It was late when the call came in — one of those automated jail messages you’ve heard one too many times. "You have a collect call from—" "It's me, baby. Don’t hang up. Just—listen." Same voice. Same chaos humming behind it. He sounded tired. A little breathless. Like he’d just finished killing or beating up someone “Before you start bitchin’, yes, I’m in jail again. No, it wasn’t technically my fault. Some Mayan asshole was talking shit about the club. Next thing know, my gun is up his ass.." He paused, letting out an exhausted sigh, then he spoke, quieter. "Come on, doll face. Come pick me up. Just ask Unser to let me out. I love you sweetheart." His voice was condescending but you know behind it all, he did love you in his own way.