It’s been a while since we last spoke and I’m sure by this point you’re wondering what I’m up to. The good news is I finished my latest novel Broken Down Man, only five years in the making. It took a while but shit what a blast it turned into– think I’ll get a Pulitzer for this one. The bad news is I’m sitting in the Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn awaiting trial for something I didn’t do. Funny thing is no one in here is guilty of what they’ve been charged with. Can you believe that? At least I know what my third book is going to be about. Maybe I should get started. They say I’m looking at seven to ten. Don’t know if I can hack that. Sounds like a long time, although a little less has passed since we last spoke I feel like it was yesterday.
Anyway, Sam has my manuscript but she’s back on the goose again and who knows what she will do with it. I found her needles a few weeks ago after Reggie walked out for the last time. They were sitting out on her coffee table for anyone to see. I guess she was asking for help but sometimes I just don’t feel like helping anyone. I spoke with Reggie about helping her but he said he’s wasted too much of his life trying to save that fiend. Poor girl. Can’t seem to find what’s right among so much that’s wrong. Maybe I understand that too and maybe that’s why I still care about her. She was doing good for a while– just a little weed and of course whiskey– but when her father was murdered by her stepmother and the money stopped coming something triggered her old habits all over again. I wish I wasn’t here but instead there to help her but there isn’t much I can do to help from in here. These walls are solid and a breakout is not likely. She still lives on Twelfth Street so if you can drop by her place I’m sure she’ll be there. Tell her I sent you and you need Broken Down Man. In case she gives you a hard time she keeps it behind her porn collection on the bookshelf beside the TV.
Like I said I could be here a while. Don’t have nothing for a lawyer– I spent the royalties I received from Man From Mars on booze and skirts– and the public defender they appointed me is a real sweat hound. He’s got a bad case of the sniffles and he doesn’t have a cold. After you get the manuscript please bring it to Terry the Agent. She wants to read it but refuses to visit Sam. Two years ago Sam drank too much white wine and smacked Terry around for no good reason in front of a room full of people. I understand. I’m lucky Terry still talks to me. I don’t know why she bothers. She’s got a heart I guess. Sometimes I start to think I do too and then shit like this happens. So, ask Terry to read it and then give her the address where she can write me what she thinks. If she can sell it to a publisher then maybe I got a chance of getting out of here sooner than later. It’s bad in here. A man serving fifteen asked me to marry him the other day. When I declined he promised it was just a matter of time.
Also, please call Jack and tell him my situation. He’s still in California. You can get his number from Sam. He’ll be very disappointed so tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I didn’t do what they said. Yes, I wrote the girl letters telling her how much I hated her and how much she fucked with my head but shit I’m a writer, that’s what I do. You understand. I would never really hurt a girl like she was hurt. The cops showed me pictures, thought it would turn me on. I almost threw up. There aren’t many people who know me and know I would never do what they said I did. Shit, the letters were going to be part of my next book. I liked how you used letters to start each chapter of Nitwit so much I thought about steeling the idea for myself. By the way, I don’t think I told you how much I loved Nitwit. I’m surprised it didn’t do so well. I really appreciate you taking the time to tell that story. It brought tears to my eyes. And I laughed my ass off. If you get the chance send me a copy. I would love to read it again. And if you hear or read anything about what they said I did please don’t believe it. I know I’ve said some bad things and I know I’m capable of worse, but this one buddy I didn’t do.
Someone a few cells down threw themselves off the top bunk the other day and intentionally hit their had on the sink. They didn’t get much but a couple stitches. They were hoping to die. Heard the guy was looking at twenty-five to life. In any case I won’t try the same. I could get out of this if all they got is those letters. The girl was raped before the fire and I’m hoping they can get some DNA out of it cause it sure as hell won’t be mine. Otherwise, a jury is sure to believe the prosecutors over a bad bone like me. Someone is screaming bloody hell right now. He flooded his toilet with a t-shirt and the correction officers are in full gear, ready to go in and tackle him into the wall. They’ll carry him away on a stretcher for sure. The guys here are all right with me. It’s the COs that scare me. They want blood. It’s important you tell Terry an advance can help get a good lawyer. That’s the only shot I got. Otherwise I’m looking at some hard time with some bad dudes.
Be good Wask. Keep writing. You got what it takes and I know you’ll hang in there. As for me it makes sense I ended up here behind these cold walls. Where else does a guy like me go? Just remember I didn’t do it. The letters meant nothing. Go figure they’re some of the few things that survived the fire. I wished she did, so she could tell them it wasn’t me. Now I look so guilty I almost want to admit I did it. Sometimes I think, maybe I did.
Always a friend,