Page 68 of Shattered Dreams

“You visit a lot of punks in prison?” Zane asks, doing the same.

“More than I’d like.”

The second we step one foot inside the small vestibule a security guard barks at us over the speaker. “Visiting hours are over.”

Zane looks at the camera, the beady red dot shining. “I’m Zane Maddox, and I’m with Gage Davenport. We’re here to see Ashton Black.”

We stand tersely in silence.

The door buzzes and clicks open, and I step back in surprise. “They’re letting us in.”

Zane’s mouth quirks. “Really?”

“Funny guy.”

My heart’s beating a mile a minute. Deep down, I didn’t think we’d be allowed inside, but I’m not sure why I thought that. I filled out a ton of paperwork to be added to his visitors’ list.

A paunchy, balding older male guard wearing a beige and dark brown uniform logs our IDs into the computer. “We’ll show you to a locker room and you can store your coats. Don’t matter who you are, we still have to search you, and we’ll need you to walk through a metal detector.”

“Right,” Zane says, tucking his ID into his pocket.

The lockers are tiny, and I cram my jacket into the little square. Zane does the same and follows me out of the room, another guard right behind us. Once we’re patted down, through the metal detector, and we’ve proven we’re not up to anything suspicious, the guards loosen up.

One laughs. “Why do you want to see that psychopath?”

“Why are you letting us talk to him after visiting hours?” I counter.

“Some FBI hotshot told us you were coming. Lots of grumbling over jurisdiction and toe-smashing, but it is what it is. Black doesn’t have many visitors. Mostly his attorney trying to get him to talk.”

“He won’t?”

“Nope. He’s holding out for something, but he won’t say what. Heard the DA’s office in KC’s done fucking around. Went through every single thing they ever did. It’s almost easier to try them for tax evasion, ya know? Won’t need a year in court going through evidence. Nobody’s gonna wanna sit on that jury, I can tell you that.”

The two guards walk with us down the waxed and gleaming hallway. He pauses outside the visitation door and says, “You guys gotta piss, do it now. If you leave the room, you can’t go back in.”

“I’m good,” Zane says, and I nod in agreement.

The visitation room is the size of a school’s cafeteria and feels similar. Stainless steel tables are scattered throughout the space, stools bolted to the floor. No head-smashing going on in here, but I still blanch.

Zane catches me. “Scared of him?”

“No.” I’m not, not really. I’ve never met the guy. It’s not like I’ve ever been in a situation where I’ve had the opportunity to meet Ashton Black.

“He’s a pussy cat, that one,” one of the guards says, flipping on a light switch. The fluorescent bulbs buzz as they flicker to full strength. “All he does is read. He’s been in solitary—don’t need anybody snapping his neck. Thought he’d hate it, but he adapted pretty damn quick.”

“How’s Clayton doing?” Zane asks, sliding onto one of the metal stools like he visits someone every day.

“Lonely, not doing too good. Crazy thing, says he misses his wife. Misses slapping her around is my guess. You want us to stay here? They’re walking him down right now. He’s in cell block H, and it’s a trip to the front.”

“We’re fine.” Zane speaks on my behalf, but I’m not fine. I’ve dealt with my share of assholes, but Black is right up there with the big five mafia families, guys who would just as soon whack you as shake your hand.

“You get a half hour, max. It’s after hours, and he’s in the hole. It’s the best we can do. We bend for the Feds, but Black’s still a dangerous fuck, and don’t you forget it. No funny business or we’ll kick you out. Keep your hands to yourself or we’ll kick you outandcharge you with assault. Be polite. Work with us, and we’ll work with you.”

“You don’t have to worry about us.”

“That’s what they all say, and the next thing we know we have an inmate who’s got a bloody nose threatening a lawsuit he’d win.”

The two guards step out of the visitation room, and we’re left waiting.

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