Second Chance

Chapter 57

I WAS JUST FINISHING UP for the day - nothing further on the four victims and the white chalk still a mystery - when I got a call from Cindy.

“The Hall still under martial law?” she quipped, referring to the mayor's moratorium on the press.

“Trust me, it's no picnic on the inside either.”

“Why don't you meet me? I've got something.”

“Sure. Where?”

“Look out your window. I'm right outside.”

I peered out and saw Cindy leaning on a car parked outside the Hall. It was almost seven. I cleared my desk, called a quick good-night to Lorraine and Chin, and ducked out the rear entrance. I ran across the street and went up to Cindy.

She was in a short skirt and embroidered jean jacket, with a faded khaki knapsack slung over her shoulder.

“Choir practice?” I winked.

“You should talk. Next time I see you in SWAT gear, I'll assume you have a date with your dad.”

“Speaking of Marty, I called him. I asked him over tomorrow night. So, Deep Throat, what's so important that we're meeting out here?”

“Good news, bad news,” Cindy said. She pulled off her knapsack and came up with an 8 x 11 envelope. “I think I found it, Lindsay.”

She handed me the envelope, and I opened it: a Chronicle article dated two years ago about a prison diary Hellhole, by someone named Antoine James. A few passages were highlighted in yellow. I began to read.

"Aryan... worse than Arvan. All max guys. White, bad, and hating. We didn't know who they hated worse, us, the '' they had to share their meals with, or the cops and guards who had put them there.

“These bastards had a name for themselves. They called themselves Chimera.”

My eyes fixed on the word.

"They're animals, Lindsay. The worst troublemakers in the penal system. They're even committed to carrying out each other's hits on the outside.

“That's the good news,” she said. “The bad news is, it's Pelican Bay.”