Page 2 of Bishop

“I wonder who worked him over?” Jones contemplated. “Might be the leader of the Mexican gang. That Juarez guy. That dude looks like he eats babies for breakfast. He’s the only one I know crazy enough to even try to step to Tiny. Oh well, it looks like dinner will be served bedside tonight.”

After a few restless hours of lockdown, one of the guards stopped by our cell.

“Hey, Wilmont,” Becker, the guard everyone referred to as “Pecker” behind his back, shouted through the bars. “The Warden wants to see you. Think he wants to talk to you about that fight in the chow hall earlier today?”

My celly let out a chuckle. “Well, that solves the mystery of who got into it with Tiny. You’re one crazy son of a bitch, Wilmont. You know that?”

Jumping down from my bunk, Becker unlocked my cell door, and I silently followed him to the Warden’s office. As we walked, the guard looked slyly back at me, an ugly sneer painted across his arrogant face.

“You really fucked up this time, pretty boy,” Becker snarked. “That’s your third fight this month. You’re definitely going to get your ass landed in the hole after your public bitch-fit with Tiny. Your little gang ain’t going to be able to save you now.”

The guard was trying to get a rise out of me. Unlike Tiny, I wasn’t dumb enough to bite. Becker had a dead-end job. And, by his sour disposition, I was guessing a small dick to go with it. The only way he could feel empowered was to fuck with the prisoners he minded. It probably got him hard. I didn’t give a shit about the why of it. He meant so little to me that I couldn’t be bothered. However, I was curious why the Warden wanted to see me. I doubted Tiny had earned a meeting with the powerful man. So why me? And why now?

“I can see why Tiny hates you,” Becker continued. “You’re one arrogant son of a bitch. Bet you think your shit don’t stink. Too bad that gorilla didn’t take you down today. No matter, I’m sure his Nazi friends will be more than happy to finish the job the second they get the chance.”

Ignoring the petty jabs, I walked stoned-faced behind my escort. When we got to Warden Mitchell’s office, he stopped just shy of the mahogany door and poked a pale finger in my face.

“You keep your hands to yourself, and your mouth shut when the Warden speaks. You got that, Wilmont? Don’t give me a reason to bash your head in. You understand?”

The grin on the man’s face told me he’d love exactly that. To use his fists and club on a shackled man. “Now why the fuck would I do that?” I ground out, my patience running thin with this petty little bitch.

Becker took a menacing step in my direction. “Don’t swear in front of the Warden either, asshole.”

The door to the Warden’s office opened then and his secretary, Sissy, stepped out. “Go right in,” she told the guard. “Warden Mitchell is waiting for you.”

Becker led me into Mitchell’s office, and we waited for the stern-faced man to look up from his paperwork. “Take a seat,” he ordered brusquely.

Lowering myself into the empty plastic chair, I patiently awaited my next instruction. After a few minutes of strained silence, the Warden finally glanced up from the document he was reading.

Mitchell blinked at the guard as if he was surprised to see him still standing in the room with us. “You can wait outside my office, Becker. I need a minute alone with Mr. Wilmont, here.”

Becker looked like he wanted to protest but thought better of it. Nodding, he closed the door behind him. But I didn’t miss the pointed look he sent me before exiting the room.

“Do you know why you’re here today, Mr. Wilmont?” the Warden cryptically asked.

I shrugged. The last thing I needed to do was provide this fuckwad with reasons as to why I should be sitting in his office like a misbehaving child. I wasn’t interested in playing twenty questions. I was interested in answers.

Mitchell looked over his wire-rimmed glasses at me. “Not much of a talker, are you, son?”

His words nearly made me snort. In my Club, the Devil’s Riders, I was known for being Mr. Social. However, since prison, I’d learned keeping to myself and quiet was the smartest course of action. Running your mouth was a surefire way to get into a fight. And, smart mouth or not, I got into enough of those already.

Leaning back in his swivel chair, the Warden studied me before giving up and answering his own question. “You’re here, Mr. Wilmont, because your attorney has finally come to terms with whatever federal government agency you pissed off.”

I smiled, realizing what he was saying. “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me, Warden? Am I going home?”

The man frowned but nodded in the affirmative. “That’s what it looks like, Mr. Wilmont.”

Fuck yeah! Those high-priced lawyers were earning their paychecks today. “When can I leave?”

Mitchell flipped to the last page of the thick packet in his hands. “July first. The paperwork will be finalized in one month. You think you can stay out of fights until then, Mr. Wilmont?”

I smiled thinking about all the Club pussy and liquor I was going to drown myself in the minute I checked out of this stink hole. “Absolutely, Warden. Where do I sign?”

Mitchell pointed to a dotted line, and I eagerly took the pen and scrawled my name on it.

Chapter 2

Fairview, Nevada

---