The latch popped, and the warden pushed the door open. It was a library as expected, with stacks and rows of books. The musty smell reminded Sidney of her days in high school. She'd done a lot of reading back then. Large wooden tables were lined up neatly, resting on old hardwood floors. Two correction officers in gray shirts and black pants held synthetic stocked shotguns on either side of a table. A man in an orange jumper sat there between them. His head was down over a newspaper and his dark straight hair dangled over his face. Her heart thumped behind her temples. I can just stay inside, just out of earshot, the warden said, patting the semiautomatic pistol on his hip.
She lifted her brow. I don't think he'll try to escape, or even hurt me, for that matter. It's not in his profile. The warden blocked her view of the prisoner and whispered, I've read his profile too. Several times. He as a dark side to him. I know, but don't all men? Warden Decker nodded and stepped aside. Come on, men. But at the last second, he turned to her and said, gradually getting loud enough for the prisoner to hear. As long as you stay out of the stacks, I've got eyes on everything. Just signal when your finished. The guards came forward, eyeing her as they passed the threshold. Uh, Warden- Warden Decker held his hand up and led them out. Sidney glanced over her shoulder as the door began to close, just in time to see Warden Decker swallow. Her heart skipped a beat as the door sealed shut. She turned and faced the prisoner. Pull it together. He's just another creep, Sidney. She approached him, heart thumbing. It was even hotter in the library, and she could feel the beading above her lip. Her eyes slid toward the camera globes above.
Those things better be on. She dropped her file on the table, dragged a chair back, and sat down. The man across from her, eyes still down, turned a page on the newspaper. John Smoke, she said, soothing her file in front of her and opened it, I'm Agent Shaw with the FBI. How are you doing today? Without glancing up, he said, You're different than I expected. What are you, about five foot eleven? That's tall for a gal. And you're even wearing flat shoes. The last one I met was a sawed off- dumpling with Coke- bottle glasses. I didn't like her so well. He scanned the paper, turned the last page, folded it up, and pushed it aside. He clasped his fingers together and looked down into her eyes. Volleyball. I bet you played collegiate volleyball. Smoke was hawkish, but handsome. His chestnut hair was thick and cut just above the neck. His eyes were dark with a burning fire behind them. He was a strong chinned, lean, well knit- man with hands the size of mits. This is business, Mister Smoke, not a social call.
You know- he eased back in his chair - you aren't exactly what I figured for an FBI woman. I was expecting someone a little less, well, a lot less- to keep it professional- appealing. I have to say, it's a nice surprise. He scratched the scruff on his cheeks. Shaw. Is that your maiden name? Sidney didn't have a ring on. I'll ask the questions. You just answer them. Well, you haven't asked anything yet. His voice was a little rough, with a hair charm behind it. He clasped his fingers together and rested them on his head. I'm all yours. All right, Mister Smoke- Smoke, he interrupted. Excuse me? Just call me Smoke. He winked. That's what everyone calls me. Sure, she said. First question then. Are you interested in getting your sentence commuted? He shrugged. I'm starting to hate this guy. Sidney had viewed dozens of prisoners over her career. She'd negotiated with many. Every time she mentioned someone getting their sentenced commuted, their eyes lit up. Smoke's hadn't.
You're less than a year into your three year sentence, she continued. And when I say commute, I'm not talking about months off. I'm talking about years. Rubbing a bruise on his cheek just below the ear, he said, I've become pretty fond of this old place. He glanced around. It speaks to me. Warden Decker says you and the other prisoners don't get along so well. He's such a woorywart. Nice guy, though. I've been a formed that theirs a bounty on your head. She leaned forward. In most cases, the superior numbers get you. One slip- up or pay off the guards will get you killed in here. It keeps me sharp, he said. Getting killed? People trying to kill you is always the best training. I see, she said. And I guess I shouldn't be surprised after reading your file. She leafed through some pages. You've had quite a career for a man under thirty. Navy Seal. Ex Washington P. D. Bounty Hunter. Prisoner. Now that's quite a resume. Chicks dig it.
There aren't any chicks around here, and there won't be for the next two years. The funny thing I came across is how you wound up here in the first place. You are a decorated veteran, though not without some marks. Tell me, why'd you leave the Seals? I didn't like the pay. Oh the pay, she said, eyeing the file and nodding, but that's not what it says here. The gist I got was that you are difficult to control. Insubordinate. You struck an officer. He had a big mouth. He was a general. He had a really big mouth. He shrugged. And I got an honorable discharge. I hope you read that far. I see, she said. So you didn't like the military? Listen, Agent Shaw. I loved the military. But there.is a lot standing around, training and waiting. I got bored. It doesn't say here. Do you believe everything you read? Interesting. But at least he's talking. Let's skip over the Washington P.D and talk about why you became a bounty hunter.
Better money. Really? So you're all about the money?
Yes.
I don't believe you.
I don't care.
Typical stubborn man. Fine. Let's talk money then. The last goon you brought in was worth ten thousand.
It should have been fifty, and I still haven't received payment for that. No, Sidney said,cocking her head. Well, I wonder why that is? Smoke looked away and growled in his throat a little. He mumbled something. Sidney leaned forward and turned her ear toward him. What was that? The room seemed darken when Smoke's eyes narrowed. He slammed his fist on the table. Wham! He had it coming!