Part 32 (1/2)

Three seconds. Five. Eternity.

G'night, Sutton.

Night sir.

Five minutes. Ten.

Willie creeps to the cell door, kicks out the bar. Sucking in his gut and hunching his shoulders he somehow squeezes through the hole. He can't believe-he's standing outside his cell. Unsupervised. One portal down, seven to go.

He runs down to Egan's cell just as Egan is sliding through his own hole. They stand as they used to stand on the handball court, waiting for serve. Crouched, tensed, they can hear the keepers on the tier below.

Now what the h.e.l.l do you think Roosevelt's goin to do that Hoover couldn't?

I'll tell you what he won't do. He won't gun down Army vets in the street.

Well now that's a point, that's a point.

Willie and Egan tiptoe to the end of the tier, down three flights of stairs to the ground floor. The second portal, a wooden door, has a standard six-pin Corbin lock. Every other house in America has a Corbin. Willie has picked dozens of Corbins and this one takes all of three minutes. Egan laughs like a loon. Willie claps a hand over Egan's mouth.

The third portal is a padlocked gate. Willie takes out his s.h.i.+m, pops it.

He and Egan creep down a hall to the fourth portal, another wooden door, another Corbin. His fingers warmed up, Willie picks this one in a minute flat.

The fifth portal, another padlocked gate, is also no match for the s.h.i.+m.

They're in the dining room. Willie's breathing is so loud, he can't believe it's not waking the cellblock. He and Egan slip among the empty tables, down another stairway, to the sixth portal, the last wooden door, a Yale lock, even easier than a Corbin.

The seventh portal is a padlocked gate. Willie s.h.i.+ms the lock, but the s.h.i.+m breaks. s.h.i.+t, he whispers. Then he remembers-there are no more padlocks.

They enter the cellar. There. The ladders. They tape them together and carry the makes.h.i.+ft ladder to the steel door. Willie holds his breath as he slides the duplicate key into the lock. It doesn't fit.

So that's how it ends. With a faulty fake key. Son of a- Egan tries the handle. Unlocked. Slowly the eighth portal falls open. The yard is eerie, quiet. A frosty night. The stars look like a child's silver jacks. They sprint to the wall, staying between the beams of the searchlights, and set the ladder. Egan goes first. Then Willie. At the top is a catwalk. Willie braces for the twenty-five-foot drop. He can already feel his ankle breaking. But the gra.s.s is surprisingly soft. Other than a twisted knee he comes through the jump fine. Egan too. They dash up a dirt incline to the road, where their getaway car is waiting. A familiar face behind the wheel.

Photographer leans against his window. Are we almost there?

Almost, Sutton says.

Where are we going again?

The Sundowner Hotel, Sutton says. My first stop after I crashed out of Sing Sing. Forty-Seventh and Eighth.

Back to Times Square. Uh-huh. Great. We're officially driving in circles.

Life goes in circles kid. Why shouldn't we?

The radio squawks. Reporter turns it down. Mr. Sutton, exactly how did you crash out of Sing Sing? There's very little in the files.

Sutton puts a Chesterfield between his lips. Everything you ever saw in a prison movie, it started with me. Before me, you never heard about guys using hacksaws. After me, it was all the rage.

What I wouldn't give, Photographer says, for a hacksaw right now.

I made a friend, Sutton says. Johnny Egan. He got me some saws, picks. Then it was just a matter of arranging for someone to be waiting outside the prison.

Who did you get?

Bess.

Reporter hits the brakes. Photographer sits up. You're s.h.i.+tting us, Willie.

She read about my trial, of course. She came to see me my first month in the joint. Back then the visiting room at Sing Sing was pretty lax. No part.i.tions, no guards monitoring conversations. So I told her straight, I was going crazy, I was cras.h.i.+ng out, and I needed her help. I said I'd write her the exact date in a letter. Our mail was censored, so I promised to put it in code. Few weeks later, middle of a long rambling letter, I wrote: Do you remember that time we went walking at Coney Island, the stroke of midnight, December 12? She told her husband she had a bridge game with some girlfriends, snuck up to Sing Sing, picked us up outside the wall. She drove me and Egan down to Times Square, dropped us at the Sundowner-even brought us a change of clothes and some cash. And she was back home in four hours.

What was it like, Mr. Sutton? Seeing her again?

They stop at a red light. Sutton looks across the street. A coffee shop with a neon sign flas.h.i.+ng in the window. c.o.c.kTAILS. c.o.c.kTAILS. c.o.c.kTAILS. Outside the coffee shop sits a double-parked Dodge, no one in the driver's seat, a woman in the pa.s.senger seat. Sutton can tell. He can see it in her eyes. The woman is waiting for a man. A man that she loves.

Mr. Sutton?

Willie?

It felt like a dream, boys.

SIXTEEN.

Willie signs the register Mr. Joseph Lamb. He tells Egan to sign as Edward Garfield. Then he walks Egan up to his room.

That was a real nice lady who picked us up, Egan says.

Yeah.

Awful pretty. How do you know her again?

Look, Egan, just go in your room and stay there. Don't come out for anything. I'll come get you in the morning.

What if I want to go for a walk?

Absolutely not.

What if I need some air?

Open a window.

I get claustrophobic, Willie.

You were just in prison, Egan.

Willie looks hard at Egan, realizing how little he knows about this kid. Most of their time together has been spent playing handball. They've barely spoken fifty words. Willie doesn't even know what crime landed Egan in Sing Sing. A sick feeling comes over Willie. He remembers the first time he saw Egan, how he was reminded of Marcus.