HL 04-The Final Hour by Andrew Klavan Read Free Book Online Page B

me were guys I had seen out in the exercise yard around the weights. They were the guys with swastika tattoos—the ones who had come to my rescue when I’d been attacked. Suddenly, they were on every side of me. My hand, lifting my spoon from the tray to my mouth, froze and hovered in midair.
    “Go on eating,” said the man to my right.
    I knew him. Everybody in Abingdon knew him. His name was Joe Chubb. His nickname was Blade. He was the guy who’d knocked out the wolf-faced man when he tried to kill me in the yard. He was the leader of the swastika boys. Not a nice guy. He was in here for murder. He’d beaten a man to death in a bar, just punched him in the head until he stopped breathing. It was easy to picture him doing something like that too. He was a scary-looking dude, no question. Tall and wide with dirt-brown hair and a face that looked like someone had banged it out of a rock with a hammer. His skin was full of ridges and scars. Some of them were acne scars. Some of them were put there with weapons of one kind or another. He wore a close, pointed beard that gave him a devilish appearance. But the scariest thing about him was the look in his eyes. It was kind of a distant, dreamy look but not in a good way. He seemed to be dreaming something violent and evil. It seemed like that was a good dream for him, like he was enjoying it and maybe when he woke up, he’d try to make his dreams come true.
    He spoke in a low murmur, a guttural purr. It made me think of a cat torturing a mouse to death and having a fine old time at it.
    “Listen,” he said. “We’re on the move. We could use you.”
    I just sort of blinked at him. I didn’t understand what he meant.
    “We’re getting out of here,” he went on, under his breath.
    “Out?” I said.
    “Keep your voice down, punk.”
    Then I understood. They were planning an escape.
    “Are you crazy?” I started to say. And then I dropped my voice to a whisper and said it again: “Are you crazy? That’s impossible. You’ll be killed.”
    Blade shook his head. He smiled another dreamy smile. “Nothing’s impossible, punk. It’s all set. Right after Christmas.”
    I took a quick glance around to see if the guards were watching us. They stood with their backs against the wall, scanning the room, but none of them seemed to be paying particular attention to me and Blade.
    I pretended to go on eating. “What do you want with me?” I asked him out of the side of my mouth.
    “We could use you,” he said again.
    “Why?”
    “I can’t explain that now. This isn’t the time or place. Just tell me: Are you in or out?”
    I didn’t know what to say. Why would a guy like Blade come to me? I just sat there, staring stupidly.
    “In or out,” Blade said again, more urgently this time. “Which is it, punk?”
    Finally, I managed to shake my head. “I’ve got an appeal on. My lawyer says I could be free in a couple of months . . .”
    “Listen, brainless, you don’t have a couple of months,” Blade purred with an ugly-sounding laugh. “Your Islamist buddies haven’t changed their plans. I have that solid. They still mean to put a shiv in you. You stick around and the only way you’ll get out of here is in a box.”
    I glanced at him. He wasn’t kidding. I believed him too. Blade was the sort of guy who knew things, heard things. All the information in the prison seemed to make its way to him eventually. If he said the Islamists were going to try to kill me again, it was pretty certain he was right. It made sense. With Prince on the loose, every Islamo-fascist in the prison would be looking to take a shot at me and earn his favor.
    “We won’t be around to protect you this time,” Blade told me. “One way or another, we’ll be gone.”
    I nodded. I understood. But what difference did it make? Obviously there was no way I was getting myself involved in a prison break—especially not with this gang of Nazi nutbags. I would just have to try to stay alive