Clint asked Cates. Because of everything that had happened in Prescott, this was the first time Clint had asked this question since arriving in Yuma. He didn’t want the population to immediately know who he was looking for. He was tired of being lied to every time he mentioned Banks’s name. “Who?” Cates asked. “Banks,” Clint said, “Harlan Banks.” “Naw,” Cates said, “don’t know ’im.” Clint nodded. They were waiting for the word to return to their cells. “But that don’t mean he ain’t here.” “How’s that?” Clint asked. “There are some prisoners inside these walls,” Cates said, “who are here . . . let’s say, unofficially.” “Is that a fact?” “Like you,” Cates said. “I’ll bet there ain’t a file on you in the warden’s office.
