Downsized: A Novel

By Richard C Anderson

In Queens, New York, Jim Marsh, an Iraq vet with PTSD, has adapted well to civilian life and is on his way up the corporate ladder. A devoted husband with a wife, two young children, and a new house, he is living the American dream. His employer is engaged in a merger that should bring him a well-deserved promotion. And thats when he finds it all crashing down around him.

Over the course of the next few months, in a state of desperation, Jim finds himself coming into contact with a strange array of people. Theres Vinnie Rossini, a disgruntled mafioso, who is rapidly becoming aware of the lack of retirement benefits in his line of work. Toil Kendrick, Jims childhood friend and confidant, is a fly-fishing guide in Montana and recovering alcoholic. He pays Jim a visit at his wifes request. Meanwhile, in Florida, Miguel Herraras is cutting a deal with the DEA for an early release from prison. All he has to do is become an undercover informant in South Floridas growing drug tradean easy job for a man with his credentials, the Feds argue.

In this novel, a man who believes he has lost everything finds himself desperate enough to involve himself in schemes he could never have imagined in his old life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532015052

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Copyright © 2017 Richard C. Anderson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-1506-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-1505-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017902840

iUniverse rev. date: 06/13/2017

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Epilogue

About The Author

PROLOGUE

The cloud cover continued to build in the north, and the temperature dropped as the autumn sun drifted toward the horizon. Miguel Herraras reached into a small waterproof duffel, pulled out a gray hooded sweatshirt, and slipped it on. He had been sitting in the johnboat for over an hour, and the cool dampness had edged into his body. Stiffness settled in his fatigued muscles. He stretched his six-foot frame and arched his back in a futile attempt to ease the discomfort. The boat, moored to a heavy growth of mangroves, swayed on its tether as the ebb and flow of current moved through the narrow channel. It was late in the afternoon, almost four, and Miguel wondered whether something had gone wrong, whether the green and white Cessna 185 would show.

Except for the cry of a hunting osprey and the occasional appearance of a manatee, the landscape was sullen and lonely, wild and beautiful. He felt shame as he realized that what he was about to do defiled everything he had come to love about this place. But, he promised himself, this would be the last time.

The plane came in fast and low, startling Miguel. He pulled the rope loose and pushed the boat into the channel. As the pilot flew over and saw Miguel, he rocked the plane’s wings and then climbed and turned for another pass. When the Cessna approached the second time, three vinyl dry bags tumbled from the plane. Within minutes Miguel had pulled the forty-pound packs from the water and turned the small boat into the Everglades.

With an expertise honed by years of hunting and fishing this part of the swamp, Miguel maneuvered the small boat through the seemingly indistinguishable channels. The bags of cocaine slowed the small craft, and he calculated that the return trip would take two hours, meaning he would arrive at the truck after dark. But he was in no hurry. This was his time to enjoy the peace and solitude, the birds and animals, even the alligators. God, how he loved the gators.

As he moved inland, the mangrove islands gave way to marsh and cypress and hardwood-covered hummocks. The tannin-stained waterways narrowed. Wood storks, egrets, and a barred owl flushed as he nosed the craft along. As the sun set, Miguel took a flashlight from his pack and searched the obscure waterways, slowing the boat even more. Two hours after pulling his load from the water, he slid the johnboat to a stop on a gravel bar at the edge of a pine forest and started unloading his cargo.

He sweat heavily as he grabbed the last bag from the bottom of the boat and swung it onto his back. He labored under its weight. The breeze from the piney woods was a relief from the chilled wind off the Gulf. The air churned with the raucous stirring of night creatures, and a cut of moon cast shadows as clouds drifted by. What would cause fear in other men brought relief to his troubled soul.

Miguel covered the boat with camo mesh and then turned and started the fifteen-minute walk to the pickup, a narrow beam from his flashlight leading the way. As he neared the clearing where his truck was parked, he turned off the light and approached quietly, searching the darkness. Satisfied that nothing was wrong, he moved to the pickup and rolled the last bag off his back into the truck bed. He pulled a black tarp over the load, tied it down, and climbed into the cab. Ten minutes later, he pulled onto Highway 94 and headed for Naples. It was almost over.

