"Dago" Red sat on the bottom bunk and watched a roach scurry across the toes of his county issued slippers. He had sat, elbows on knees, his chin resting in his palms for the last two hours waiting for his attorney to show up. The arrogant bastard. Red reached out suddenly, squashing the roach with the sole of his right foot, leaving a greasy smear on the smooth concrete floor. He's got my last nickel, my Harley, and my shack, for what it's worth, and he still acts like I'm a freeloader. The thought made him long for another roach to smash, but none ventured within reach.

"He'll be along in his own good time, Red." Charlie Newsome, Red's cellmate swung his feet over the edge of the top bunk, slid to the floor, and sat next to Red. "Damn attorneys are all the same. Take your money, and treat ya like you're shit on their shoes." "Yeah. Well, he better get here pretty damn soon, or I'll find me a new shyster," Red groused, tapping his foot on the smear of deceased roach. Charlie laughed. "And what'll you pay the new shyster with if this shyster has everything you own?" "Shit." Red smacked his balled right fist into his left palm. "He's got me by the short-ën'-curlies and he knows it."

Charlie stood and walked to the barred cell door. "Yep. That's how they work. Then they spend the time you're payin' for chasing women and playin' golf, and to hell with your case until the last minute." Red started to agree when a burly guard appeared at the door. "Back away from the door, Charlie," the guard ordered. "You know the rules by now." Charlie returned to the bunk, where he sat with an exaggerated sigh of disgust.

"Purnell Lombretti?" he asked, looking at Red. "Come with me. You've got a visitor." Red stood and walked to the door, turning to Charlie as the guard unlocked it. "'Bout damn time he showed up. Maybe he can get me the hell outta here!" Charlie just laughed. "See ya in ten, my friend!"

Red took a seat behind the reinforced glass window, and picked up the telephone receiver. "Any good news, Renfreau?" he asked, his six-foot-three-inch frame slumped in the chair. "Well, Mr. Lombretti," the attorney said, tapping his manicured nails on the chipped Formica counter, "I'm still appealing the no bail stipulation. That's unusual for this type of case. The judge should announce his ruling this afternoon." "Look, Renfreau," Red straightened in the chair, his face so close to the glass that his breath fogged its cool surface, "the son-of-a-bitch stole my scooter, and I went over to get it back. He pulled the knife, I didn't. It was clear-cut self-defense, and you damn-well know it!"

Renfreau leaned back in his chair, almost tipping it over, though the glass separated him from Red. "I know that, Red," he agreed. "But the judge thinks you're a flight risk. And besides, you have about exhausted all your resources." "All my, resources?" Red stammered, his face turning red, the veins in his forehead throbbing visibly beneath the tanned skin. "You've got everything I fuckin' own, damn you!" Renfreau shrugged. "My services have to be paid for, you know. Or, you could ask for a public defender." "Yeah," Red grumbled, "somebody's kid brother in a cheap suit. No thanks. Maybe I can hit my ex-wife up for a loan." "Well," Renfreau stood, brushing imaginary dirt from the seat of his suit pants, "maybe this afternoon we'll have good news for one another, Red."

Red stood and turned his back without a word, the guard walking him back to his cell. "Hell, Red," the voice in his ear said, disgust evident from her tone, "I'll do what I can. You're still getting yourself in these fixes that are never your fault, I see." "Damnit, Brenda, this time it wasn't. I only went over there to find my Harley. You know how much it means to me!" "Yeah, Red," she sighed. "I guess I found that out, didn't I?" "Aww, baby. I never wanted you to leave," he said, his lips close to the phone. "But you never asked me to stay, either."

Red sighed, waiting several heartbeats before he replied. "Guess it doesn't do us any good to argue about it at this stage of the game, does it? Can I count on you for the money?" "Shit," she said, almost under her breath, "after all these years, I still can't tell you no." "Thanks, baby," Red said, hanging the receiver back on the pay phone.

The following afternoon, Red walked out the wide glass doors into the sunlight for the first time in two long months. With no money, and no wheels, he had been forced to impose on Brenda once again to pick him up. He slid into the passenger seat of her faded blue Toyota, and sat hunched over, his head against the roof. "All comfy?" she teased, seeing his discomfort. "Just dandy," he chuckled. "Why are you still drivin' this piece of shit?" She brushed a strand of dark hair back behind her ear, the smile disappearing from her full lips. "Because I bailed you out with my new car fund, asshole!" "Damn. I'm sorry, baby." He shook his head. "Seems like I'm always sayin' that to you." She looked over in silence that lasted the rest of the ride to Red's house. No, he corrected himself, Renfreau's house.

At nine the next morning, Red stood towering over the reception desk in the downtown office of Renfreau, Renfreau, and Hacker, Attorneys at Law. "I'm sorry, sir, Mr. Renfreau is with a client," the perky receptionist said, looking up at Red. "May I give him a message?" "Uh, yeah," Red answered, his eyes locked on the short skirt that rode higher up her thighs with every movement. "Tell him I've got the witnesses lined up and ready to go. I just need to know when he can talk to ëem." "I'll ask him, sir. Is there a number where he can reach you?"

