CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

    Declan patted the bulge in his crotch once again. It was a good thing his prison suit hung loosely or the contraband would be easy to see. He still couldn’t believe he’d been able to pull it off. The stare down at the table was intense. A deadly game of cat and mouse, only he was the mouse. Christ he didn’t belong here. Not among these players, he didn’t. He was way out of his league.

  There was a second when he’d almost blown it. It took everything he had not to look away or show fear. Any sign of fear in here, would be like bleeding into shark infested waters. The inmates developed a keen sense of smell and could spot fear a mile away. Only the thought of his next pill kept him going.

 Soon, at least it better be, or he was prepared to take on the Rooster, retracing his steps Declan left the dining hall. His face remained stoic as he gritted his teeth trying not to wince. Man he hurt. His legs throbbed, feeling broken as he walked. His bones felt like sand paper, rubbing together with each new step. His meal wasn’t sitting well either, and if he didn’t get something into him and quick, it would be coming back up.

 A hand slammed into his back, almost knocking him to the floor. Declan turned searching for its owner amidst the departing crowd. A dark haired member stood slightly to the side revealing himself, and nodding, he passed. Not sure what else to do, Declan nodded back.

 Back in his cell he climbed the ladder to his bunk. Should he? The Rooster wasn’t here. Now would be a good time to search for his stash, eyeing the hallway he looked for the cameras. They were all over the place, they must be, but he couldn’t find them. Nah, better not, wiping sweat from his forehead he decided to put the search off for another day.

 Besides, he was starting to hurt. Bad.

 One of the older guards poked his head in the door. “You’ve got a visitor.”

 “I do? Who is it?” He asked, slowly climbing down the ladder.

“What?” the guard snorted, “Do I look like you’re fuckin secretary.” He laughed while circling Declan’s wrists in steel.

 Jesus, why were they were all so God dam difficult?  He followed the guard not saying another word, aware he was being watched. Eyes of every shape and color watched his passing. With no real life of their own, to the inmates each event in this hell hole was just another opportunity.

  Declan followed the prison guard to a section of the big house he’d never before entered. He was ushered into a small room that held a round table and two plastic chairs. The guard eyed him pointing to the chair and indicating he should sit. “Don’t try any funny stuff.” He warned. “I’ll be right outside.”

 Yeah right! He tried not to smirk. Jesus he could take the old guy with one hand tied behind his back. His stomach rumbled and he winced. On second thought, he sat, his knees popping. Nausea uncoiled as his intestines gurgled.

 The guard heard the gurgle and laughed. “What, the food in this joint doesn’t agree with ya?” He snickered.

 Declan closed his eyes, lowering his head and ignored him.

  Not at all put off, the guard seemed to be having fun. “Enjoy your suite at the Ritz.” He laughed as he left the room.

  His finger nails drummed the table top impatiently. His bones ached in a way he’d come to dread. Nausea moved from deep within his belly, starting its climb. He searched the room for a garbage can, but didn’t see one. Declan swallowed. It was bitter, hot and sour. Footsteps echoed down the hallway getting closer.

 Just outside the door murmured voices and then the old guard spoke, “Be careful, you have a dangerous criminal in there.” He laughed sarcastically, indicating Declan was anything but.

 The door opened and Declan raised his head.

  “Hello Declan.” His lawyer said.

 Declan’s heart lurched. Was he being released?

 Mr Briggs sat down, joining him. With a poker face he stated, “you’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

 Declan nodded, trying not to move.

 Mr Briggs looked at him questioningly. “Is your neck stiff?” His long grey brows wiggled as he spoke.

 “A little.” Declan agreed.

 “Did you fall? Are you hurt?”

 “I’m fine, just a touch of the flu.”

  Mr Briggs backed his chair up, obviously worried about catching it. “Well then, I’ll make this quick. Your mother came to see me. She wants me to try and overturn your charge.”

 “That’s impossible.”

 “I know. I told her the same thing.” Mr Briggs agreed, rubbing an eye ball. “It’s very difficult to get a charge overturned when the accused has already pleaded guilty.”

 “Why does she want to do that?”

 Mr Briggs harrumphed. “The woman, your mother, is obviously in some distress. She has the misguided notion, her poor son, can do no wrong.”

 Dislike dripped from Mr Briggs tone and Declan heard it loud and clear. “I will remind you Mr Briggs that you work for me.” Declan spoke up trying to sound assured, but it didn’t come off well. His teeth were starting to chatter and he was freezing.

 Mr Briggs brows joined together, forming one long unibrow. He peered at Declan with concern. “I say, you really don’t look well. It’s not catchy is it?”

  “I’m not sure.”Declan eyed him. “It might be.”

 “Well then, let’s get right down to it, shall we? As I said, your mom wants me to petition the court and ask for a new trial date. I was hoping you could talk some sense into her.”

  Christ his mom. He could just imagine her. She must be going nuts about now. He should probably call. But it was the last thing he wanted to do. He just wasn’t up for it. As far as talking some sense into her, why in the hell would he do that? “Br Briggs,” Declan said cutting to the chase. “Did she give you any money for me?”

  Mr Briggs scowled. “Young man, are you in the least concerned for your mother’s well being?”

 Acid burned the back of his throat. It was hot and mixed with bile, swallowing the foul mixture he scowled back. “Mr Briggs I hired you as my lawyer, not my therapist. It seems your age is catching up to you. It might be a good idea to think about retirement.”

  Mr Briggs stared at Declan. The look of dislike had been replaced by one of repulsion.

  “So,” Declan repeated. “I will ask you again. Did my mother give you any money for me?”

  Mr Briggs sighed and stood up breaking eye contact. He looked down at Declan and shook his head. “Would you like a few words of advice young man?”

 “Just answer my question.”

 “Well then, I won’t waste my breath.” Mr Briggs turned. “Guard,” he yelled.

 “Hey!” Declan protested.

  The guard entered the room his face stern. Declan’s stomach gurgled and he gagged.

 Both men froze. The guards face blanched. “You better not make a mess in here!”

 “Well?” Declan managed.

 Mr Briggs reached the door. His expression was dour as he looked at Declan for the last time. “She did, may God help her poor soul.”

 A knifelike pain tore through his intestines. His stomach clenched and he tightened his sphincter. Oh no!

With the cheeks of his ass clenched tight, Declan followed the guard back to his cell hoping he’d make it in time.

 His bones grated, his stomach rumbled, and the pressure in his intestines built.

 Declan squirmed and clenched. Sweat beaded his brow. He would make it.

 Each step was agony. I can make it. I can make it.

His bowels quivered, a long, loose, wet sound, trailing in his wake.