Plans In Motion
Plans In Motion
The sun had long since dropped behind the high concrete walls of the prison, leaving the tiers in the flat, tired glow of fluorescent lights that never fully went dark.
The air inside the cell block carried its usual mix of industrial cleaner, old metal, and the restless heat of too many bodies in too small a space. Lucy sat on the edge of her bunk, elbows on her knees, staring at the scuffed floor between her feet. The longer the days stretched, the louder the doubts became.
“I don’t know, Mer,” she said quietly. “The whole thing keeps feeling thinner the more I think about it. What if something goes wrong on the way out? What if the timing slips and I get caught? They'd increase my sentence, and I'll be here even longer than I plan to be.”
Merida was on the top bunk, one arm behind her head, looking down through the dimness.
“You're already doomed to be in here for a significant chunk of ye life. Don’t get cold feet now. Your dad didn’t put this together for nothing. I'm sure he knows what he’s doing. And be honest with yourself—this is ya only real way out. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in here for something you didn’t even do, for a crime you never committed?”
Lucy rubbed her face with both hands. “No, I don't.”
“Then go through with ya father's plan,” Merida said, voice low but firm. “Grab the freedom while it’s being offered. Find the evidence you need. Clear your name. Get justice for your partner, Garret. And put Andreas Cimaro either in the ground or in a cell of his own, right exactly where a real criminal like him belongs. You stay here and this place will eat you up eventually. We both know it.”
Lucy was quiet for a long moment. The words settled over the last of her hesitation and pressed it flat. She let out a slow breath.
“Okay. I’m still in.” She looked up toward the upper bunk. “Thank you. For the trust and for the push.”
“Always,” Merida answered. "You're the toughest Lassie in this hellhole. You deserve better."
A few minutes later, the night-out call echoed down the tier. Lights dimmed further. The heavy quiet of locked cells settled in. Merida’s breathing eventually evened into soft snoring. Lucy remained awake, eyes open in the dark, turning the plan over and over in her mind; a plan she didn't yet know the details of, still waiting for a confrontation from her aider.
Roughly an hour later, soft footsteps stopped outside the bars. A male guard leaned close and tapped once, just loud enough.
Lucy heard the tap, eyes still open, and she sat up.
“Tomorrow’s the day,” he whispered. “I’ll put you on kitchen duty. The door that leads out to the loading area will be unlocked. Truck leaves at ten. Be under it before then. They’ll search the inside. The underside usually gets less attention."
"Usually?" She echoed silently, not encouraged by his use of that word.
"Just stay still and deep enough and you’ll be fine. No one will see you. Once you’re clear of the gates and the truck stops in town, you get off and go meet up with your people.”
He straightened and walked away without waiting for a reply.
In the dark above her, Merida’s voice came soft and certain. “Guess the day’s finally here. Soon, you’ll be free again.”
Lucy stared at the ceiling and said nothing.
.
.
.
Across the city, the evening traffic moved in slow rivers of red taillights. Carla drove with one hand on the wheel, the heavy bag of cash on the floor behind the passenger seat. Lancelot sat beside her, quiet but watchful. When she pulled into the drive-through parking lot of a quiet fast-food place on the edge of town, she scanned the scattered cars until she found the one she wanted.
“That's the informant. Stay in the car,” she said, reaching for the bag.
“No.” Lancelot’s tone left no room for dispute. “I don’t trust this. Spy or not, that much cash is a reason to get stupid. I’m not letting you walk over there alone.”
Carla gave him a flat look, then shrugged. “You're taking this whole knight in shiny armor thing too seriously. Sure, you saved me once, but I don't need your protection, so get over yourself."
"Correction. I've actually saved you twice now. So, from my perspective, it's pretty clear that you do need my protection."
She sighed in annoyance. "Suit yourself."
They both stepped out. The night air was cooler here, carrying the smell of fried food and exhaust fumes. The woman waiting beside a plain sedan looked anxious but composed, hands in the pockets of a light jacket. Carla stopped a few paces away.
"What's your alias?"
"Ghost," she answers quickly.
“You know why I’m here?”
The woman nodded. “Yes, I understand the objective.”
Carla tossed the bag. The woman caught it, opened it just enough to check the stacks, then closed it again.
“When you have something useful, call this number.” Carla handed over a small folded paper. “Memorize it. Don’t keep the paper. Be careful.”
“Tell Carolina Rossi I send my respects,” the woman said. She slid into her car and pulled away without another word.
Carla watched the taillights disappear, then turned back toward their vehicle. “We’re done. Let’s head back.”
Lancelot caught her wrist before she could open the door. His grip was warm, insistent, eager.
“What’s the rush?” he asked, voice lower now. “We’re outside. No one's watching. We have time. More time than we've had in three days. I say we make the most of it.”
He stepped closer, one hand sliding down to rest openly on her ass, pulling her flush against him. The kiss he gave her was slow and deliberate, full of heat. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his breath brushed her mouth. “What?! You don’t want me anymore?”
Carla held a straight face for two full seconds. Then she exhaled, reached into her pocket, and tossed him the keys.
“Drive.”
Lancelot’s smile was immediate and satisfied. They climbed back into the car. The engine turned over. The black vehicle pulled out of the lot and headed toward the motel a few blocks away, the night stretching open in front of them.