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Behind closed doors the governor and deputy meet. Two snakes, resembling men, conspire to run a business. Lives may be lost, laws may be broken, but oh , how the pocket book will sing.

 Channing sits behind the desk, in a leather throne that is far too regal for his peasantry. The smarmy grin plastered on his face says he’s a man fueled solely by money. Jake sits across from him, hands clasped together in his lap. He’s become a puppet again, just a new master’s hand up his ass. He hates himself for it, but he’s too weak to find a way out. Maybe with some money he can buy himself a new life.

 “How many kilos do you have coming in tomorrow?” Channing asks bluntly.

 “Just ten this time.”

 “And who is receiving?”

 “Mercado. I’ll be there to supervise and divide the supply later.”

 “Right. So, I expect ten grand by Friday.” He lifts an eyebrow, tilting his chin to give a half smirk.

 “It’ll be transferred to your account by 3pm.” Jake nods in concession, swallowing his pride and shame like broken glass.

 A light knock on the door interrupts the exchange and they both turn as it’s cautiously opened. Will Jackson steps in with an apologetic look on his face.

 “Oh, sorry to interrupt.” He says when he sees them, feeling the awkward energy as it hangs in the air.

 “No worries, we were just finishing. What can I do for you, Mr. Jackson?” Channing replies, casting a final glance to Jake who takes the hint and rises to leave. He offers a tight smile to Will as he passes him in the doorway.

 Will shuts the office door and approaches the desk. From behind his back he produces a ziplock bag with a pair of black leather gloves. He sets it between them on the desk and chooses to remain standing. Channing cocks an eyebrow and looks up to him with an expectant gaze.

 “I found these in Ferguson’s cell.” Not understanding the connection, Channing tilts his head and narrows his eyes.

 “And?” He asks with slight irritation.

 “When Iman Farah was murdered, Franky Doyle insisted it was Ferguson that killed her. She told police and the officers here that Ferguson came into her cell wearing black leather gloves and snapped Iman’s neck. She was really adamant about her claim.”

 “What’s your point, Mr. Jackson?” Channing questions again with rising irritation.

 “I thought you, and the police, might find them interesting. It proves that part of Franky’s story, and perhaps Iman’s DNA are on them. If hard evidence could link Ferguson to the murder of a fellow inmate here, then they’d be forced to send her to another facility, when she’s caught. Means the bitch would be totally out of our hair.”

 Channing stares at him for a moment, lifting a hand in thought to his chin. Though he’s fairly certain Joan’s too smart to get caught, he’d rather prepare for the worst. A knowing smirk slowly spreads across his face and he finally nods in approval to Will.

 “Good work, Mr. Jackson. Leave them with me. I’ll phone our friends down at the cop shop.”

 They exchange a smug smile and Will excuses himself out the door.




Seated in the chair in the dark corner of the room, Franky struggles to stay awake. It’s 3am and she’s exhausted, but she dares not close her eyes. On the bed, the sleeping figure stirs. Franky’s heart beat quickens and she holds her breath as she watches the woman roll over and slowly sit up.

 “Gidge.” She whispers as she rises from the chair.

 Bridget’s gaze snaps instantly to the corner and she lets out a quick, sharp scream before cupping her hand over her mouth. Franky steps quickly to the bed and kneels on the floor between her knees. Through the dim light cast from the digital clock on the nightstand, she can see the tears flowing down Bridgets cheeks. Her hands slide up bare thighs, to firmly squeeze the narrow hips before her. Bridget lifts both hands to cup Franky’s face, shaking her head in shock.

 “Baby, what the hell were you thinking?” she asks through a shaky whisper.

 “I had to Gidge. It was the only way for me to get back to you.”


 “I got the evidence I needed to prove I’m innocent.” She circles her hands gently around Bridgets wrists, offering a brilliantly tender smile.

 “How?” Franky shakes her head gently, removing Bridgets hands from her cheeks, kissing her right palm before she clasps them between her own.

 “Doesn’t matter, I’ll tell you later. I just want to be with you right now.”

Releasing Bridget’s hands, she runs her own up the sides of Bridget’s slender neck, stopping just below her jaw as she pulls her in for a deep, slow kiss. Bridget stays frozen momentarily, shock still seizing her senses. Franky pulls away, looking into her eyes and finally she snaps into the moment. She crawls up onto her knees on the bed, pulling Franky close for another passionate kiss.

 They break apart and Franky undresses quickly as Bridget pulls off the thin camisole and lace panties she is wearing. Their bodies crash into each other on the bed, clicking immediately into place like magnets. Hot lips and tongue trail between the valley of Bridget’s small breasts, as Franky makes her way down her lover’s body. Bridget gasps with the contact and shifts up onto her elbows.

 “Baby, turn around, I want to taste you too.” She husks, voice thick with lust.

Franky looks up with a devilish smile and pivots her body, throwing her right leg over Bridget’s head, hips now looming above Bridget’s face. It’s a dance they’ve shared a hundred times before.

 With perfect timing, they tease each other to climax, expert tongues servicing the other to ecstasy. Her body spent and thrumming deliciously with fulfilled desire, Franky collapses on her side onto the bed, Bridget rolling over to scoop her into her arms. They snuggle in silence for a long while, as the waves of passion slowly recede. Finally, Franky rolls over, pulling Bridget flush against her body, running a tender hand through disheveled hair.

 “I can’t stay baby, I wish I could.” She confesses sadly.

 “I know.” comes the equally sad reply.

 “We’ll be together soon though, I promise.” She leans in, placing a tender kiss on Bridget’s lips.

 “I’m holding you to it.” Bridget counters with a small smile, offering another kiss in return.

 “I love you, Gidge.” It comes out in a fragile whisper as she pushes back the tears that begin to well in her eyes.

 “I love you too.” They remain in each other’s arms for a few minutes more, not quite ready to give up the contact.

 Eventually Franky rises from the bed and pulls on her clothes, Bridget sitting up against the headboard to watch her.

 “Do you have any cash?” Franky asks once she’s dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking Bridget’s hand.

 “About $100 in my purse.”

They head into the kitchen and Bridget retrieves the money, handing it over to Franky as they approach the back door. Pulling the blanket from the back of the couch, she wraps it around her body before they step outside.

 “I’ll see you soon, ok.” She wraps her arms around Bridget, pulling her in and placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

 “Be careful. I love you.” Bridget offers with a sad smile and wave as Franky nods and slowly walks away.