A compact woman with a scowl that seemed to be fighting against a nervous twitch, held a taser at the ready. Her uniform, a size too big in the blouse and a size too small in the skirt, looked like it had been hastily pulled from a laundry hamper. Tattoos crawled up from under uniform, and her eyes kept darting toward a security camera down the hall. Just ahead of her, a tall blonde prisoner moved with a stiff expression. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, and the immaculate white of her toenails peeked out from the too-tight prison-issue flip-flops. A medical face mask covered her mouth, but her eyes, sharp and alert, scanned the corridor with a practiced intensity that betrayed her supposed docility. Her grey scrubs were too snug, stretched across a physique that was clearly too tall. As they reached the heavy metal door leading to the underground garage, Warden Rodriguez leaned in close.
"Don't. The cameras. Just... play along. We're almost out."
…
I could feel a vein in my temple throbbing. Play along? After everything?
Every step in these too-tight scrubs was a fresh insult. I was supposed to be cuffing her hands, not walking ahead of her with my own cuffed behind me like some damsel in distress. I remember the moment it all went wrong. I had walked into her cell and she hadn't even looked up from her bunk. When I held up the cuffs, her head snapped up and in an instant, the taser was at my throat. There was no defiance, no heroic fight. I complied, stripping off everything and kneeling with my ankles crossed, hands behind my back, just as she'd demanded. The cuffs clicked around my wrists, my own handcuffs. Then she shoved into my mouth something I’d rather forget, then the sticky strip of tape sealing my lips, and the final indignity of the medical face mask on top of it all. I watched, helpless, as she shimmied into my uniform, the blouse and skirt a comically bad fit on her shorter frame. She then un-cuffed me just long enough to put on these terrible scrubs, and cuffed me again. Now I was here, a silent, unwilling participant in her grand plan. All I could think was what she had in store for me next.
…
The blonde's eyes, sharp and intelligent, narrowed just a fraction as I leaned in, but the gag kept her mouth shut. So far, so good. The hostage was compliant, no fuss, no fight, just that little frustrated twitch in her cheek that told me she was stewing on the inside. My own heart was a frantic drum solo against my ribs, but on the outside, I was all business.
I'd spent weeks studying the routines, the way she moved, observing her stupidly perfect hair and her pristine uniform. The other guards, passing by, gave me a quick glance and a nod, completely unaware. They saw a warden escorting a prisoner, just like any other day. My disguise was terrible, but it worked.
I fumbled with the garage door, finally getting it to groan open. The air hit my face, cooler and cleaner than the prison hallway, and I felt a rush of adrenaline. Almost there. Just get in the car and drive. Once we were across the border, she wouldn't be "Officer Anderson" anymore. She'd be my golden goose, my ticket to a new life, the very reason I'd have a fortune to my name. My sweaty fingers tightened on the taser. The hard part was over. Now, all I had to do was get her into the car.
