Hell Is Too Crowded - Jack Higgins [7]
"I seem to have heard that one somewhere before," Brady said.
"But I mean it," Evans said. "I'll tell you something, son. You know what ruined me? Being too good at my bloody job. When I blow a safe, it makes no more noise than a mild belch. Trouble is, I do it so expertly, the cops always know where to come."
"You seem to have things pretty well organized here anyway," Brady said, holding up his cigarette.
Evans grinned. "I'm not complaining. You fell on your feet, getting in with me, son."
"What's this building work the governor was telling me about?"
"They can't cope with the crime wave, so we're having to build 'em another cell block in the main yard. It's a good number. Better than sewing mailbags or sitting on your fanny in here all day going slowly nuts. Should last another ten months if we take it easy."
"I don't intend to be around that long." Brady stood up and went and peered out of the window. The outer wall was perhaps forty feet high and the main railway line ran on the other side of it. Beyond, through the autumn night, the lights of Manningham gleamed fitfully. They might as well have been on another planet.
"Now look, son," Evans said seriously. "Don't beat your head against a stone wall. That's the way to end up in the other place. Nobody can crack this can. I've been here three years and I tried every possibility. There's no way out."
Brady turned and looked at him. "But I've got to get out. I was framed, Evans. Somebody else battered that girl and used me as a fall guy. I want to know who and why."
"The story you told at the trial was one thing," Evans said. "It was a good try, but it didn't work. We're all guilty in this place. Guilty of getting caught."
Brady shrugged helplessly. "Sometimes I think I must be the only sane person in a world gone mad." He walked across to the door and touched it lightly with his fingers. "If only I could open this for a start."
Evans stood up and crossed to the cupboard under the washbasin. He opened it and took out an ordinary spoon. "Always happy to oblige."
He pushed Brady out of the way and knelt down in front of the door. The lock was covered by a steel plate perhaps nine inches square. He quickly bent the handle of the spoon and forced it between the edge of the plate and the jamb. He worked it around for a few moments and there was a click. He pulled and the door opened slightly.
"God Almighty!" Brady said.
Evans pushed the door gently into place and worked the spoon round again. There was another slight click and he stood up.
"But that's incredible," Brady said.
Evans shook his head. "An old lag's trick. Plenty of geezers in this place can do as much. Most of these doors are mortice deadlocks, fitted years ago. One of these days they'll get wise and change them." He grinned. "Not that it would matter much. Show me any key you like for five seconds and I'll copy it from memory."
He went back to his bed and lit another cigarette. "But I don't understand," Brady said. "You told me it was impossible to crash-out of this place."
The old man shook his head pityingly. "Have another fag, son, and let me tell you the facts of life. Getting out of this cell is only the start. You've got to get through the cell-block gates downstairs. That puts you in the central hall. From there you've got no less than five gates to pass through before you hit the yard, and the main entrance is a fort by itself. Even the governor has a pass." He shook his head. "This is maximum security, son. Some of the worst bastards in the business are doing time here. That's why they converted the place."
"I'll find a way," Brady said. "Just give me time."
But it's got to be soon, he said to himself as he lay down on his bunk. It's got to be soon. I can't take much more of this. He closed his eyes and the face seemed to smile at him out of the darkness, the face that had stayed