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Slouching against the concrete wall, Arthur King Junior tore another page from the Bible that had been slipped through the steel door’s tray slot that morning. It was a gift from a well-meaning prison guard who hoped the message inside would reform Arthur.
“Fat chance of that!” Arthur said loudly to no one in particular, since he was alone in the prison cell, which was a quarter of the size of his bedroom suite’s walk-in closet at his Seattle home. In fact, the dingy mattress on which his backside was now parked filled half of the concrete floor.
“Okay, fellas,” he addressed the prison guards who might be listening on the other side of the door. Or maybe they weren’t—Arthur really didn’t care. “Enough with the hot box already,” he blathered…
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