At a few minutes past ten, he entered the deserted outskirts of the city, turning north on Broadview Avenue. Across from the First Baptist Church, Miguel turned left into a narrow alley and entered a small parking area at the rear of Denning’s Pawn and Secondhand. He stopped next to a familiar Grand Cherokee, turned off the lights, and let the engine idle. For the past several miles Miguel had been careful, taking two detours along the way. Now he waited to see whether anyone turned into the alley behind him. Nothing. After several minutes he killed the engine, leaving the keys in the ignition. He walked to the reinforced door and knocked twice.

The door swung open, and Miguel was hit by a light so bright he raised his arm to shield his eyes. A pair of powerful arms pulled him inside, slamming him against the cinder-block wall so hard that he nearly lost consciousness. As he fought to clear his mind and focus, Miguel felt the barrel of a gun push against his right temple. A figure shoved a federal ID at his face.

DEA, asshole. You’re under arrest.

CHAPTER 1

Daddy, Daddy! Anna ran across the kitchen, straight into Jim Marsh’s arms.

He dropped his jacket and scooped his six-year-old daughter into the air. Her blond hair flowed across his face as he hugged and kissed her.

You’re late, Daddy, and now Mommy and I are going to be late.

And what do my girls have planned for today that’s so important? Jim already knew, but he also knew that Anna needed to tell him again.

Daddy, how could you forget? she scolded. Mommy’s coming to school today to help Miss Gerald teach us about orcips.

I think that’s orchids, sweet pea, he said as he set her down. Your mother would be mighty disappointed that her offspring would forget the name of something so important to her.

What’s an offspring, Daddy?

Jim retrieved his suit coat from the floor, brushed it off, and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair. You and your brother are both offspring. In other words, you kids belong to us, and you better do as we say.

It was a typical Monday morning in the Marsh household, and everyone was running late. Jim needed to be out the door before seven. Otherwise, the forty-minute commute to work became ninety minutes, and that wouldn’t do today. He glanced at the clock on the microwave; it read six thirty-five. Breakfast would have to be quick.

Maybe you better sit down and eat. The voice coming from behind him was gentle. We need to hustle. Anna and I have a very big day, don’t we, dear?

Jim felt Nan lean against him as she wrapped her arms around his chest and gently kissed the back of his neck. God, he loved her.

Maybe you should call in sick and come along, she said. You might have fun.

When Jim didn’t respond, Nan pushed him to the kitchen table. You eat while I get that son of yours moving. Men are so slow. She turned and headed down the hall toward Randy’s room.

Jim hummed one of his endless tunes as he opened the window above the sink. The weather had been mild, and the fragrance of an early spring rode the air coming off Long Island Sound. From the window, he could see the flower bed Nan and Anna had planted over the weekend. The side where Anna had worked was a little ragged, but Nan had left it untouched. He smiled and opened the refrigerator door, searching for juice and milk. Nan was a wonderful woman, and he was a lucky guy. He loved his job, his house, and above all else, his family. He felt success had come to his life, and every day he thanked God. He poured a glass of orange juice and sat next to Anna.

The round pine table with four high-backed wooden chairs was the hub for Marsh family activities. His mother had given it to them three years after his father died, shortly before her own death. Although his childhood had been less than idyllic, Jim was nonetheless attached to these things his parents had owned.

Anna’s nine-year-old brother exited his room, followed closely by his mother. Geez, you’d think I couldn’t do anything by myself, Randy said as he stuffed his flannel shirt in his pants.

Well, young man, if you feel so independent, maybe you could start making your bed in the morning. Nan’s tone was forceful. Eat! You and your dad have to leave in five minutes, and your sister and I need to get ready. We have important things to do.

Nan’s energy ran the family. She was one of the most organized people Jim had ever known. He envied her ability to get so much done with seemingly little effort.

Randy slouched at the table and started on his cereal. You know, I’ve got a track meet Thursday after school—can you come? he asked, looking to Jim. He wiped Frosted Flakes from his mouth with the back of his hand. Coach says I ought to win the fifty.

Wouldn’t miss it, Jim assured him. In high school, Jim had lettered in football and basketball, and Randy seemed to be following in his footsteps. But unlike his own father, who had never attended a game, Jim had marked every meet on his desk calendar at work and rarely missed any of the kids’ activities. Jim could still remember his disappointment and confusion at his dad’s indifference. He had vowed that things would be different with his kids.

