A year ago, Horace Caraker sat in the bright, sterile visitors' room of a South Texas federal prison and swore to a reporter that he was tired of spending his life behind bars. He was 57 years old, in ill health, and vowing to stay free of these confines once released. Behind thick, chipped spectacles, he wept like a child as he promised to go straight, get clean, grow up. He said he wanted to leave prison in a Greyhound... More >>>