Page 24 of Fighting for Tawny

“Of course, but I can answer it before you ask. No, Warden Stoltz doesn’t know of our connection.”

“Then I can only assume that you’re aware of what’s been happening here.”

“I am. I’d like to hear your perspective.”

As they strolled through the greenhouse, Tawny carefully selected the details she wanted to share with the director. He listened and asked questions for clarification. He commented on the gardens and greenhouse, impressed by the inmates’ dedication to cultivating the flowers, vegetables, herbs, and plants.

“The women work really hard out here. They take pride in it,” Tawny shared.

“You didn’t say ‘we.’ Don’t you consider yourself one of them?”

Tawny halted and turned to face him. “Of course I do. It’s just that decades of care have gone into these gardens before I got incarcerated.”

“And they’ll be here long after you’re gone.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I still have business to discuss with Warden Stoltz. I appreciate your viewpoint from inside CIFW.”

They stood next to a section of multi-colored roses still in bloom this late in the year. Nearby, Stoltz eyed them warily.

“I’m surprised you shared your secret with me, sir.”

A broad smile crossed his face. He leaned closer to her and whispered, “I know yours, too, Sergeant Westfall.”

Tawny’s heart leaped into her throat.

After Director Dickinson’s visit to CIFW, the atmosphere improved. Some women courageously reported the guards who demanded sex in exchange for favors, and they were immediately suspended while the charges were investigated. Dickinson replaced them, a total of four, with two female and two male guards with impeccable reputations for fairness and following procedures. As a result, the inmates hooked on drugs brought in from the outside no longer had access to them. When they crashed, Dr. Sadler had her hands full treating their withdrawal symptoms. Warden Stoltz vocalized his concern, but his tone lacked warmth and sincerity. Most of the inmates ignored him. They recognized hypocrisy when they saw and heard it.

As the days passed without incident, news reports about the manhunt for escapee Bette Simpson died down. No one thought too much about it until Sunday, the night before Tawny and Yolanda were to begin fire classes.

They lounged in the common room, watching the newest season of one of their favorite TV shows on CBS, when breaking news interrupted the program. A news anchor narrated the horrifying scene unfolding on the screen. An LAPD helicopter shone a bright beacon down on a shadowy figure being chased into the fast-flowing Santa Ana River by several German shepherds. The figure, identified as escaped convict Bette Simpson, stopped long enough in her headlong flight to point what resembled a gun at the officers with the dogs. Everyone gasped when the officers opened fire on the figure. The picture quickly switched to the news anchor who recapped the tragedy.

In the aftermath of the news report, loud protests and curses erupted in the common room.

“Did you see that? The cops murdered Bette in cold blood!”

“We can’t let them get away with it!”

It took a minute or two for Tawny to register the familiarity of the scene on the news. Her heart pounded. Of course.

“It’s Fahrenheit 451,” she muttered. Then she shouted above the din as she became aware of the others’ agitation. “It’s Fahrenheit 451!”

She’d snagged their attention. All eyes reverted to her.

“What is that?” Yolanda asked. “Some kind of code?”

“No. It’s the temperature at which paper burns.”

“What’s that got to do with Bette’s murder on live TV?” one belligerent woman demanded. “You all saw it! It’s time to riot!”

Some of the other inmates shouted their agreement with their hands balled into fists.

“Fahrenheit 451 is a novel by Ray Bradbury, and it has everything to do with Bette’s murder because it was absolutely fake. The exact same scene occurred in the book when the corrupt government needed a scapegoat. Think about it. Did the camera zoom in on Bette’s face?”

“You’re trying to trick us,” the belligerent woman accused. “With your fancy book talk.”

“No, I’m not. Look, I’ll prove it to you. Yolanda, run to the library and get the copy of Fahrenheit 451 I saw on the shelf. It’s in the fiction section under B.”

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