![]() Another voice, this time heavily laden with the accent of Mexico, chimed in: “Hey Vato, how does it make you feel to know that if I take you hostage, they will just shoot us both? How’s that for company loyalty?” His laughing was interrupted by a clicking, whinging noise, and then men were shouting. “Well, that’s good to know,” quipped someone behind me, sotto voce. I gave it six months before this place would be singing a song of a very different key. Like the door and the fences, the building itself looked fresh and brand spanking new, a real oddity in the penal world. ![]() It read: “No Hostages Will Be Permitted Through These Doors.” This rather ominous message was then repeated in Spanish, just to cover the bases. The sign was unmarred, the wide steel door gleaming proudly with a virgin layer of bright royal blue paint. ![]()
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