No, You Don't Have A Choice (Sledge)

Police could be daft apeths, that much Kaitlyn had gotten right, but the girl didn't understand how imperative it was that he stay in America. She was still young enough that a prison cell was nothing more than a holding area to her, a slap on the wrist. What did she know of jail, or the retribution of his crimes? There was nothing left in England, he had become too much of a presence on the police's radar. Coming to America had given him a clean slate. This time, he wasn't going to be caught.

"Don't matter, you're young. Tear up a little and you'll get away with murder," Sledge told Kaitlyn. His brother had said something along the lines the first time that David got caught trying to pinch a video game. Having a young face wasn't a bad thing when it came to lies. Rounded faces were more trustworthy because curves were thought of as comforting. "Still, get caught with something serious like M, and once you're eighteen you won't be able to get away with anything."

As he was eating his spaghetti there was an unfamiliar tinkling tune. Sledge looked about confused, wondering where the noise was coming from before remembering that he now had a cellphone. The little screen was lighting up. "Begging your pardon, but I believe it's rude to answer the phone at the table," Sledge excused himself, flipping the fedora back onto his head and walking away from the table.