“Any news yet?” James called regularly in the two months I’d been here, asking for reports every 2-3 days. Besides the inner workings of the prison, there wasn’t much to tell. As the warden, I found myself a bit removed from all of the action and depended on Maris to report back discreetly, but the only way she could do that was by stirring up trouble and getting herself sent up to my office. At this point, Garcia was bound to think I was having inappropriate relations with female prisoners if I kept seeing Maris every few days and sneaking ways to see Nene. The last thing I wanted was the Tribe to see Maris as a snitch or Nene as a troublemaker when things went down.

The Red Tribe was quiet at the moment, and minimal contraband had been confiscated in the last few room inspections. I traded Nene’s cellmate Sharee chocolate for information when she heard things but it didn’t get me much except who was hooking up in the showers or stealing from the kitchen.

My time had been spent overall reviewing a slew of paperwork. Plenty of bureaucratic red tape filled with board meetings and inspections for compliance issues dragged the days out. To say I was busy was an understatement, and I understood how this profession could cause burnout with the wrong person behind the desk.

I listened to James yammer on before responding. “No, but we’re working on it. Maris has gotten into the gang, but hasn’t gotten any real information to link the girls directly back to Hector. In fact she hasn’t even sat down with their leader who is real cagey with anyone new.”

“We only have a few months of clearance unless you two can provide more details and reasons to stay undercover inside the prison.” My gut clenched because every day we were here meant potential for Maris to get hurt and shit to hit the fan. I thought about the girl, Benedicta—no, I reminded myself—Nene, who was serving five years for manslaughter. Instinctually, I knew the system had done her wrong, but that wasn’t enough to overturn her conviction. The urge to help her was taking over my thoughts and time. I figured James might be able to help with a little quid pro quo. I’d played this game before.

I led in with, “One of the inmates here, I think she might have been wrongly convicted.”

“Aren’t they all?” James was reluctant to discuss it, but when I thought about Nene stuck here I got a terrible feeling.

“Is there any way to look over her case? Maybe not reopen it per se, but at least make sure things were handled correctly. Chain of evidence, burden of proof…” I asked while James impatiently clicked his pen in the background like I was wasting time on this.

“Cohen, don’t get all soft and mushy on prison pussy. Stay focused on the goal and get out of there.”

“But James, there’s so much that doesn’t add up.” Not like I knew shit about her case besides the bare bones file, but when stuff didn’t add up, it usually meant there was something missing from the equation.

“It rarely does, but to turn over a state conviction is going to take a shit ton of manpower we don’t have to devote to it. Unless she’s going to turn over evidence or rat on the Tribe to help bring Hector down there’s not much we can do.”

“So we just ignore it?”

James sighed.

“Hand it over to the Innocence Project and see what happens.” As if they weren’t already overworked.

“Don’t they deal with death row inmates?” James was great at delegating when he wanted to drop something. Too bad for him I didn’t.

“Look, beggars can’t be choosy, and you already have a job to do in there. Don’t borrow more trouble than you already have. Now, get me evidence to connect the Tribe to Hector.” James wasn’t going to help me on this unless I could give him something in exchange. I doubted Nene would cooperate. Heck, I couldn’t get her to answer a direct question without attempting to jump into her pants.

“I’ll call if anything comes up.”

“Thanks, and Cohen…”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a good guy and a good officer; don’t let this shit cloud your head.”

“Thanks.”

I had hung up the phone when the lockdown alarms sounded. Blaring sirens and red lights flashed from the hallway. Guards ran from posts down the hallway. Reaching into my desk I pulled out my service revolver and put it into my shoulder holster. I wasn’t bringing a plastic spork to a knife fight in here. Garcia barged into my office looking grim.

“Fight in the yard,” he said before running back out.

I went to the window and looked at the flurry of limbs flailing. It was a gang inspired fight for sure. The Sunshine Sisters had yellow threads, probably confiscated from the laundry room, woven into their hair. The ladies from the Red Tribe had pink bands around their wrists made from shit stolen from the rec room. Both gangs brawled, fighting over god only knew what. Guards were already peeling women apart tossing them on the ground.

I had to make sure Nene and Maris were okay. Before I could turn away from the train wreck, I heard it. Bleating screams that sounded like someone had been stabbed. It was too far for me to see much except dots of dark color staining orange cotton. I’d seen wounds before in my work, but this was different. My preconceived notions of women’s fragility had been bent and broken in a place like this. They were fighting to survive as much as the next person and difficult circumstances yielded unexpected results.

In the span of seconds, I watched guards rush in only to retreat. Tasers were discharged and three bodies fell back, wiggling in the dirt. I hoped none of them were Nene and Maris. My legs burned running down from the office into the yard trying to get to them as quickly as possible.

“Warden Shepard.” One of the female guards called over to me, holstering her stun gun. She’d been the one to escort Nene from my office.

“Officer Pettigrew, what happened out here?” I searched for their faces, but the guards held me back, and I had to refrain from breaking through and calling out to Nene and Maris.

“Looks like a verbal altercation that went south. Someone had a paper shank and stabbed another inmate. I had to stun one and then the bitches got crazy.”

“That puta shanked my girl!” An inmate I recognized as Evangelina Corazon held up one of the inmates in her lap whose dark hair covered her face. My gut cramped, knowing those curves intimately.

Maris.

Fuck me.

“God damn it,” I yelled, clenching my fists. I kneeled down in the dirt looking her over. Maris’ eyes were squeezed shut in pain, and the bloodstain bloomed wide against the orange. “Call a fucking ambulance transport.” Guards rushed around and pushed inmates back.

“Get the women back to their cells. Now!” I yelled. We needed to get medical personal through.

“Who did this? Who is responsible?” I scanned the yard. The remaining women and guards stood silent.

“She did it, that fucking coconut skank.” Evangelina pointed with a bloodied hand over to a body facing away from me and curled up in the dirt. I walked over and leaned down. She’d been tased and an EMT checked her pulse. Her cheeks were flushed, and bright red blood covered her hand, the paper shank clutched in her grasp. She said nothing and kept her eyes closed, damning her credibility.

Nene.

Fuck me.

Garcia stood outside the circle arms folded and waiting. “Warden?”

Beyond pissed there was nothing I could do except hopefully banish her to a place safe enough and far enough away from the chaos.

“Check her over in the infirmary, then put her in solitary until I get back to deal with her.” Dust kicked up from my legs, and I headed back inside. This wasn’t the sort of call I wanted to make to James, but I had to let him know about Maris and see how he wanted to proceed next. We needed to know how these women were fueling Hector’s gang before more people got hurt.

Nene would have to wait.