Recipe for Disaster?

A long while ago, I recounted a jailhouse visit with Dad where I smuggled in a pack of Wrigley's Juicy Fruit. (Read Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V of that story which isn't as long as all the parts would have you believe.)

At the end of that visit, Dad had me pick up a bag of his belongings. Quick prison lesson: inmates are only allowed so many papers in their cell due to fire safety regulations. Rather than throw the stuff out, he bagged them up in an empty onion sack and authorized me to take possession.

The contents of the bag were a hodgepodge of drawings, paintings, pictures, magazines, handbooks and legal documents regarding his appeal request. The latter was of great interest to me, since I luckily avoided having to testify against Dad and did not attend the trial. I scoured through the pages eager to learn the unflinching truth of what happened the night Dad attacked Gloria. I got to the last page (image at right) where the court rendered their decision:

The jury got it right; Dad was guilty.

No surprise there but something looked odd. There seemed to be something behind the paper. Upon closer inspection I discovered that Dad had somehow glued the sides of this last page to the heavier card stock to which the document was affixed. The bottom of the page remained unglued which, in effect, created a secret pocket. I slipped my fingers inside -- careful not to break the sealed sides -- and slid out the hidden paper. I flipped through all the other legal documents and, lo and behold, each and every one of them contained something off limits to prisoners...mostly nude drawings.

But one pocket contained handwritten instructions in Dad's writing on how to make something. Judging by the ingredients, it wasn't for anything good. Not wanting to end up on some FBI watch list, I have not Googled just what the recipe is for but I suspected it was for crystal meth.

So Dad had used the opportunity of my visit to rid his cell of illicit contraband. After I knowingly smuggled in gum, I unwittingly smuggled out Dad's incriminating documents for safe keeping. Dad isn't exactly learning marketable skills on the inside, so I guess he's making a game plan for how to survive when he's back on the outside. Judging by the instructions, it won't take much money to become an entrepreneur. Hopefully becoming a meth lab operator will seem less logical when he returns to the Free World. But let's face it, logic has never been one of Dad's strong suits.

Recipe for Disaster?