Grant
"The laws go our way and the money goes our way too,"
Jiancarlo
Grant let the noise surround him and take him. When the noise outside quieted he heard the doors of his own cell unhitch. Grant climbed down and adjusted his underwear beneath his orange jumpsuit. Fairly certain his roommate would not shank him Grant set out to make a base network. If for nothing else: protection until he found out who had wanted him killed in the courtroom and who framed him in the first place.
Two inmates came right for him. The tall one said, “The ambassador has arrived,” in English. There was a short one next to him who said something in an Oceania accent, maybe Samoan, so thick Grant understood nothing. He greeted the foreigners as Mann slipped out. Some joined in to meet him or ask for an autograph while others looked at him quietly outside of the scene he was creating. The loud tall man who turned out to be from the Marshall Islands in the Pacific described he and his friend as long standing national merchants of the Philippians. He claimed they were wealthy enough to buy the Cretan Prison they were now held in without answering the questions never asked: How did you lose that fortune? And is that the reason why you’re here? With Mann’s lesson still fresh in his mind Grant held his tongue but said instead, “How’s banking in the Philippians? I know it’s tedious dealing with that. One of my friends got caught up in that.”
“No, no,” the tall one answered. “We never laundered or needed to. The government was on our side, or in our pocket, as you say. And we give money to lobbyists for legislation.”
“The laws go our way and the money goes our way too,” the shorter one added nugging Grant suggestively. A guard (or ‘pup’ as they called the guards) scolded the shorter.
“That’s Rolf, he’s a prick,” The tall one said about the pup. “Marice and Charole are okay but they don’t take nothing from no one. And there are these two guys: Jose and Cleaver that are really worse than Rolf. But when they’re not together they’re just lazy and ignore us,” the tall Marshall Islander explained.
“Don’t think the girl is a push over though.” The short one added. The duo took most of Grant’s attention and time. They ended with a joke that he did not understand but laughed anyway. They’ll vote for me when the time comes, Grant thought hopefully.
“What are your names?” Grant asked.
“I am Simion and this is Jiancarlo.” The tall one said.
Some cells slammed shut already when a pup called for him. This one had not been identified in the brief lesson given by his new constituents, Simion and JianCarlo. “Grant stay out here.”
“Huh?” The closer the pup got the more he looked like his brother. He was average height, had a short broad nose, distinctive sideburns that ran short of his cheeks, and a freckled face. If it is him should I punch him or hug him, Grant thought reflecting on the sour defeat in the courtroom months ago. Before and decision was warranted it became apparent that the man was more pale and shorter than his brother. When he came and grabbed Grant with a tug, something he was now getting used to, the face seemed like a grotesque impression of his brother’s actual face.
“You’re meeting with Newbody today.”
“Right now?”
“No, ten minutes ago,” the guard said coldly.
The walk was shorter than the other ones had been. There was one turn and then a final one into the psychologist’s office. Her room smelled like fresh paint of which had been bright white. The stench caught the guard who said, “Oh geese.” He gently pushed Grant towards the chair in front of a desk, “She’ll be in in a minute.” The pup left Grant unrestrained with pens, a keyboard, and a desktop PC in front of him that was facing the bright white wall opposite him. Total freedom of his hands would be a huge advantage in accessing the World Wide Web. Pens would be great as possible weapons if necessary but that made him feel sick so he thought about other things. How to best use my time I might have on the internet? The lack of legal counsel post-conviction had been astonishing, an e-mail to a well known liberal media outlet would go a long way in public awareness. Maybe even force Newtopia to send for me. Maybe not. An e-mail to his attorney may be totally useless since he had failed at trial, How competent could he really be? His mother had no e-mail address and his brother was the one who got him in here in the first place. Hope. He could send her an e-mail about where the files are. She could expose the files and even if they didn’t get me free it would expose the Baxton killer.
He leaned at the computer then winced thinking about the blow to the back of the head he received last time he touched Claire Newbody’s computer. Although last time he had thrown it in rage. This time, might be even worse. Even if he couldn’t get out at least he could tell her he’s okay, all he needed was a few minutes at that computer.
“Mr. Grant, I didn’t expect you until next week but since you’re here let’s get started,” Grant heard Newbody announce from behind him.
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