Noble Warrior by Alan Lawrence Sitomer

bet on him, right?”
    “I’m warning you, don’t mess around.”
    “Come on, Puwolsky,” Krewls says. “With the chump change you’re paying, I could use the extra cash.”
    “Why are you always bitching about money?”
    “’Cause money rules the world,” Krewls said. “Just tell me, would you bet on him?”
    While the eight grand was supposed to get M.D. into a position whereby he could execute his mission, Puwolsky knew that dirty officers like Krewls always liked to make a little extra
something-something for themselves whenever the chance presented itself. Smuggling in phones, looking the other way during a beat down, there were scores of ways that prison guards could puff their
pockets. Besides, once M.D. exited the car and entered the D.T., Puwolsky knew that Krewls was going to do what Krewls was going to do anyway; he was lord of the realm, so the colonel figured it
was better to simply tell the truth in order to try to move things along as quickly as possible.
    “I’d bet the fucking farm on him,” Puwolsky said. “Just make sure a certain someone has an encounter and ends up in the morgue truck sooner rather than later.”
    Krewls smiled, his crooked teeth ready to take a big bite out of this new opportunity. “Nothing to worry about.” Krewls tapped the cash in his pocket. “You, son, are
fixin’ to triple this for me, ain’t ya?”
    McCutcheon didn’t answer. He hadn’t come to Jentles make crooked prison guards smile. He was here for other reasons and he knew he had to keep those reasons front and center in his
mind.
    Puwolsky reached over, opened the passenger door, and McCutcheon climbed out of the car and into the rain.
    “So you’re a little soldier, huh?” Krewls stepped nose-to-nose with McCutcheon. “Just remember who the general is and we’ll get along just fine.”
    Even though Puwolsky had always suspected Krewls might put M.D. through a few extra challenges before he’d be placed in a position to take out the High Priest, the colonel hadn’t
mentioned any of this to McCutcheon. In fact there were many things Puwolsky hadn’t mentioned to McCutcheon about this mission.
    Of course, there were a few things M.D. hadn’t mentioned to the colonel, either. Like the fact that he had absolutely zero intention of murdering D’Marcus Rose.
    “I’ll see you in about three days,” Puwolsky said.
    “Yep,” M.D. answered. Krewls grabbed McCutcheon by the elbow and began leading him inside.
    “Right this way, son,” Krewls said. “Let’s go get you set up all nice and cozy.”
    Puwolsky turned the key, the Cadillac roared to life, and all three men took the next step forward in their lives, thinking about their own individual schemes.
    Each just having lied, lied, lied to the others.

“M ove it, ass breath!”
    Major Krewls hauled McCutcheon into a gray-and-white intake room that smelled of piss and fear and slammed him into a chair with four other cuffed felons.
    “Now, wait!”
    McCutcheon understood Krewls’s show of roughness. In prison, eyes are everywhere, and if even a sniff of the idea surfaced that M.D. was anything other than a convict, he’d be
shanked before dinner, and Krewls himself would burn. Sure, the major wanted the envelope full of money that came with backdooring M.D. into his institution, but Krewls also knew it could cost him
his badge, his pension, and maybe even his freedom.
    For all parties involved, the stakes were high.
    Krewls popped a roasted sunflower seed into his mouth, separated the shell from the nut using only his teeth, and then spit the gnawed husk onto the floor. A moment later he locked M.D. to a
hard steel seat and then bashed him with a baton.
    “Uunnnnggghh!”
M.D. groaned as the shot drilled him in the ribs.
    “Just a reminder, fucko,” Krewls said, making sure every other prisoner in the room heard him. “You’re cookin’ in my kitchen now.”
    Krewls marched out of the room, and three of the four handcuffed