Free The Hitman: Dirty Rotters by Sean McKenzie Page A

station by 6:30
p.m. I followed Sally closely, getting strange looks from everyone
we met and passed bye. Mostly Russians. Most said something in
passing, but Sally wasn’t a woman known for a big conversation.
Which at the moment I was grateful for.
    I felt small and vulnerable. The place
had a helpless feeling to it. We rounded a corner and headed for a
set of double doors. Well-guarded. Well-locked. Cameras were
visible everywhere. Through the doors the jail began. Once past
those doors, chances were you were never getting back
out.
    Sally stopped at the doors and looked
dead into a camera just above her head. A second later the doors
opened with a thunderous boom as the locks released and there stood
the biggest man I had ever saw. He was black, well over six feet,
and about two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle. His biceps
were nearly ripping through the threads on his blue uniform. His
neck alone was like a tree trunk. His hands were massive with
brat-like fingers shuffling a tiny set of keys back onto his belt.
He had no gun like the other guards. He did have a baton though,
which in his case probably worked just as well.
    Sally introduced us. “Frank Beull this
is Michael Lynch.”
    Frank extended his right hand and it
swallowed mine. I felt like my hand was an infant’s. “Frank, nice
to meet you.”
    Frank said nothing. He wore a hard
look. I guessed it came with the uniform. He turned to Sally and
gave a half-nod before venturing past the doors, motioning with his
head for me to follow. I looked at Sally, but her eyes said she was
staying behind. I didn’t waste time then. Frank was already moving
away.
    “ Remember what I said,”
Sally said.
    The door slid shut, locking instantly
with a loud click that seemed to echo through the corridor. Frank
began walking forward, I joined at his side, slightly a step
behind. The corridor held doors to either side, narrow and locked.
The walls were brick, painted white. The floor was concrete. Ahead
of us was a room, guarded and presumably locked from within. It had
large windows that were in all probability bullet proof. I could
see a few more armed guards inside. Some were looking at monitors.
Others were looking at me. I looked away.
    Frank made a gesture to one of the
guards inside the control room and down the hall to the right we
went, heading for a single door. Once we were there, the lock
released, the door opened and we went through. It closed and locked
again the second I was past. All done by computers, I
knew.
    This part of the jail had cells with
barred walls instead of a single door. I could see right into the
cells and look at the inmates. Most were lying around doing
nothing. Some were exercising. I saw one reading a book. But each
time they looked up to see me, I quickly looked away. It was an odd
feeling. I felt guilty for being a free man.
    “ You a cop?” Frank
asked.
    “ No.”
    “ You look like a cop to
me.” Frank gave me a look. “Why not be a cop?”
    “ I don’t make good
decisions and I’m not that smart.” I really wasn’t. Or tough. Or
orderly. Or brave. Or a bunch of things that I’d rather not tell
the giant.
    Frank said nothing. He gave me the
once over look, then a smirk like he was thinking how easy it would
be to snap me in half. We continued on quietly then.
    Frank turned to the left at a cell
door and waited. A moment later the lock clicked and the door was
opened. Frank stepped aside and there I saw my old friend, clinging
to the shadows of the bottom bunk, sitting with his knees against
his chest and his arms wrapped about them. An innocent man draped
in a guilty orange jumpsuit.
    “ You got ten minutes,”
Frank said. His voice was like a volcano’s eruption.
    I stepped inside. Angelo squirmed
back, tight to the wall. He buried his face into his arms. He was
shivering with fear.
    “ Angelo, it’s me. It’s
Michael. Look.” I stayed back at the end of the bed. I didn’t want
to scare him further. “I’m