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“You’re our baby bro. And I think Adon feels like he let you down in some way after Mom died, like he didn’t do a good enough job watching out for you. Blames himself.”
“I know he does. It’s not his fault. I put my face in the blow. I was the one swallowing the suds. I was the one dealing for dough. Speaking of, I need to meet with my P.O. now. Gotta drop a piss.”
“Here. You’ll need this.” Rhodes handed me a phone. In prison, you could do some favors to check the internet through a smuggled cell, but this one looked too high-tech. The world had evolved beyond me in only a few years.
“Not sure I’ll even know how to use this thing.” Fumbling with it in my hand, I poked around on the screen to see if I could turn it on.
“You’ll figure it out. It’s got our numbers, and Tate’s is in there. Even Davis’s and Ward’s. If you need me, call.”
Figuring out the new phone, I was able to use its map app to find the parole office. The car had been amped and drove like a demon. My foot itched to press the gas further down toward the floor. I couldn’t risk a ticket and getting sent back, so I tried to rein her in as much as possible.
After the drug screen, I waited in the hall in an uncomfortable, tiny wooden chair before a guy, probably my age, peered through an office door. “Elijah Griffin?”
“Yes, sir.” This was my chance to start over and become someone new. Someone better. I wanted to make a good impression on him.
The man was skinny, but his rolled-up dress shirt sleeves showcased a faded Celtic symbol tattoo on his right forearm as he opened his door further. Pointing to a chair across from his desk, he glanced at me with light blue eyes. “Linus Bass. Just call me Bass.” Bass checked me over, and then typed on his computer. “You’ll be dropping for a test any time I tell you to. Grave dust, huh? Possession with intent to distribute. Says here, you were caught with several bags on you. Planning to snort that shit again?”
There was no way I would dabble in the dust again. “No, sir. Been clean ever since that night.”
“Any contact with your supplier still? I don’t recommend it.”
“No, sir.” Bruno Cattaneo was a name I didn’t want to hear ever again, and the mention of him brought back all the bad memories from my early twenties.
Bass pushed a hand through his short, light brown hair. Narrowing his eyes at me, he said, “Keep your nose clean, literally. You got a job yet?”
Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I replied, “Yes, sir. I’ll be working for my brother at his garage.” At least that was one thing I had already lined up for me. Now that Adon and Rhodes had taken care of my transportation and living arrangements, I felt like I was doing pretty well for an ex-con.
Bass tilted his head. “Oh, Griffin Motors, huh? They do a great job. Adon is your brother? He’s a good one.”
“Yes, sir.” Everyone in town seemed to know Adon Griffin. At least he was always thegoodGriffin people remembered. Not me.
“Well, Mr. Griffin, keep that job. Stay sober and out of trouble. If there’s a hint of an issue, you’ll be facing twenty-five years.”
I swallowed. The threat of spending the rest of my life in hell was enough to keep me jumping through any hoop placed in front of me. “I know, sir. Not going to mess up.”
“Good. We’ll see each other in about a month. Keep in touch. I’m here if you need me.” He had me add his number to my contacts in my phone.
When I got in the car, my shoulders eased in their tension. I could do this. Keep clean, no problem. Maintain my job? Probably more difficult, only because I had no interest in being a mechanic, but it would do. I had to earn money for Essa somehow.
As if he had heard my weary thoughts, an unknown number popped up on my phone’s screen. Bruno’s nasally voice came through the line when I reluctantly answered.
“Griff! How’s my big stud hanging?”
Fuck. I knew what this was about. “Hey, Bruno. How’d you get this number?”
“You don’t sound pleased to hear from me. And here I am, the one who’ll make you a rich man!”
“I’m not interested.” The tightness in my shoulders returned.
“Please. No dust this time. None of that shit unless you want some. I’m here to save you. I figured you’d get out, be horny, and want to make some money. What better way than working for me at the studio?”
“Nah, I’m good, man.” Yeah, I was raging for pussy, but not desperate enough to work for Bruno.
“I need that ten inches to make some movies. With the right angles, we can make it look like a footlong. I’ve got an entire marketing scheme centered around ‘Donkey Dick Griff’ or ‘Eleven Inch Eli.’ Heard you’d even blown up with muscles. Probably got the whole prison look going. That shit sells.”
“I don’t think so,” I said through gritted teeth. This man had powerful connections; I couldn’t tell him no outright, but my shoulders made it up to my ears the longer I was on the phone with him. He was mid-level scum in the organization, but he was still in it. If I rejected him, they would make my life miserable. Bruno bugged me before my arrest, but I was too busy slinging his dope for him back then to focus on making movies.
“Come by tomorrow. I’ll show you around the studio—no gay-for-pay or anything like that. You can even pick the girl, how about that? None of my other actors get to. We don’t even need to show your face. We’ll do some of those POVs of just your dick. You’ll get some cunt juice on that starved cock and make some quick cash.”
