“Fucking hell,” Marcello growled. “Why can’t that fucker just leave me alone?”
“Yeah, well, our asses are on the line, so… sorry?”
“This is what we’ll do. Tell him that I will visit him tomorrow if he helps you out.”
“What if he refuses?”
“I’ll visit him anyway, but first do as I say.”
The dinner, to my everlasting surprise, passed without incident. Crusher wasn’t present because they put him in solitary after he tried to strangle his cellmate. We talked to Mendoza, who agreed to Biancchi’s terms with a look of morbid satisfaction on his face. After dinner, they sent Jordan to the kitchen because the inmate working there cut off his finger. I went back to our cell and waited for Jordan to return, which happened an hour later. After the guard left, I dropped both mattresses on the floor as Jordan unbuttoned his jumpsuit. When he reached into his briefs, flashing me with his trimmed pubes, I made a face.
“What the hell? Cover your shit, man.”
I’d barely recovered when he pulled a small plastic bottle out of his underwear.
“A shampoo?” I said, wondering what the hell was going on. “Why would you smuggle shampoo into our cell?”
Jordan smirked. “Nope. Try it.”
“It was in your briefs, so I don’t think so.”
“Just do it.”
I eyed the bottle, finally relenting.
“On my hair?”
“No, just… taste it.”
I opened the bottle and sniffed, but it had no particular smell. I took a small sip, only to shudder all over.
“It’s tequila,” Jordan whispered. “Miguel’s aunt smuggled it in for him, and he shared it with me. I told you he’s cool.”
No wonder Jordan looked so cheerful—he was drunk.
“Tequila, my ass,” I murmured, peering into the bottle. “Tastes like battery acid, but… beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.”
I took another swig, suppressing a gag. “It tastes vile.”
“Not after you drink half a bottle,” Jordan said, hiccupping.
He was trying to button up his jumpsuit, but his fingers kept missing the buttons, so he gave up.
“How drunk are you exactly?” I said as he collapsed on the mattress next to me.
“As Miguel would say,un poco. But we’re celebrating, aren’t we? Our fish took the bait.”
“True,” I admitted. “And we’re still alive, so there’s that.”
Half an hour later, I was pleasantly buzzing. Thanks to the devil’s brew we were drinking, I almost forgot our circumstances. I was somewhere dark where it smelled like lemon, probably because of Jordan’s head in my lap. Incidentally, why was his head in my lap? Was he asleep? Was I asleep? My insomnia sometimes made me feel so confused that I couldn’t tell if I was asleep or awake. Presently, I was still in a seated position, so I was probably awake.
I flicked Jordan’s nose to wake him up, but he swatted my hand with a frown.
“Don’t.”
“Get up,” I grumbled. “I’m not your pillow.”
“I refuse.”
