The cold gray walls and the sound of metal clanking only intensified my anxiety as I walked down the long corridor. I wondered what the old man would think of me if he found out I was here. Stupid. That was what I’d be labeled. I’d be dethroned as the new leader of the family before my reign even started, but I guess that was just a chance I’d have to take, considering the circumstances. Besides, he could blame this on me all he wanted, but this wasn’t my fault. If anyone should take the blame for me coming to this god-awful place, it was him.
I’d made arrangements to come here right after I left the warehouse in Orange County in a huff. I can’t begin to tell you how pissed off I was when I found out that the old man had sent Rio to Alejandro. I didn’t know why the hell he was using my brother in his little game of chess, but it sure as shit had blown up in his face. Now that Miguel was dead, he could pretend he had everything under control, but I knew better. We needed help, or at least I needed help figuring this whole thing out, and there was only one person I could really trust in this situation.
“You here to see Mr. Johnson?” the sandy-haired white man sitting behind the desk asked.
He’d caught me off guard with the “Mr. Johnson” crap. For a minute there, I almost said no.
“Yes, I’m here to see Michael Johnson,” I confirmed.
He glanced down at the notepad in front of him, then back up at me, smiling. “You got something for me?”
I reached in my pocket and slipped out five bills, discreetly handing them to the man. His smile became a smirk now that he was five hundred dollars richer. This was the third payoff I’d made since entering the prison, but it was the only way to bypass the BS and get an undisturbed one-on-one sit-down with the infamous Mr. Johnson.
“Have a seat. Mr. Johnson will be right with you.”
I walked into a small room and sat down at a table with two chairs on one side and one chair on the other. It wasn’t long before I heard the door open, and in walked Michael Johnson, wearing a pair of jeans and a wife beater. It had been more than three years, but he was bigger than I remembered, better looking too. He still had that same charismatic aura about him, that little something that made women love him, men admire him, and enemies fear him. My respect for him forced me to stand, as if royalty had entered the room.
He didn’t say anything at first. He just stood in the doorway, staring at me, as if he wasn’t quite sure who I was or why I was there.
Finally, he spoke in an agitated tone. “Orlando, what the hell are you doing here?”
“What do you mean, what am I doing here? What do you think?” I stepped closer, although my stature couldn’t hold a candle to his. “I’m here visiting my brother in prison. How you doing, Vegas?”
He eyeballed me for another few seconds before he reached out and hugged me tightly. I returned the embrace, holding back tears. He patted me on the back, then pulled away. Once again, his eyes locked in on me.
“You know you’re not supposed to be here,” he said with a tone of warning. “Pop’s not going to like it.”
“The last time I checked, I was a grown-ass man,” I spat.
“A grown-ass man still living under his daddy’s roof,” he threw back with a chuckle.
“Yeah, well, if I remember correctly, you used to live under that same roof when you were my age. Besides, I do that just to appease Momma.”
“Momma,” he repeated, a slight smile touching his lips. “How is she?”
“Momma’s good. She’s been under the weather a little as of late, but nothing serious. She talks about you every day. She misses you.”
“I miss her too. Man, I miss all of you. How’s Pop?”