The cell block door clanks open, and a sharply dressed man with a predatory gleam in his eye is led into the area by a correctional officer. This has to be the one-percenter’s attorney, I think, the kind of lawyer who can twist the law into pretzels — and who wears a three-piece suit even on Sundays.
The attorney motions my cellmate over, and they talk in hushed tones, words slipping through the bars like secrets. The attorney leaves, and a corrections officer opens the cell in a matter of minutes and leads my new friend away.
He’s free, just like that.
I slump back on the thin mattress, alone in the cell now, resigned to my fate. The walls close in, and despair creeps into my thoughts. My hearing on Monday is a lifetime away.
But then the cell block door opens again, and the attorney strides in. His eyes find mine, and I can’t help but feel like a cornered animal.
“Jim?” he asks.
“Yeah?”
“You’re getting out, too.”
I blink once, twice.
He shrugs, a nonchalant gesture that belies the power he wields. “My client has taken an interest in you. The witnesses have recanted. You’re free to go.”
I stand up, my legs wobbly, my mind racing. “But why would he help me?”
The attorney leans in. “Let’s just say he sees something in you.”
I swallow hard but nod. I’ll figure out the one-percenter’s angle later. Right now, I can’t turn it down.
Later, as I walk out of Meade County Jail and step into freedom, the sunlight feels cold.
Copyright © 2023 L.T. Hanlon
L.T. Hanlon 