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22

'Thank God,' Jack said, hoarse by the time a guard showed up in the lineup of holding cells. 'I have to call my lawyer!'

'Shut up, Newlin.' The guard was burly and young, with a brushy mustache and an angry expression. 'You're nobody special in here.'

'I have a right to call my lawyer, like anybody else.' Jack was controlling his temper. He had to get to Trevor.

'Your rights. That's all I fuckin' hear all day.' The guard took a ring of keys from his pocket as another guard appeared for backup. 'Here's your rights, pal. You have the right to three frees a day, delivered to you like room service. You have the right to free heat and utilities and the right to be in the news like a friggin' celebrity.' The guard shoved a key into the lock in the cell. 'You got so many goddamn rights I can't count that high. Now turn around and put your hands behind your back.'

'I need to make that phone call.' Jack turned his back and presented his wrists, as the guard opened the door and slammed the cuffs on.

'Tell them at the house, counselor.' The guard yanked him out by the elbow and shoved him down the hall, but Jack exploded in frustration.

'Goddamn! I've waited hours for one lousy call!'

'Shut up!' the guard shouted, and pushed Jack so hard he lost his balance, stumbled forward, and fell.

'No!' Jack cried out. He couldn't break his fall with his hands cuffed, and his chest hit the concrete squarely, knocking the wind out of him. His chin bounced on the

floor and he felt dazed for a minute. When he looked up he was eye level with the laughing man. Who abruptly stopped laughing.


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