Page 22 of All That Glitters
Chapter eighteen
Jail Cell Stories
“And that’s basically how I ended up in here,” Tony said, pacing the small distance between his metal bunk and the steel bars in the small, grimy jail cell.
Across from him, a half-dozen scary-looking men sat listening with the rapt attention of kindergartners at story time. They were a motley crew of bikers, toughs, and career criminals, and each of them wore the goofiest, most engrossed expression imaginable.
One of them, a wily-looking man named Roy who was missing at least two teeth, shook his head in absolute amazement. “Damn,” he rumbled. “And here all I did was steal my cousin’s car.”
Another one, Carl, nodded along enthusiastically. “So what happened next? You sell that screenplay of yers?”
A hulking man, who looked like he’d be more at home on a Harley than a prison bunk, just shook his head.
His name was Craig, and if this crew had a leader, he was it.
“No, ya dumbass,” he grunted. “That’s when he got hisself arrested.
” He turned his thoughtful look to Tony.
“So Tony. I’s just thinkin’ while you was speakin’, and it seems to me ya gotta have boobs in the movie.
Broads is great, but boobs is what really sells. ”
Roy wasn’t interested in critique notes. “I still wanna know if he ever done the deed with the klutzy chick.”
Tony nearly choked. “Debbie?” he said, stopping his pacing. “Naw, we’re just buddies.”
Craig leaned forward, his expression serious. “Well, it seems to me, Tony, this chick comes all the way out to San Diego and all… she gotta have some sorta thing for ya.”
“Trust me, you guys,” Tony said emphatically. “No romance. None. Nada.”
Just then, a door at the end of the corridor clanked open. Tony looked out to see Debbie, Bob the attorney, and a uniformed guard heading their way.
“Bob! Debbie! Hey!” Tony said, relief washing over him.
Debbie strolled right up to the bars, a cheesy, unsympathetic grin plastered on her face. “Hey yourself. Public idiot number one.”
“There really is a good explanation for all this,” he tried to assure her.
“You were dropped on your head as a kid?” she offered.
“Hey, missy,” Craig rumbled from behind Tony. “Did I hear correct your name’s Debbie?”
Debbie’s grin faltered. She looked past Tony to the massive biker who had joined him at the bars. She nodded slowly. “Yeah?”
Craig’s face broke into a huge, gap-toothed smile. “Hey, boys! This here’s the klutzy chick Tony’s tellin’ us about!”
Roy’s head perked up. “The one he ain’t done the deed with yet?”
“Yup,” Craig said proudly. “This here’s her.”
Roy and Carl scrambled off their bunks and joined them at the bars, peering at Debbie like a zoo exhibit.
“Pleased to meet yer acquaintance, ma’am,” Roy said, dipping his head politely.
“You have any sisters or somethin’ you could fix us all up with?” Carl asked.
Debbie shot Tony a frown. If looks could kill, he would have been a pile of ash on the cell floor. “You told these guys I’m klutzy?”
“I don’t think I used those exact words,” Tony cringed.
“Them’s the words I heard,” Roy confirmed helpfully. “Ain’t that right, boys?”
The other inmates all nodded in agreement. Debbie continued glaring at Tony, counting the number of ways she could kill him. Most of them seemed too kind. Tony just shrank. Craig, oblivious to the tension, slapped a beefy arm around Tony’s shoulder.
“Now missy, don’t you worry none,” he said reassuringly. “You should hear some of the good stuff he’s been sayin’ about ya. Me and the boys here think the two of you oughta hook up.”
“Really?” Debbie said, her eyes still drilling into Tony. “Because I’m thinking he looks pretty dangerous. Maybe he should just stay in there a while longer.”
Bob nodded to the guard. It was time. “Go ahead.”
The guard slipped a key into the lock, and the cell door swung open with a loud clang.
“You’re free to go, Harding. Your friends posted bail.”
Tony stepped out of the cell, a free, if deeply indebted, man. “Thanks.”
“You owe me,” Debbie said, arms folded and a mock frown on her face. “And we’re going to talk about this Klutzy thing.”
Tony smiled and nodded. “I still think they heard wrong.”
“Uh huh.” She wasn’t buying it.
“Hey, Tony,” Craig called out. “You mind lettin’ me and the boys hang on to one of them screenplays?”
“No, go for it,” Tony said. “Not like there’s any shortage of them.”
He unzipped his backpack, and out tumbled a dozen copies of The Frat, each with one of the Starving Artists Agency’s cover pages he’d snagged from Amy’s desk.