of never involving the authorities if it could be avoided? The Predators stuck together, and they tended to take care of their own problems. Usually violently. A light rain began to fall. The road would be slippery. Glad I wasn’t on two wheels. Or even three, exposed to the weather like that. Hitching up the collar of my jacket, I stepped out of the alley and headed for home. If Kelly didn’t want to talk to me, I didn’t see any way to find out why she thought I was involved in the attack. Who could I talk to?
Or, since Montgomery seemed satisfied that I wasn’t involved, maybe I should just leave well enough alone.
And hope the bikers would, too. Fat chance.
The rain was beginning to freeze as it hit the ground. The stairs down from the sidewalk to my one-room apartment were getting slick. It might be Saturday night, but it would be a good night for me to spend at home.
I rummaged around in my single kitchen cupboard and the under-the-counter half refrigerator, looking for something to fix for supper. The last time I’d eaten had been breakfast at the jail. I’d missed lunch and been released before they served supper. Lucky me.
My food budget was limited, and it seemed like every time I went to the store, my staples of ramen noodles, peanut butter, eggs, and tuna went up in price. The jail’s eggs had been edible, but I could fix better. I scrambled two eggs, slicing in part of an onion and green pepper. I hesitated before putting in an expensive slice of cheese, but decided to go for it. Then I toasted two pieces of cheap white bread and made myself a cup of instant coffee.
Making it all into a sandwich, I put it on my rickety table and sat in one of my two equally rickety chairs.
The only light came from a security light outside which overlooked the dumpster. My single window was placed high on the interior wall, but this was a basement apartment and the view was a knee-high one of the alley. Just enough light shone through it for me to eat by. It was quiet except for the lonesome sound of the rain, which sounded like it was changing to sleet.
Someday I was going to splurge on a radio, just for the long hours like this. Or even a TV. Right now I knew they were impossibly expensive luxuries.
The apartment was a single room, but it came furnished. Some people might find it less than satisfactory, with its decrepit, mismatched furniture, the kitchen and tiny bathroom stuck along one wall, and the lack of natural light. Those people hadn’t spent years locked in a prison cell.
I reached over to the unsteady dresser and picked up a library book, flipping through the pages. The prison library had been my salvation for all those years I was locked up, and now the public library, free for anyone who could prove residency, was my main source of both entertainment and information. I would be eternally grateful to the library clerk who had unquestioningly accepted my prison ID and lease for the apartment as sufficient identity and proof of residence for issuing a library card.
Lately I was reading everything I could get my hands on about the Civil War, especially in this area of Maryland. Someday I planned to visit the preserved battlefields in the area. Maybe even go to Gettysburg. If I could get permission from my parole officer to leave the state. And if I ever got transportation.
It would be fun to take Kelly’s kids there and show them around. She could drive.
Kelly. A lump formed in my throat.
Certainly didn’t look like I would be taking Kelly’s kids anywhere in the near future. Or ever.
What was going on with her?
There wasn’t enough light to read easily, and the words in the book blurred on the page. With a sigh, I wiped my eyes and put it down. I had lighter reading, a book of horror short stories. But the images seemed all too real and too possible to me. I finally got up to do the dishes instead. I decided to take a quick shower and climb into the lumpy but warm bed that came with the
Or, since Montgomery seemed satisfied that I wasn’t involved, maybe I should just leave well enough alone.
And hope the bikers would, too. Fat chance.
The rain was beginning to freeze as it hit the ground. The stairs down from the sidewalk to my one-room apartment were getting slick. It might be Saturday night, but it would be a good night for me to spend at home.
I rummaged around in my single kitchen cupboard and the under-the-counter half refrigerator, looking for something to fix for supper. The last time I’d eaten had been breakfast at the jail. I’d missed lunch and been released before they served supper. Lucky me.
My food budget was limited, and it seemed like every time I went to the store, my staples of ramen noodles, peanut butter, eggs, and tuna went up in price. The jail’s eggs had been edible, but I could fix better. I scrambled two eggs, slicing in part of an onion and green pepper. I hesitated before putting in an expensive slice of cheese, but decided to go for it. Then I toasted two pieces of cheap white bread and made myself a cup of instant coffee.
Making it all into a sandwich, I put it on my rickety table and sat in one of my two equally rickety chairs.
The only light came from a security light outside which overlooked the dumpster. My single window was placed high on the interior wall, but this was a basement apartment and the view was a knee-high one of the alley. Just enough light shone through it for me to eat by. It was quiet except for the lonesome sound of the rain, which sounded like it was changing to sleet.
Someday I was going to splurge on a radio, just for the long hours like this. Or even a TV. Right now I knew they were impossibly expensive luxuries.
The apartment was a single room, but it came furnished. Some people might find it less than satisfactory, with its decrepit, mismatched furniture, the kitchen and tiny bathroom stuck along one wall, and the lack of natural light. Those people hadn’t spent years locked in a prison cell.
I reached over to the unsteady dresser and picked up a library book, flipping through the pages. The prison library had been my salvation for all those years I was locked up, and now the public library, free for anyone who could prove residency, was my main source of both entertainment and information. I would be eternally grateful to the library clerk who had unquestioningly accepted my prison ID and lease for the apartment as sufficient identity and proof of residence for issuing a library card.
Lately I was reading everything I could get my hands on about the Civil War, especially in this area of Maryland. Someday I planned to visit the preserved battlefields in the area. Maybe even go to Gettysburg. If I could get permission from my parole officer to leave the state. And if I ever got transportation.
It would be fun to take Kelly’s kids there and show them around. She could drive.
Kelly. A lump formed in my throat.
Certainly didn’t look like I would be taking Kelly’s kids anywhere in the near future. Or ever.
What was going on with her?
There wasn’t enough light to read easily, and the words in the book blurred on the page. With a sigh, I wiped my eyes and put it down. I had lighter reading, a book of horror short stories. But the images seemed all too real and too possible to me. I finally got up to do the dishes instead. I decided to take a quick shower and climb into the lumpy but warm bed that came with the
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