BRAD WAS LEAVING. Kevin blinked back unmacho-like tears and shook his cell mate’s hand for the last time. “Hey, guy, don’t forget our deal. Oh, and drop a line, okay?”
“Sure. And remember, don’t give up. You’ll make it too,” Brad said.
Kevin nodded, pretending he didn’t have fourteen years left in the hell hole. Shit, he’d miss Brad. They’d swapped dirty jokes, out-farted each other and woven intricate revenge schemes long into the night.
From the beginning they’d confided in one another. Only Brad knew the real truth about Mary Alice, and only Kevin knew the lowdown of how a young waitress had falsely accused Brad of restaurant theft. It was scary to experience firsthand how easy it was to get framed.
Kevin envied his buddy. Damn, he wished he could join him and work on the schemes they’d cooked up. It would be a long haul without Brad.
With a last wave, his freed cell mate disappeared. Kevin sighed. He had some other buddies here, but old Brad had been a corker. Things wouldn’t be the same without him.
Then he remembered. The letdown of Brad’s release had made it slip his mind, but this was important. Billy, who’d escaped months ago, had finally contacted him. He could have ignored Kevin’s request, but instead was honoring it.
Things should be in place by now. Anticipation coursed through Kevin’s veins.
Even before the noontime start of the DePaul homecoming game, he’d staked out a good spot in the rec room right in front of the TV, impatiently waiting. First the band played the alma mater. Then the Marquette players ran out.
After that, one by one the DePaul players were announced and ran onto the court. A single name remained to be said. Kevin sat upright, eyes glued to the set.
“Danny Callaway.”
The words blasted in his ears.
“Hell!”
What had gone wrong? Callaway was not supposed to be there. With an angry scrape, Kevin pushed back his chair.
“What’s the matter, Kevin sweets, do you prefer blonds?” Pedro Paratta, an inmate known to be drawn to his own sex, asked.
“Eat shit,” Kevin said, turning away.
With a hopeless feeling, he trudged back to his cell. Callaway was invincible. God, he hated the jerk.