Winners and Losers

jail beds and hangovers

I slammed my head against the top of something hard and cold the minute I woke up. The pain rattled through my head then slowly died down to a dull throbbing before I noticed that something was wrong. This is definitely not my bed. The light streamed into the unknown room as I silently begged my eyes to adjust so I could figure out where the hell I was. Just as I looked over to see the bars guarding the window all the memories from last night hit me like a brick. Oh yeah...jail.

I sigh and let my head hit the pillow with a thud. Jesus, jail beds are uncomfortable. Like it's jail but still an extra pillow would be nice. Or just one pillow that didn't feel like it's made out of wood. I pulled the sheet over my head as I tried to get at least another hour of sleep.

"Wakey, wakey O'Connor, your lawyer wants you." I moaned and tried to turn away from whoever was being so exceptionally loud so early in the morning. Okay maybe I'm a little hungover.

"O'Connor I'm not gonna say it again." I turned to the stout woman facing me. She had short brown hair that looked like it could use a wash. So did the old prison guard uniform she was wearing. She also looked at me like the scum of the earth which I definitely appreciated. I groaned again as I got up and headed to the sink in my cell. I looked into the tiny, distorted mirror just above it to see if I looked as bad as I felt. Spoiler, I did.

My curly red hair had been transformed into a mess of knots and I think I could have passed for a corpse with the bags under my eyes. Not to mention the huge black eye that I barely remember getting. I sighed and realized that there was not much I could do but splash some cold water on my face. Finally I headed over to the door and prepared for the handcuffs. Little Ms I'm better than you was a unnecessarily rough as she forced me into the handcuffs. I withheld the urge to spit in her face which was incredibly difficult for me.

After getting manhandled down a hallway we finally came to the little interrogation room where I had spent most of last night. After getting picked up the idiots forced me to wait there for a couple hours obviously trying to sweat me out. Naturally that did not work as it's not exactly my first time around the block. Which basically means I was stuck there waiting for a lawyer that just seems to have arrived.

Considering how much I pay the jackass you would have thought he might have dropped whatever he was doing but apparently not. Well, I certainly had a bone to pick with Mr Dean Jackson so you can imagine my surprise when I was practically shoved into the room only to find someone else. I eyed the man sitting across from me as I slowly took a seat at the metal table. He looked about twenty five and was looked like he was built like a quarterback under his suit so definitely not Mr Jackson. Not to mention the blonde hair and blue eyes. A bit too...all American for my tastes but even I could appreciate someone who looked that good. His suit looked tailored and perfectly ironed and his Rolex was definitely real. So rich and had decent taste too. The only things I found remotely interesting were his hands and his eyes. His hands were rough and calloused, not like any lawyer I knew, even though everything else about him screamed 'I'm an arrogant asshole.' His eyes, however, were something entirely different. They were...alive. I watched as he looked at me the same way I was looking at him. Like he was analyzing me. This was going to be fun.

"Now, who might you be?" I sneered with a glint in my eye.

He looked at me and smiled like he knew some big secret, "Mr Jackson."

I laughed without breaking eye contact, "Wow, Dean you've lost a lot of weight since the last time we met. Seemed to have grown back some hair too. And what are those color contacts?"

He waited a moment then said, "I'm actually his son, Lucas."

"So your daddy send you to help me," I said smiling smugly, "Look, you seem great but I payed for the best, not the best's pride and joy."

Suddenly his smile faltered for a second, which I took as a win, "My dad left me the firm. Plus I'm the best defense attorney in the country," he proclaimed with a level of pride that nearly made me gag. "You can either take my help or settle for the second best."

"I don't 'settle'," Now it was his turn to smile like he had gotten one over on me. This was quickly becoming more interesting than I thought it would be.

I leaned back and put my feet on the table, "So, Mr Jackson, what are you gonna do to get me out of here?"