Red Rum: A Rosie Casket Mystery R.M. Wild (inspirational books .txt) 📖

down his phone, slid off his stool like a giant, syrupy pancake sliding off his plate, and punched a few keys on the keyboard.

“You’re out of luck, counselor. I don’t see a Matt Mettle in the system.”

“He was admitted this afternoon. There was a flu outbreak at the county jail, so they booked him here. He’s awaiting his prelim,” Kendall said. He held his bar license across the gap between the car and the booth.

God glanced at the license, then glanced at me.

“She’s my legal assistant,” Kendall said.

God shook his head in disgust. “You sure get around, girl.”

Wonderful. Not only was I a witch, but apparently a whore too.

“I promise I’ll leave the matches here.”

God cocked his head to the side and his left nostril drew the corner of his mouth into a lopsided snarl.

“She’s joking.”

“I ain’t laughin.”

“Neither are we,” Kendall said. “Right, Rosie?”

“Right.”

God crossed his arms. His chest was so meaty, he could barely tuck his fingers under his biceps. “Make a left past the fence.”

“Thank you,” Kendall said.

“Nothing like a good judgment,” I mumbled as we pulled through the gate.

The visitation room had become all too familiar.

We sat in the far right booth and I tried not to look at the other two stations where the glass was streaked with soot, nor to inhale too deeply lest I prompt the urge to vomit.

Kendall, always the gentleman, gave me the stool and asked one of the guards to bring him another one. The guard complied without complaint.

“That was easy,” I said when he joined me.

“Most of these guards know they’re only one bad decision away from being in here themselves. When they see a lawyer, they know they might need a favor one day.”

I bounced my foot, the anxiety roiling my stomach like battery acid sloshing around in an old beater. I had trouble picturing Mettle in prison scrubs and could only imagine how humiliating it must have been for him.

Kendall put a hand on my knee. “Relax. It’s going to be okay.”

I looked at his hand. He removed it. I tried to stop bouncing my leg, but couldn’t. Maybe it was the trauma of past events, or maybe a fatal intuition, but ever since walking into the visitation room, I had been consumed by bad feelings.

Something horrible was about to happen. I knew it.

After a few minutes, the door on the side of the room opened and Matt Mettle stepped into view. I leaned into the glass trying to catch a glimpse of the guard who had escorted him. I thought for a moment I had seen Caesar’s awful haircut, but I couldn’t be sure.

Mettle shuffled toward the booth. He was wearing deep blue scrubs, not the orange jumpsuit the inmates were issued when formally sentenced.

“That blue uniform means he’s in a different wing,” Kendall explained. “Not gen-pop.”

“Is that good?” I whispered.

“It depends.”

Mettle sat down, his biceps bulging out of his short sleeves, his hands cuffed. His face was slick with sweat.

I grabbed the receiver. “How are you? Are you okay?”

Mettle picked up his phone. The curly cord was shaking.

“Thanks for coming, Casket.”

“Are you surviving?”

He bounced his biceps. “I told you, it’s not so bad. Lots of pushups. I’m so pumped right now, I can barely keep my hands steady,” he said and turned to Kendall. “Hey man, I appreciate you taking my call. I know you’ve got lots more important clients.”

Kendall leaned into my receiver. “I’m glad to help an old friend.”

“I’m sorry I made your life miserable in high school. I never meant anything by it. I was just being funny.”

“It’s no problem, man. I’m glad to help.”

“Who escorted you?” I asked. “Was it Caesar?”

“Yes, it was he,” Mettle said. “Or him, or whatever the stupid grammar is. I gave that rat the stink eye, but he twitched his nose and ignored me.”

“Are you okay? Has anybody gotten to you?”

“What do you mean by gotten to you?”

“You know.”

“If you mean forced me to eat poisonous mushrooms, then no, nobody has gotten to me. I’m fine. They put me in solitary to keep me isolated from all the guys I put away. One of the guards shined a flashlight so far up my butt, it came out my mouth and turned me into a lighthouse, but other than that, my body remains a virgin temple. Virgin to dudes, I mean. If I get my badge back, I’m thinking I might think twice before I bust another guy for mere possession.”

“What about the other stations?” I said. “Can you see anything out of place?”

Mettle glanced to his right. “I dunno. They look perfectly normal to me. What do you think, Ken? What are my chances of beating this thing?”

“It depends on what you’re willing to accept.”

“You think I’ll ever get to be a cop again?”

Kendall was quiet for a moment. “No.”

“No, I won’t be a cop? Or no you don’t think I’ll be a cop?”

He was in denial. One of my heart valves popped off the main unit in my chest and I wheezed. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I turned to Kendall. “It was my fault, okay. I was the one who damaged the ignition. I drilled it. I stuck the screwdriver in there.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Mettle said. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Yes, I do,” I said breathlessly. “I’ll give you a dollar for attorney-client privilege until I can get some more.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Kendall said. “That’s a myth. You are already my client and you have my word that anything you say will stay safe with me.”

“She’s lying,” Mettle said. “It was all me. Don’t listen to her.”

Kendall turned away from the glass, covered the mouthpiece, and angled himself so Mettle couldn’t see his lips. “Is any of this true, Rosie? Did you drill the ignition? Or are you just trying to save him?”

“Both.”

“How did you do it?”

“I drilled the lock cylinder two-thirds of the way up the slot to destroy the lock pins and then I jammed the screwdriver