Ransom's Redemption (Chris Evans Fancast Fic)

Part 4: Nice Meeting You

"You don't have to come with me," I tell her. It's my first day meeting my parole officer, a Mr. Elliott Davenport. I have a new cell phone, and I'm putting apps on it.

"I'm just dropping you off," she tells me. "You may have to make your way back, though."

"Okay."

"Be careful, alright?"

"Alright." Why do I feel like I'm sixteen and talking to my nanny?

"Okay," she pulls up in front of the office, and kisses my cheek. "Good luck."

Okay, the kiss kind of cancels out that conversation. She cares. "I'll call when I'm on my way home." Home. I squeeze her hand, and she smiles at me in a way that makes me feel better about this whole deal.

First the parole office is a crappy place. Hope does not live there. Once you get past the exterior office, you feel like you're on a cop show set. There's ringing phones, people rushing back and forth in office attire, and people sitting around who look down on their luck waiting to be told it hasn't run out.

"Hello, I'm here to see Elliott Davenport?" I say to the receptionist.

She looks up and frowns. "Name?"

"Drysdale?"

A slow smile crosses her features. "Have a seat and fill this out." She hands me a clipboard with a sheet on it.

Great, my name precedes me. I sit down and start filling out the form and realize that everything on here is basically in my file, with the exception of where I'm staying and working. I start playing games on my phone. There's not much else to do around here.

"Drysdale?"

I look up and see a big black guy that could have been a semi-retired linebacker. He's wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, and a sports jacket. The thing that caught my attention was his boots. They were expensive, as was the watch he was wearing. He was married, the ring told me that. He gestures me to come in the office with him. Once inside, I see a desk with a file cabinet coat tree and two chair on side, and table with four chairs, a water cooler, microwave coffeemaker cart, and more file cabinets on the other. He gestures me to sit by the desk, and takes the clipboard from me as I do.

"So, Hugh Arthur Ransom Drysdale," he exhales, flopping down in his office chair.

"Yes, Mr. Davenport?"

"Call me Elliott," he chuckles, reading the sheet. "You got a place to stay."

"Yes, I do."

"I had a feeling no halfway house for you," he chuckles humorlessly. "Jamaica Plain?"

"With a friend."

He frowns at the paperwork. "Ah, this name is all over your visits, records....girlfriend, maybe?" When he sees that I don't answer, he raises his eyes to mine. "A little bit of advice: If she's from your past, she may not be good—"

I lean forward slightly to make eye contact. "She's good for me, good to me. My best friend."

He leans forward, too. "Best friend, huh?" He chuckles. "Been through it all with you?"

"Yes."

"Another piece of advice, just log this one away: Clear that shit up. I don't know what your relationship is, but it needs to be defined so you can start your new life." He shrugs. "Job?"

"I got a job at a tattoo parlor."

"Which one?"

"Clockwork Orange?" It's on there, isn't it?!