Ross
Orange is just not my color.
Surprisingly, that’s just about all I could think of as I stared at my reflection in the prison issued mirror. That’s another thing about prison, everything is orderly, neat, and systematic. I should love it here. I ran a hand through my hair, wishing they’d have let me keep my comb. They wouldn’t even let me keep my comb, let alone my shoes. Sure, the prison issued pair looked a bit like Vans, but I do love my Chuck Taylor’s.
I sighed. All this wasn’t what I was thinking about, I hardly even cared that much. I was simply trying to distract myself. This was normally Cassidy’s job, and she would probably say about now, “You sound like such a girl! C’mon, man up, Rossie!” One of the many things you had to love about Cassidy.
Cassidy.
No, I wasn’t thinking about how much I hate orange. Which is true, I really do hate orange. It’s such a revolting color. But I wasn’t thinking about that. I was remembering how my own stupidity and cockiness had nearly gotten Cassidy in prison as well. It was just one slip of the tongue. No, I’ll be truthful, for once. I meant to say it, but I really didn’t think they’d be smart enough to catch the hint. My plans were fool-proof, they never went wrong.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an officer’s shoes making those annoying clicking noises against the floor. I thought it was just another patrolling guard, so I chose to ignore it. That is, until the clicking stopped outside the bars of my cell.
“Mr. Tate, you have a visitor.”
A visitor? Who? Cassidy?
“Who is it?” I asked, looking over my reflection once more. This would annoy the guard, and I almost smiled. I didn’t like him very much. He was a little on the chubby side, though I’m sure he could take me in a fair fight. But, a fair fight is fictional, and I definitely wouldn’t fight one. He had this odd handlebar mustache that only made his face look fatter, and his breath smelt absolutely horrid. Yes, annoying this guard was pleasurable, and if I was stuck in this place for who knows how long, I had to find enjoyment somewhere.
“A rich-looking man in a business suit.” The guard jerked the back of the orange prison jumpsuit, and I stood. “Is he an...associate of yours?”
“A rich-looking man?” I echoed, momentarily bewildered. Of course it wasn’t Cassidy, she wouldn’t be stupid enough to come visit me so soon. But if it wasn’t her, then who was it? I hoped he didn’t have prison tattoos, because I was a dead man. I thought the mobsters had lost my trail long ago, but I could have very easily been mistaken.... “Maybe he’s my lawyer. How do you come by the assumption that he’s rich, Sherlock?”
“His suit’s Italian.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. It is.” The guard said, and the sense of finality hung in the air. So, I walked alongside him in silence, because he was certainly not going to keep the conversation going. Maybe he realized I was taunting him. Maybe. Probably not.
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