20

Michael

"You have a visitor," one of the guards said as he approached my cell.

I slowly walked up to the bars and turned around so he could put cuffs on me. After being roughly pulled out of my cell, I was escorted to the visiting area. Dylan sat on the opposite side of the glass, and I sat in front of him.

"I heard you're still in solitary confinement," Dylan said. "You seriously can't behave yourself?"

"It's peaceful; no one bothers me."

"You're seriously that antisocial? You should be trying to make friends. After all, you're facing two life sentences."

"How's business going?"

Dylan was still running my gang while I was in prison, but he could only do so much. Especially when our clients only trusted me.

"It's difficult. All your customers still don't trust me, even with the letters you write."

"Have you started with the new trades?"

I wanted to begin selling weapons; that was a huge money-making business.

"No. The clients won't work with me. In the meantime, I've been taking care of anyone trying to steal from you."

"Good."

"How long?"

"Soon. I just need some more time to work things out."

"You could also try making friends. Allies would be helpful."

Dylan was right. I needed allies if I wanted to break out of this hell hole. People always escaped prison, so I needed to be friends with those people. That meant I had to start behaving to be let back in with the other inmates.

"I'll send out a few letters to all our allies. I'll tell them to hold off on making deals with other gangs and wait to hear from me."

"Sounds good. In the meantime, what do you want me to do?"

"Keep doing what you've been doing."

"Alright. Your parents have been asking about you, and your mom says you haven't answered any of her letters."

"That's because I don't open them."

"Why?"

"I don't feel like it."

"Michael, you can't cut your family out of your life."

"Have you been keeping an eye on Victoria?"

"Michael, I'm one guy. I can only do so much."

"You need to do better. I've tried writing letters to her, but she filed for an Order of Protection."

"Wow, she's done with you, isn't she? I can't blame her, though."

"Shut up. I just want to know how my son is doing. Is that too much to ask?"

"In the eyes of the law, yes."

"Time's up!" The officer behind me said.

"Alright, I'll be back in a month," Dylan said.

"Bye," I put the phone back on the rack, and the officer yanked me up by my arm.

When the officer put me back in my cell, he closed the door and walked away. When he was out of sight, I reached into a crack in the wall and pulled out an envelope of money I kept adding to, counting ten thousand dollars.

A little bit extra should be enough to get me out of here.

I put the envelope back and lay back on my bed. I closed my eyes in hopes of getting some sleep when I was disturbed by the same security guard.

"Your attorney is here to see you."

I sat up and approached the bars again. The security guard roughly escorted me to a different visiting area. I stepped into the room where I usually met my attorney; he was already waiting for me.

"I'm guessing you got me out of here or reduced my time?"

My attorney had a grim expression on his face.

"What?"

"Killing an officer is a serious crime; they want to give you the death penalty."