Equity

Chapter 3

He was lying on his bunk in his cell, staring at the ceiling, his stomach full after the evening chow. He was smiling, his expression cynical. Oh, they'll find the money all right, what little there was left of it, as he thought of his other hiding place containing the gems. I think I'll make that call now. He climbed out of the cot and moved the few steps to the bars. "Guard," he yelled. After a moment, he heard the pad of soft soled shoes approaching.

"What's the matter, Sampo?"

"I gotta make a phone call."

"Are you kiddin'? Why didn't you think of this after chow?"

"C'mon Brandon," he pleaded with the guard, "just one call. There's ten bucks in it for you."

"OK," the guard acquiesced, "but make it snappy." He motioned to the control booth to open the cell.

Later that evening, Sampo was getting ready for bed. It was just before lights-out, and he was eager to get to sleep, to be in the dream. He was like a kid with a new toy. He lay down and closed his eyes. Bring it on suckers, he thought contemptuously.

#

He was again in the meadow. The red sun was bright and hot. He walked to the edge of the pond and practiced skipping some flat stones he found lying there, watching the red, concentric rings dissipate as they grew farther apart. He grew bored with this after a while, and began to wonder if this place was going to be as much fun as he thought. Still, it was peaceful; a person could forget a lot of things here.

He looked over toward the woods, thinking of the noise he'd heard the last time. Hands in his pockets, he strolled casually to the edge of the woods. Sunlight glinted through the tops of the trees, and cast dappled shadows on the forest floor. He walked a ways further in, then angled parallel to the tree line, keeping it more or less in sight.

The soft carpet of leaves underfoot began to slope down, and presently he came to a small stream. He was thirsty, but leery of the wine-colored water. He bent down, and after a tentative taste decided it was all right; using his hands as a scoop, he drank his fill.

He moved to a fallen log and sat down with his back against it, letting the cool, forest air soothe him as he closed his eyes. a dark shadow crossed his face, and startled, his eyes snapped open. He saw that the sun had gone behind a cloud. "Shit," he said out loud, angry at himself for momentarily panicking. Probably going to rain; that's all I need, he thought.

Then he heard it, and he went very cold. It was like the protracted hiss an angry tomcat makes, only much deeper in timbre, and louder. He knew what it was; he had heard the same sound at the zoo, when the herpetologist was trying to catch a King cobra, so that she could milk the snake's venom. He remembered that the big snake never backed down, never on the defensive, always pushing forward with its head high and arched, trying to get at the handler. He thought that was what frightened and awed him the most—the cobra's persistence and aggressiveness from the moment the handler stepped into the cage.

He forced his eyes to the left where the sound came from, his body ridged with fear. Oh God, he thought. It was there about ten yards away, its head raised near chest high and swaying slightly on a body as thick as his arm, the red-bronze hood fully expanded. The dusty-smoke eyes regarded him with pure hate.

If I move slow, get a leg up, I might have achance, thinking he would try to outrun it. He cautiously began to flex hisknee. But the big snake missed nothing, and started for him, covering groundwith surprising speed. He got to his feet which tangled as he tried to bolt,and he went sprawling. He started to get back up, and then he heard that awfulroar of a hiss behind him. Swiveling his head with a jerk, he saw the hugehead, mouth open, descend in a sweeping stroke. He screamed a long scream.