall Gunther didn’t like doing the prison laundry. He was the CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation. Menial labor was beneath him! Still, it was the only way he could get out of his cell and into the prison population, and it was vital that he mingle with the other prisoners. Most of his own men were gone now, thanks to those infuriating detectives, Starsky and Hutch. Gunther smiled to himself. He almost succeeded in taking care of Starsky for good. The man was like a cat with nine lives! No one expected the detective to survive being shot by an automatic weapon, but he beat the odds and pulled through. And the minute Starsky opened his prying eyes; Hutchinson was after him like an avenging angel.

So here he was, spending his days and nights behind bars, forced to tolerate common thugs like Rico Gonzalez. Rico fancied himself as a major player in the drug industry, but if that were true, why was he here instead of on the outside? When Gunther found out that Rico had been convicted of trafficking in marijuana, he almost laughed himself silly. Pot was for little boys, not real men. If Rico couldn’t sell a few pounds of grass without getting caught, he wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes in Gunther’s industry. But Rico was the typical convict in this God-forsaken hole, and the only alternative for Gunther would be to spend twenty-four hours a day in his cell. If he did that, he would lose the tentative hold he still had on his crumbling empire. So, he endured the company of fools while he plotted his escape. And escape he would, one way or the other. He had been sending out feelers since his conviction, but would have to be patient. His turn would come eventually, all in good time. As it turned out, that time was closer than he thought.

Just six short months into his incarceration, Rico gave him the opening he needed. They were folding the clean uniforms for the guards and putting them into plastic bags when Rico muttered something interesting under his breath.

“These guards think we’re so stupid.”

Gunther frowned and looked sideways at the other prisoner. “Why do you say that?”

Rico gestured with his head. “Look over there. You see those big laundry carts they’re unloading?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“They roll those carts all over the prison, gathering up the dirty uniforms. The guards are so lazy that they just throw them down wherever they take them off and the trustees have to pick them up. Then they bring the carts back here and sort them out to be washed. One of the places they go is the main shower room, just a few feet from the back entrance.”

“So? I’ve been back there before, and it’s like Fort Knox. No one is going to escape from there.”

Rico snickered. “You can’t escape from there, old man, but there happens to be a drainpipe right in the middle of the shower room. It’s one of the largest drains in the prison, and it’s large enough for a man to climb down. Most people don’t know it, but the drain connects to the main sewer, which comes out a hundred yards from the back fence. There’s only a small alarm at the end of the sewer, but any gringo that knows how to disable a burglar alarm can take care of it. “

Gunther thought for a moment. “Well, if it’s so easy, why hasn’t anyone escaped that way?”

Rico sneered at him. “Why do you think? It’s a sewer! It’s nasty and it’s dark. Even these guards aren’t dumb enough to let a con walk around with a flash light. That sewer’s got to be at least a mile long, and when you’re swimming around in shit, that’s a long way to go. These little boys don’t have the stomach for it.”

Gunther sneered back. “Well, you think you’re so macho, why don’t you try it?”

“Are you nuts? I’ve only got three months left on my sentence then I’m out of here for good. Then it’s back to Mexico for me. You can have your land of the free and home of the brave. Back home, selling a little grass for extra pesos isn’t a big deal. I’ve had as much of the American dream that I can stand.”

Gunther was quiet for a while then looked back at Rico. “What would it take to get you to keep quiet about the sewer? I want this conversation to stay between you and me.”

Rico snorted. “Why? You aren’t thinking about trying it yourself, are you? You’ll never make it, old man. If you manage to get through the sewer, there’s another hundred yards of open ground before you get to the woods. They built it that way on purpose. They only have one guard for that part of the prison, but he only covers a small area. At the most, you’d have maybe two minutes to get to the woods before he spotted you. You’d give yourself a heart attack if you tried it. Take some advice, Gunther. Don’t try it. Find an easier way to get out of here. You haven’t got a prayer once you’re down in that sewer.”

