Page 69 of Guess Again

Ithaca, Wisconsin Monday, August 4, 2025

ANDRE MONROE SAT BEHIND THE WHEEL OF THE PRISON VAN.

HE had requested a low-level guard who was under his tutelage to accompany him on the transport.

They were moving Francis Bernard to Columbia Correctional Institute.

Somehow, the son of a bitch had managed to pass a psych eval and convince the governor to sign off on the transfer.

He must have some damn good lawyers, Monroe thought, although he wondered who the hell was paying them. Bernard had been behind bars for over thirty years, and any money he might have saved before he went to prison was surely gone now.

However he’d managed it, life was about to get considerably better for good ol’ Francis Bernard.

Monroe knew the isolation had been getting to him.

Francis was on the brink, and those were the best kinds of inmates.

They were broken and obedient, desperate for anything that might make their life even a hint better than reality.

Monroe had enjoyed his late night visits with Francis. It was a shame to see him go.

Monroe glanced at the black-and-white monitor stationed on the dashboard.

It displayed a real-time image from the camera positioned in the corner of the van’s holding block.

Francis stood because the transport suit prevented him from sitting.

He was secured with a tether clasped to the ceiling and both sides of the van.

“What the hell?”

the guard next to Monroe said as he squinted through the windshield.

“Should I call it in?”

Monroe looked away from the monitor and back through the windshield.

Up ahead was a disabled vehicle blocking the highway.

“Yeah,”

Monroe said.

“Call it in.”

He swiped a switch near the steering wheel that activated the van’s dashboard camera.

As he approached, Monroe saw a youngish woman in short shorts bending over as she inspected the engine of her car, the hood popped open.

He slowed the van, and she emerged from under the hood, a bottle of motor oil in one hand and a cell phone pressed to her ear.

Monroe pulled up next to her.

She was very attractive.

She had bright, blond hair and was a sweaty little mess out here in the heat of the late morning.

The tattoo of a snake twisted around her thigh and disappeared up her jean shorts.

“What’s the problem, young lady?”

Monroe asked with a smile.

“Don’t tell me you got a flat tire out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Not a flat, but my engine overheated,”

the woman said, taking the phone from her ear.

“I just called Triple A, but they said they’d be an hour or more to get out here.”

She walked to the driver’s side window.

“I don’t suppose you two strapping gentlemen would have time to help me, would you?”