CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY FIVE – PRISON POLITICS

As summer's sweltering heat engulfed the prison grounds, Kayla found herself cautiously emerging from her guarded shell. She still jumped at every sudden noise, still felt ill at ease surrounded by the motley cluster of hardened felons. But she slowly recognized that Marly and her compatriots did seem to operate by a unique criminal code of honor. They were crass, profane, and utterly amoral by any objective standards. But they also showed flashes of startling kindness and empathy that Kayla never anticipated from convicts. Bam Bam in particular surprised her by taking a gruff, protective attitude toward Kayla. Maybe it was out of lingering Catholic guilt for her own sins, or perhaps she was just going soft in her advancing years. But the brusque Bostonian always made sure to save Kayla a spot at their table and run interference with any other inmate initiations. "Hey kid, don't be listenin' to those towel-heads giving you shitt," she muttered one afternoon, dropping into the seat