FORTY

Amanda got into the bunk with Clint, reached into his pants, and took hold of him. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, dropping it on the floor. He wondered if the guard would come along and interrupt them.

She crawled down between his legs and peeled off his trousers, then took him in her hand and stroked him. The guards always made her take them in her mouth, but what she wanted to do with Clint Adams was just mount him and then ride him slowly, at her own speed. When the guards stuck it in her, they fucked her hard and fast, until they had their pleasure, and then they left her. She hadn’t had any satisfaction since she came to Yuma Prison.

As she mounted him and took him into her steamy depths, she whimpered, almost started crying. Clint let her have her way, riding him for as long as she wanted, and as long as he could hold out before he exploded inside her. They both bit their lips to keep from crying out and then she snuggled up to him beneath the blanket and they went to sleep . . .

* * *

In the morning the guard, Rock, woke them and told Amanda, “Come on out.”

She got up and, while Rock watched, pulled her dress back on.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ll see you again.”

“I’m counting on it,” Clint said.

She left the cell, which Rock locked, and they walked away.

* * *

Later Rock came with his breakfast and Clint asked him, “What’s Amanda in for?”

“She stole a bunch of money,” Rock said.

“How much?”

“I hear it was forty thousand dollars,” he said, “but nobody knows where she put it.”

“Ah,” Clint said as Rock walked off. That was why she was getting special treatment. And maybe why he was getting it, too.

* * *

Later Rock came to him and asked, “You wanna get some exercise?”

“In the yard?”

“Up to you, the warden said,” Rock told him.

Clint didn’t see a problem with going into the general population—not after what had happened. It would be a while before they put together another attempt on his life.

“Okay,” he said, “let’s go.”

Rock walked him out to the yard, where he quickly found Cates.

“What the hell are you doin’ out here?” Cates asked.

“Relax,” Clint said. “I don’t think they’ll try anything again so soon—and not out in the open.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“What are you in for, Cates?”

“Banks, stagecoaches, trains,” Cates said. “You name it. I was a regular Jesse James.”

“You wanna get out?”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m going to find Harlan Banks today.”

“That fella you been lookin’ for?” Cates asked. “So he’s in here?”

“He is,” Clint said, “and when I find him, we’re getting out.”

“Breakin’ out?”

“Unless somebody wants to open the doors for us.”

“How?”

“Not sure yet, but I’m going,” Clint said. “You want to come?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “be ready for anything, okay?”

“I always am.”

* * *

Clint stayed in the yard for a couple of hours, mostly just sitting on some stone steps and talking with Cates. At one point one of the guards came walking over to where they were.

“Adams?” the guard asked without looking at him.

“That’s right.”

“Hang back when they start goin’ back inside.”

“What for?”

The guard looked at him.

“Hell, do I know?” he asked. “I’m just deliverin’ a message.”

“Okay,” Clint said. “Message delivered, Thanks.”

The guard nodded and walked away.

“Could be a trap,” Cates said.

“Could be I’m going to see Banks,” Clint said.

“You gonna take the chance?”

“That’s what life is all about,” Clint said. “Taking chances.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“No, you’ve done enough,” Clint said. “Like I said, just be ready.”

“I’m ready.”

Clint nodded. When the guards started taking the prisoners in, he hung back, like he was told. Before long he was alone in the yard.

Alone.