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“Please tell me you’re going to take a shower,” she says, waving her hand in front of her nose.
“God, you and my damned cellmate. I’ve been exercising, Lola. I’ve got to keep my strength up. They feed us crap. It’s not enough to keep a hummingbird going.”
“That notwithstanding, I’ve got good news for you, Falcon.” She opens the manila folder. “Your parole revocation hearing is this afternoon. I have permission to take you out of here and get you cleaned up. Which you clearly need.”
“Thank God. They only let us shower every three days here,” I say.
She pinches her nose. “And you need one. You’ll come with me. You’ll have an ankle monitor, of course, and I’ll take you to a hotel room with a police escort.”
“A hotel room? I want to go to my place.”
She shakes her head. “That’ll take too long. The hearing’s in a couple hours. I had your brother Hawk go over to your place to grab a suit and tie and everything else you need.” She looks me up and down. “God, I hope he didn’t forget the deodorant.”
I give her a sarcastic scoff. “What’s going to happen at this hearing?”
“They’ll decide whether your parole will be revoked. I will argue the best I can on your behalf, and if they ask you questions, you will answer them honestly and succinctly.”
“What kind of questions might they ask?”
“We’re going to go over all of that.” She waves me away. “But first, for the love of God, you need a shower.”
“I wish we’d had time to get you a haircut,” Lola says as we walk into the county courthouse.
“What? This suit isn’t enough?” I tug at the tie. Texas heat is not conducive to wearing a suit. Hawk ended up bringing one of his own, as I only had one at my place and apparently he found a stain on the lapel. Luckily, we’re about the same size. The suit is dark gray, the shirt stark white, and the tie dark blue. The shiny black shoes are a little tight. Hawk’s feet are slightly smaller than mine. I may lose a toenail by the end of the day, but if I can get the hell out of jail it’ll be worth it.
Lola leads me into a somber courtroom. From the dark woods and aged brass accents to the benches that look like church pews, this room has seen the fate of many men like me. In the front is the judge’s bench, with the American flag and the Lone Star flag on either side.
A young woman and an older man sit at one of the tables for legal counsel. Lola leads me to the other.
“The judge and the parole board will be in shortly,” she says. “Stay here.” She walks to the other table and shakes hands with the woman and the man, and then she returns to me.
“Who are they?”
“That’s Marian Henley, the prosecutor, and Leo Ficus, your new parole officer and her star witness.”
“Great,” I say dryly.
“Marian is good people,” Lola says. “We couldn’t have asked for anyone better. Don’t get your hopes up, but she won’t nail you to the wall.”
“That’s good, right?”
“The ultimate decision lies with the parole board, but it’ll help that she won’t try to throw the book at you.”
A uniformed bailiff enters with a court reporter. The reporter takes her seat.
“All rise,” the bailiff says.
Lola tugs me to my feet.
“County court is now in session, the Honorable Fay Rodriguez presiding.”
The judge walks in, followed by three others. The parole board, I assume, though they’re different from the ones I recall when I first got parole.
“Please be seated,” the judge says. “As you’re aware, this is the parole revocation hearing for Mr. Falcon Bellamy. I’d like to welcome the parole board. Please state your names.”
“Wanda Guzman,” the women seated in the middle says.
“Barry Lane,” the man to her right says.
