Along Came A Spider

CHAPTER 78

T 3:16 the following morning, Gary Soneji/Murphy pressed his forehead against the cold metal bars that separated his cell from the prison corridor. He had another big part to act out. Hellzapoppin!

He started to throw up onto the highly polished linoleum floor-just as he had planned to. He was violently ill inside the cell. He yelled for help between wheezing gasps.

Both of the night guards came running. There had been a suicide watch on Gary since his first day there. Laurence Volpi and Phillip Halyard were veterans of many years' service at the federal prison. They weren't too keen on disturbances in the cell block, particularly after midnight.

“What the hell's the matter with you?” Volpi yelled as he watched the green and brown puddle slowly spreading on the floor. “What's your problem, asshole?”

“I think I've been poisoned,” Soneji/Murphy gasped

431 and wheezed, the sound coming from deep inside his chest. “Somebody's poisoned me. I've been poisoned! I think I'm dying. Oh my God, I'm dying!”

“Best news I've heard lately,” Phillip Halyard said to his partner and grinned. “Wish I'd thought of it first. Poison the bastard.”

Volpi took out his walkie-talkie, and called for the night supervisor. The suicide watch on Soneji was a big deal with the prison higher-ups. It sure wasn't going to happen on Volpi's shift.

“I'm going to be sick again,” Gary Soneji/Murphy moaned. He sagged heavily against the bars and threw up a second time-violently.

Moments later, the floor's supervisor arrived. Laurence Volpi quickly told his boss what had happened. It was his standard cover-thy-ass speech.

"He says he's been poisoned, Bobby. I don't know what the hell happened. It's possible. Enough of these bastards hate his guts

“I'll take him downstairs to the hospital myself,” Robert Fishenauer said to his men. Fishenauer was a take-charge guy, anyway. Volpi had counted on it. “They'll have to pump his stomach, I guess. If there's anything left to pump. Cuff him for me good. Hands and legs. He doesn't look in shape to be much trouble tonight. ”

Moments later, Gary Soneji/Murphy figured he was halfway to daylight. The prison elevator was padded. The walls were covered with heavy cloth mats. Other than that, it was ancient and painfully slow. His heart was pounding like a bass drum. A little healthy fear in his life. He'd missed the adrenaline kick.

“You all right?” Fishenauer asked as he and Gary Soneji/Murphy descended, seemingly inch by inch. A Si ngle bare light bulb protruded from a hole in the mats. It cast a dim light.

“Am I all right? What does it look like? I made myself good and sick. I am sick,” Soneji/Murphy told him. “Why the hell doesn't this thing move faster?”

“You going to puke again?”

“ It's entirely possible. A small price to pay.” Soneji/ Murphy managed a thin smile. "A very small price, Bobby

Fishenauer grunted. “I guess so. Just keep it away from me if you decide to pukeski again.”

The elevator bypassed the,next floor, and the next. It was nonstop. It dropped all the way to the basement of the building, where it landed with a hollow thump.

“We see anybody, we're going for X rays,” Fishenauer said as the elevator door opened. “X-ray is down here in the basement.”

“Yes, I'm aware of the plan. It's my plan,” said Gary Soneji/Murphy.

Because it was past three in the morning, they saw no one as they started their walk down the long tunnel in the prison basement. Halfway through the tunnel, there was a side door. Fishenauer used his key to open it.

There was another short stretch of silent empty hallway. Then they were at a security door. This was where the shit would hit the fan, and Soneji/Murphy had to do his stuff. This was where Fishenauer would see if Gary Soneji/Murphy was as good as his reputation. Fishenauer didn't have a key to the security door.

“Give me your gun now, Bobby. Just think about ten million dollars. I can do this next bit, so all you have to worry about is your part of the money.”

This was it. Soneji made it sound so easy. Do this, do that. Get a piece of ten million dollars. Fishenauer reluctantly handed over his revolver. He didn't want to think about what he was doing anymore. This was his chance to get out of Fallston, too. His only chance. Otherwise, Fishenauer knew he would be at Fallston for the rest of his life.

"There's nothing fancy here, Bobby, but this will work. You play everything to Kessler. Look real scared.

“I am fucking scared.”

“You should be, Bobby. I have your gun.”

There were two prison guards on the other side of the security door. A waist-high Plexiglas window gave them a view of the unbelievable sight coming their way.

