8
Frank sat on the hard bed of his prison cell and looked at the wall opposite. It was something he’d got used to doing, and which he found much more pleasant than many of the alternatives.
This wasn’t where he belonged. He’d spent his whole life putting people in places like this, and he knew he wouldn’t last five minutes if his fellow inmates knew who he was and why he was here.
So far, he’d managed to evade the truth by packaging up a series of lies. It was something he’d got quite good at, and was precisely why he’d ended up here in the first place. Mostly, though, he kept himself to himself.
It had been suggested that protection would be needed. Ex-cops tended not to fare well inside. But Frank had insisted against it, knowing this would ‘out’ him immediately, and that he couldn’t
