Read Online One Night by Marsha Qualey - Free Book Online Page B

and turned to wave good-bye. He leaned on his horn in response, then sped away, tires squealing.
    Tom stared after him in wonder. “When I am the king,” he said finally, “senior citizens will be respected, cared for, and each one will have a personal driver. When I am the king—”
    I didn’t hear what came next because my attention was diverted when a police cruiser passed. Slowly. The cop inside took a long, hard look at the two of us yakking it up on the corner of Atwood and Bovey. And why not? We’d just emerged from a car that had created the biggest neighborhood disturbance since the window-smashing and trash-bin emptying that occurred last August after the police closed the after-hours nude beach on Lake Carney. So, yes, that might have been the reason he was staring. On the other hand, he may have been alerted to watch for a spike-haired girl in a red dress and a tall prince in a dark suit.
    The policeman was still looking. Once upon a time, cop stares scared me for a different reason. I was clean now, but I was keeping company with a fugitive prince. Time to get invisible.
    I took Tom by the elbow and moved us along in the opposite direction of the cruiser.
    “Where are we going?” he asked. “I’m starving.”
    I glanced over my shoulder. The cruiser was out of sight. “I think we’ve been spotted. I think the police are looking for you.”
    “I doubt it. The media would pick up on that. Don’t they listen in to police radios? There’s no way my uncle would risk that sort of publicity. His security people might be out looking, but not your police.”
    “Don’t be silly, how could your watchdogs handle that sort of search? They’re big and they’re ugly, but they don’t know their way around. They have to use the locals, Tom, and I’m sure that cop was looking at us for a reason. He’s probably circling the block now, maybe calling us in. How badly do you want to have dinner before you’re picked up and returned to the hotel for a royal spanking?”
    He checked his watch. “Seven already? And what I face when I get back is worse than a spanking: There’s the dinner at eight and then an evening of speeches. I want to eat, Kelly. I’m hungry. You hauled me here and now I want to eat. So what are you getting at?”
    “Look at all the people, then look at yourself.”
    He obeyed, then shrugged. “I still don’t see.”
    “Prince Tom, it’s time to lose the suit. And it’s way past time to get rid of the tie.”
    *
    Midtown is the only neighborhood in Dakota City with any life. Everything mixes up here: The street kids call it home, artists and writers lounge in the coffee shops, cultures spill from the restaurants and blend on the sidewalks, musicians jam in parks and on street corners. Even the suburban mamas love it, coming in during daylight to patronize the urban hair salons. And in a hundred different places—corners and back rooms, alleys and apartments—dealers deal, users cop, addicts crash.
    I don’t spend as much time in Midtown as I used to.
    The Midtown People’s Center was on a side street at the edge of the neighborhood. Thanks to my previous life, I knew which alleys were too narrow for cars and which stores had back doors. I got us to the center without being spotted.
    The food bank and clothing exchange were both doing brisk business. It was near the end of the month, which meant empty cupboards, and these first really hot days of summer meant even street people were shedding winter clothes.
    “Is this stuff clean?” Tom asked as he poked through the hangers and piles of folded shirts.
    “Perfectly clean. Just used.”
    He found some jeans, a T-shirt, and sandals, and went to a dressing room to change. While he was changing, I found some shorts and a shirt I’d probably have to possess even if I wasn’t trying to evade the police: a powder blue T-shirt emblazoned with a portrait of Elvis.
    When we met outside the changing stalls, I gasped, then