“Have you done your part to show that you’re ready to be reintegrated into society? Have you gotten into any trouble while you’ve been here? Did you take any classes or get counseling?
“My father was a lawyer. I worked at his office in the summers while I was going to college, and I picked up on a couple of things.”
“Pfft,” he grumbled. “So, you worked with your daddy, and now you think you know more than my lawyer and can get me out of this place?”
“No, I’m not saying that at all.” I tried to assure him. “My father was really good at his job. He’d always hoped I would follow in his footsteps, so he taught me a few things along the way—like how important a parole hearing could be.”
“How so?”
“Well, there are certain things the board looks at when they’re trying to decide if a hearing is justified, and good behavior is only a small part of it. They want to see that you’re making an effort to prepare for the transition back into society.”
“I’ve done what I can.”
“So, no trouble since you’ve been here?”
“Just a couple of run-ins, but I haven’t initiated anything, and I haven’t killed anyone while I’ve been in here—if that’s what you’re asking.” When I didn’t respond, he said, “It’s hard to keep your nose completely clean in a place like this, but again, I haven’t started any trouble.”
“Okay, that’s a start. What about classes or a job?”
“No classes, but I’m working. Been making fucking license plates for the past two damn years.”
“Would you consider being moved to a position where you could learn a field... maybe plumbing or electrical or carpentry?”
“Those are hard to get.”
“I’m aware, but you can’t get one unless you try,” I pushed. “And the counseling, especially anger management, could go a long—”
“Fuck that,” he grumbled. “I’m not doing that shit.”
“Easy, brother,” Menace said in a calm voice. “She’s just trying to help.”
“Well, I didn’t ask for fucking help!” He leaned over to us as he spat, “It’s bullshit! I don’t need fucking anger management!”
“Clearly.” I stood and turned to Menace. “I think it’s best I wait for you outside.”
“Sit,” Dalton ordered. I didn’t budge. I was too scared to make a move, so I simply stood there until his expression softened, and he muttered, “I’m sorry for the outburst. Please, just sit.”
No longer feeling threatened, I sat down and said, “I’m sorry for pushing. I know Menace thinks a lot of you. Apparently, all your brothers do. I was only trying to give a little advice in hopes of getting you out of this place as soon as possible.”
“You really think the counseling will help?”
“It’s one of the first things my father would suggest to his clients when they were trying to get out on parole.”
Menace and Dalton shared a look, then Menace said, “Just say the word. I’ll get in touch with the attorney and see what we can get set up.”
“Make it happen.”
“You got it.” Menace turned and looked over at the clock above us, then said, “Sorry to cut it short, but we gotta get going.”
“No problem.” We all stood, and Dalton shook Menace’s hand. “You two be careful doing whatever it is you’re gonna be doing.”
“We will.”
Dalton then turned his attention to me. “Thanks for the advice. Unsolicited or not, I appreciate ya trying to help.”
“I hope it helps.”
“You and me both.”
After a final goodbye, Menace and I walked out of the prisoner’s visiting room and out to the parking lot. Moments later, we were back in the SUV and on the road. We hadn’t been riding long when I felt the urge to say, “I’m sorry if I overstepped back there.”
“No need to apologize.” Menace’s eyes skirted over to me for a second, then back to the road as he admitted, “I’ve been trying to figure out how the hell to get him out of there for years, and then you...you come in there and finally give him the hope I never could.”
“You’ve been there for him through all of this. That’ll always mean more to him than a little advice from a stranger.”
“Maybe, but it sure as hell means a lot to me.”
Hearing the sincerity in his voice truly touched me. It warmed my heart to think I might’ve helped Dalton in some small way, especially since he meant so much to Menace. I found myself wondering if Billy meant as much to him as Dalton. I didn’t have a clue who the man was or what he could do to help me with my situation with Rossi. When Menace mentioned we were going to see him, I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t see the point. He was offering to help, and I wasn’t in a position to question it, but after our visit with Dalton at the freaking federal prison, I was beginning to wonder if I’d made a mistake in not asking more about him. He could’ve been a psycho serial killer they hired to just kill off Rossi and the rest of his mafia family…or worse. They could’ve hired him to finish me off and end my problems altogether. I highly doubted it was the latter, but that didn’t stop me from asking, “So, what’s the deal with this Billy guy?”