I’m Ready To Tell The Truth About My Interviews With Graham Welsh, The Man Found Innocent After 20 Years On Death Row

This was risky, but worth it. I fought through my fear as I stood in the cold of the night outside of Graham’s office building with the weight of my pistol and my recording devices feeling extra heavy in my purse which rested on my hip. I was ready for when Graham’s lips got extra loose this time and if he tried anything.

I busted out an outfit I hadn’t worn since a trip to Vegas a couple of years prior – too short shorts, boots with a heel, button up tank which ended just below the top of my shorts, and a little extra make-up. There was no way I couldn’t get Graham to open his big mouth and go the extra mile with his admittance armed with that outfit and the fifth of Buffalo Trace tucked next to my gun and recorder.

Graham had an ear-to-ear smile on his drunken face when he stumbled up to the steps I was waiting on. Score. The guy was beyond drunk. He was in full blackout meltdown. I had seen it many times before in high school and college after watching 150-pound guys pound shot after shot.

“Sup,” Graham gargled as he ascended the stairs to me.

Second thoughts rang in my head while Graham fumbled with a ring of keys to unlock the building doors. I thought about my cell phone and gun in my purse. Would I be able to get them out and use them in time if he attacked?

The thought past. I followed Graham into the darkness of the building.

We safely reached Graham’s office without a word. It was uncharacteristic for Graham, I wondered if he was onto me. It wasn’t like him to not be rambling about something, no matter what it be.

Graham put me at ease once he sat down behind his desk and turned around his computer monitor – displaying hardcore porn.

“This is this awesome porn where they like insult the girls before the action starts. It’s like roast a whore,” Graham punctuated his joyous statement with a crazy laugh.

I wanted to just take my gun out and shoot Graham in the face right then, right there, but I pressed on. I clicked the red button on the record in my purse and put the bag between my feet so Graham wouldn’t notice it.

Graham offered me a little whiskey poured straight into a cold can of Coke. I accepted my first drink of the night. I started sipping it to keep the facade going, but had no plans to get drunk.

“I just gotta let you know why I needed to talk tonight in such a hurry,” I started in.

Jack has written professionally as a journalist, fiction writer, and ghost writer. For more information, visit his website.

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