Page 50 of Hidden Rocco
Four walls. The mirror in front of him was clearly one-sided in the holding cell. Three white walls. One mirrored wall. Four chairs. One table with two chairs on each side. This was more like a movie than the rougher cell he’d been in when he’d been falsely arrested before, but the cop on the ride had noticed his designer Saks jeans. Maybe they’d put him in the rich people cell. Cops were probably staring at him on the other side. Rocco was glad that the prison system didn’t just tattoo numbers into the skin that couldn’t be removed.
It would make identification even easier.
But it didn’t matter.
This was the end of the line. Soon he’d be back in his orange jumpsuit, though he’d probably be moved to a more isolated and guarded cell.
Mica’s whispers of freedom made no sense.
Escapees tended to give regular prisoners too much hope. Soon he’d be a number again and not a person.
The door handle turned. He sat up and the officer came in, put his badge on the table, and took the seat opposite him.
Rocco glanced at it and noticed the four digits, 4973. It might be nice to start thinking of guards as numbers instead of people with faces and families.
Maybe this time, he’d be a better prisoner as he'd accomplished what he needed to.
His mother had agreed to get cancer treatment. Mica was safe for now and hopefully hired herself better security if they were after Jacob. If the other man was a hired killer like his brothers had been, then she needed an army.
This time, he’d disappear into the system until no one remembered him. He’d been innocent the first time, but the prison break was all him.
The officer took his badge back, as if he'd given Rocco enough time to read the numbers, and folded his hands. Rocco’s entire body was pumped with adrenaline in preparation of another stint behind bars. “Mr. Hellsworth.”
Wait. Huh? His name? He widened his legs taking up more of his seat while he waited for the end of any rights. He was still handcuffed. “No one’s called me Mister in years.”
The officer stood.
Rocco’s hair was standing on end, but the officer unclasped the handcuffs, freeing his hands. Rocco’s eyes widened as the officer then said, “Your lawyers are here.”
“My…” The officer stood and left the room, locking the door behind him. Rocco got to his feet, rolled his shoulders and glanced at his face in the mirror.
He’d have a scar on his lip from the assassin's metal -rings.
A second later the knob turned again. Rocco took his seat and a short bald man in his fifties, wearing a gray suit and red tie, came in and shook his hand.
This man seemed too affluent to be a public defender. Rocco scooted his seat away from the table and asked, “Mica sent you?”
The man opened a manila folder with Hellsworth written on the tab. “Michaela Murphy? Yes. She’s waiting for you once we get you squared away. I told her to leave the waiting room full of germs and take her son across the street.”
Waiting. A good man deserved someone like Mica to be outside--he'd tried to be a good man, and failed.
He'd probably never see her again after this, whatever was happening. Anything he said to a lawyer was confidential so he leaned forward, met the thin man’s face and asked, “What’s your name?”
“Brickenridge.”
Okay. Rocco inched closer until he was less than a foot from the other man. “Look, Mr. Brickenridge, the police officers are going to look me up soon. They know my name. My prison number is 127361. I escaped and they’ll send me back now. If you can just tell Mica that I’m happy I could help her in any small way, and she needs to hire herself a team of bodyguards, I’d appreciate it.”
The lawyer held up a printed paper. “Mr. Hellsworth-”
“You’re the second person today with the Mister.”
Brickenridge continued, “Mr. Hellsworth, let me do my job now. Don’t answer any questions unless I give you permission and stick to answering only the pertinent details. Yes and no answers, with no elaboration will be best.”
Rocco slumped back in his chair. Hopefully this man would give Mica the message but for now, he nodded and said, “Sure. My last lawyer never gave me signals, so thanks.”
Brickenridge snorted and glanced at the paper he held. “From what I’ve read so far about your case, your last lawyers were horrible and their law licenses are under review at the moment. I’m not.”
“Okay.” Rocco's mind raced. If Brickenridge knew who he was, the cops would too. Were they just waiting till he gave them something?
