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He leaned back and flicked one of those silver ball toys on his desk, making it click in an irritating rhythm. “As far as how long we’ll be playing—well, that is entirely up to me and the judge. You’ll have to prove to me that you are, in fact, rehabilitated.” He chuckled softly as he caught a ball in mid-air and pulled it back, letting it fall again to knock into the others harder than before.

“I take it you aren’t real easy to convince.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. Finger on his chin, bullshit on his mind. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve graduated a few convicts early. One in 1992, one in—hm. No, I guess just the one.”

“And how many did you send back up the river?”

“Oh, I’d have to check my files to tell you that.” He smirked at me, then frowned. “Unfortunately, for your case, there is a maximum time limit. Barring any future incidents, you’re mine for the next ten years.” His face split like a jackal’s. “But of course that’s flexible. As I said, it’s on me to keep this town safe. If you can’t abide by the rules, well—we’ll just have to extend that maximum.”

I ground my teeth. “Right. So you’re here to make sure I don’t—what, exactly? As far as I know I was cleared of the murder charge and never officially convicted of any drug charges.”

He nodded. “Mm-hm. Yours is a bit of a strange case. See, me and the judge, we aren’t convinced that you didn’t murder the guy. What was his name? Fisher? Tanner?”

“Hunter.”

“Right, Hunter. I knew it was one of those redneck names. You would have to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that someone else murdered the kid before your parole agreement could be re-evaluated. Since I’m pretty sure you did the deed, that isn’t going to happen. Of course, with the drug history, you would also have to convince us that you no longer profit from the malicious destruction of other people’s lives. If you just happen to come into a little more money than I think you should have, I will open an investigation on your ass so fast you won’t even have time to say, ‘but I inherited it.’”

My thoughts were coming in slowly, in perfect balance. I was currently breaking some civil laws by working on that building without an electrician’s license. I had pocket money from Leroy, all of which was under the table. My truck’s registration was seven years out of date. And I was more than going just 5 mph over the speed limit on my way here. The ice I was skating on seemed to be getting thinner and thinner.

I cleared my throat. “So I assume I’ll be expected to get a job.”

“Oh, yes. You’ll be expected to work forty hour weeks—I charge a $200 a month fee, which is standard—keep your clothes clean—”

“Wait, hold on, back up. I have topayyou to watch me?”

He smiled coldly. “Yes. You will also be required to pay for your own drug tests, which will be performed at random, up to four times a month. You will have a twelve hour window in which to get them done.”

“I see. So if I work 9-5, I’ll have to go get my drug tests done on my lunch break. How nice of you.”

“Did you expect to be comfortable, Mr. Lawson? You are a criminal. An enemy of the good people of Parson County and Danton proper. You are and will be expected to work hard to prove to me that releasing you was not an act of war against civility.”

I pressed my hands against my thighs to keep them from curling into fists. I wanted nothing more than to smash this guy’s face into the floor repeatedly.

“Now then, as I was saying. I expect you to maintain your address at the motel. I expect you to get a full-time job and show up for every shift. You call in sick, you better be in my office with a doctor’s note that same day. I expect your clothes to be clean, your body to be showered, and to see you in church on Sunday. I want proof of all of it. I expect you to be in my office every single Friday with rent receipts, paycheck stubs, and the Sunday flier. You get a car, I want a copy of the registration and the insurance. You start getting claustrophobic in that room, tough shit. You better come in here on your hands and knees begging me to let you apply for something roomier.”

I dug the heels of my hands into my thighs a little harder. Ten years!!! Ten days would be too long to deal with this crap. I wanted to rip that superior smirk off his face and shove it up his ass.

“I see you’re processing this. Good. I want a drug test done today, the office is right next door. It’ll cost you $35. I expect you have it?”

“Sure. It’s my food money for next week, but what model citizen needs to eat, right?”

The pleasure on his face made me sick. “Good. We’re finished here. Be back Friday. Eight o’clock seemed to be a little difficult for you—better make it 7:30 next week.”

“7:30. Got it. I’ll be here.”

“We’ll see. Here’s your test slip. We’re done here.”

He spun his chair around to face the bare wall. Freaking drama queen.

I didn’t bother to say anything as I left—it would have just given him an opening to spin dramatically back around stroking a white cat or something. That was one thing comic books always got wrong—the super villains weren’t the criminals. They weren’t thieves or thugs or maniacal lawbreakers. No, the masterminds and super villains in the real world went the other way; they made the law.

They enforced the law.

They got off on the power of it.

After pissing for the man, I went to the library. I had applications to check on and my data was throttled until I could pay the bill. The motel had free wi-fi, but I wasn’t ready to go back there just yet. Leroy would expect me to get right to work, and I couldn’t afford to spend time screwing around. Besides, Daisy was at the library. I wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to see her.

Plus I should probably tell her that I was stuck here for the foreseeable future. Not that her future was necessarily entangled with mine—I’d still help her get out of town if I could—but I figured she should probably know what to expect from me.