Takeover by Diana Dwayne Read Free Book Online

and says, “We gonna have way too much fun fucking wit’ you.”
    I laugh nervously as Nicolette erupts behind Sam who obviously thinks this is the funniest thing in the world.
    “What are you in for?” Nicolette asks when she finally stops clutching her sides.
    “It’s a mistake,” I start. “They think I killed my boss, but I didn’t.”
    Both of the women’s mouths drop. Nicolette is the first to speak, “Oh shit, you’re the one that stabbed that Daniel dude in the fuckin’ neck!”
    “That’s some cold shit,” Sam chuckles.
    “I didn’t actually do it,” I say, then remember reading enough crime dramas to know that everyone denies having done anything wrong. Luckily, this seems to be the one thing that these two women aren’t going to tease me about. “How did you even hear about that, I mean...”
    I trail off, but Sam finishes the sentence for me, “being in jail and all?” She laughs. “Girl, you ain’t never heard more shit in your life about everyone else’s business than you do in the joint.”
    Nicolette starts laughing, seemingly out of context. “Did you actually just call it ‘the joint’?”
    Sam returns with, “Bitch, fuck you,” and I’m not sure whether I’m allowed to laugh or not. “I’m just tryin’ to tell my girl how it go down, so why don’t you clip them thin ass white lips and let me talk to the girl, capice?”
    It’s going to be really difficult for me to not try to speak Italian to Sam. One of the problems with feeling so out of place for so much of my life is that I tend to latch on whenever there seems to be some sort of commonality between me and someone else. In this case, the repeated use of the word “capice” still has my insecure brain thinking that her mother tongue might be a way to connect with her. The fact that her mother tongue is obviously not Italian doesn’t make that urge go away.
    “So,” Sam says, turning back to me, “you tell the po-lice and the lawyers and the judge whatever you want, but a nice little thing like you—you gonna need something to make you look hard, else these girls in here’ll end up ruining that pretty face of yours. Know what I mean? They need to think that you killed that fucker with yo’ two hands if you gonna make it when they send you to gen-pop.”
    “General population, you mean prison?” I ask.
    “Shit,” Nicolette says, scoffing and walking back to the bunk, sitting back down next to Sam.
    “I don’t mean to sound crass, but,” I’ve really got to pick up a different vernacular if I’m going to be in here for very long, “where am I supposed to sleep?”
    Nicolette swings her foot beneath the bunk and slides out what looks like the thin plastic bottom half of a coffin and says, “You’re the newbie. You get to sleep in the canoe until one of us gets moved on outta here.”
    “The canoe?” I ask.
    “Yeah,” Nicolette says. “It ain’t so bad once you get used to it.”
    “How long will that take?” I ask, nervously, only now becoming aware of the fact that I’m still clutching my bedding and the cheap toiletries that I was given before I was marched to my cell.
    “You find out,” Nicolette says, “you let us know.”
    “What’s your name, boss killa?” Sam asks, and I’m hoping that the moniker doesn’t stick.
    “Rose,” I say, nervously setting the bedding into the canoe. “Rose Pearson.”
    The two look at each other and, with that, I come to the conclusion that these girls laugh way too often. God, I just want to get out of here.
    *                    *                    *
    T he first night in jail isn’t so bad, I guess. I mean, sure, the food tastes almost as sulfuric as the water does, but maybe there’s some sort of health benefit to that. I can’t begin to speculate. Sam and Nicolette talked about all sorts of puffed-up nonsense until lights out, and now I’m kind of missing the chatter. It’s not so much that I want to