I put in for tickets to the Mets home opener with the Reds, Jim said as he put his dishes in the sink. The company’s got eight season tickets this year. If we’re lucky, we should be able to see ten or twelve games from the box.

Could you put in for extra tickets? Randy asked. I promised Matt and Phil they could go with us sometime. The company had box seats behind the third-base dugout, and Randy’s autograph collection was the envy of his friends. And Matt’s dad never takes him anywhere. I’m glad you’re not like that.

Yeah, we’ll see. Now get your stuff while I back the car out. Your mother wants us out of here. He grabbed his suit coat and gave Nan a kiss. You girls behave and leave the boys alone, okay?

Oh, Daddy, you’re silly. Anna wrinkled her nose. But you can kiss me good-bye.

Jim did as his daughter wished, picked up his briefcase, and went into the attached garage.

Nan followed him. Are you all right? she asked. You look tired.

Jim opened the car door. I didn’t sleep well again. This merger has its upside, but there’s also the possibility of major changes. I’ll be glad when it’s over.

Nan kissed his cheek. Whatever happens, it’s okay. Just remember how much I love you. She stepped back into the kitchen, and Jim heard her telling Randy to get moving.

Jim honked the horn as he backed the Ford Explorer out of the garage. Come on, son, he muttered to himself. I’ve got a big meeting to get ready for. For the past seventeen years, Jim had worked for MerCo Manufacturing Group, a young, aggressive company that developed components for the mainframe computer industry. For the past three months, the company had been negotiating to acquire a smaller competitor. As chief of marketing services, Jim headed a committee to merge the two marketing divisions. He could feel the tension building as he sat waiting.

Randy burst from the front door and dove into the front seat. Geez, Mom sure is a grouch, he said, slamming the door. What’s such a big deal about going to the twerp’s class, anyway?

Put on your seat belt and quit complaining. Jim backed the Explorer into the street.

Randy stuffed a piece of gum in his mouth. Little League practice starts next month, and Mr. Ellis said girls can try out this year. I’m not gonna play baseball with girls.

Jim smiled. Trust me, young man, someday your attitude about girls will change, and then you’ll really be confused.

Twenty minutes later Jim stopped at the curb at Woodhaven Elementary School and put his hand on Randy’s shoulder. Look at it this way, pal: the girls will probably make you look better. Be ready when your mom comes to pick you up. Deal?

Randy cast a suspicious glance at his dad and opened the door. Matt says you can’t trust girls and they’ll hurt the team. With an uncertain look, he added, But just in case, can we play catch tonight?

I was hoping you’d ask, said Jim with a smile. See you at six. God, we’re lucky, thought Jim as he merged into traffic and headed for work.

Good morning, Mr. Marsh. Have a good weekend? The uniformed guard recognized Jim and waved him through MerCo’s employee entrance.

Jim smiled. Couldn’t have been better, Mr. Fredericks, he answered. Worked in the yard and loafed.

Lots of talk about a merger. Any truth to it? Fredericks tried to appear disinterested.

Jim tightened his grip on his briefcase. The merger talks were supposed to be confidential. You probably know more than I do. Damn, Jim thought, he probably does know more than I do. Maybe I should buy him lunch and find out what’s happening.

Three years earlier, MerCo had purchased land in an industrial complex adjacent to La Guardia Airport in Queens and erected a state-of-the-art manufacturing facility. It was a conspicuous change from the company’s beginnings in a run-down section of Newark and marked the company’s emergence as a major player. The company had finished its move seven months ago. Jim entered the main corridor and turned down the hall. It was paved with a polished-stone floor and echoed with the footfalls of a hundred people. Two-story windows fronted by a hanging garden formed the outer wall. Tasteful and earthy, it suited Jim well. He was proud he worked here.

Employees were bunched in front of the elevators as Jim pushed past, heading for the stairs. He played a game with himself every morning, affirming Nan’s assertion that he was still a kid at heart. His office was on the third floor of the six-story building, and when he passed the elevators, he would try to find someone who worked on his floor and beat him or her upstairs. He won more often than he lost. Jane Petit smiled as Jim skirted the cluster of waiting employees. Today, she was his adversary.

