One Blood

Chapter Seventy-Five

Chapter Seventy-Five

 

Angola, LA

 

George Winey hung up the phone. He’d just learned the levees surrounding the prison were threatening to collapse.

What else can go wrong? 

There were nearly five thousand inmates and another three hundred staff members who wouldn’t make it through the night if the levees broke. Plus, a dead inmate who, by all rights shouldn’t have been dead until Winey executed him.

George should have been relieved at not having to worry about the man formerly known as Panama X, but his indigestion told him things were far from settled. The rain pounded the pavement as he exited his office and headed toward the Treatment Center.

God, let me make it out of this one okay, and I promise to get out of this business next year.

Thirty years in corrections was enough.

Dr. Abe Johnson, the head of his medical staff, met him halfway to his destination.

“Have you examined him?” George asked.

“Preliminarily. We had to clean him up first.”

“Fuck. No chance we can pass this one off as an accident?” 

Abe looked at him in surprise. “Not if I’m the person filling out the report.”

That can easily be arranged, George thought.

Abe glanced down at his notes. “The inmate’s face was bashed in pretty badly. His larynx was crushed. How did this happen?”

George ignored his question. “What’s your recommendation?”

The doctor hesitated.

“Abe?”

“Sorry, George. This isn’t your typical prison murder.” 

“No shit.”

“No, I don’t think you understand. I don’t know how to tell you this, but here goes. It appears as if the inmate’s body is...”

“Is what?” George barked impatiently. He didn’t have time to play twenty questions.

Abe took a deep breath. “His body is disintegrating.”

George surprised himself by laughing. “What the hell are you talking about, Abe?”