The Law of Our Fathers
Chapter One
September 14, 1995
SETH
When the electronic bolt is disengaged admitting them to the guard desk at
the Kindle County Jail, Seth Weissman finds that Hobie Tuttle and he are
not the sole civilians. A delivery man from Domino's, a skinny guy
everyone calls Kirk, is also there with lunch.
"Yo," he tells the three correctional officers and shoves off, counting
his tip. The bolt is shot again, a potent sound of slamming metal, stark
as a rifle shot, and Kirk departs. On the door a sheet of bulletproof
glass has been mounted, but it is the bars beneath which occupy Seth's
attention. They are squared off and thick with rust-resistant paint, a
depleted shade of beige which is the color of everything here - the
walls, the floor, even the reinforced-steel guard desk.
"Warden's got to clear any press interviews, man." A guard waves his
fingers, tainted with pizza grease, over the form Hobie has been filling
out.
"Nobody doin any interviews, man," says Hobie.
"Says right here, 'Michael Frain. Profession: Journalist.'" The guard
looks from the form to Seth twice, as if ... read full excerpt from The Laws of Our Fathers ebook
