“Maybe he knows I could use a friend.”
Rusty had wandered onto the prison grounds long before I arrived. Somehow, through officers willing to look away and inmates willing to share, he had stayed.
In a place where every door closed with a warning, he was something that came toward you willingly.
By dinner, he followed me to the chow hall.
I chose the end of a steel table. Across the room, a broad man with a gray beard caught my eye.
Walt.
We had ridden together years before either of us wore prison blues. Two other men beside him recognized me, too.
I gave them a small nod. Nothing more.
I had once led a nomad charter of the Hells Angels. That history had followed me through courtrooms, marriage troubles, and transfers. It had earned loyalties, but it had also cost me things loyalty couldn’t replace.
I wasn’t there
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