Since you guys are so shallow, reviewing other stories and not mine when I asked, regardless of what I said, I'll update, in case you "feel like it."
Whoever said jail wasn't a bad place to be was one stupid son of a btch (excuse me!) I only got one phone call, and I used it to call John Hermann, just about the only person besides Sunny and Klaus who wasn't mad at me.
I mean, Klaus still felt a bit woozy, and what would Sunny say?
No answer. The food served was a loaf of bread, stroganoff and water/coffee. The cell I was in had no bed. All I had to sleep on was a pillow.
The next morning I had a crick in my neck, and a guard said, "Quagmire, you got a visitor."
A crick in your neck plus a visitor equals: a very strange morning. I wasn't surprised it was Isadora. But I was surprised no one, not even John, came with her.
"Hi," she said. I said nothing. I could say nothing, after the drama of the week.
"Look," she said. "I just came to tell you the war's over."
I laughed. "What war, Private Ryan?" She ignored the humor. "You know what war. The fight we had the other day. I'm sorry Violet and I got a little…crazy. You just hurt her feelings. I guess we never thought we might have hurt yours. If you weren't smart enough to act, we wouldn't be alive. So thanks, Duncan."
I didn't feel like commenting on the subject. Mornings in prison without coffee are grim and banal. I felt so tired I could hardly move my jaw to say, "But what can I do? I'm still in jail. Anybody gonna get me out?"
Isadora winced. "We'll get you out," she said. "It turns out, Pierce is going to live. But he'll be locked away in juvenile for quite some time. Then we'll get you out."
I scowled. "How long till he's put away, Izzy? Some philosopher Klaus always used to talk about once said 'War is hell'. But they probably haven't been to jail. I can't stand it."
She grimaced at the floor a while, and said, "We'll get you out, Duncan. Count on it."
"If you don't get me out, I'll break out," I threatened. She said nothing, and left.