Hey, Jimbo, a voice called as he passed. Working out today?

Jim turned and saw Jeff Mann from accounting but kept walking. You bet. See you in the gym at noon.

Entering the stairwell, he picked up his pace, his six-three frame easily taking the stairs two at a time. The daily workouts in the company’s fitness gym had hardened his body and conditioned his heart. He thrived on the rush as he coursed up the stairway.

As he opened the door to the third floor, he brushed his short, sandy-colored hair back in place and headed for his office on the far side of the building. He cut through the planning department, endured the flirtations of Jean Peterson, rounded the corner, and passed the elevators. He had won today.

Good morning, sir. Can I get you some coffee? Sheryl Conners, Jim’s secretary of two months, fidgeted with a file.

Marci in yet? Jim stopped in front of his office, suddenly preoccupied.

No, sir. She called and said to tell you she’d be a few minutes late. The intercom on her desk buzzed, and she turned to answer.

Tell her I need to see her first thing, okay?

Marci O’Brien had been his administrative assistant since before the move, and Jim knew that a part of the success he’d had with the company was owed to her. In her early fifties and single, Marci lived for her job. If it were not for the company’s policy requiring management personnel to have a college degree, she could be doing his job.

Jim’s stomach tightened as he thought about the afternoon meeting. Maybe he relied on her too much. He opened the door to his office, turned on the lights, and walked to the window behind his desk. He stared through his reflection, mesmerized as a plane climbed out of La Guardia and disappeared in the filthy haze. Settling into his leather chair, he felt good that he had achieved this level of success. Nan frequently chided him that just maybe he derived too much of his self-esteem from the job and its amenities. As he surveyed his office’s furnishings, he surmised she might be right.

Jim was checking his e-mail when Sheryl buzzed him. Marci’s on her way up, sir. She’s stopping by communications first, though. And sir, Mr. Kaye wants to see you as soon as you’re free.

What the hell does Kaye want with me? Jim considered David Kaye an all-right guy but hadn’t met with him since before the move. Kaye was the company’s administrative vice president and, aside from occasional personnel matters, had little to do with marketing.

Damn, he said out loud. Maybe they’re going to reassign Marci.

Ever since the merger rumor had started, several division managers had tried to bring Marci into their departments. Fortunately for Jim, Marci had always had the last word and so far had elected to stay with him. But you never know, he muttered.

Things so bad you’re talking to yourself? Marci smiled at Jim as she poked her head into his office. I heard you needed to see me ASAP. It’s too early to have emergencies. She walked over to his desk and sat down.

Sorry. Typical Monday morning, I guess. Kaye wants to see me, and I need the project folders for the meeting this afternoon—seven copies of everything. Jim rubbed his forehead; he felt a rare headache coming on. You’ll need the budget projections from accounting. Anything else to be done?

No. I stopped by communications, and the financials were in the box. I’ll have Jill collate the reports and bind them. They should be ready before noon, Marci said. Talk in communications was that the merger with ITD’s a go. She hesitated. Rose thinks there’ll be some shake-ups—have you heard anything?

No. But maybe that’s why Kaye wants to see me. His remark seemed to unsettle Marci. Jim wondered whether she knew something he didn’t. Just as he was about to ask, Sheryl knocked and brought in his tea.

She set the tea on the desk. Mr. Kaye called again and says he needs to see you now.

Jim’s throat turned dry. Ring his secretary and tell her I’m on my way up. And thanks for the tea.

After Sheryl left, Marci said to Jim, I’m not certain where she gets her information, but Rose thought there might be layoffs. She ran her hand along the edge of his desk. I’ve been through these things before. Never know how it’s going to turn out.

It’ll be okay, Marci. Remember, we’ve got a good track record. He didn’t think he sounded convincing and momentarily wondered how he would deal with an abrupt, unscheduled change in his highly structured life.

I’ll get Jill working. And please, buzz me the minute you get back. Marci opened the door and turned. You’re the best boss I’ve ever had.

Thanks, Marci. Nobody’s going anywhere.

CHAPTER 2

You can go in now, Mr. Marsh, said Heidi Fallon, David Kaye’s executive secretary.

