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A cold shower woke me up nice and early on Thursday to make sure everything was in order for my visit. The shirt fit better than I expected, although admittedly it was still a little snug around the waist. I picked out a red tie from my drawer, slipping it around my neck and tying it with perfect form, as if I had worn one in the last year. Staring at my reflection, I realized that I should start dressing like this more often.

The address for St. Germaine's was already pulled up on the phone when I got into my car. It was a pretty short drive, about 15 minutes into one of the less reputable parts of town. I double-checked to make sure my car was locked up and turned to the facility.

The prison was a large, imposing complex, built up from gray stone. On the western side of the building was a courtyard boxed in by fences and barbed wire. Two stone-faced guards, one a rat-man, stood at the front of the building. Neither made a noise when I entered the facility.

The main lobby was no more welcoming than the prison's exterior. Old fixtures bathed the room in a sickly greenish light, and a low ceiling made the whole room feel claustrophobic. The only other souls in the room were a human guard standing by a metal detector, and a disinterested clerical worker fiddling with a pen behind a bulletproof glass cover. This worker too was a rat.

"Identification, please," buzzed the speaker in front of the rat. I reached into my wallet and put my driver's license into the exchange box. "Dominic Manzarelli? Who are you here to visit today?"

"Angelo Capodano. I'm supposed to fill out a form, I think."

The worker tapped away her keyboard, "Just let me confirm that you are on the inmate's visitors list and... yep, can you fill this out for me?" She placed a clipboard with a pen and form into the box.

I retrieved the form and began to fill it out. Most of the questions were simple enough, name, address, phone number. The inevitable question about criminal background aroused a little worry in me. I rose a finger to express my concern to the worker. Before I said a word, she explained, "That's just for liability, don't fret over it." She smiled. "Unless you're trying to break him out, in which case you should worry."

I finished up the form and returned it to the rat-woman, who gave it a once-over and pointed me to the metal detector. The guard gave me a quick pat-down, took my car keys, and let me pass through the machine.

"Not even a crucifix, huh? This part of the visit usually trips up his visitors."

Conjuring a fake smile out of politeness, I commented "Never was one for jewelry." before asking him where Angelo's cell was. He radioed in another guard, who escorted me around the facility to the don's cell. As we marched up the steps on to the prison's second floor, I remembered my own 6 months in prison, and all of the negative feelings that came with it. How had Angelo been able to keep himself together in an environment like this, knowing there's only one way out?

The guard stopped short at one of the cells and knocked twice on the door, shouting "Capodano, you have a visitor. Get up!"

I heard some movement from behind the door as we waited for a response. "You can let them in now, unless it's that scumfuck from the IRS. I don't want to see him."

The guard opened the cell door to reveal a small blank room with the bare essentials, and a shiny toilet and sink. Books were piled up on a desk near a tiny window, from authors as diverse as Shakespeare, Tolstoy, and Malcolm X. Postcards and letters from an assortment of friends, family, and strangers hung on the wall, some complete with drawings. And in the center of the room stood an older white rat in an orange uniform, giving me the widest smile I had ever seen on him.

"Took you long enough to visit, Manza. I knew you wouldn't let me down." The don ran over to hug me, which I returned with full strength. He took a seat on his bed and motioned towards the chair. "Have a seat, my friend."

I took him up on his offer. "It's good to see you too, Angelo. You look like you lost a lot of weight. You eating right?"

"Hah! I'm eating less, more like. The food here is awful; I can barely keep it down sometimes. I'd kill for some of Donna's lasagna. How about you?" He poked at my gut. "You look like you've been well-fed all this time. You used to be in killer shape, what happened?"

"Ah, I don't have the time to eat healthy or to work out. I have my own business now, and I put all of my energy into that."

"That's no excuse, bud, you're gonna work yourself into a grave at this pace. You gotta take care of yourself. And what's this about all of your energy? The family's said you left them behind. You really turned your back on all of them?"

