I Was A Boy Detective
One month ago, she answered the phone. The call came in early that morning, around five, and she rolled over to sleepily blink at the unknown number on her smart phone. “Hello?” she’d grunted, figuring it was probably some poor bastard that had found himself locked up in 201 Poplar, the city slam, and got her number from another scumbag inmate. Whatever. Money is money, in the bail-bonds...