We don’t have much to discuss. With Amador’s help, I’d been planning to get Kim away from Earl for weeks, so everything has already been set up. She will be with a good family. She will go back to school. And somehow I’ll figure out how to get her some money.

“Okay, give her the phone again, and then you know what to do.”

“I do.”

“Ammo, I don’t know how to—”

“Don’t even think about pulling that emotional crap on me.” His eyes are flooding with tears and he fights them tooth and nail. “I have your back. You know that.”

I nod. “I’d kiss you if I could. Full on. Tongue and everything.”

He laughs, and the movement causes a tear to escape. “Now you tell me. We could have been happy together, pendejo.”

I realize my face is wet. “I love you, man.”

“I love you, too. Just get out.”

“I’ll try,” I lie. There’s no getting out. I won’t admit to something I didn’t do just to get a lesser sentence, but there’s no way I don’t go to prison.

He passes the phone back to Kim. She doesn’t say anything. Her face is so pale, she almost looks like one of the departed.

“You don’t know me. When you leave here today, don’t you ever come back.” I want to add the rest. I want to tell her that no one will ever hurt her because of me again. Not ever. But I can’t get the words past the lump in my throat.

She is completely silent. Her jaw is trembling. I’m not sure she could talk if she wanted to.

“I love you,” I say.

It is the final crack that breaks the dam. She bursts into tears again, and Amador has to carry her out. Literally. But she’ll listen to me. She knows not to get in touch with me. She’s so much stronger than she thinks.

It’s the last glimpse of her I get for a very, very long time.

16

I spend months in jail awaiting trial. They say I’m incarcerated. I say I’m free at last.

Detective Bob interrogates me several times. Practically begs for me to give him something. He knows I’m innocent. I’m not sure how, but he does. I’ll give him that. I don’t say much. I never say much. What could I say that would contradict the evidence against me.

He tries, but his hands are as tied as mine. He gives up about two months in.

The trial doesn’t take long. Despite the incompetence of my defense lawyer, five people on the jury think I’m innocent. Three are female and want me more than they want their next breaths. Two are male. One wants me as much as the women do. One hates cops with every ounce of his being. Never believes a thing they have to say. I could’ve been a serial killer, and he would still believe me innocent.

But the evidence speaks for itself, and I am convicted. Naturally.

I don’t take shit from anyone in jail. For the most part, they leave me alone, but there’s always one who has to prove what a badass he is. Fights become a fairly regular thing. Short but sweet. They allow me to let off steam. To rage. To vent, as it were, while kicking a piece of shit’s ass. Not many things are so satisfying.

I’ve gained a reputation, however, and now I’m the target of every wannabe out there. That’s okay. Keep me on my toes. I can say one thing about Earl Walker: He taught me how to throw a mean punch.

But it’s gone beyond that. People are starting to talk. They say I’m not human. They say I move like an animal. They say I’m more predator than prey.

I’ve gotten to know several inmates. Some are pretty cool. One is really cool, and I do something I rarely do: I tell him he’s slotted for hell. I tell him why. I tell him he can still beat it. He needs to confess. He needs to make amends. He needs to turn his life around. To help others. He’s on that path anyway, but it’s almost as hard to get out of a sentence to hell as it is a sentence to prison.

Surprisingly, he believes me. He stands up, tells the guard he needs to see his lawyer. He is going to confess his sins. To do his time. To help others.

It was back when he was doing drugs. He shot a pharmacist during a robbery. The man is in a wheelchair to this day. He cleaned up his act, for the most part, afterwards. He’s in jail because of a bad situation gone worse. But he’s never hurt anyone else.

Even so, amends must be made. Nothing he can ever do from now on will make up for what he did then, but if he admits his sins and helps others, the brand of hell will eventually fade and wither away altogether. He can still be saved.

If only I could.

17

After I’m convicted, I’m immediately transferred to a prison for physical and psychological testing. A few weeks later, I’m transferred to the state pen. I’m the youngest of the group. The men being transferred with me are a mixture of fresh and seasoned. The seasoned ones are nervous. Anxious. Pissed. The fresh ones are scared shitless. One is so scared, he’s shaking. I want to tell him to chill, but it wouldn’t do any good. He’s going to be somebody’s bitch either way.

Word of me has spread to prison. One of the more seasoned inmates wants me, but he doesn’t know yet about my rep. By the time I’m released into gen pop, they call me the Devil’s Breath. But shot callers like nothing more than a challenge in their mundane lives, and my very first day is met with a price on my head.

I’ve just sat down with my lunch tray when I feel it. Three men are headed toward me from different directions. They have homemade shivs and are going to put me in the hospital if not in the ground. The New Mexico Syndicate, a notorious gang, is looking for a coup. They want to put me in my place.

I wait until they get a little closer. One guard, a kid as new to all this as I am, has noticed the activity. He is alarmed. Calls for backup. But they are on me before he gets out the words.

I deflect a shiv, twist the guy’s arm, and because I’m feeling particularly testy, snap his neck before he even knows what hit him. I do the same to the other two. One realizes what is happening and tries to back out, but I’m not in the mood to let him. He is an especially nasty specimen who was branded for hell when he molested the girl next door and then took her to a wooded area to strangle her so she wouldn’t tell on him. I break his back first, let the pain shoot through his system, then snap his neck.

A few seconds later, I am crouched on the table. Every face staring at me is stunned. The guard who was calling for backup still has the mic at his mouth. His jaw is hanging open.

I straighten. Step down. Grab my tray and move to another table. An old man is gazing at me. He’s not scared of me, though. And he doesn’t want to fuck me or make me his bitch. So I instantly like him.

He chuckles. “You certainly know how to make an impression.”

I wink and eat what I can before the guards take me down. The food’s not as bad as I’d expected. I’ve had worse.

The place goes into lockdown. Everyone is on the ground when four guards rush me. I let them. They’re just doing their jobs. So I’m facedown again, being restrained by men with guns and, worse, Tasers. Those fuckers hurt.

The guard who first noticed the three Syndicates coming at me backs me during the investigation. I am, of course, in AdSeg, but I get a personal interview with the warden. There is a full-scale investigation, and I think the only reason I’m not charged is because of that first guard. His name is Gossett. He is … intrigued by me. Wary. Pisses a little when I look in his direction. He could come in handy one day.