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“I can smell that shit a mile away,” he says.

I don’t answer. I break off another piece of fruit.

“Okay, soldier,” he continues. The reference makes me flinch, but I let it go. “You can call me Chairman. I’m your welcoming committee.”

My brow is lowered as my eyes return to his. “I’m not interested in a welcome.”

“Shut the fuck up and listen.” I’m pissed, but his brow lowers as well. I notice he’s expanded a few inches in size, and I decide I’ll check out that weight room after all.

Sitting a little straighter, I decide to hear him out. “I’m all ears.”

“We do things a little different here. You’re not in the joint. You’re only in a holding pattern. We don’t do white versus black, Dago versus Polack, Mick versus Spick.” I resist asking if he writes greeting cards. He leans forward, and his tone turns sinister. “We do bad-asses versus pussies. Looks like you might be one of the bad-asses.”

“You’re smarter than I thought.”

“You want to survive Phase One of your incarceration? Sit at the head table with us.” He nods in a direction behind me, over my right shoulder. “We’ll protect you.”

“If I’m one of the bad-asses, why do I need protection?”

“Because if you’re not sitting with us, you’re one of the pussies. We don’t truck with pussies. Somebody needs to blow off steam...”

Our eyes clash, black iron against blue steel. I guess it’s time to get affiliated. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the table in question.

Another, equally large black guy is sitting hunched over his plate of shit. Beside him is a skinhead white fellow just as big as he is. In the next seat is a smaller, wiry guy with sallow skin and a black buzz cut.

“Who’s the little guy?” I say, turning back.

“Reverend Moon. Rev for short.” Chairman leans back and a look of admiration passes over his face. “Don’t cross that little fucker or you’ll end up in a sling. Or worse.”

Taking another sip of OJ, I look at the man in front of me then I look around the room where we’re sitting. “This is central lockup. We’re not in prison, there’s no culture here. How do you know so much?”

He’s off defense, and his chest deflates slightly. “You’re a rookie.” Shaking his head, he acts so wise. “You’ll see when you’ve been around a while, it’s one big circle. Maybe you get out... Well, you’re never getting out, but maybe Rev gets out. He’s just a habitual drug offender. He’ll be back. After a while, we know you. And you know us.”

His eyes laser into mine, and I nod. “Badass.”

“Or pussy.”

Without another word, he stands and takes the tray off the table in front of him. I watch as he goes, thinking this is my life now. I might not like it, but I’d better get ready.

* * *

Stuart sits across the glass from me, holding a phone. My partner’s dressed in a brown tweed blazer over a white shirt, no tie. He’s also wearing jeans. I mentally wonder what it is with the Knight brothers and suits.

“How you holding up?” His brown-hazel eyes assess me through the glass.

“Apparently I’m a badass.”

A short laugh, and he shakes his head. “I could’ve told you that. Anybody giving you trouble?”

“Nah, just the usual shit you’d expect.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I’m sorry you’re in here, brother. You killed a worthless piece of shit. You did the world a favor.”

Shaking my head, I don’t let that continue. “I broke the law. Now it’s a matter of whether I’ll find mercy or whether I’ll stay here for the duration.”

“I’m meeting with the prosecution tomorrow morning,” he says. “They’re going to try and make the case for why you should stay, but we’re ready to fight it. Melissa got you one of the best lawyers in the country, from what she claims...”

“Elaine’s brother.”