aside like a paper doll. Two guards pulled Ramirez and Breem away and held them at bay with their nightsticks. Meacham, looking sullen, blocked the exit.
Maybe it wasn’t my day to die, after all.
“You okay?” Frank grabbed my collar and hauled me to my feet.
I put out a hand to steady myself against the bars. “Still breathing.”
“Good.”
I opened my mouth to thank him, but he held up a hand and said, “Don’t. I didn’t come here for conversation.”
“What did you come here for?”
“Apparently, to save your life. Don’t make me regret it.” He turned away and pushed past Meacham. “Put him in a private cell, Officer. And no ‘mistakes’ this time.”
Meacham scowled. “Looks like someone’s got a guardian angel.” He hauled me into the hallway, shoved me into my new cell, and slammed the door behind me. Leaning close to the bars, he said, “Tell your buddy I don’t care what he does to me. It was worth it.”
I wanted to punch him until there was nothing left of his smirk but shards of bone and shreds of bloody flesh. Instead, I gave him my Cool Hand Luke stare until he looked away. Then I stretched out on my new bunk and pretended to sleep. The voices from the other cells subsided, and eventually I dozed, waking every few hours to listen for the rustle of a blanket or the scuff of footsteps on the cell floor.
Breakfast was cold oatmeal, powdered eggs, and shriveled strips of blackened bacon, after which I spent the morning counting cracks in the ceiling and feeling sorry for myself. My eyes were swollen to slits and crusted with blood. It hurt to move. It even hurt to breathe. If LeQuintus and the boys ever decided to go straight, I figured they could get jobs as meat tenderizers.
It was Friday before the guard on duty came to tell me my bond had been paid, my preliminary hearing had been set for the next week, and a Randall McKean was here to take me home.
As we passed the cell where I’d begun my odyssey, I noticed a stocky, bald man passing out Bibles to the prisoners. An angry red scar trailed from just beneath his left eye to the corner of his mouth. There was something familiar about him. I rifled through my mental files and came up empty.
“Who’s that?” I asked the guard.
He glanced over into the cell. “Name’s Reverend Avery. That woman you killed went to his church.” He gave a dry laugh. “Maybe she should’ve listened a little closer, huh? Especially the part about ‘thou shalt not commit adultery.’ ”
I paused to peer more closely at the reverend. Clean-shaven. Ruddy complexion. Rolls of fat bulging on either side of the belt he’d buckled too tightly around his waist. His girlish mouth wore a smug smile.
A feeling of revulsion coiled into the pit of my stomach.
“I think I know him,” I said.
“Seen his picture on your windshield, probably. You know, those religious flyers about how the Pope’s the anti-Christ and Madonna is the whore of Babylon.” He nudged me again. “You want to stick around and gab, I’ll be happy to throw away the key.”
“No. I’m going.”
LeQuintus looked up and broke away from the group. I was glad there were still bars between us. “It ain’t over with you and me, Cop. That Kung Fu shit ain’t gonna help you next time.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I made a mental note to get another gun. You know the old saying: Don’t take a knife to a gunfight . I’d probably never see LeQuintus again, but I had a feeling that if I ever did, that advice would come in handy.
I CROSSED THE PARKING LOT in Randall’s wake, noticed him limping, and said, “Knee bothering you again?”
“Not again,” he said. “Still. It’s worse some days than others. Want to tell me how you got yourself into this mess?”
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “I’ve told this story so many times I feel like a damn tape recorder.”
“Well, hit rewind and tell it again.”
I started with meeting Heather at the First Edition Bar and
Maybe it wasn’t my day to die, after all.
“You okay?” Frank grabbed my collar and hauled me to my feet.
I put out a hand to steady myself against the bars. “Still breathing.”
“Good.”
I opened my mouth to thank him, but he held up a hand and said, “Don’t. I didn’t come here for conversation.”
“What did you come here for?”
“Apparently, to save your life. Don’t make me regret it.” He turned away and pushed past Meacham. “Put him in a private cell, Officer. And no ‘mistakes’ this time.”
Meacham scowled. “Looks like someone’s got a guardian angel.” He hauled me into the hallway, shoved me into my new cell, and slammed the door behind me. Leaning close to the bars, he said, “Tell your buddy I don’t care what he does to me. It was worth it.”
I wanted to punch him until there was nothing left of his smirk but shards of bone and shreds of bloody flesh. Instead, I gave him my Cool Hand Luke stare until he looked away. Then I stretched out on my new bunk and pretended to sleep. The voices from the other cells subsided, and eventually I dozed, waking every few hours to listen for the rustle of a blanket or the scuff of footsteps on the cell floor.
Breakfast was cold oatmeal, powdered eggs, and shriveled strips of blackened bacon, after which I spent the morning counting cracks in the ceiling and feeling sorry for myself. My eyes were swollen to slits and crusted with blood. It hurt to move. It even hurt to breathe. If LeQuintus and the boys ever decided to go straight, I figured they could get jobs as meat tenderizers.
It was Friday before the guard on duty came to tell me my bond had been paid, my preliminary hearing had been set for the next week, and a Randall McKean was here to take me home.
As we passed the cell where I’d begun my odyssey, I noticed a stocky, bald man passing out Bibles to the prisoners. An angry red scar trailed from just beneath his left eye to the corner of his mouth. There was something familiar about him. I rifled through my mental files and came up empty.
“Who’s that?” I asked the guard.
He glanced over into the cell. “Name’s Reverend Avery. That woman you killed went to his church.” He gave a dry laugh. “Maybe she should’ve listened a little closer, huh? Especially the part about ‘thou shalt not commit adultery.’ ”
I paused to peer more closely at the reverend. Clean-shaven. Ruddy complexion. Rolls of fat bulging on either side of the belt he’d buckled too tightly around his waist. His girlish mouth wore a smug smile.
A feeling of revulsion coiled into the pit of my stomach.
“I think I know him,” I said.
“Seen his picture on your windshield, probably. You know, those religious flyers about how the Pope’s the anti-Christ and Madonna is the whore of Babylon.” He nudged me again. “You want to stick around and gab, I’ll be happy to throw away the key.”
“No. I’m going.”
LeQuintus looked up and broke away from the group. I was glad there were still bars between us. “It ain’t over with you and me, Cop. That Kung Fu shit ain’t gonna help you next time.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I made a mental note to get another gun. You know the old saying: Don’t take a knife to a gunfight . I’d probably never see LeQuintus again, but I had a feeling that if I ever did, that advice would come in handy.
I CROSSED THE PARKING LOT in Randall’s wake, noticed him limping, and said, “Knee bothering you again?”
“Not again,” he said. “Still. It’s worse some days than others. Want to tell me how you got yourself into this mess?”
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “I’ve told this story so many times I feel like a damn tape recorder.”
“Well, hit rewind and tell it again.”
I started with meeting Heather at the First Edition Bar and
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