Clank!

The door to the private jail meeting room slammed shut behind Shotcaller, who was wearing an orange jumpsuit with a number on his right chest. The room was sterile, nothing but worn-down metal, blank walls, a simple desk…

And two men in nice suits sitting on the far side of it.

Shotcaller was confused; he had never seen these men before, and by the looks of them they appear to be Alphabet Boys. More investigators looking to pry information out of him, and perhaps turn him on his co-defendants.

“Why don’t you have a seat,” the man in the grey suit said. “Don’t worry, we’re not cops.”

Shotcaller eyed the men suspiciously, but without much else to do inside the county jail walls he accepted the offer. After Shotcaller sat down, the man in the grey suit leaned in and rested his forearms on the table.

“I’ll make this short and sweet because I know you don’t like bullshit,” the man said. “My name is Parker Meloche, and I’ve got a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

Shotcaller paused momentarily and replied.

“Wuz good, homie?” asked Shotcaller with eyebrows raised.

“Let’s see here,” Parker said, and with his closed hand he began to lift his fingers one at a time. “Armed robbery. Menacing with a weapon. Assault. Grand theft. And… no defense. That’s 25 years, easy.”

Shotcaller’s heart raced after, once again, being reminded of his bleak circumstances.

“Listen up, I’m putting together a roster of wrestlers to launch a new promotion in Tennessee,” continued Parker, now gesturing to the man in the black suit next to him. “And this here is your new lawyer, who has a bullet-proof motion to dismiss your case.”

“Thaz wuz up,” replied Shotcaller, leaning back in his seat. “So wud I gotta do?”

“Sign here,” said Parker, pulling a piece of paper from his jacket’s inner pocket. “You sign on for Golden Pro Wrestling and commit to pull no bullshit out of the ring. You get in trouble again and we ain’t bailing you out. Thaz what’s up.”

Shotcaller inhaled because, at this point, the streets and wrestling were all he knew. He had never made enough in the ring to match what he made in the hood. But he had no option.

“Yuh, I’ll zine dat shit.”

Parker slid the paper across the room with a pen. Shotcaller didn’t even glance at any of the contract’s specifics and signed his name at the bottom.

“Excellent,” a grinning Parker replied. “This lawyer here will have you out by tomorrow afternoon. Afterward he has a plane ticket to Memphis so you can get started.”

Parker and the lawyer stood up and walked to the exit. With a rap of his knuckles Parker shouted through the door to the correction’s officer that they were all done here.

Shotcaller let out a deep breathe and lightly pumped his clenched fists in front of him.

Time for money, bitches and belts.