I broke eye contact. "Yeah. It got too real when I spent six months in federal for a signature. Who knows what could've happened if they could get me for anything else. I can't do that again, Ange, I just can't. I didn't snitch on anyone, so when put all the money I earned from the streets back in, they let me go."

"That's what the other guys said too. I think I get it." Angelo started to rub his neck fur. "You didn't come here because you wanted to break off completely from our thing, and you tried to do so while hurting the family as little as possible. At least you kept your honor in breaking it off. What do you do for a living now?"

"I own the repair shop on Maple. It's like what I did in high school when my parents kicked it."

"You own your own business now? And you did it without dirty money? I always figured if any of the younger soldiers could do it, it would be you. You always seemed to know how to handle the paperwork."

"Don't remind me about the paperwork. You try applying for a business license when you're an ex-con whose name is attached to Angelo Capodano."

"Try applying when your name is Capodano!"

We had a good laugh for a few seconds, and in that instant, it felt like nothing had changed.

"So you have your own repair shop, color me impressed. Tell me, how do you treat your men?"

I smiled. "They aren't my men, Ange, they're employees. I treat them as best I can within reason. Once I started running a profit, I bumped their wages up, and I gave them each a small bonus this Christmas."

"And the younger ones, do you teach them what I've taught you?"

"You mean about respect and responsibility? Of course I do, I don't want them picking stupid fights by running their stupid mouths."

The Don clapped twice. "Good man. And did you hire any short, hairy gentlemen such as myself?"

"My youngest mechanic is a rat, if that's what you mean."

Angelo got up and patted me on the shoulder. "Very good man! I've taught you very well it seems. Can I tell you something, just between you and me?"

"Sure."

Angelo straightened up and put his hands on his lap. "If things were different, and if you were a rat, I would have chosen you as my successor. I think you understood what I was trying to do better than anybody else."

I shook my head. "No, no, I left the family, that doesn't..."

"Listen, Manza, you took the only option that wouldn't put you in the grave or prison for life. You took the punishment you got and didn't bring anyone else down with you. That's an honorable way to bow out of our thing, no matter what anyone else says. And I know what you did when they first put me on trial. You tried to make all of our front businesses profitable so those employees didn't get fucked over when I got sentenced. So that maybe someone who wanted to take over could operate their own business and put money into the fucking community."

"I still used a lot of my street money to cover my own legal fees."

"Fucking everybody did that!" shouted Angelo.

The guard shouted back from the cell door. "Quiet down, Capodano, or I'll cut the visit short. We have rules here for behavior during visits."

"My apologies, Frank." He turned back to me. "Everyone was guilty of using their dirty gains to bolster their own legal defense instead of helping the family. Tony did it, Rico did it, even I did it. You were still the only one who saw or did anything about the bigger picture, about how it would hurt the community when I got busted. I'd prefer you in charge of my legacy over Tony any day, and it's a goddamn tragedy that I didn't get to make that choice."

I found myself nodding in agreement. "Tony's turned into a real fuckin' douche-canoe, hasn't he?"

"I never fuckin' liked Tony. I could tell he was going to be a conniving little cunt when he turned 16. I only let him join the ranks because he's my blood through my sister. He only cares about profits, he doesn't give a shit about his men or the community. His own community! The one he grew up in!" The rat started to run his hands through his head. "He's going to make all of the god-awful things I've done pointless. I don't want to talk about him anymore. He doesn't deserve it. Change the subject."

I stayed there for the rest of the hour, chatting with the Don about everything from the last Dragons game, to literature, to his kids. He showed me the letters he got featuring drawings from both of his sons, talking about how proud he was of them. He still got conjugal visits from time to time with his wife and kids, and he mentioned that those were his favorite days of the month, when he got to play board games and pretend they were a normal family. I could almost see tears in his eyes while he brought it up.

At the end of the hour, the prison guard came in to escort me out of the building. Angelo and I exchanged one last hug and said our goodbyes.

"You better visit once a month, Manza, I don't want to deal with this bullshit again, alright?"

"Of course, Ange, you have my word."