He watched Morgan rise to join them, sitting down close on Becky’s other side. “Get the clothes at some charity shop,” Morgan said. “Wash them in lye soap, we don’t want lice.”
“The other thing,” Lee said, “we need to know what’s on the other side of the wall. The train track has to be close, the whistles damn near take your head off, but we need to know the layout, what’s on beyond.”
“There’s a General Motors plant,” Morgan said, “a car distribution center. On behind that, unless things have changed, there’s an open field. But check it all out, see if it’s still the same, see how the field lies in relation to the wall and the track.”
Lee told her where to leave the clothes and money. “We’ll let you know later when to drop it. Once we’re out of here, there’ll be no contact. Morgan won’t be making any calls from some pay phone, the bureau boys would pick it up in a minute.
“Once we’re gone,” Lee said, “you won’t be finished with it, Becky. Make no mistake, the feds will be all over you, they’ll question you and question Sammie. Doesn’t matter that she’s just a child, they’ll try to drag information out of her, try for anything they think they can use.”
“Why do you want to go with Morgan?” Becky said. “If you stay here, you’ll be getting out soon.”
“I don’t know why,” Lee snapped. “Because I’m crazy. Because he can’t do it alone, he doesn’t know anything about hopping the trains, about avoiding the law. He doesn’t know anything much that will help him.” He took her hand. “Don’t tell Sammie any more than she’s overheard or guessed. Whatever she knows will put her on the spot. If she dreams this you’ll have to make her understand, make her swear to keep silent.
“You’d better start teaching her now,” Lee said. “Not to talk to anyone about this, not to your aunt, not to the maid, not to your mother. Sure as hell not to a bureau agent. Anything she says, even if it’s only a dream, an agent might run with it.” Lee glanced up past Becky toward the half-open door, at the shadow of the guard standing in the hall. “Morgan will let you know the rest, let you know the timing. We’ve been talking too long, I need to get out of here.” He rose and left them, and didn’t look back.
Telling Becky about the plan scared him, that she wouldn’t keep their secret, but they needed her. The idea of Sammie’s dreams disturbed him all the more, the thought that she might innocently let a hint drop, meaning no harm. But Sammie was a wise child. He told himself that with Becky’s help she’d learn to be still, would learn to lie for her daddy.
28
THAT’S NOT A wall, it’s a mountain,” Morgan said. “There’s no way we can get over that baby.” They stood on the steps leaning against the rail where Lee had first seen the flaw in the concrete. It was two days after they’d told Becky their plan. Below them the big yard gleamed with puddles, bouts of rain had swept through all day.
“People climb mountains,” Lee said dryly. “You’ve already made the rods. What’s the matter with you, what did Becky say?” Morgan had just come from visiting hour. Lee had skipped this one; it was the last time the two would be together. “She’s not angry again?” Lee said warily. “Did she get the clothes, the money? Or did she . . . ?”
“She got everything we asked for,” Morgan said, pulling his coat tighter against the chill. “She’s not mad. She’s . . . quiet. Trying to hold it in. This is hard on her, Lee. What if . . . ?” Morgan shook his head. “I’m not sure I can do this to her.”
“It’ll be harder on her if you don’t. If you never get out of here, never get an appeal.”
Morgan stared up at the guard tower, his hands clutched white on the rail. “She drove the roads behind the wall, she’s done everything you asked. She’s just . . . She said there were still open fields back there, the weeds waist-high from the rain. She thought the distance from the wall to the train track was about five hundred yards. Said there’s a signal pole beside the track, she’ll leave the bundle of clothes in the weeds near its base. Said she’d stuff them in a greasy gunnysack the way you said, smear it with mud and lay some dead weeds over it.”
Lee had to smile at Becky crouched in the weeds, messing around in the mud like a kid herself.
“She went to the city library, found a map of the railway lines, drew a rough copy. She took half a day off from work to get everything together, buy the used clothes, draw out the money. That’s all the money we have, Lee. She has nothing to pay Quaker Lowe, she . . .” Morgan shook his head. “She said that from Atlanta the freight will go either to Birmingham or Chattanooga depending on the timing, she couldn’t find a schedule for that. Then on to Memphis, Little Rock, across Oklahoma and the Texas Panhandle to Albuquerque.”
“Then Arizona,” Lee said, “and into California.” He wanted to stop in Blythe, draw out the prison-earned money he’d deposited. Money he’d carried with him when he was paroled from McNeil, plus what he’d earned in Blythe; he thought they’d need every penny.
Right. Stop in Blythe, and what if he were spotted approaching the bank or inside, when he tried to close his account? Who could say how much more the feds knew by now about the post office robbery? What other details might they have picked up? If they had anything more pointing to him, they’d have put an alert on his account. If they had and he showed up to draw his cash, the clerk would call the local cops. He and Morgan would end their journey right there, in the Blythe slammer.
Don’t borrow trouble, Lee told himself. Quit worrying. Wait until we reach Blythe, then play it the way it falls.
“Becky followed the track as best she could in the car,” Morgan said. “There’s a switching yard to the left about three miles. She couldn’t tell how much security they have, she saw only one guard moving among the workmen. But the cars were crowded close, so maybe we can keep out of sight. We’ll have to watch it, not ride out of town in the wrong direction.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Lee said. “Either way, Chattanooga or Birmingham, we’ll be all right, we’ll take whichever we draw.” They had already timed the sweep of the spotlight beams, where they crossed each other. There was some two hundred feet of open yard to cross to reach the flaw and the blind spot. They had ten seconds between sweeps, to cover the distance, and Lee was no track star. He didn’t know if he was fast enough or if he’d blow it right there.
“I’ll work my regular supper shift,” he said. “Then we haul out. Hope to hell the storm passes.” He didn’t like to think about climbing those metal rods if they were slick with rain. But maybe it would clear by tomorrow. He was having trouble breathing. He told himself it was from the pain of the healing wound, but he knew it was from worry—worry over the moves to come, worry over Morgan’s sudden reluctance. He’d like to know what more Becky had said to make him pull back. When the rain came hard again, driving down at them, they hurried under the nearest overhang.
Misto followed them floating close to Lee and reaching out a paw to softly touch Lee’s ear. Lee glanced his way, scowling, but then with a crooked smile. The ghost cat—his coat perfectly dry in the downpour—having listened to their plans and to Morgan’s hesitance, now shadowed them as they headed away to supper.
But at the door to the crowded mess hall with its smell of overcooked vegetables and limp sauerkraut, he left them again, returning to his dance in the rain. Leaping through the pelting onslaught dry and untouched, he rolled and tumbled thirty feet above the exercise yard, landed atop the prison wall and crouched a few feet from the guard tower, looking in.