UnHolyPimpHand
Not LitShark
- Joined
- Jul 12, 2010
- Posts
- 539
“Rolling on six to the outside!” the guard called back to the control tower just before a loud metallic buzzing sound echoed across the yard.
The large, metal wall made the ground tremble slightly as its massive steel wheels moved it out of Colton McBryde’s way, revealing the outside to him for the first time—free air, free ground, free sky… freedom. It was such a massive concept, Colton could barely conceptualize of what it meant in the abstract—much less, what it meant for him.
“Don’t be in too much of a rush to come back and see us, McBryde,” the guard joked, resting his bean-bag loaded shotgun on his shoulder long enough to clap Colton on the back.
“You’d have to kill me first,” Colton said flatly, without looking back.
The guard chuckled, but it was no joke. No matter what happened after today, Colton was never going to spend another minute in a cell. The only “street clothes” he had to change into were his clothes that he’d worn to court, a dress shirt that may have been crisp, once upon a time, and slacks that no longer fit him well. The tie, he’d used to bind his few books that made up his only other worldly possessions.
There was no one to pick him up from jail. His friends and family had all died or abandoned him over the long years inside. He turned toward the direction that he knew the bus stop was in.
*-*-*
Isaac Norton stepped out of his eight-head, marble shower onto his bathmat, draping himself in his large Versace robe. He wiped the steam away from the mirror, inspecting his reflection for a long moment before lathering his face with heated foam from an automated dispenser.
Isaac was old school, at least he thought so. His car was from the fifties and he still shaved with a straight razor—old school. Despite being well practiced, Isaac cut himself pretty bad this morning, his skin tenting suddenly and unexpectedly, drops of blood landed into the marble sink basin.
“Fuck!” Isaac swore, pressing his fingers into the cut to stop the bleeding, the feeling of his finger making the cut bloom with burning pain.
A bad omen. It was going to be a long day.
*-*-*
“It’s called Molly now,” Kenneth, the connect that his cell mate had put Colton in touch with was saying, “ecstasy is dead as disco. Nobody trusts pressed pills anymore.”
“Molly ain’t pills?” Colton’s voice was cold, incredulous. He was wearing his button-up shirt open, his ribbed tank top hugging the defined muscles of his ripped torso.
“Well—I mean, they’re capsules,” Kenneth was scratching at his neck under the fabric of his threadbare hoodie. The kid looked soaking wet even though it wasn’t raining.
“Capsules ain’t pills?”
There came a long, tense silence that fell over the alley. Kenneth tried to laugh it off, but Colton’s jaw just tensed. So far, freedom was a disappointment.
“They’re five each. That’s wholesale—one-hundred minimum.” Kenneth moved his hand in his pocket, the sound of the capsules in his pocket making a rather appealing rattling noise.
“The price and quantity are fine, but Alex said he talked to you.”
“Well… he talked. But you’re not inside anymore. I’m not just going to float you a boat of pills because you let my brother use your cell phone.”
“So, they are pills.”
“Man, fuck you!” Kenneth turned to leave, but Colton’s large hand grasped his upper arm suddenly and roughly, like he was caught in a bear trap.
“End of the week. Float me a hundred today. By Sunday I’ll pay you back, plus the VIG and I’ll buy my next batch cash up front—and every batch after.”
“And if you don’t?”
“If I don’t, I’ll owe you a favor. I’ll do whatever you want. No haggling, no refusing. Anything.”
“You’ll kill someone?”
“If I need to.”
Kenneth pointedly jerked his arm away, Colton allowed him to escape. He took a long time, mulling it over. At last he pulled a Ziplock bag full of cream-colored capsules, handing it over to Colton.
“Don’t make me come looking for you.” Kenneth said at last.
“Don’t worry. For better or worse, I’ll find you. I appreciate this.”
Both men left the alley from different directions.
*-*-*
Isaac inspected himself in the mirror of his walk-in closet. Armani bespoke navy suit, charcoal shirt and a powder blue tie. He was dressed for success, smiling at his reflection as he threaded the gold fittings of his cuff links into his sleeves.
It was hard to ignore the blood-stained piece of toilet paper still stuck to his neck, but that would heal in no time—he reassured himself. Omens were just superstitious nonsense. He was going to have a great day. He was meeting with the prison lobby today and they had always been very generous with him and his campaign.
Snatching the toilet paper out of the collar of his shirt, Isaac left the closet to see what the staff had prepared for breakfast.
Beep! Beep!
Blaine, the on-again boyfriend of his daughter, Madison, was honking the horn of his shitty stock-model Porche from outside. Isaac hated the son-of-a-bitch and hated this habit of his even more. They lived on a cul-du-sac in Monte Vista, the most exclusive neighborhood in the state—he resented that punk kid, driving around and honking like this was Compton or something.
“Maddie! How many times do I have to tell you not to let that boyfriend of yours honk his horn outside my house! I don’t need this shit today!” all the optimism that Isaac had felt in the mirror was blasted out of his head by two short blasts on a horn.
Isaac encountered his wife on his way to the kitchen.
“Will you tell her, please?”
*-*-*
Colton was tapping his foot impatiently. The walls in the halfway house were alarmingly thin and everyone seemed to be screaming. The women stayed on the third floor, the men on the second and the ground floor was dedicated to administration. The thought that he had to stay here disgusted him.
He needed to check in with his P.O. who would give him a room assignment. On the wall that he faced, waiting to have his name called, the layout of the room was printed onto a plastic frame. They were four to a room. That wouldn’t work for him.