Gunther simply shrugged then went back to work. We’ll see, you conceited little wetback. We’ll see.

He didn’t say anything else about the sewer after that. But for the next two months, he watched the guards closely and plotted his escape. He spent every spare moment in the prison gym, building up his strength and his stamina. He demanded a physical from the prison doctor, complaining of chest pains, and got a clean bill of health.  He made friends with prison guards and the trustees in charge of laundry, earning their confidence with his dwindling resources. Finally, two weeks before Rico was scheduled to be set free, Gunther made his move. As he waited for the rest of the convicts to settle down in their cells, Gunther smiled menacingly. Good-bye Rico. It looks like I’ll be getting out of here before you, after all. Don’t feel bad, though. You’ll find a friendly little welcome party waiting for you in Mexico, courtesy of Gunther Industries. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.

At precisely eleven o’clock, Gunther put on the special boots and coveralls that he had bought from the guards on his payroll. Five minutes later, a trustee came down the hall, pushing one of the large laundry carts in front of him. Then the guard at the end of the hall was called away on a minor emergency. It would be a false alarm of course, but it would give Gunther the time he needed to get down to the shower room. As soon as the guard left his station, Gunther pushed his cell door open (it was unlocked, courtesy of ten cartons of cigarettes and a wad of chewing gum placed in a strategic location) and climbed into the cart, burying himself under the dirty uniforms. No one paid any attention to the trustee pushing the cart, and they reached their destination without any problems. The room was empty and it would be a while before the guards started trickling in. Their shifts were staggered, to avoid congestion and to keep some areas of the prison from becoming vulnerable. Gunther would have fifty minutes to negotiate the sewer and come out on the other side. Then, when the guards changed shifts on the tower above the exit, he would run the final gauntlet, out of the sewer and into the woods. Everything was timed down to the last second. His plan could not fail.

Still, like all best laid plans, something went horribly wrong. He disabled the alarm easily, as he knew he would, but the grating that covered the sewer wouldn’t open at first! It was so rusted that Gunther spent precious minutes struggling with the large barrier. His heart was pounding in his chest when he finally felt the gate give way. Without looking, he climbed the tall ladder and ran for the woods. The flashing lights and sirens overhead were like a death knell.

HALT! STAY WHERE YOU ARE OR WE’LL SHOOT!

Gunther gave a hoarse cry and sprinted faster. He was only a dozen yards from success when he felt the first bullet slam into his back. He never felt the second.

 

           

The next morning, Sergeant Ken Hutchinson sat in his kitchen, reading the headlines on his newspaper.

            CONVICTED FELON JAMES MARSHALL GUNTHER SHOT WHILE TRYING TO ESCAPE.

 

The telephone rang as he was reading the article. “Hutchinson.”

Huggy’s voice came from the other end. “Did you happen to see today’s newspaper, Blondie?”

Hutch laughed. “Yeah, I’m crying big, fat crocodile tears as we speak.”

Huggy laughed with him. “Ain’t it a shame? It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”

“You got that right. One less scumbag that we have to support is what I say.”

“I hear you. How’s Starsky doing?”

“He’s doing great. The doc says it will be a while before he can hit the streets again, but he’s getting stronger every day. He got the striped tomato back from Merle’s yesterday and he’s out waxing it now.”

“Having his baby back should make him feel better, anyway. Well, gotta run. Give Curly my regards. And stop by sometime for a brew. I miss seeing your ugly mugs around here.”

“You got it, Huggy. And, Huggy, thanks. I owe you a big one.”

“De nada, my blond brother. Just doing my civic duty.”

“I hear you. And, tell Rico to send me a post card from Mexico. I owe him big, too.”

Huggy laughed. “That old boy ain’t going anywhere near Mexico, but I’ll tell him you said thanks.”

“I can definitely understand that. Later, Hug.”

“See you soon, compadre.”

Hutch read the article again, word for word. He smiled secretly and threw the paper in to the trash can.

 

“Burn in Hell, you rotten son-of-a-bitch.”

 

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