A Body to die for

right. Jack must be inside. I pictured him, bare chested, running in circles in his cell like a well-oiled hampster, his blond hair cutely matting. I felt a powerful pull to see him. I wanted to find out what happened at the club after I made my break. I trotted up the steps of the Detention Center like a pony and opened the heavy doors.
    The guards inside were the same from the last time 1 visited this fine correctional facility. I said, “Watson. Jack. Now.”
    The male guard with the short neck laughed at me. “What, you want me to bring him out here like a plate of french fries?”
    “Nah. Just bring the fries.”
    The guard scoffed, stared.
    “Then Jack would be fine,” I relented.
    Another guard, a woman—Officer Martinez, if I remember correctly—wore her shiny black hair twisted in a bun. She approached the desk. “Wanda Mallory?” she asked.
    “Ameleth Bergen, actually.Jack Watson’s wife.”
    “Too bad. Detective Falcone said only Wanda Mallory was allowed to meet with the prisoner. You’ll have to go, Ms. Bergen.”
    I stammered briefly. I must be losing my cool, I thought. I regrouped and said, “I am Mallory. It’s just that my boyfriend and I broke up, and I wanted to pretend to be someone who’s married for only a minute. Not that getting married was ever a goal, per se. But with this guy, this latest guy, I thought I could do it. Maybe I would have cheated a few years down the road—longing for some fresh sex, that initial passion of new relationships—but in the end, I probably wouldn’t have gone through with it. I have a particularly keen recall. I could just dredge up a few fantasies about what our sex used to be like. Even the memory of the other night. That would do.”
    The guards looked at each other, and then back at me. Finally, the female guard said, “I often use fantasy when having sex with my boyfriend.”
    “Me, too,” said the male guard. “With the wife.” We stood silently and smiled at each other. A trio of closet fantasizers, sharing an intimate moment. I said, “So where’s Jack?”
    Back to business. The woman asked to see some ID. I gave her my college food card—ten years old at this point. It was the only photo ID I owned. She stifled a giggle (so college wasn’t my peak glam period). It was good enough to get me in. She took me through some electric doors to the cell block. Jack was back in his old space at the end of the long row. When he saw me, he said solemnly, “Wanda, it’s good to see you.” Martinez hovered nearby. Jack eyed her suspiciously. I said, “Take a hike, okay?” She smiled and didn’t budge. To Jack, I whispered, “What happened?”
    He approached the bars and took my hand. Closer now, I could see he didn’t look good. What I thought were dark circles under his eyes were bruises. I felt a chill. Jack put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled my head toward the bars. He whispered in my ear, “You’re not safe here, Wanda. They’re after you—the cops, Ameleth. They know you’ve got some notebook—whatever it is. You’ve got to run, now.” He let go of my neck.
    I stared at him. He mouthed, “Now.” If what he said was true and Ameleth knew I had the notebook (which I no longer had anyway), she’d come after me with a vengeance. I could always tell her I was on the way to drop it off, but that whole deal I’d made with her was crap from the beginning. For the notebook, she’d have dumped me the same way she dumped Barney. She might have told Falcone I’d stolen it from her. I did, actually, but so what? I tried to organize my thoughts. No wonder those guards indulged me in my heartbreak speech when I came in. They probably had instructions to keep me here, no matter what. Falcone was probably steamrolling over from the precinct this second.
    Hell hath no fury like a woman cornered like a rat. I turned toward the guard. I smiled and pointed down the corridor. “Dear God! What on earth is that?” I asked in horror.
    Made her look. I stitched my fingers together to make a ball of power, swung at her jaw and hoped. I always close my eyes when I punch—involuntary reflex. I’m often surprised when I actually make contact. My fingers crunched against the hardness of bone. The vandals and drunks in the neighboring tanks cheered. When I opened my eyes, she was out cold on the floor, her shiny black hair knocked loose.
    Jack was able to grab hold of a few strands to restrain her. He yelled, “Take the keys