He’d need to get some leverage on this P.O. right away. His thoughts were racing…
The large, metal wall made the ground tremble slightly as its massive steel wheels moved it out of Colton McBryde’s way, revealing the outside to him for the first time—free air, free ground, free sky… freedom. It was such a massive concept, Colton could barely conceptualize of what it meant in the abstract—much less, what it meant for him.
“Don’t be in too much of a rush to come back and see us, McBryde,” the guard joked, resting his bean-bag loaded shotgun on his shoulder long enough to clap Colton on the back.
“You’d have to kill me first,” Colton said flatly, without looking back.
The guard chuckled, but it was no joke. No matter what happened after today, Colton was never going to spend another minute in a cell. The only “street clothes” he had to change into were his clothes that he’d worn to court, a dress shirt that may have been crisp, once upon a time, and slacks that no longer fit him well. The tie, he’d used to bind his few books that made up his only other worldly possessions.
There was no one to pick him up from jail. His friends and family had all died or abandoned him over the long years inside. He turned toward the direction that he knew the bus stop was in.
*-*-*
Isaac Norton stepped out of his eight-head, marble shower onto his bathmat, draping himself in his large Versace robe. He wiped the steam away from the mirror, inspecting his reflection for a long moment before lathering his face with heated foam from an automated dispenser.
Isaac was old school, at least he thought so. His car was from the fifties and he still shaved with a straight razor—old school. Despite being well practiced, Isaac cut himself pretty bad this morning, his skin tenting suddenly and unexpectedly, drops of blood landed into the marble sink basin.
“Fuck!” Isaac swore, pressing his fingers into the cut to stop the bleeding, the feeling of his finger making the cut bloom with burning pain.
A bad omen. It was going to be a long day.
*-*-*
“It’s called Molly now,” Kenneth, the connect that his cell mate had put Colton in touch with was saying, “ecstasy is dead as disco. Nobody trusts pressed pills anymore.”
“Molly ain’t pills?” Colton’s voice was cold, incredulous. He was wearing his button-up shirt open, his ribbed tank top hugging the defined muscles of his ripped torso.
“Well—I mean, they’re capsules,” Kenneth was scratching at his neck under the fabric of his threadbare hoodie. The kid looked soaking wet even though it wasn’t raining.
“Capsules ain’t pills?”
There came a long, tense silence that fell over the alley. Kenneth tried to laugh it off, but Colton’s jaw just tensed. So far, freedom was a disappointment.
“They’re five each. That’s wholesale—one-hundred minimum.” Kenneth moved his hand in his pocket, the sound of the capsules in his pocket making a rather appealing rattling noise.
“The price and quantity are fine, but Alex said he talked to you.”
“Well… he talked. But you’re not inside anymore. I’m not just going to float you a boat of pills because you let my brother use your cell phone.”
“So, they are pills.”
“Man, fuck you!” Kenneth turned to leave, but Colton’s large hand grasped his upper arm suddenly and roughly, like he was caught in a bear trap.
“End of the week. Float me a hundred today. By Sunday I’ll pay you back, plus the VIG and I’ll buy my next batch cash up front—and every batch after.”
“And if you don’t?”
“If I don’t, I’ll owe you a favor. I’ll do whatever you want. No haggling, no refusing. Anything.”
“You’ll kill someone?”
“If I need to.”
Kenneth pointedly jerked his arm away, Colton allowed him to escape. He took a long time, mulling it over. At last he pulled a Ziplock bag full of cream-colored capsules, handing it over to Colton.
“Don’t make me come looking for you.” Kenneth said at last.
“Don’t worry. For better or worse, I’ll find you. I appreciate this.”
Both men left the alley from different directions.
*-*-*
Isaac inspected himself in the mirror of his walk-in closet. Armani bespoke navy suit, charcoal shirt and a powder blue tie. He was dressed for success, smiling at his reflection as he threaded the gold fittings of his cuff links into his sleeves.
It was hard to ignore the blood-stained piece of toilet paper still stuck to his neck, but that would heal in no time—he reassured himself. Omens were just superstitious nonsense. He was going to have a great day. He was meeting with the prison lobby today and they had always been very generous with him and his campaign.
Snatching the toilet paper out of the collar of his shirt, Isaac left the closet to see what the staff had prepared for breakfast.
Beep! Beep!
Blaine, the on-again boyfriend of his daughter, Madison, was honking the horn of his shitty stock-model Porche from outside. Isaac hated the son-of-a-bitch and hated this habit of his even more. They lived on a cul-du-sac in Monte Vista, the most exclusive neighborhood in the state—he resented that punk kid, driving around and honking like this was Compton or something.
“Maddie! How many times do I have to tell you not to let that boyfriend of yours honk his horn outside my house! I don’t need this shit today!” all the optimism that Isaac had felt in the mirror was blasted out of his head by two short blasts on a horn.
Isaac encountered his wife on his way to the kitchen.
“Will you tell her, please?”
*-*-*
Colton was tapping his foot impatiently. The walls in the halfway house were alarmingly thin and everyone seemed to be screaming. The women stayed on the third floor, the men on the second and the ground floor was dedicated to administration. The thought that he had to stay here disgusted him.
He needed to check in with his P.O. who would give him a room assignment. On the wall that he faced, waiting to have his name called, the layout of the room was printed onto a plastic frame. They were four to a room. That wouldn’t work for him.
He’d need to get some leverage on this P.O. right away. His thoughts were racing…
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