Slocum's Breakout Read Free

be her brother. As he got closer, he saw the pink half-circle scar on his cheek and knew this was José Valenzuela.
    A bell rang, and the convicts started moving toward the large central building where they were housed.
    â€œWait up,” Slocum said. “I’ve got a message for you. From your sister.”
    â€œFrom . . . Teresa?”
    â€œDon’t know that sister. Conchita says your pa is mighty ill and won’t last much longer.”
    Slocum fell into step beside Valenzuela as they made their way slowly toward the cell block.
    â€œShe sent you?”
    â€œWe’re going to have to break out. She said your lawyer couldn’t get clemency from the governor so you could be with your pa.”
    â€œDurant is such a pendejo . How long?”
    â€œConchita said he had a week or two at the outside.”
    â€œNo, no, how long before we break out? You have a plan?”
    â€œEverybody tells me nobody gets out, yet I’m in here impersonating somebody and they never caught on. The security might be as lax as the way they bring in prisoners.”
    â€œWho are you?”
    â€œCall me . . .” Slocum’s voice trailed off as they neared the huge man who had pointed out Valenzuela to him. “Call me John. Don’t call me by the name I used to get inside.”
    â€œYou took the place of another to free me? So I could escape and see my papa?” Valenzuela stared at Slocum, openmouthed. “You are not my amigo, yet you would do this for me, a stranger?” Then he burst out laughing. “You are the novio of my darling Conchita! You do this for loving her!”
    â€œKeep your voice down,” Slocum said.
    â€œOh, this is bueno, muy bueno .”
    â€œJarvis, you and him got off to a good start,” the huge prisoner said, scowling. “You know him from the outside?”
    â€œJarvis, eh?” Valenzuela nodded sagely.
    â€œWhat’s goin’ on?” The prisoner stepped in front of them, blocking their way to the cells, blocking most of the sun as well. “I thought you was gonna have a cow when I said I wanted to beat Jasper Jarvis to a bloody pulp. You are a relative of his?”
    â€œOh, no, Big Mike, he—”
    â€œShut your trap, Meskin. I ain’t talkin’ to you.”
    â€œI’m not looking for a fight,” Slocum said. He rubbed his left hand over the spot where his cross-draw holster usually hung. He felt naked without his Colt Navy and how especially vulnerable he was now. They were drawing a small crowd. The last thing he wanted was to attract attention, and now he was the center of it.
    â€œYou some lily-liver like Jasper Jarvis? He always run when it came to a fight.”
    â€œFight! Fight!” The chant went up, and Slocum knew he couldn’t walk away.
    â€œLook, it’s this way . . .” He stepped a little closer, then launched a kick aimed at the big man’s crotch. Slocum’s aim was an inch off, and he caught a heavily muscled inner thigh. The impact hurt his knee and sent him stumbling back. And then he was engulfed in two hundred and fifty pounds of smelly, fighting convict.
    Slocum blocked a hard punch that would have taken off his head, then another intended to kill him. He danced back favoring his knee, sized up his opponent, faked another kick to the balls, then caught the man’s overreaction by driving his fist straight for his belly. Slocum felt the shock all the way up into his shoulder. Every part of this Goliath was oak-hard. Breath whooshed from the man’s lungs, then he took a step back and sat down hard, his face beet red as he gasped for air.
    Slocum had been in enough fights to know it wasn’t over. He judged distances again and launched another kick. The toe of his boot caught the man square on the chin and snapped his head back. This time when the convict flopped onto his back, he was out like a light.
    â€œYou, get back, get back!” Guards