Chapter Three

 

Night Shift

 

Edwards picked up his pace as he drew closer to the units. Hanes’s head drooped toward his chest. He locked his eyes. His breath trapped in his throat. Edwards didn’t care. He just needed to pass the units to the surveillance station. Hanes grumbled. The cop almost passed the cell when the convict lifted his head. His eyes snapped open glaring at Edwards from between the metal bars. They appeared bloodshot engrossed with yellow. Hanes spent many years as a heavy drinker just as Lucas Woods. His dark skin showed protruding blue veins bulging from his arms and neck.  

Stanley paused halfway passing the cell. He narrowed his eyes watching Hanes. His body became rigid. The cop clasped his palms together in face of the devil behind those bars. Hanes stood, shuffling closer. He folded his vast, deformed hands around the metal centers exposing white knuckles. Hanes stared hard, with a low growl in the pit of his throat sounding like a raging animal. Then he pointed a finger at Edwards, wiggling it. He mentioned for Edwards to come closer. When Hanes opened his mouth to speak, spittle flew in different directions.  Edwards jumped backward, escaping the splatter.  

“You’re gonna listen to the story about Daisy?” he ordered, with a bizarre grin pasted across his unshaved face.

Edwards didn’t respond, but peered into Hanes’s unrepentant eyes, which showed no compassion in the repulsive human.

“I said you’re wanna listen to the story about Daisy?” he repeated.

Edwards’s tone spoke in a short whisper.  “Yes, I will listen to the story about Daisy.”

He had no option, well, even though he could just walk away.

 Edwards loathed being obliged to listen.

Hanes settled down as his grin expanded, tilting his head. “What time is it?”

Edwards took a quick glance at his wristwatch. “It’s fifteen minutes after one.”

Hanes said nothing for a minute when he leaned against the bars. He dragged a smoke from inside of his prison uniform pocket, placed it between his fingers. He held out the cigarette to the cop. Edwards searched his pocket for a lighter in his uniform. He lit the extended cigarette. Hanes puffed smoke in Edwards’s face. Stanley wore an expression as solid as steel. His reaction to the smoke blown in his face didn’t alter. He continued watching Hanes with disgust.

The convict searched Edward’s with one eye closed, one eye opened. Smoke spiralled into puffy clouds occupying the cell. Edwards’s remained the sole cop there in the prison with those cruel murderers for the night shift.  He thought about the heartless cons snatching innocent men and women lives. They weren’t independent to walk the earth with their blood on someone else’s hands.

Becoming agitated, Hanes pointed to a chair two cells away. “Grab the chair and put it here in front of the cell.”

Edwards grabbed the chair, placed it in front of the cell and sat. He placed his hand on his pants leg never surrendering his death eye on Wally Hanes. Hanes sat on the bed closest to the bars staring at Edwards with suspicion. He glanced, the cop from the top of his head to the sole of his boots, then back to his face. Hanes shook his head, grinning from ear to ear.

“It’s funny you’re not afraid, Edwards. Why is that?

The cop refused to respond. He wouldn’t bring himself to discuss a decent conversation with a fellow who executed twenty women in eight years. He just wouldn’t. And besides, why should he discuss anything with a murderer? He wasn’t obliged to provide answers unless it was necessary. Edwards never answered to Hanes. He watched him with the same challenging glare.

The cop feared nothing? What was he supposed to fear? Edwards wouldn’t answer the question even if he wanted too. The lunatic behind bars tried to get under his skin. But it wasn’t working. They had caught Hanes a month earlier. He was a notorious killer luring women out on dates using the internet. Stanley heard horrid stories when he first came into the prison, tales of how Hanes massacred women. Why did Edwards remain, listening to the snake with his revolting stories? Another question he withdrew to answer. Maybe he wanted to pass the time he on surveillance duty? Why would he want to attach awful stories to his brain like leeches, merely to have nightmares? Edwards had other important things to tend to, besides listening to some asshole’s stories. He detached from his thoughts, glancing toward the cell where Hanes banged on the bars with a platinum cup.

“What ya thinking, Edwards,” Hanes eventually showed rotten, yellow teeth, and black gums.

As Edwards shook his head trying to clear his thoughts, he ran his fingers through his spiked hair.

“I have to report to surveillance.” His voice sounded flat.

Hanes glared at him put out the cigarette. “But you’re the only one here besides us, so why do you have to get back there in that tiny dark room so quick?”

 “I don’t want to lose my job.” Edwards searched for reasons convincing Hanes “I won’t be able to listen to any more of your stories if they fire me.”

Hanes paused and thought about what Stanley said.  He leaned closer to the bars again. “But you haven’t heard about Daisy yet, can I at least tell you about her? And you’re a great cop with considerable authority around here you wouldn’t lose your job.”

Stanley turned irritated.

“Okay. Will you please get on with the story?”