Third POV
The prison was a gray concrete fortress looming under the sun. Jeff thought it looked almost beautiful if he forgot it was a prison.
Tall, gray, massive buildings with no doors, just walls all the way. He glanced down at his watch. It was just past eleven in the morning, but it was hot as hell.
The October air sizzled. Jeff crouched behind a battered utility van parked near the entrance to the prison, eyes scanning the place. Sweat trickled down his back under the stolen maintenance uniform.
It hadn't taken much to pose as a maintenance worker for the state prison. He'd bribed the right people, greased some palms, but one wrong move and the plan would fall apart.
He waited for the patrol guards to pass, then slipped toward the side gate. The warden was waiting. He was a nervous, middle-aged man with a gambling debt that made him easy to buy. Jeff approached casually, tipping his head in a nod.
"When are they moving him?"