Jim studied her face, looking for some hint of what to expect. She seemed unconcerned. Thanks, Heidi.

David Kaye had been on the phone when Jim arrived, and Jim had been waiting almost ten minutes. It had seemed like an hour. I like your hair. Something new? Jim added as he passed Heidi’s desk.

No, sir. It’s been this way for years.

Jim hesitated at the door and then knocked and went in. David’s office was spacious and elaborately decorated. Jim thought it pretentious. David stood to one side of a massive cherry wood desk and put on his suit coat. He smiled as Jim entered the room.

Grab a seat, he said, motioning for Jim to sit. Something to drink? There’s coffee, tea. Even have some juice in the fridge.

No, thanks.

David walked over to a small refrigerator built into a credenza on the far wall and retrieved a bottle of orange juice. To one side, a television with the sound muted was tuned to the financial channel. Stock prices scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

You know the company has been trying to acquire ITD, said David. Hell, you head one of the committees, right? He walked back to his desk and eased into a large leather executive chair.

Is that what this is all about? Jim’s jaw tightened. We’re meeting this afternoon to discuss how to consolidate the marketing divisions and go over budgets. Other than that, I don’t know much. He waited, watching the man across from him. The large chair seemed to dwarf David, and it gave Jim a fleeting surge of confidence. I guess you can say I’ve been out of the loop. Jim realized he sounded combative and quickly added, But I realize these things require secrecy.

Exactly. In fact, I didn’t understand the deal until this weekend, David said.

I didn’t know there were meetings, said Jim. Isn’t the planned acquisition date June 30? Or is there something I need to know?

Well, for one, cancel the afternoon meeting. What happened this weekend preempts the plans we’ve made over the past several weeks. David stood, picked up the bottle of juice, and walked to the window. His office was on the northwest corner of the building, where the view was expansive and compelling. The silence became awkward. Finally, he said, What I’m saying is that… He stopped to clear his throat and took a drink of juice. Well, ITD won’t do the deal if they have to take all the personnel hits. The way it was originally structured, only three or four of their key marketing people would come over in the merger. As you know, the essential reason for the deal is to make us both leaner and more efficient. To continue our growth, the company needs to become more competitive.

Jim sat there, trying to absorb the words. They ripped at his gut. Finally, he couldn’t take the silence any longer. For Christ’s sake, David, am I being demoted or reassigned? Jim rose and glared at Kaye’s back. At least look me in the eye if there’s a problem. On the way to David’s office, Jim had run through a list of possible reasons for the meeting. Demotion or reassignment were the only two he thought might affect him or Marci.

I’m sorry, Jim. David turned and rested his hand on the back of his chair. You’re right, you deserve better. This is difficult. One condition ITD laid on the table is that their marketing group come over intact. Coryell had to okay it. It was a deal breaker. Michael Coryell had started MerCo in his garage and was president and chairman of the board. He had always shown loyalty to employees, and for a second, that obscured for Jim what David was telling him.

Jim sat down, his head pounding at his temples. He suddenly realized what David was saying. Goddamn it, David, you can’t do this! I built that department from scratch. Jim’s face hardened as he grabbed a paperweight and slammed it on the desk. What about Marci, Ron, and Barbara? Are they gone too?

I found a place for Marci. She’ll stay in marketing to help with the transition, then go to work for Bertrand. But you, Ron, and Barbara are being laid off effective the end of the week.

Son-of-a-bitch, David! This isn’t right! Jim jumped from his chair, knocking it backward.

David flinched. He watched as Jim set the chair upright. To the company’s credit, you’ll each get three month’s severance pay, and your health and dental plans will continue for the same period.

Jim stared, incredulous. To the company’s credit, my ass! This is bullshit, David. What in the hell good do you think three months’ pay is after I’ve spent as much time in this company as I have?

David seemed to age. Tiredness showed in his face, and his shoulders sagged. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, he said softly, but honest to God, Jim, I never dreamed it would come down to this. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He stepped around his chair and sat on the corner of his desk. You’ll be paid for vacation and sick time, and I understand you have accrued quite a bit.

Damn straight. I was too busy working to take it. Hell, I’ve come to work with a hundred-degree temperature, and what did it get me? Jesus, David! Nan and I just bought a house. How the hell am I going to find a comparable job out there?

