They finally made their escape.
Although they were off on their own now it had been years of isolation, physical abuse and mind games. Living behind bars was never any protection.
The last 18 months were the hardest. Not because of the black market hoarding off Broadway and observing the detail of every delivery, security check and personality quirk either. The scary part was keeping it all under wraps.
In 1957 they were still in fairly good shape for a couple of chumps. They couldn’t play ball but they did lift each other’s dead weight in the cell and continually ran the perimeter of the exercise yard every day. Their survival was based on strength, cardio and not otherwise standing out.
It was only a 1.5 mile swim and they knew they could make it once they got past the rock walls. The lighthouse had been a scare but the chilly water was their biggest challenge.
One guy had attempted years prior but let’s just say it wasn’t successful. Birdman used to give a long, high whistle anytime someone asked about those that didn’t get away. It was his way of saying you were treading dangerous waters. Robert’s tune would be different once he realized the guys in Block B made it.
The escapees probably didnt give a bird’s shit about his whistle or Capone after resting on the chocolate factory shore. Slick ditched the little park, headed for the bridge and discovered a golden girl in Sausilito. Legend has it Al saw some saddle shoes attached to a pair of legs and jumped on the Powell-Hyde car. The locals say he finished drying off by watching a poodle skirt, going to Market and trying to make another Federal case out of getting back in the saddle himself.
<Note to fellow bloggers: I went to the Reader after a late dinner to find inspiration from your writing. I found my motivation on the link below. Although after I entered my imagination, I wasn’t focused on word count. Thanks to all for bringing me back to that fine city, even if it was before my time!>