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"Next, you need a driver's license."
Ernestine grinned. "You jest leave it to old Ernie Littlechap."
The following evening Ernestine handed Tracy three major credit cards in the name of Jane Smith.
Ernestine was thoughtful for a moment. Then she said softly, "Yeah. I'll he'p you. It's my last chance to give Big Bertha a kick in the ass."
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The prison grapevine buzzed with the news of Tracy Whitney's impending escape. A breakout was an event that affected all prisoners. The inmates lived vicariously through each attempt, wishing they had the courage to try it themselves. But there were the guards and the dogs and the helicopters, and, in the end, the bodies of the prisoners who had been brought back.
"How can I---?"
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"What the hell good would---?" She broke off, a slow grin lighting her face. "While someone pumps him full of sunshine, you get into the bottom of the hamper and get covered up with laundry!" She nodded. "You know, I think the damned thing might work."
"Then you'll help me?"