Epilogue
Vicente Barbosa sat on the plush mattress he’d had smuggled into his prison cell and studied the cards in his hand. The poker game had become something of a tradition. Every Friday three of the most influential men in the maximum-security facility joined him for a game.
On his immediate left sat Enrique a Hispanic gangbanger and mass murderer from MS13. Next to him was a hulking African American with a shaved head; Trey an enforcer from Detroit. The brute was rumored to have murdered an entire family with his bare hands. The third man, arguably the most influential in their current environment was Jules Deveron, the prison’s head guard. At six-foot-five with the build of a professional wrestler he was a man who demanded and received the utmost respect from all but the stupidest of prisoners.
The guard pushed the last of his cigarettes into the center of the table and narrowed his eyes. “OK, Vicente. Show us your cards.”
Barbosa shrugged and tossed his hand on the table, a pair of aces.
“You shitting me?” exclaimed Enrique. “Two lousy aces. You got balls essé. Big brass balls.”
“Yeah, but balls or no balls that’s still a shitty hand.” Deveron tossed a straight flush on the table and grinned. “You can have the cigarettes, divvy them between yourselves.” He rose from the plastic stool. “I’ve got to get back to my reports.”
He made for the cell door where two of his guards were waiting. As he was about to leave he stopped and turned, reaching into his jacket. “Almost forgot. Mail for Mr. Barbosa.” He tossed a letter toward the former cartel kingpin. “Same time next week, gentlemen. Stay out of trouble.”
He disappeared and the guards gestured for Trey and Enrique to follow.
Barbosa waited until they were gone and his cell door locked before he opened the envelope.
The hand written letters were a coded report from his men in Mexico. They informed him of shipments, earnings, thefts and actions taken to remedy problems. He noted that profits were up; his second in command was doing well.
Among the reports was a letter from his wife. His son had made the state soccer team and his grades had improved.
The final item in the envelope was a single piece of paper with a photograph printed on it. The glossy shot was a wedding photo. A man and a woman stood in front of a priest with a dog by their side.
He sat staring at the picture, channeling hatred at the people and animal that had put him in this shit hole far from his family and his beloved Mexico.
Scrunching the paper into a ball he tossed it at the wall. “I’m going to destroy you, Michael Saunders. I’m going to wait till you have a family of your own and then you’re going to watch them die.”
Thank You for Reading!
If you have a moment, I would truly appreciate it if you could leave a review on Amazon. Reviews not only help other readers discover my work, but they also mean the world to me as an author.
Whether it’s a few words or a detailed review, your feedback makes a huge difference.
Thank you for your support, and I can’t wait to share more stories with you!