He thought I was quixotic as well as insane, and he argued persuasively: I may have thought I wasn’t going out of my way to needle Baladine, but why didn’t I leave well enough alone as he’d asked me when he was dealing with the State’s Attorney about my car last month? And prison was a destructive environment. It wore on you physically as well as mentally, warped your judgment and your ethics.

“You know that as well as I, Vic: you did your share of criminal pleadings in your days with the public defender.”

“I know it from being here four days. I got entangled with the leader of the West Side Iscariots on Sunday and I’ve been watching my back ever since. I hate it here. I’m lonely. Even if the food wasn’t horrible, the dining hall is so covered with roaches you have to keep brushing them off your legs while you’re at the table; every time the locks shut on our rooms at night, my stomach twists up so hard I can’t sleep; there’s no privacy, even on the toilet.” To my dismay I could hear my voice cracking on the edge of tears. “But if I let you bail me out, the only thing that will save me is to close up my business and hide out someplace. Even if my self–respect would permit that my finances won’t.”

“You can’t convince me those are your only two choices, but I can’t stay to argue. I have to get back to Chicago for a court appearance.” He looked at his watch. “Anyway, you’ve already made up your mind to be pigheaded, so there’s no point in my arguing with you. Tell me what you want, both in bucks and in permitted goods, and I’ll send Callie over to your home to collect things. I’ve got an intern who can ferry things out here for you and do the basic paperwork on the money.”

Besides the clothes I was permitted (two bras, two pairs of jeans, three underpants, five shirts, a pair of shorts, and a modest set of earrings) I told him what I most wanted was to see Morrell. “I want to see any friend who will make the drive—I listed Lotty and Mr. Contreras and Sal on my visitor’s sheet—but will you ask Morrell to come out here as soon as possible? As far as the money goes, I’d like three hundred dollars put into a prison trust account.”

I picked my words carefully for the rest of my request. “I know it’s a felony to bring cash in for someone in prison, so I’m not going to ask you to do it. If I could get four hundred dollars in bills, though, it might come in handy. Will you mention the idea—and the risk—to Lotty?”