Prologue...
A white, 1953 Corvette pulled into the Tulsa Corrections Department at exactly 10:23 in the morning. The driver, a pencil thin platinum blonde, took one last drag from her cigarette and dropped it in the ash tray. Sighing, she slid out of the car, adjusted her sunglasses, and walked inside.
A man in a grey suit behind the desk stood when she approached. "Can I help you?"
"Yes. I'm looking for an A. Montresor."
His brows furrowed, and the policemen behind him shared a glance. "Montresor? Why would you want to see him?"
"I have a message for him."
"Well, Ma'am, visiting hours don't start 'til noon --"
She pulled a ten dollar bill from her purse. "It's very urgent."
The man in grey's eyes widened. "Uh, erm. . ." he brushed off his suit, looking flustered. He cleared his throat, "Uh, Travis, why don't you take this young lady to see Montresor?"
The officer on the right nodded. "Yes, Sir. Right this way, Ma'am." He lead her through a beat up door, then on through a series of snaking hallways. Rattling bars, gruff shouts and catcalls followed them, but she ignored them as best she could, her shaded eyes locked on the officer's back.
After a while, they stopped in front of a cell a little further off from the others. The high, barred window let in a single shaft of light, just enough to see the shadow of a man curled in the far corner.
"You got a visitor, Montresor." Travis called, banging on the bars. The form in the dark flinched.
The woman smiled beautifully at Travis, taking several steps closer. "Thank you, sir." she ran her hands along his uniform, eyes beneath the glasses fluttering. "You've been such a great help." Her fingers found his pocket, and she slipped the ten dollars in.
He looked a little startled, but she could see the spark in his eyes, the spark that showed her plan had worked. He looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head, as if trying to remind himself he still had a job to do. "I -- uh, you're welcome." He backed away, leaning against the opposite wall.
The woman smiled tightly, then turned back to the cell. The dark form had moved closer to the door, but its features were still unintelligible.
A thick voice, rusty from lack of use, spoke from the shadows. "What's a fine white lady like you doing visiting me?"
He moved closer, the shaft of light striking his face. Shriveled dark eyes, aged from innumerable sleepless nights, stared out at her. His skin was as black as night, made even darker by sweat and prison grime. A pair of rusting handcuffs glinted around his wrists.
"I have a message for you." The woman pulled off her sunglasses, revealing piercing grey irises. Sylvia glanced over her shoulder at the officer, making sure he was far enough away that he wouldn't hear much, and knelt down to Montresor's level.
"A message? That wouldn't be from my wife, now, would it?"
"Sorry to disappoint. It's more of an offer."
He didn't say anything, but she could tell he was listening.
"You knew a Mr. Darrel Curtis?"
His eyes narrowed, handcuffs clinking as his fists clenched. "Of course I did. He's the reson why I'm here. I killed him."
She smiled. "I hoped you'd say that."
He stared for a moment, then nodded. "Your offer?"
"You hate the whole Curtis family, right?"
His teeth clicked together. "Yup."
"I do, too."
His brows puckered a little, but he didn't ask questions.
Quietly, Sylvia reached through the bars and clutched Montresor's hand, pressing the key she'd stolen from Travis' pocket into his palm. "Finish the job." she breathed.
A broad, yellow-toothed smile ripped across his face.