S A Reid [Reid - Protection

Protection

S. A. Reid

Copyright 2012 S. A. Reid

Second Edition

Cover design by J. David Peterson

All rights reserved.

No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Publishers Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictiously; any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

For M. F., a lion among men; and J.M., every day, especially Tuesdays

N ew inmates came to Wentworth Mens Prison on Sunday afternoons. They arrived by bus, shuffling single file down the vehicles steps and into the exercise yard. Gabriel MacKenna knew precisely what awaited them. First they would be marched to the infirmary, where their leg irons would be unlocked and a cursory medical exam would follow. Then the new men would be led down Wentworths long green and white halls to be kitted out. Jeers and laughter rang through the crisp spring air as the inmates emerged, but Gabriel didnt join in. He stood quietly in the shadow of the watchtower, smoking a Pall Mall and taking their measure.

Gabriel loved the taste of Pall Malls. Convicts detained at His Majestys Pleasure in April 1936 were issued half an ounce of plain tobacco and a dozen cigarette papers each month, but Gabriel was so skilled at cards, he rarely rolled his own. Wentworth was a modern facility, host to several experimental programs and far removed from its Victorian roots. Gone were the days when prisoners were masked, referred to by number and forbidden to speak to the guards. At Wentworth, the guards were encouraged to mix with the prisoners and provide a wholesome example. Gabriel wasnt sure if gambling with McCrory, Buckland and the other F-block guards had strengthened his moral fiber, but it kept him supplied in Pall Malls. It also kept him informed about recent developments, including the details behind new inmates. None seemed likely to challenge Gabriels supremacy in Wentworth.

The biggest, a bona fide village idiot named Benjamin Stiles, kept his head down, shooting nervous looks at the gray stone walls and hugging himself tight. Apparently in the village he hailed from, idiots were treated gently. And perhaps Stiles was innocent of the charges, like so many morons condemned by British justice. Or guilty only in a manner of speaking. Either way, Gabriel had no interest in him, because all Stiles had was bulk. To take on Gabriel, a newcomer needed more than mere size.

The last man in line moved slowly, forced to do a hop-step each time the chains pulled tight. He was trying to take it all in not just the outer wall, erected in 1876, but the watch tower, manned by two guards, and Wentworth itself, old and new. Old Wentworth was the original building, four wings radiating off a central area called the Roundabout. A, B, C and D block were there, each cell exactly twelve foot by seven foot. The new prison, constructed in 1910, was a three-story building containing offices, a cafeteria and the infirmary. E, F and G blocks were smaller, but their cells were large enough to house two men.

Cooper! bawled Llewellyn, the guard bringing up the rear. Keep up!

Gabriels cigarette halted midway to his mouth. Cooper? Dr. Cooper, the convict McCrory had told him about?

Gabriel stepped out of the watchtowers shadow for a better look. Cooper was no more than twenty-five, with thick ginger-brown hair and wide eyes. Of medium height, he was surprisingly well built for a professional man. The prison uniform fit snug across his broad shoulders and tight against the nip of his waist, the curve of his ass

Within hours, the name and story came to Gabriel. Joseph Cooper was a newly qualified doctor convicted of malpractice and gross negligence. Educated at Oxford, Cooper had joined the practice of a well-respected physician in Kent. When Lady Wheaton, wife of Baron Wheaton, went into labor with her first child, Cooper had been entrusted with her care. And when the laboring woman went into distress, Cooper played the hero, attempting to save her single-handedly. Hed confessed as much in writing his pride, his overconfidence in his own abilities, his hope to be publicly acclaimed by Lord Wheaton. But Jane Wheaton, only twenty-one, had died, and her infant son had died with her. According to rumor, Cooper had attempted an emergency Caesarian, but that, too, had been hopelessly botched. The newspapers had described the scene in loving, lurid detail: Lord Wheaton bursting in to find blood-spattered walls, his young wife slashed open and the infant dead in Coopers hands.

Lord Wheaton had wanted Cooper charged with double murder, leaning heavily on both the home secretary and the prime minister. But Coopers physician status shielded him from capital prosecution; the Crown couldnt credibly argue hed attacked Lady Wheaton, or harmed her through malice. Nevertheless, Cooper had received the maximum sentence for his crimes: eighteen years inside Wentworth, no possibility of parole.

Gabriel saw Joseph Cooper again that evening, in the common time between supper and reconfinement, as Wentworths progressive governor, Sanderson, preferred to say. Reconfinement replaced the old term: lockdown. The guard in charge of passing out linens greeted Cooper with passable friendliness.

Cmon, mate, get yours while its fresh.

Cooper lifted his chin, smiling back so warmly the guard blinked in surprise. Ah. Right-o. Thanks very much.

Talks like a toff, dont he? Lonnie Parker sounded impressed. During common time he was often at Gabriels elbow, if not directly beneath his feet.

Like hes checking in at the goddamn Ritz-Carlton, Gabriel agreed, watching Cooper collect his striped pillow and gray blanket. Coopers eyes were a very light blue, almost the color of the standard-issue blanket, and long-lashed. He was pale, too, a fellow Celt if Gabriel had even seen one, but pink-cheeked and vigorous, with a healthy bloom to those perfectly shaped lips.

They say hes a doctor. A bad one. Lonnie loved parceling out bits of gossip he overheard while working in the infirmary, rolling bandages and scrubbing instruments. Dr. Royal knew all about him.

Birds of a feather , Gabriel thought darkly. He hated doctors in general and Dr. Royal in particular. Gabriel hadnt seen the inside of the infirmary since his last mandatory physical exam, and even then, theyd had to threaten him with birching to make him comply. Corporal punishment was still very much a part of the British penal system. Not even Governor Sanderson was prepared to abolish the practice public birching against bare buttocks for misdemeanors, an old-fashioned lashing across the back for serious misdeeds. All but the most defiant personalities took the threat seriously. Not even Gabriel would choose the birch over a mere half-hour in Dr. Royals domain.

Gabe. Lonnie pressed closer, lips brushing Gabriels earlobe. Fancy visiting the library?

Lonnie didnt want to borrow a book. In fact, Gabriel had never seen the younger man read anything except the cafeterias daily menu. But the library stacks were good for quick bits of mischief, especially Fiction A-Br, which was tucked in the librarys back corner. After three months, Gabriel was already tired of Lonnie, but that glimpse of Cooper chin lifted, smiling had primed his pump.