~May 1982~
The dark-skinned man wore slacks, leather loafers and a white shirt with a blue tie. He wore no jacket although that only meant he wasn't wearing it now. He carried a worn leather briefcase that looked like it might have cost a month's worth of salary for any of the guards on the floor.
The guard unlocked the door to the waiting room and led the big black man into the room.
"Tremont you have fifteen with your visitor." The guard announced before leaving them alone in the room.
Scotty was handcuffed to the table and he looked at the man. He had been hauled to visitation even though he didn't receive visitors—He didn't even see Phonso—didn't want his brother to inconvenience himself. Phone calls were all he got and he never made them. There was only one person he wanted to talk to and waiting for that moment was enough of an emotional drain.
But the big black man standing before him wasn't family but Scotty knew him very well.
"Anthony Johnson?" Scotty said.