With his habit of disappearing from even the most highly secure prisons and sticky situations, the police had ony one choice to hold Mr Sanchez.
Alcatraz.
The very name struck fear into the most hardened criminals.
For there was no escape from the rock.
Life here was hell. There were no privileges. The cells were bared, almost carved from the concrete. His time sitting in the cell was a misery.
The time in the exercise yard was almost worst. From here he could see the city, and all that was forbidden to him. Still, he realised that his situation could be worse. There were no cooking facilities in the cells. If there were, his life could have been VERY tricky, and probably quite short, because the food here made airline food look good.
This little positive thought gradually formed into a kernel of hope. And where there is hope there is a way. Months went by, with Mr Sanchez quietly sitting, looking and planning. Nights were hopeless, the security was everywhere. It seemed that the only hope for him was to make a break for it in broad daylight, when the guards would least expect it, and rely on his small size and superior speed for his safety.
It was a long shot, but he could not spend his whole life in this prison. Some of the other inmates were already beginning to plan how to make themselves a frying pan. Time was of the essense.
Just after lunch one day he made his break. Legging it down the stair's, and out of the door which was still open as the guards left. He shot between their legs so fast they did not notice. This was the break he needed, with a little luck, he would not be noticed for an hour or more.
Pausing for one last look at the place of his torment, he jumped into the water & swam for it, hoping the sharks would look overlook his resemblance to tuna.
And he made it...
