JACK
My phone rings and of course I already know who it is.
"Warden." I don't bother saying hello.
I don't bother with any other type of pleasantries because, let's be honest - I'm a little pissed that I'm being forced to hear a confession I want nothing to do with.
Sure, call me a Jackass. I don't care. This asshole should die a painful, slow death, and I don't care what that makes me sound like.
"Asher Smith is coming your way. Are you ready for him?"
If you think I'm rolling my eyes right about now, you'd be right.
"The room is already prepped." My words are clipped and to the point.
"He's got information we want," Warden says as if I don't already know. "Play nice, and I'll make it worth your while."
My ears perk up at this little offer. "What kind of information do you think hasn't come out yet? We all know his story. He sang like a fucking canary during his trial."
"Apparently, he's not the original Candyman. He's willing to give up the name of the one who masterminded the whole thing."
"Bullshit." That came out a hell of a lot faster than anticipated, but it's true nonetheless. Asher Smith is smart. Smart enough to have done exactly what he confessed to doing, and I refuse to buy this bullshit that someone else came up with the idea.
"I think you've made your feelings about Mr. Smith more than clear. I still want you to offer him his deal. I'll come and oversee you if that's what is needed."
That caught me off guard and stopped the flow of words that were about to pour out my mouth.
I've never had the Warden oversee anything before. Plausible deniability. If asked, he knows nothing about my deals, who I've offered them to, and what not - even though we all know he's one hundred percent aware of every single confession I've taken.
"That won't be necessary."
"Good. Don't let him play with you. Make it clear who is in control. But I want that confession, and I'll be waiting for your phone call to give me a name."
This has me leaning back in my chair and rocking back and forth a little.
"You know these can take hours? Right? I don't fucking keep a schedule for when a confession begins or ends."
"You heard me."
The click as he hangs up is loud in my ear.
Fuuuuucccckkkk.
I kick the trash can in my office, throwing it clear against my office door. It doesn't take long for Ike to knock and nudge the door open a little.
"Everything okay in here?"
One look at my face must confirm that no, not everything is okay.
We both hear the ding of the elevator at the same time.
"Guess The Candyman is here, huh? Want me to take care of him?"
I nod. "Knock him out while you're at it. Hell, make it impossible for me to talk with him at all."
His brows rise a mile high. "You serious?"
I drop my head back and groan. "Yes. I wish. No." I pull open my bottle drawer and pull out a bottle of Jim Bean Bourbon.
"Wow, okay then." Ike steps in and closes the door behind him. "Hope you're going to pour me one too."
I proceed to take out two shot glasses and pour the elixir. I drain mine and pour another.
"Pour some in your water bottle and take it in with you," Ike says.
I like his idea. I gave him my bottle, which he then takes to the kitchen area and drains. When he comes back, I pour a fair amount into the canister and close it tight.
"This one is going to hurt," I admit.
"Do you have to?"
I wait a few seconds before answering. "Yep."
Ike finishes the shot then opens the door. "Guess I better get him ready."
You know, if there has ever been a time that I'm thankful to work with my best friend, it's now. I don't even have to say how I'm feeling, and he gets it.
That's the beauty of men and their friends. We don't need to go all in-depth with our feelings, express our emotions or other shit. Cause we get it. Plain and simple.