Burnington Gaol

F O U R | Jimmy

Jimmy's legs were burning.

They felt as if somebody had stuck a match against them, lit them up like the Fourth of July. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead as he jogged through the empty southern streets – dark, lonely, dangerous. The streetlamps soon fazed from a blinding white to a soft yellow, and he realised where he was: Brosna.

Jack must be close, he thought as his jog slowed to a walk.

He looked forward, panting, keeping pace. His feet crunched under the green, broken glass, scattered along the sidewalk, dried blood crusted on the jagged edges. A distant but violent scream ripped into the night. Jimmy flinched. Another fight. Another woman, he thought.

The escaped convict soon ducked into an alleyway, careful not to tread on two empty needles, discarded half a metre from an old dumpster. He heard a emphysema-ridden cough from an old homeless man, sitting further along in the dark.

Now he had stopped moving, Jimmy began to shiver. The icy air easily pierced the old scarlet jumpsuit, and he rubbed his arms like a child. You did it. He thought, leaning back against a graffitied wall. You're out. You're safe. But Frank... He didn't make it. You have to go back for him. He lowered his eyes. But how?

From nearby, Jimmy tuned into the sound of Jack's horrendous, spluttering Chevrolet Lumina as it trudged around the bend. He dared a peek around the corner, stepped into the street as it pulled up. It truly was an awful car – peeling paint and dented doors, scratches and tarp-and-duct-tape windows. It looked like it had been used in a monster truck rally, but Jimmy didn't care. To him, that car was freedom.

He jumped in, buckled his seatbelt with shaking hands. He then looked at to his old friend in the driver's seat. Jackie was in his fifties with had salt and pepper hair, an overly large nose, and rings under his eyes. He looked at Jimmy expectantly.

"Where's Frank?"

Jimmy's mouth twitched.

"He didn't make it."

Jackie offered a look of sympathy, then hit the accelerator.

***

"We have to get him out," Jimmy said, downing a glass of whiskey at Jack's kitchen table.

"We will. We just need a plan."

Jimmy sat the empty glass down, offered an upwards glance as Jack topped it up.

"Is there another way in?" Jack asked, taking a seat.

"No. I looked all over the Gaol. One way in, one way out. Always guarded."

"Then maybe you could wear a disguise?"

"And where in the hell would I get a disguise?"

"Hey, don't snap at me because you screwed up. I'm trying to help you."

Jimmy clenched his jaw, frustrated.

"No, you're right. I'm sorry."

With a sigh, Jimmy turned and looked over Jack's apartment once more. A second-hand couch and TV, an old mattress he found in an alley, stuck in a corner with Salvation Army sheets and blankets. Jimmy shook his head, lowered his eyes.

"There is one thing we haven't considered," Jack said.

Jimmy's eyes flicked up, intrigued.

"What?"

"Clearing your name."

Jimmy laughed bitterly.

"Like anybody would listen to us."

"Not us," he said. "Somebody else."

"Who? A private investigator? I have no money – and neither do you, for that matter."

"No," he said again. "Somebody they would never expect. A woman, maybe. Everybody underestimates a woman."

"You want to hire a woman to clear mine and Frank's names? What woman would do that – and for free, might I add?"

Jack averted his eyes, his eyebrows furrowing.

"There is somebody," he chirped, looking up. "She lives in the Gaol with her father. He's a guard there. You remember Ed Wilson?"

"Wilson," Jimmy echoed. "Yes. A good man."

"His daughter. Her name is Adeline. Did you ever see her?"

Jimmy shook his head. Jack topped up their drinks.

"They keep her away from the inmates, naturally," he said, putting the bottle down. "We could ask her."

"And why on earth would she agree?"

"We don't give her the choice. You are innocent, Jim. You and Frank. And we're running out of time. We need to do whatever it takes."

Jimmy bit his lip, considering.

"I don't know, Jackie."

"Think about it, Jim! Nobody would suspect her. She knows people, has connections to law enforcement. She could ask questions and nobody would bat an eye. And they're more likely to help her because she is the daughter of a guard."

Jimmy paused, bit his lip. Jack was right – they were running out of time, and there was no way he could get in and out of the gaol again, not with the security measures they were sure to take after his escape.

"Fine," he sighed. "How do I find her?"

"You don't. Ed never leaves her alone. You'll have to make her come to you."

"And how do I do that?"

Jack smiled.

"I have an idea."

© A.G. Travers 2018