Lights Out by Nate Southard Page B

sorry!
    “Sorry! I’m sorry!
    “I’m so sorry.”
     
    ***
     
    “Father?”
    “Yes?”
    “What are you doing walking around out here with us pieces of shit?”
    “The Warden won’t let me take appointments during lockdown. I’m making myself available to those who need me.”
    “That’s some serious dedication, Father. You got my vote, you ever decide to run for office or something.”
    “Thanks. Can’t say I see myself doing that, though.”
    “Me neither. I can trust you. You’d make for an awful politician.”
    “That’s a comfort, I suppose.”
    “It should be. Those fucks aren’t worth the papers they push around. I used to have a few on my string, keeping them in H.”
    “You’re not serious.”
    “I wish I could tell you more. Real interesting story. This doesn’t look much like a confessional, though.”
    “Omar, you’re one of the inmates I wanted to talk to.”
    “I guess that explains why we’re talking.”
    “I know one of the men killed yesterday was one of your people.”
    “Chale. He was a good kid. He could be a pain in the ass, but then again most of the young ones are. Latin blood, y’know. We got those tempers--least that’s what television tells me.”
    “I just want to make sure… You must be upset, and I know we spoke about this a couple of days ago--”
    “You don’t need to worry, Father. There won’t be any retribution by my hand.”
    “I hope you’re not just telling me what I want to hear.”
    “If you know me at all-–and I like to think that you do–-then you know I don’t do that. I’m always straight, and I got no patience for those who aren’t.”
    “That’s good to hear.”
    “It fucking ought to be.”
    “So you’re all right, then?”
    “I wouldn’t say that, Father.”
    “If--”
    “Do me a favor, Father?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “A favor. I’m stuck in here until the lockdown goes away, or else I’d do it myself, so unless they decide to open these doors in the next few minutes, I’m afraid I need your help.”
    “You know I can’t move any contraband for you, Omar, and I’d have to report it if you asked me to do something like that.”
    “No contraband, Father. I just want you to deliver a message for me.”
    “A message?”
    “Yeah. I need to get some words to Anton Ribisi.”
    “I... What?”
    “Come closer, Father. I’ll tell you, but I have to make sure other ears don’t hear it.”
     
    ***
     
    “I’m the baddest muthafucka in the whole wide world.
    “I’m the baddest muthafucka in the whole wide world.
    “I’m the baddest muthafucka in the whole wide world.
    “I’m the baddest muthafucka in the whole wide world.”
     
    ***
     
    “Why do we get stuck with these little bullshit jobs, man? Aren’t there pros who handle this sort of thing?”
    “Right, like Timms is going to shell out that kind of cabbage when he could just have us do it for our hourly.”
    “I don’t think it would be down to Timms to bring people in. It would probably be the State, wouldn’t it?”
    “The State, then. Or the Governor. Whoever. All I know is that it isn’t gonna happen, not for fucks like what we got here.”
    “We lost a guard and Dr. Wilson, man. They’re not prisoners. I would’ve thought they’d bring in the FBI or something, with those two dead and missing.”
    “You crazy? FBI wouldn’t come here unless we found Osama bin Laden hiding in the kitchen deep freeze. Hell, if they found out Burnham was gonna to get bombed, they’d probably just ask us and the rest of the staff to scram ten minutes beforehand, leave the trash behind.”
    “Shit, Nicholas. If I didn’t have to pay child support, I’d torch this place myself. Burnham gives shitholes a bad name.”
    “I heard that.”
    “I knew you would.”
    “Hey. Did you check behind that door yet?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because it’s just a storage closet.”
    “And?”
    “And that’s all.”
    “A storage closet,