Gregg unlocked the gate and Jerry walked through, leading the women toward the closed-off room at the end of the long hall.
As soon as the two women walked in, the men they had temporarily locked up in these cells until they could be moved into more permanent housing, slammed into the bars, arms reaching out, trying to grab them; jeering and yelling. It went from generally loud to unbearable in less than a second.
Jerry was sure it wouldn’t stop until they got the women out of here and even then, it would continue for days. Already Jerry was wondering if the money was truly worth it.
He started to walk faster so he could rush the visitors down the hall. He expected them to keep their heads down and their bodies as close to the far wall as possible so no one could put hands on them.
But the women abruptly stopped moving and, to Jerry’s horror, turned and faced the bars. The uproar should have gotten worse at that very moment. The yelling. The screaming. It should sound like the beginning of a riot. Except . . . it was as if a switch had been hit or a weird lever pulled. Because the noise stopped. Instantly. It didn’t peter out. All that yelling and screaming and attempted grabbing simply stopped in that very moment.
Staring at the women, the men lowered their arms and shut their mouths.
Jerry had only seen this sort of thing happen when Gregg suddenly entered without warning. But Jerry had always assumed that was simply because the men were intimidated by the man’s size and silence, just like everyone else.
But these were . . . women. Guys who ended up in these particular cells weren’t intimidated by any woman, whether they were guards or cops or nurses trying to help a wounded inmate. Women meant little to them except as something to grab and harass. At least that’s how it had always been . . . until now.
Fascinated and more than a little terrified, Jerry watched the women silently walk toward the bars. As they did, the men on the other side stepped back and back . . . until they were by the far wall. As far away from these two as they could get, but Jerry had the feeling that still wasn’t far enough.
Though the men moved away from them, the women continued to stand there, staring boldly at each inmate, locking eyes until each and every man looked away. They looked down, looked up, turned away . . . anything to avoid the direct eye contact that seemed to be terrifying them.
That’s when Gregg stepped in and led the way down the hall, toward the last door. Jerry followed, glancing over at the inmates to see at least two of the men quietly crying.
Maybe the women were the girlfriends of high-level gang members or something. Although when he thought about that even a little bit, it didn’t make sense. Not if Gregg was involved. He was the cleanest guy Jerry knew. Even moving these inmates didn’t seem like a backroom deal of some kind, but a government-run thing that helped keep the identities of those being moved a secret.
He’d helped Gregg with these kinds of transfers before and they’d always been relatively easy: Guys in suits would come in, quietly remove someone from a cell, and Jerry received an envelope filled with a healthy amount of cash. Funky, yes. But he knew fellow government employees when he saw them.
But these two women and the energy they brought to what should be another run-of-the-mill, underground event was just plain weird.
Finally, they all reached the end of the hall. Jerry was surprised that the inmates remained quiet. Not a sound from any of them. They were never quiet. The place was filled with noise day and night. Until right now.
“You ready?” Gregg asked the women.
The taller one rotated her finger while muttering, “Let’s just get this over with.”
“All right.” Gregg unlocked the metal door and pushed it open.
The inmate sat at a large table bolted to the floor. His legs were also shackled to the floor, and his arms were shackled to the chair.
“You’ve got five minutes,” Gregg told them.
The women nodded and entered the room. As Gregg closed the door, Jerry heard the taller one say, “All right, hoss. Ready to get this done?”
With the door closed, Gregg relaxed against the wall and waited. Jerry took a step back, wanting to take a quick look to make sure all that quiet was simply the men waiting—like him—for this to be over. And not that they were up to something.
But before he could reach a spot that would allow him to see what was going on, something heavy hit the metal door.
Jerry stopped and stared. That door was thick and only opened and closed so easily because of well-oiled hinges. But whatever had hit the door was thrown with such force that the metal door shook. That was weird.
He waited for Gregg to do something since he was closest to the door, but he didn’t do anything other than gaze down at his huge feet. Did he have to get his work boots specially made like Shaq did his NBA sneakers?
The door was hit again, the heavy metal actually bending this time. Like it might be knocked off its hinges. Jerry began to slowly walk backward. But when the door moved again and he heard snarls and growls from the other side, he immediately stopped.
After about a minute of door-rattling banging, the door opened just enough for the taller woman to stick her head out. She was no longer wearing her baseball cap and she was bleeding from bruises to her face and neck. Her weird-colored eyes—they seemed to glow in the harsh prison light—locked on Gregg.
“Uh . . . we could use some help in here.”
Gregg rolled his eyes and walked over to the door as the woman stepped back into the room. He grabbed the handle but stopped to look over his shoulder at Jerry.
“Don’t come in here,” Gregg warned. “No matter what you hear, okay?”
Jerry could only nod his head in reply. Because behind Gregg, Jerry could swear he saw a . . . a . . . well . . . a tiger leaping across the room, briefly passing by the partially open door.
But that was crazy, right? Right?
Gregg went inside and closed the door behind him. That’s when the roaring started. It didn’t stop. The door was hit so hard, several times, that Jerry was sure it would be torn out of its moorings.
Taking more steps back, he briefly glanced into the cells. There was no plotting going on. No grand schemes to start a riot or find a way out. There was just abject fear as every man huddled against the wall, waiting for all this to be over.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the door was wrenched open and Gregg came out, dragging the prisoner with him. Hog-tied with chains, the man was pulled across the floor until he was outside the room.
Bloody and battered, his clothes an absolute mess—as if he’d taken them off and put them on hastily—Gregg didn’t seem fazed at all, gripping the humongous white-haired man under his left arm. Still in the room, the two women were quickly putting their clothes back on, which was beyond weird. Why had they taken their clothes off in the first place? There hadn’t been time to have sex . . . right?
The women were as beaten up as Gregg, but they were moving with ease and didn’t seem bothered by all the blood they kept wiping from their faces. The hottie was still chewing her gum.
Once they were back in their bloody clothes, they strode up to stand on either side of the prisoner. They each grabbed him under the arm and proceeded to drag him down the long hallway back to the exit.
“Thanks, Gregg,” the hottie called out, as cheery as she’d been when the women had first arrived.