The monitor that ought to be showing the infirmary was black.

Dead? Larry thought.

Monitors frequently malfunctioned in the jail, due to a lack of funds and qualified maintenance techs, but something in Larry’s belly told him this was no accident.

He bolted for the stairs, wrenched himself sideways to fit through the door, then pounded down to the second floor, where he crashed through the door and veered left, toward the little infirmary room. With every step he saw Dr. Cage lying motionless on the infirmary floor, his lips and fingernails blue. Or worse, hanging from a belt like so many inmates Larry had seen in his life.

When he pushed open the infirmary door, Larry saw Dr. Cage sitting in the blood-drawing chair, his open hand held out before him. Deputy Gilbert Dunwoody was passing him one of the little white cups they used to dispense pills.

Three strides carried Larry across the room.

Dr. Cage didn’t even look his way, so lethargic did he seem, but Dunwoody backpedaled immediately, like a man with a guilty conscience. Larry closed his hand around Dunwoody’s wrist, which he could easily break.

“What you got in that cup, Woody?”

“Nothing!” cried Dunwoody. “Lemme go!”

Larry looked back over his shoulder. Dr. Cage appeared only marginally alert. “Did you axe for medicine, Doc?”

“I was having chest pain. I need a nitro pill.”

“Well . . . let’s see what kind of pill Dunwoody got in his cup here. Come over here, Doc.”

As Tom Cage leaned forward, Dunwoody dropped the little cup from his pinned hand, then stomped on the cup and the floor around it with his boot.

“Dr. Cage already took his pill!” Dunwoody said. “Let’s see you prove different.”

Larry closed his hand tighter around Dunwoody’s wrist and looked hard at the floor. He saw a fine white powder around the crushed cup.

“Ahghh! You lemme go, goddamn it! You’re gonna have to explain this to the sheriff!”

“Fuck the sheriff,” Larry growled. “I’m gonna go down to one of them TV trucks and tell ’em you just tried to kill Dr. Cage. How ’bout that?”

Dunwoody’s eyes went wide.

Larry squeezed tighter, tight enough for Dunwoody to know how badly he could hurt him if he wanted to. Then Larry released the bony wrist.

Dunwoody cried out in relief, then scrambled for the door. After it banged shut, Larry turned to Dr. Cage, who was looking dazedly at him.

“What you think that powder is, Doc? Some kind of poison, you reckon?”

Tom Cage followed Larry’s pointing finger with his eyes, then shrugged as though the matter didn’t interest him.

“You want me to call Quentin? Or the FBI maybe?”

Dr. Cage shook his head.

“It’s okay, Doc,” Larry said gently. “I’ll get you some more medicine. The right kind this time. And I’ll sit by your cell till morning.”

Friday
Chapter 62