Sing Sing was at a pretty nice location on the Hudson River, 30 miles up from New York City. The cells inside were tiny– I had been there before on a couple of occasions as a cop– but the buildings were made of white local stone and the long rows of small windows made the complex look charming from a distance. There was a nearby train station. All in all, if it weren’t famous for its prison, you could think you were passing a resort. And that gave me an idea.

I drove to Ossining alone, parking my car blocks away and strolling along the streets until I was starting to pass the outer wall. I looked curiously at it, as if I’d never seen the place before. I stuck my hands in my pockets, backing out into the street to take in the massive barrier properly. I pulled my hands back out, empty, and pulled my hat off so the brim didn’t block my view as I gaped up at the guard tower. “Hey, buddy!” I called out cheerfully to the guard. “Is this Sing Sing?”

“Yeah. What do you want here?”

“We don’t have anything like this back in Montana. Do you guys have tours?”

“No!”

“Well, can I come in?”

That did it.

“Sure you can come in here. We’d be absolutely delighted. You want to know how to get in here? You break the law, get arrested, and get sent up the river like all the other inmates!” He sneered the first part and yelled the rest, while I grinned at him with genuine pleasure. The nice thing about New Yorkers is it’s pretty easy to tip them over into sarcasm… and magic doesn’t care if you’re being sarcastic or not.