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He adjusts his glasses up on his nose, one lazy eye wandering as we speak.
“You really are a cowboy then? I’m not surprised. It’s weird to see you not wearing the orange.”
I nod. “It feels damn good not to be wearing orange.”
The Stetson on my head isn’t too out of the ordinary for Idaho, but a few of the other inmates definitely recognize me. My muscles are tense, waiting for an inevitable attack.
That can’t happen here. You’re not an inmate.
I tap on the table in front of Connor. “I came to ask you about something. It’s a cattle hormone called M-59. They’re saying it can make them gain weight rapidly without side effects. Ever heard of it?”
Connor pinches his brows together with his forefinger and thumb. “Do you know the chemical makeup?”
Cash pulls up the list of chemicals on his phone and lists them off to Connor.
After the first seven names, Connor begins to shake his head, chuckling. “They’re giving this to cattle? With FDA approval? My God, what is next? They should just inject us with cancer cells now.”
“It’s not FDA approved. They’re selling it under the table to ranchers,” Cash says. “They’re telling us it’s on the fast track for approval.”
Connor raises his brows, glancing from my face to Cash’s. “Well, they’re either trying to fuck you in the ass or they’re about to fuck us all. Maybe both.” His eyes shift to the tables around us before he lowers his voice and leans in. “It sounds like genetic engineering and expedited growth hormones. The kind of shit that’ll either kill you in your sleep or make you grow horns.”
Cash and I walk out of the prison, and I inhale a deep gulp of fresh mountain air. My chest relaxes with the expanse of open earth and the lack of walls and razor-wire fence surrounding me.
“Well, this situation just got more fucked.” Cash inserts the key into the ignition of our rented Ford pickup.
It roars to life, and he starts driving us toward the airport. I shut my eyes as the brightness from the sun sends shards of pain splintering through my head. I’m starting to get another debilitating migraine from only sleeping four hours over the last two days.
“We’ve got a bigger problem than genetically engineered cattle if that prick you beat to hell at the concert presses charges.” I tap my knee, the pressure in my skull lessening the farther we get from the prison.
Cash’s phone starts to ring. He answers it with one hand, keeping the other on the wheel.
“Yello?”
The guy on the other end talks for most of the call before Cash says, “Okay, well, I’ll talk to my lawyer about it. But it sounds fine to me.”
He ends the call, shifting in his seat.
“What?”
He shrugs. “She’s paying the guy to not press assault charges.”
“Who is?”
“Monroe Blue.”
I chuckle. “No shit? How much?”
“Hell of a lot, I guess.”
“Well, thank God you dodged that fucking bullet. Still doesn’t solve the problem of that fucker Clay Dixon.” I spit his name out of my mouth like the personal offense it is.
Cash’s left eyebrow is split and healing, but his black eye and busted lip look like shit. He took the same beating I did when I went to jail. Mayor Dixon takes his place at the top of the food chain to the next level. I don’t know if he blackmails the sheriff or if they’re both just evil pricks.
He smirks. “Maybe if two of y’all could stop trying to fuck his daughter, he’d ease up a bit.”
If he wasn’t driving eighty miles an hour, I’d give him another black eye.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