I know. Believe me, Jim, I had no idea. And even if I would have known, there was nothing to be done. But I did suggest to Mr. Coryell that we hire an executive placement firm to assist with that problem.

That problem? To hell with you, David. We’re talking about my life here. Jim sat back down and glared at him.

David labored around his desk and returned to his chair. In his late fifties, he was badly out of shape and overweight. His face was puffy, and he sweat heavily; heart problems were probably in his future. The past few days seemed to have been hard on him.

Do you want me to tell Ron and Barbara? Jim asked, not really caring about the answer. They should be told as quickly as possible.

I’ll take care of it. This isn’t your doing, and it’s my responsibility. David leaned forward on the desk. The armpits of his light gray suit were damp from perspiration. Maybe I should have been more forceful, but to tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure I still had a job.

How many others?

A lot. About forty on our side, more on theirs. There’s still some negotiating going on in engineering, but I’m not involved.

Anything else?

Please don’t say anything about this. You’re the first I’ve told. There’s no sense causing any unnecessary anxiety.

Jim shook his head. Unnecessary anxiety? Do you know how the hell I feel right now?

I don’t think I have a clue, David said, shaking his head. And I’m sorry. There is a problem, however, now that you’ve been notified. Again, I don’t agree with it, but it wasn’t my decision to make. It seems there is some concern that someone may decide to get back at the company—you know, come back with a gun, plant a bomb…

Oh, for Christ’s sake, David. What the hell do you want, a pound of flesh too? Jim sank deeper in the chair. It just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it? Now I’m a potential terrorist!

It’s not that way, Jim. I explained to Mr. Coryell that we couldn’t treat you that way. He agreed to let you have until the end of the week to clean out your office and straighten up your affairs with the company. I told him we needed to treat you with respect—none of this having a security guard with you, looking over your shoulder.

Mighty nice of you, David. Maybe I’ll be able to return the favor someday.

I know how this sounds, Jim, but I have to say it. This had nothing to do with you personally or how you did your job. You are one of the best employees we have. It was just the luck of the draw. People had to go… and it turned out you were one of them.

Shit! Jim said. Okay. I’ll get my things out as fast as I can and square my affairs with the company. It’ll take me a day to organize everything for Marci, then adios. No problems, no guns, no bombs. Happy?

David stood. The merger will be announced on Wednesday, but everyone should be notified by tomorrow noon. You’ll get your severance pay in two weeks. You’re one helluva good employee.

It was obvious David wanted the meeting to end. Jim dragged himself to his feet and turned toward the door.

Hold on a minute please. David walked around the desk and put his hand on Jim’s shoulder, guiding him toward the door. You’ll receive a packet from personnel explaining your benefits. I’ll personally write a letter of recommendation—it’ll be as good as they come.

They stopped at the door, and Jim pulled it open.

For what it’s worth, Jim, I’m truly sorry.

Jim halfheartedly extended his hand. Thanks, David. I’m not blaming you.

CHAPTER 3

Up and at ’em, Herraras. Ya got a visitor.

Outside Miguel’s cell, a guard raised his baton toward the control room overseeing cell block C. Inside the glass enclosure, an older guard reached across a console panel and pressed a button. A buzzer sounded, and the door to Miguel’s cell slid open.

The guard stepped in. You know the procedure, he said.

Miguel stood and raised both arms. The guard secured a steel ring around Miguel’s waist and then pulled his arms to his sides and closed the handcuffs attached to the waist ring around each wrist. Good fit, huh? Nice and tight. The guard hooked his thumbs in his belt and grinned. Word is you may get out early. Overcrowding and good behavior has its benefits, huh?

Miguel stared blankly at the guard, trying to understand what he’d just heard. His mind stumbled through the limited possibilities and rejected most. The system and its servants, the guards, were always screwing with the inmates; this seemed like more of the same.

Turn around, asshole, the guard ordered.

Miguel did as directed. The guard shackled both ankles, reducing Miguel’s movement to a shuffle.

This some kinda sick joke, or you looking for a date?

Miguel’s reference to the guard’s sexuality enraged him. His baton caught Miguel above the right