Prisoner: Cell Block H #2: the Franky Doyle story
Los Angeles, Calif. : Pinnacle Books, 1980. - 224 p.
Paperback. Out of Print.
WHEN THE GATE SLAMS SHUT, NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU SCREAM.
'... a gritty and gripping dramatic series... lots of tension...and in very unHollywood
fashion, realistic.' - Variety
A tough yet sensible lesbian, Franky Doyle never got enough of anything - love,
education, guidance - until she committed armed robbery and murder...and got more than she
FRANKY'S FURY . . .
Like a parade soldier, the prison guard, Vera Bennett, came to within spitting distance
of the bars of Franky's solitary cell. "Have you calmed down yet, Doyle?"
Had she calmed down yet! As though she would ever calm down so long as they kept
her locked in this hellhole. "Piss off," Franky sneered.
Bennett gave her a look of undiluted contempt. "That's all you're capable of,
isn't it?" she snapped.
"I've never heard anything from you but filth."
"Just let me out of here for two minutes," Franky said, narrowing her
eyes malevolently, "and you'll find out what I'm capable of."
The guard cast a meaningful glance at the metal door. It was securely locked, and
the keys to it were in her possession. "You're safe in here for the next three days,
Doyle," she assured Franky in a harsh tone.
"Yeah," Franky spat back at her. "And I'll tell you one thing. You
won't be safe when I get out." She added threateningly, "None of youse will.
Mark my words, Vinegar Tits."
As Bennett stood there burning, it suddenly struck Franky how really funny the name
was. The old sexstarved screw, with her bun pulled tight as a cat's asshole. It served her
right to hear a few home truths about herself.
Franky's wild taunting laughter pursued Bennett's footsteps down the hall. It went
on and on, long after the corridor doors had clanged and been locked behind the grim-faced