Page 23 of Property of Stone
She frowned. “You can’t cook…at all?”
“Toast.”
“Okay, well…”
“Boxed spaghetti with sauce in a jar and frozen meatballs.” That meal was simple enough.
Her eyebrows popped up her forehead. “I’m impressed.”
Yeah, she was a fucking smart ass. Good thing he didn’t mind a challenge. But his first challenge would be to convince her to go along with the plan that popped into his melon only minutes ago.
“Can also make a mean pot of coffee,” headded. Not that he usually had to. If he stayed in his room at church, one of the sweet butts made more whenever a pot was empty.
“I don’t think your daughter should be drinking coffee.”
“Better than beer.”
“Debatable. Who’s been feeding her up until now?”
“Her mother, mostly.”
“What changed?”
“The bitch did more stupid shit and ended up back inside.”
Suddenly, he recalled the conversation he had with one of the screws that first day back in his “home away from home.” It just so happened to be about the woman now standing before him.
“What happened to that motherfucker who fucked up that chick?” Stone asked the guard as the wannabe pig escorted him to his cell.
“He’s not dead, if that’s what you’re worried about. It was close though. Would’ve upped your charge from ag assault to murder.”
Like he gave a fuck. “Ain’t why I’m askin’.”
“You fucked him up enough that he’s still in the hospital. But they charged him with domestic violence and ag assault, if you really want to know. But don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be our guest as soon as he’s capable of breathing, talking, and walking again on his own.”
“Deserved more than a fuckin’ beatdown.”
The screw shrugged. “Can’t say I disagree with you, Conrad. You aren’t a man if you have to beat up women. But some random on the street can’t take justice into his own hands. Or fists.”
That “random” glanced down at his split knuckles still covered in dried blood.
Her next words pulled him free from the memory. “By inside, I assume you mean jail.”
He sucked on his teeth. “More like prison.”
“Speaking of…why didn’t you have a trial?”
Was that guilt still eating at her? “Faster and cheaper to just plead guilty and take a deal. Go in, do my time, get out. Think I wanna pay our lawyer more than I gotta and have twelve jurors who think their asses are too good to be my peers judgin’ me when we all know I did it?”
“You were protecting me, though.”
“Comes a point where the protection ends and the fuck around and find out stage begins.”
“Just so you know, I pleaded with the cops to let you go. I explained that you were only protecting me.”
He already knew that. The club attorney had let him read her statement she provided to the pigs. She also told the assistant district attorney that same thing. But it didn’t do jack since the ADA had a hard-on over him. In Stone’s opinion, twelve months was a shit deal, but the club attorney strongly suggested he take it. With his record, a jury trial, or even a bench trial, might’ve given him more time than that.
Of course, that twelve months turned into thirteen when he had to teach his dickhead cellie a lesson.
