hair."
The two stood staring at each other for a moment. "Get out! NOW! Before you have more than a sore jaw, but a bullet through the chest."
He took one step closer and she put one in the chamber. He stopped and smiled at the woman. "I'm sure that it won't look too good if you shot your boss's boss now would it?"
Melissa knew that Vic answered to someone, but she didn't know who and didn't really care. "I will let him know that you dropped in." She said thick with sarcasm. Hands still up, he slowly reached into his breast pocket again. “Don't try it!" She was no more than eight feet away from him. At this range, she would leave a nasty hole in him.
Kinney looked back up to her and pulled out a business card. "When your boss gets in, be sure to let him know that I dropped in. It's important that I speak to him." Kinney turned and walked out the front door.
"I'm going to need a raise."
"This will be your home for the next 18 months. All of your moves will be monitored, your internet usage, phone, and television. You will have that nice little do-hickey on your ankle for the whole time of your probation. You will meet with your parole officer every Wednesday morning for the next 18 months. There is a job for you that you will be starting next week. All the information is in this packet. Do you have any questions?" the officer asked.
Jacob Mentik looked down at his house arrest monitor on his ankle. "How far can I go with this thing?"
"We have it programmed to your place of residence and the hours that you will be working. If you deviate, you will be arrested on sight. If there is a change in any of your plans, let your P.O. know in advance." The officer huffed. "Look a lot of people wished they would have got the sentencing you got. In a year and a half you will be able to move on. from this, like it never happened." He smiled.
At 26-years-old, Mentik thought that his best years were already behind him anyway. He prayed that this day would come, five plus years spent in a detention center. At least he wasn't in maximum security, his mother would say. His father pulled more strings than Geppetto. For what he was accused of, he should be spending the rest of his life in prison. "Thank you, officer." Jacob picked up the packet with all the terms of his release. Then tossed it on the ratty coffee table.
He was now living in a downtown apartment the size of a matchbox. His parents had already moved back to Wyoming. They didn't even bother coming to see him. No worries, he thought. He had nearly cost them everything anyway. His father pulled his hat back from serving a second term, which was understandable. Who would vote for a guy whose son was going to jail? The media painted a better picture than reality. That he thanked the spin doctors for.
"You have a fridge stocked with food and there is about $900 by the kitchen sink, courtesy of your father. Again, is there any questions that you have before I leave?"
Jacob looked around his shabby digs and shrugged. "I guess if there's anything else to know, I can call this number?" He lifted up the packet which had the officer's number on the back.
The officer laughed out loud taking the young man by surprise. "If you call that number, all you will get is a grieving wife." The officer continued to laugh.
Taking another look at the packet. "Officer Terry Hightower?" he whispered.
"Yes, Officer Hightower was supposed to pick you up from the hotel behind bars this morning, but he had an accident." In the detention center, Jacob never had to worry about prison shower rapes or beatings. He was in Club Med for criminals. He stood, but didn't know what to do with his fists that were clenched at his sides. The man that he had been with this morning that said he was Office Hightower took a step closer to Jacob. "You see, this morning
The two stood staring at each other for a moment. "Get out! NOW! Before you have more than a sore jaw, but a bullet through the chest."
He took one step closer and she put one in the chamber. He stopped and smiled at the woman. "I'm sure that it won't look too good if you shot your boss's boss now would it?"
Melissa knew that Vic answered to someone, but she didn't know who and didn't really care. "I will let him know that you dropped in." She said thick with sarcasm. Hands still up, he slowly reached into his breast pocket again. “Don't try it!" She was no more than eight feet away from him. At this range, she would leave a nasty hole in him.
Kinney looked back up to her and pulled out a business card. "When your boss gets in, be sure to let him know that I dropped in. It's important that I speak to him." Kinney turned and walked out the front door.
"I'm going to need a raise."
"This will be your home for the next 18 months. All of your moves will be monitored, your internet usage, phone, and television. You will have that nice little do-hickey on your ankle for the whole time of your probation. You will meet with your parole officer every Wednesday morning for the next 18 months. There is a job for you that you will be starting next week. All the information is in this packet. Do you have any questions?" the officer asked.
Jacob Mentik looked down at his house arrest monitor on his ankle. "How far can I go with this thing?"
"We have it programmed to your place of residence and the hours that you will be working. If you deviate, you will be arrested on sight. If there is a change in any of your plans, let your P.O. know in advance." The officer huffed. "Look a lot of people wished they would have got the sentencing you got. In a year and a half you will be able to move on. from this, like it never happened." He smiled.
At 26-years-old, Mentik thought that his best years were already behind him anyway. He prayed that this day would come, five plus years spent in a detention center. At least he wasn't in maximum security, his mother would say. His father pulled more strings than Geppetto. For what he was accused of, he should be spending the rest of his life in prison. "Thank you, officer." Jacob picked up the packet with all the terms of his release. Then tossed it on the ratty coffee table.
He was now living in a downtown apartment the size of a matchbox. His parents had already moved back to Wyoming. They didn't even bother coming to see him. No worries, he thought. He had nearly cost them everything anyway. His father pulled his hat back from serving a second term, which was understandable. Who would vote for a guy whose son was going to jail? The media painted a better picture than reality. That he thanked the spin doctors for.
"You have a fridge stocked with food and there is about $900 by the kitchen sink, courtesy of your father. Again, is there any questions that you have before I leave?"
Jacob looked around his shabby digs and shrugged. "I guess if there's anything else to know, I can call this number?" He lifted up the packet which had the officer's number on the back.
The officer laughed out loud taking the young man by surprise. "If you call that number, all you will get is a grieving wife." The officer continued to laugh.
Taking another look at the packet. "Officer Terry Hightower?" he whispered.
"Yes, Officer Hightower was supposed to pick you up from the hotel behind bars this morning, but he had an accident." In the detention center, Jacob never had to worry about prison shower rapes or beatings. He was in Club Med for criminals. He stood, but didn't know what to do with his fists that were clenched at his sides. The man that he had been with this morning that said he was Office Hightower took a step closer to Jacob. "You see, this morning
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