Covert Coffee (The Serena Wilcox Dystopian Trilogy Book 2)

Covert Coffee Chapter 25

25

Paul Tracy knew that he’d hear from Serena Wilcox again, he was waiting for her call. He had been holding back on them – why shouldn’t he? Nothing whatsoever had been offered to him, nothing at all, even though the crimes he was guilty of committing were acts that most Americans called him a hero for! Yet he had been thrown away to rot in prison with no concern for his welfare, and that was unacceptable. He stared at his digi watch, expecting that it would alert him of Serena’s call any minute. When it finally did he took his sweet time in responding.

Nicholas warned Serena, “You better talk fast. When he answers I can only keep this line secure for five minutes, maybe ten.”

Paul answered in a faux Southern drawl. “Hello? Is this by any chance my dear friend Serena Wilcox?”

“Paul, I need your help.” Serena spoke quickly, in a vain attempt to minimize the effect that she knew the words ‘I need your help’ would have on Paul’s ego.

“With?” If Serena could have seen him she would have seen that Paul wore a smile as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s.

“I want to talk to Victor, but he doesn’t trust us. If you talk to him, I think you can convince him to talk to me.”

“Victor! Why Victor? It’s me you want to talk to.” Paul paced the cell, drawing attention from his fellow inmates on the block.

“Can you help us?” Serena dug deep within herself for patience.

“Yes and no.”

“Yes and no?” She counted to ten.

“I can, but I won’t until I get something in return.”

“What do you want? You know we can’t let you out of prison, that’s not something I would even attempt to ask for.” Serena glanced at Estep. If she was ready to snap, she knew he must be at his boiling point. She was surprised that he hadn’t sparked off before now.

“I want privileges.”

Estep interjected, “What kind of privileges?”

Here we go, thought Serena.

“I have certain requirements,” he said.

“Dare I even ask what those are?” asked Serena.

“I want specific reading material.”

“I don’t want to hear more about his, will you help me or not?” Serena attempted to get the conversation back to a productive place.

“You don’t even know what I want,” said Paul.

“I don’t want to hear about your tastes,” said Serena.

“Why not? You probably like the same thing I do,” said Paul.

“OK, that’s enough!” snapped Estep.

“What did I say wrong? I want to read the classics, like Watership Down and Les Miserable. All I get here is contemporary drivel, unless I read digital books on the SM Channel. I want a real book in my hands, one that smells like library dust and mildew. I would have thought you to be a bird of a feather, Ms. Wilcox.”

“Ah, yes, sure.” Serena breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll get your books. Now please help me, we are wasting time.” That was twice now that she had assumed that a criminal was talking about something perverse when they weren’t. Not that she wanted to let her guard down, but she was relieved that her investigation hadn’t taken that kind of a turn.

“I need more than the books.”

“Quick, tell me everything you want.” Serena put her hands together and squeezed them as hard as she could. She had a sudden urge to punch something.