Clement, Henry
Prisoner: Cell Block H #2: the Franky Doyle story
Los Angeles, Calif. : Pinnacle Books, 1980. - 224 p.
ISBN: 0-523-41175-8
Paperback. Out of Print.


'... 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 bargained for.


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 guard...

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Last updated: 1999-01-08.
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