They saw Soneji/Murphy with a gun stuck to the left temple of supervisor Bob Fishenauer. Soneji/Murphy had on arm and leg cuffs, but he also had a -gun. Both guards stood up fast. They held their riot shotguns above the glass. They didn't have time to make another move.

“You're gawking at a dead guard,” Gary screamed at the top of his voice, “unless you open that fucking door in about five seconds. No more than that!”

“Please!” Fishenauer suddenly screamed at his fellow guards. He was scared, all right. Soneji had the gun pressed hard against his temple. “He killed Volpi upstairs. ” it took less than five seconds for an older guardStephen Kessler-to make his decision. He turned the key that opened the security door. Kessler was a friend of Robert Fishenauer's, and Soneji had counted on that. Soneji had thought of everything. He'd known that Robert Fishenauer was a “lifer” at the prison; that he was trapped there just like the inmates. He'd talked about Fishenauer's anger and frustrations, and he'd been spot on. He was the smartest fucker Robert Fishenauer had ever met. He was going to make Fishenauer a millionaire.

The two of them headed for Fishenauer's car. The Firebird was parked close to the front gate. Fishenauer had left the sports-car door unlocked.

They were inside the car in a flash.

“Very nice wheels, Bobby,” said Gary Soneji/Murphy. “Now you'll be able to buy a Lamborghini. Two or three, if you want to make a statement.” Soneji lay down across the backseat. He slid under a blanket that Fishenauer's collie usually slept on. It smelled strongly of dog.

“Now let's get out of this rattrap,” Soneji/Murphy said from the back. Robert Fishenauer started up the Firebird.

Less than a mile from the prison, they changed cars. A Bronco was parked on the street and they quickly jumped inside.

A few minutes later, they were on the highway. Light traffic, but more than enough for them to get lost in. A little less than ninety minutes later, the Bronco turned onto the overgrown driveway of the old farm in rural Maryland. During the ride, Soneji/Murphy had allowed himself the small, but exquisite, pleasure of savoring his original master plan. He loved the idea that years before, he'd actually thought to leave some sh hidden in the garage. Not the ransom money, of course. Justfor this moment in time. How prescient of him. “Are we there yet?” Gary Soneji/Murphy finally spoke up from under the blanket.

Fishenauer didn't answer right away, but Gary knew that they were there by the bumps in the road. He sat up in the cramped backseat of the Bronco. He was almost home free home. He was invincible.

“It's time to get rich,” he said and laughed out loud. “Do you plan to take off these matching cuffs at some point?”

Robert Fishenauer didn't bother to turn around. As far as he was concerned, this was still a keeper/keepee relationship. “Just as soon as I have my part of the ransom money,” he spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Then, and only then, you're free!”

Soneji/Murphy talked to the back of Fishenauer's head. “You sure you have the keys to these cuffs, Robert?”

“Don't worry about it. You sure you know where the rest of the ransom money is hidden?”

4 'I'm sure."

Soneji/Murphy was also sure that Fishenauer had the keys on him. Gary had been extremely claustrophobic during the past hour and a half. That was one of the reasons he'd put his mind elsewhere: into his master plan. Memories of the basement back home had been flashing before him during the whole trip. He'd seen his stepmother. Seen her two spoiled bastard kids. He'd played himself as a boy again-the glorious adventure of the Bad Boy. His fantasy life had taken over for a while.

As the Bronco very slowly bumped along down memory lane, Gary Soneji/Murphy brought both his hands down over Fishenauer's head and viciously around his throat. Element of surprise in that. He forced the metal of the cuffs straight back into the prison guard's Adam's apple.

“What can I tell you, Bobby-I am a psychopathic liar, after all.”

Fishenauer began to thrash and struggle fiercely. He couldn't breathe. It was as if he were drowning.

His knees cracked up hard under the dashboard and the steering wheel. The night was filled with the loud, animalistic growls coming from both men.

Fishenauer managed to get his legs all the way over to the passenger side of the front seat. His work boot kicked the ceiling of the Bronco. His torso was twisted sideways, as if it were hinged. He gasped, and made the strangest noise. It sounded like metal burning, crackling on a stove.

Fishenauer's struggling eased off and finally stopped, except for some twitching of his limbs.

Gary was free. Just as he had known from the very beginning he would be-Gary Soneji/Murphy was on the loose again.