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“Morning, baby. How are you?” She frowned looking me over.
“I’m fine—”
“The warden told me there was a riot yesterday.”
“Mom, I’m fine.”
“Stop saying that!” she snapped. “You are not fine. Being in here is not fine. I hate you in here, with these dogs. You did not kill Melody.”
“Don’t you think I know that, mother?” I snapped back, rising from my seat just slightly. The guards took a step forward and I sat back down. Running my hands through my hair, my hands ended back up on my chin and mouth.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but she shouldn’t have been.
“No, Ma, I’m sorry. How’s Ethan?” The knot in my chest pulled tighter at the thought of him.
The grin on her face returned. “He’s so…he’s amazing. Yesterday, he almost pulled the hair out of your father’s head, and the moment Sedric began to yelp, he started to coo at him. It’s like he was trying to bribe him with his cuteness.”
I snickered at the thought.
“Liam, it’s been four months, you need to see him—”
“No, Mother. I will not have my son coming to see me in jail. That is not his life. I refuse for him to ever see the inside of this place.” He was a Callahan. I’d never subject him to this unnecessarily.
She sighed. “Fine. I show him pictures and videos of you everyday. He knows you, and I won’t let him forget.”
“Make sure he sees her too.” He needed to know her.
“Then she needs to get her ass back home and get you out of here,” she hissed through her teeth.
“Mother.”
“Fine. I know. But when she does come back, she and I will be having words.”
“Of course—”
“Wrap it up. Visiting hours are over!” the guard yelled.
Reaching up, she placed her hand on the glass. “I’ll see you during your next visiting session.”
“Mom, you don’t have to come—”
“I’ll see you during your next visiting session, Liam,” she said again.
“Okay then.” My hand matched hers on the glass before I had to hang up. Placing the phone back on the hook, I took a step back.
Once again, the cuffs came on as they led me away from the scent of fresh roses. I was hoping for a moment alone in my cell, but instead, I was led back to the cafeteria. The entire place was sterile, bleached from top to bottom as if the riot had never even happened. The cuffs were off just as quickly as they came on, and O’Connor nodded me over to the man sitting alone in the middle table. He was big, of course, and olive skinned, with a full head of gray hair.
Waking forward in the same path I had taken in the days prior, not one of the Skinheads dared to look up at me or even move. They were aware of my presence, but didn’t react.
Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?
I took a seat across from the man that smelled like lunchmeat.
“The Spoon?” I asked, and to answer my question he just bent the plastic spoon in the center. Did he want a medal?
“You rang, Callahan?” he asked in disgust, as he picked through his food with his fingers.
“You work for my wife.”
“Worked,” he corrected, his dark eyes glaring into me. “Past tense.”
“No, present. My wife is still alive.”
He snickered. “What, you just want me to take your word for it?”
“Yes. Because I am a man of my word and you should think about the consequences of forgetting that. After everything my wife and I have done, do you truly believe I would be stupid enough to get caught for murder? You really think the Chicago PD, not the FBI or CIA, but the fucking Chicago PD was able to finally put a finger on me? Really, you don’t look like an idiot to me, and yet here I am, as my wife would say, ‘wasting words.’” Taking the pudding off his tray, I opened it and ate a mouthful using the same spoon he’d bent.
His jaw clenched and he looked me over and sized me up for a moment. The wheels of his very small brain looked like they were working overtime, trying to comprehend everything I had said. Finally, he simply froze.
“You’re in here because you want to be?” he whispered, so very confused.
“More like I need to be, but you’re on the right track,” I corrected before taking another bite.
“You’re planning something big.”
I wanted to roll my eyes at how excited and stupid he sounded. “I am. We are. So get your motherfucking men in line, because you work for my wife and by that definition, you work for me. If I have to remind you of that, you will curse the day you were born, Nicoli. Yes, I do know your name and you should stop calling yourself “The Spoon.” They are made of plastic, my four-month-old son could bend them too,” I said as I rose from the bench and left behind the empty cup for him.
Seventeen more days. Seventeen fucking more days.
TWO
“I am, indeed, a king, because I know how to rule myself.”
—Pietro Aretino
LIAM
DAY 11
My gaze swept over them, their bodies hunched, trying to block my view of their hands. I hated being in situations such as this.
Throwing another packet of ketchup into the center, the three inmates glanced at me.
“You’re bluffing,” Chris, a small black man with a scar marring his face, said with a frown.
“I don’t bluff, even for five million,” I replied before returning my gaze to the cards in my hand.
“Fuck, bro, I’m out,” Justin, Chris’ lover said, as he threw the cards onto the center. They weren’t open about their love affair, but I could tell.
“I was out a while ago,” the eldest, Matty, muttered before folding his hand.
One by one, they all folded until it was only the blabbermouth and me.
He stared into my eyes, looking for any signs of weakness, with a frown on his lips before he finally folded as well. A Grinch-like grin spread across my face as I showed them my hand.
“You bastard! You fucking played us!” Chris snapped, rising from his seat.
“I think the correct term is bluffing,” I said, as I took all the packets of ketchup.
Matty glared, crossing his arms. “What happened to not bluffing, even for five million?”
“Rule eight: Money is money. If you can’t make it, then take it,” I replied, already shuffling up the deck. “Now, I better have my money by tomorrow.”
Chris spat to the side of him. Then he walked to the other side of the cafeteria and spoke with a few of their people, hopefully about getting me my money. Chris was part of a street crew who most likely sold my drugs at a higher price to people in his neighborhood. It was one of the drawbacks of using middlemen. Once they bought the product from us, it was no longer our concern, they could sell it at any price they wanted. I didn’t mind that. What pissed me off was when they tried to mix their own shit into it, as if they were bloody scientists. The idiots didn’t realize that if a person overdosed, we would lose customers and profit. Anything that took money out of my pockets needed to be dealt with.
“Your money will be wired to you, Callahan,” Chris sneered when he came back. He sat back down, but he didn’t touch the cards.
