My eyes had only been closed for a second when someone started beating my door down. There was another sound, too—a blaring electric scream that made me want to stick my head under the pillow.
“Kash! You dead? Kash! Get out here! I’m gettin’ complaints, boy!”
I peeled my eyes open, ready to tear Leroy a new one. Blinding sunlight changed my mind real quick—that was my alarm clock going off. Panic ripped me out from under my covers and landed me on my feet. The damn thing had been going off for a whole forty-five minutes! I ripped it out of the wall and threw it across the damn room.
“Useless piece of—yeah, Leroy, I hear you! My bad! Damn it, damn it, damn it.” I didn’t have time to change. Hell, I didn’t even have time to breathe. I shoved my sockless feet into my shoes, grabbed my keys—my wallet was still in my pocket—and bolted out the door. My clothes smelled like mildew from the damn truck and my jeans were spattered in mud up past my knees. Fantastic first impression.
“Hey, where you think you’re going? Historical society’s gonna be here Monday, you still got work to do! You hung over or something?”
“P.O.”
It was all I needed to say to have him shut the hell up. Leroy had spent a lot of time in and out of jail in his younger days and knew the consequences of missing an appointment like this. They weren’t pretty. The thought of returning to prison kept my foot pressing a little too hard on the accelerator, and even then, I barely made it to my appointment in time.
The guy who would be my P.O looked like an accountant and his face was pinched like he was always smelling something foul. That disgust deepened when I walked in and sat in the chair.
“Mr. Lawson,” he said flatly.
“Mr. Breaker. Good to meet you.”
His big, fishy eyes blinked at me slowly. “No need to lie, Mr. Lawson. You want to be here about as much as I do.”
“Seems like you’re in the wrong business.”
He pursed his lips and sat down across from me, lacing his fingers on the desk. “My business,” he said, “is keeping Danton safe from criminals like you, Mr. Lawson. A criminal doesn’t just stop being a criminal when they’re released from prison, but of course you know that. I am the babysitter. The person assigned to your case for as long as the county decides it is necessary.”
I grinned. “My momma said I was too old for a babysitter when I was six. You’re about nineteen years too late.”
He sniffed. “Your ‘momma’ was clearly mistaken. I’ve looked over your case, Mr. Lawson, and I must say I’m impressed by your rather reckless tenacity. Seems like it was just a matter of time before you’d end up in prison.”
I leaned back in my chair, wielding my grin like a weapon. “Thanks,” I said, “it’s always good to meet a fan.”
“It wasn’t a compliment, Mr. Lawson. You were—erroneously, in my opinion—cleared of a large crime simply because you admitted to a slightly smaller one. Do you know how many people die from drug misuse? You should have been classified a murderer a long time ago. The fact that it was enough to get you released on time served blows my mind.”
I shrugged. “Not my call. If you have a problem with it, take it up with the judge.”
“I have,” he said acidly. “Since there was no drug evidence admitted, the case had to be dismissed. But that doesn’t mean you’re in the clear. My role in your life is to keep you firmly within the rule of the law. You start cooking meth, I’ll know about it. You shoplift, I’ll know about it. You go five miles over the speed limit and you’re goddamn right I’ll know about it. You will be a model citizen, or I will pack your ass right back to prison where you belong. Do I make myself clear?”
I thought about it for a good, long time, just to make sure I understood him clearly. Okay, so I didn’t need to, but I did want to see how far his mouth could twist. When it had reached maximum torsion, I sighed. “Model citizen, got it. Now I need specifics. How often do I need to see you? How do I transfer to a different babysitter if I move out of town? How long will this arrangement be necessary? I swear I’m a big boy, I tie my own shoes and everything.”
He grinned. I didn’t like it. It split his face too far on either side, and for as big as his mouth was there were still too many teeth in it. His eyes narrowed into little black slits, glinting in the sunlight. The man was a natural born predator.
“Oh, you won’t be leaving,” he smiled, “I have your address at the motel. That is where you will be until I decide otherwise, and you certainly won’t be leaving town.”
He leaned back and flicked one of those silver ball toys on his desk, making it click in an irritating rhythm. “As far as how long we’ll be playing—well, that is entirely up to me and the judge. You’ll have to prove to me that you are, in fact, rehabilitated.” He chuckled softly as he caught a ball in mid-air and pulled it back, letting it fall again to knock into the others harder than before.
“I take it you aren’t real easy to convince.”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. Finger on his chin, bullshit on his mind. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve graduated a few convicts early. One in 1992, one in—hm. No, I guess just the one.”
“And how many did you send back up the river?”
“Oh, I’d have to check my files to tell you that.” He smirked at me, then frowned. “Unfortunately, for your case, there is a maximum time limit. Barring any future incidents, you’re mine for