Red was about to give her Brenda's number, since his phone had been disconnected, when a voice from the doorway stopped him. "Perhaps I can be of assistance, Mr.?" "Dag uh, Red Lombretti," he stammered, reaching out to take the proffered hand in his, the dainty manicured fingers engulfed by his huge hand. "Nicole Renfreau," she said, shaking his hand. She looked him up and down with no hint of subtlety, her steel gray eyes moving from his long, red ponytail, down the rippling muscles in his chest and arms, stopping only when they reached his scuffed engineer boots. "Why don't we step into my office where we can talk?"

Red followed her swaying hips as she walked into the office. He only gave a cursory glance to the dark oak paneling, and the opulence of the brocade furniture, preferring to concentrate on the promise of sensual delights barely contained by the tight black dress, and the raven hair framing the hard, yet lovely face. "So, Red," she began, half sitting on the edge of the massive teak desk, the slit in the side of her dress open almost to her waist. "May I call you Red?" "Of course," he answered, his eyes locked on the milky white skin of her thigh. You can call me to dinner down there, if you want, he thought.

"My husband tells be that you're a biker," she said, toying with a crystal sculpture, her eyes turned toward the sparkling, phallic looking toy. "I've never met a biker, though I've seen some documentaries on PBS." Red chuckled, bringing a flush to her cheeks. "You can't believe everything you hear, and only half of what you see."

She rose from the desk, not bothering to pull the hem of her skirt down, and opened the door a crack, peering out into the deserted office. "You always look like such bad boys," she purred, walking so close to Red that he could smell the subtle perfume she had touched to her throat that morning. What the hell, Red thought. It's her game. I'll play along.

"Well, Nicole, I guess that depends on what you'd call bad," he said. "Peter told me you killed a thief," she said, stepping so close she had to tilt her head back to see his face. Red shrugged. "Wasn't my idea. He pulled a knife on me, so I took it away from him, and showed him how to use it." He reached down, running a big hand down her back, his splayed fingers putting slight pressure on her trim ass, pressing her flat stomach against him, while the fingers of his other hand tangled in her raven hair. He pulled it out of the jeweled clip that held it, so the silken locks tumbled over her shoulders like black water, then leaned down and kissed her.

Her full lips parted, greedily drawing his tongue inside, while her slim fingers reached down to stroke the growing bulge in his Levi's. "My," she whispered, her small hand searching the length of his member. "You are a bad boy!" He roughly pulled her skirt up, then cupped her firm buttocks, pulling her up until she wrapped her long legs around his waist. His fingers found the zipper of his jeans, tugging it down to free his throbbing manhood, then pulled her sheer thong panties aside and entered her in one stroke.

She gasped as his full 10 inches found unused territory in her steamy depths. Her lips found his, her darting tongue dancing with his as she rocked with abandon. Backing her against the wall, Red continued to plunge into her tight little pussy. Her whimpering became so loud, he reached down and ripped the thin lace panties from her, and pressed them between her teeth to silence her cries.

Within moments, he felt her shudder against him, her inner walls pulsing, driving him over the edge. He almost dropped her as his seed spilled into her depths, running down her smooth ass cheeks to stain the deep, white carpet. "Mmmm," she murmured, her cheek against his black Harley T-shirt, her firm body now limp in his arms. "Nice!" He lowered her slowly to the floor. Her legs still shaky, she leaned against him for support while he zipped his fly.

"You know," she mused, almost to herself, "I'm going on a business trip to the Mexican Riviera in three weeks." She picked an envelope up from the desk and waved it in front of his face. "Two tickets to paradise," she laughed. "Would you like to come with me?" Red laid his big hands on her shoulders, "I'd love to, Nicole, but I can't. Your husband wants more money before he'll get me off the hook, and I have to try to get the pink slip on my Harley back from him." A sly smile spread across her lovely lips. "The pink slip is no problem, and I'm sure I can persuade him to get this case resolved as quickly as possible," she said, her tongue snaking out sensuously to moisten her ruby lips. "I always get what I want, if you know what I mean," she winked. Red smiled. "Yeah, I think I do," he said, pulling her into his arms.

Reaching behind her back, he picked the envelope up from the desk, and slipped it into his back pocket. She reached for the envelope, but he caught her hand, bringing her fingers to his lips. "Never hurts to have a little insurance," he told her. As he started for the door, he stooped to pick up her torn panties. He pressed them to his nose, then stuffed them into his pocket. "You really are a bad boy," she laughed, as he closed the door behind him.

Two weeks later, Red pulled up to Brenda's door on his shovelhead, the staccato rumble bringing her out the door. "Open the garage door," he shouted above the roar of the shotgun straights. She pulled the door up and he rode inside, shutting the big V-twin engine down.

"What do you want now, Red?" she asked. "I don't have any more money." Red grabbed her and pulled her to him, holding her tight, as the rumble of his laughter rolled through the silent morning streets. He pulled an envelope from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. "Just a little thank you, baby! I'm a free man, and we're going to Ol' Mehico!" "Where did you get these?" she asked, pulling out two first-class airline tickets. "Oh!" he chuckled, "let's just say I used power of attorney!"