Chapter 1

23 June 2015 (Tallahassee Women's Detention Center)

My name is Jeffrey (Jeff for short) Jones. I am a freelance writer for a Miami newspaper and have arrangements for short pieces in several other Florida big cities on an open-ended contract that doesn't pay very much unless my stories get "buzz" from the other media. I have been doing the golf tournament and the car-racing gigs lately because I know a lot about both activities and my name is recognized by the general public.

I started doing an expose of the penal system in the southern states just to generate some interesting content for readers of that sort of charged atmosphere where twisted sex is a part of the normal routine. I wrote my articles with a great deal of caution because it was not wise to piss off any of the big-wig government types who set the budgets and dish out the correctional part of the justice system. There had been an increase in the number of spectacular escapes recently and the general public was beginning to wonder exactly where their tax dollars were being spent. I started with a historical look at the mistakes of the past and it made good copy and was easy to write with just a small amount of investment in research time.

One of the things that I noticed right away was that when female prisoners escaped from custody, there was little hoopla and the media tended to consider it more a nuisance rather than a threat to society. Even when the female offenders were charged with some serious crimes unless some victim or group made a big stink about it, the jailbreak seldom got any notice at all.

Florida seemed to be a place where the escapes were most prevalent and I wondered if it had to do with the climate or the system which was a bit more liberal than in the other southern states. As part of my research, I got to interview a number of the prisoners and the female guards in the system to determine the cause for the increase in escapes. I can't use real names here because it would endanger the guard's records and call attention to prisoner's relatives who would rather remain well out of the limelight.

The case that intrigued me the most was of course the unusual case of Cuba Malloy who is still at large and listed as the only female on the State's top ten most wanted list.

Cuba Malloy was trouble starting at a very early age. I can't go into the details of her youthful offenses because of legal restrictions in several different areas. Suffice it to say that at eighteen years of age, the young Cuba was already on the road to perdition with hardly a glance over her pretty shoulder.

I met Cuba at the Tallahassee Woman's House of Detention on one of those humid summer days when there was not a breeze to be had in the midst of the sweltering palms. The endless barbed wire seemed to stretch in every direction like some crazy artist's design of modern living. Even the mindless critters in the everglades knew enough not to venture anywhere near it because the softest touch would be certain to result in the flowing of crimson red blood and shredded skin.

The inmates shuffled everywhere they went as if their movements were choreographed in some theater of the absurd by a mentally disturbed artist with an eye for stirring unease.

I noticed that the prisoners were mostly younger females and I surmised it was probably because the older ones had already been released or learned their lesson not to be caught. Further south the mix tended to be more darker than up here in the panhandle but I expect it was because the beach visitor crowd who got in trouble were more representative of the other northern states and the young white females got in trouble a lot faster when they were let loose with hardly any clothes and lots of horny males to push them into excess.

Cuba was actually originally from the Miami Beach area and she constantly pined about her beloved "South Beach" and her many friends none of whom took the time to even send her a postcard.

When she sat down across from me at the wooden picnic table in the "yard" I noticed she had a Technicolor shiner than made her look a bit hawkish like some pirate girl ready to steal your wallet. It made me a bit uneasy and in a certain sense lacking in sufficient roughness to control her urges whatever they might be. I passed her a cigarette because she made a point of it and she took two putting one behind her pretty ear like a piece of golden treasure for later consumption.

It was hard to tell much about the inmate's physical attributes because of the shapeless jumpsuit but her short-cropped hair was attractive in a sort of boyish way that defied gender identification. I started to focus on her heart-shaped lips that looked inviting even without any lipstick in evidence.

I lit her cigarette and she cupped my hand with both of hers making it feel like my fingers were roaming inside her private parts and she was smothering them with her sexy folds.

"I hear you are interviewing us about prison conditions and will release a report to improve things inside the system. All I can tell you is that everything in here sucks and they need to let us all go because it is all a big waste of time."

Cuba said this with a wide smile on her face letting me know she was being facetious and not seriously complaining about any ill treatment. I got the impression that if she got "ill treatment" from anyone, they would soon regret it because she was definitely a "pay-back is a mother-fucker" type of girl. She started playing footsie with me under the table almost immediately and I realized she didn't care who saw her and what they might have thought about her wanton need for sex. She slipped off one shoe and rubbed her toes just above my ankle sending a tingle up my spine that was admittedly sensual and arousing. I could tell from the look in her eyes that she needed it badly and that she would have had carnal relations with anyone with a decent hard-on. Still, I had a job to do so I mustered my concentration back on matters at hand and started to ask her the questions I had almost memorized and didn't need to read in order to ask them.