| (Part 2! You can read Part 1 here.)
The next day I was allowed another phone call, which I used to call my attorney, Barry Zuckerkorn. Barry and I first met in a sushi bar outside of Tokyo in 1997. The service at the restaurant was horrible and I started a fuss with the sushi chef. (Note: NEVER fuck with a sushi chef. Not only do they know martial arts, but they are usually wielding a very large blade.) After the fight between Ping and I ended and I was thrown out of the restaurant, Barry came rushing outside to me with his business card in tow, and thus, our attorney/client relationship began.
When I heard Barry pick up the phone, a wave of relief came over me; that is, until I heard what he had to say.
“I can’t get you outta there, Shady.”
I hadn’t even uttered a word to him and he was already shattering my soul.
“What? How the hell did you-”
“It’s all over the news. I gotta tell ya, you made a HUGE mistake by messing around with Disney. Don’t you know they have Satanic powers?”
“Barry, listen to me, you gotta get me outta here. You’ve been able to get me outta everything else so far. I just need you to post my bail.”
“Shady, there is no bail set for you. You’re in there forever. I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do. And um, listen, do me a favor… never contact me again, and don’t let anyone know that I’ve represented you in the past. Good luck, and may God have mercy on your soul.”
He hung up the phone. The drool that dripped from my gaping mouth of shock filled a small puddle next to my feet.
“Time’s up,” said the officer standing next to me as he grabbed the phone from my hands and hung it up.
That night, while counting the number of holes in the concrete ceiling of my cell, I cried for the first time in my entire life. I was going to be in jail for the rest of my life. I would never smell the fresh air of freedom again, or see the bright lights of Vegas, or ever ride my pet Llama, Gus, again. The world that I knew was gone, and I had to get used to the life of Orange County Prison Inmate #67721. Or did I……
I suddenly remembered what that whore in the first holding cell had mentioned to me the day before, about wanting to get out. I figured in the days to come I would keep an eye out for her and see if she really knew what she was talking about.
The next morning I was in the mess hall, munching on a bowl of maggot-ridden porridge when I noticed the whore walk into the room. I stood up from my table and walked over to where she had just taken a seat. There were three big brutish women sitting around her, each with the look of death on their face. One of them snorted at me as I sat down at the table, but the whore shushed the beast.
“What is it you want, fish?” she asked me.
“I’m Beth. You remember me from yesterday?”
“Yeah. Whattayou want, Miss Beth?”
“Well, yesterday, you asked if I wanted to get outta here. Were you serious? I mean, do you know of any real way to do that?”
She grinned and looked over at her fellow whores.
“I’ve been arrested and put in this place sixteen times. And each time I’ve busted out. You’d think that they’d figure out a better way to actually keep me in here, but they haven’t. You see that cop over there?”
She pointed to the busty, tall drink of water who guarded the door to the mess hall.
“That’s Fergie. She can get you anything you want…but you have to give her something, of course.”
She didn’t elaborate on the “something” that I was going to need to give Fergie in exchange, it was just understood by my nod.
After breakfast, I headed back to my cell, grabbed a tub of Vaseline and an empty tube of toothpaste and headed to Fergie’s cell.
To be continued…..
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