uniform and street clothes, he always wore the uniform.
In his underwear, carrying his smokes and Bic lighter, he padded to the kitchen for a beer, settled down in the recliner, and picked up his latest nudie magazine, his black eyes fixing on the centerfold. After awhile, he flipped through the pages, stopping to study different pictures. But no matter who he looked at, he kept seeing Tracy’s face superimposed over the nude women. She was so pretty, looked just like...
He rose and walked to the bedroom for his wallet. Back in the recliner, he dug through the tattered plastic and took out a folded, worn black and white snapshot. He ran his fingers over the folds, carefully smoothing down the edges. A young woman smiled back at him, her dark hair crimped and wild from twenty years ago. Karr stared at the picture a long time, until he felt his eyes tear. Then he tore the picture, taking pains to tear around the pretty face looking at the camera. With one last look at the woman, he ripped her into shreds, making sure there was nothing left. He placed the pieces into the ashtray and with his lighter, set fire to it.
When the ashtray held nothing but ashes, he leaned back and closed his eyes.
Chapter Ten
At nine Tracy called Mr. Madden.
“You’re not calling in sick, are you?” he asked her.
“No, sir, I’m calling because, um...are you going to be there for awhile? I need to talk to you.”
“The books will take, oh, another half hour or so, then I’m leaving for a couple of days. A sort of mini-vacation. If you want to come in now, I could see you.”
Tracy checked the mirror one last time before she left the apartment. The charcoal colored pantsuit from the second-hand store hung loose, but it was better than anything else in her meager wardrobe.
She had to look nice today. And efficient. If she convinced Mr. Madden to trust her with more hours or more responsibility, it meant starting school in three weeks. No matter how difficult it was for her, she would do it. The important thing was the chance to make the extra money she needed.
“Wow!” Diana said, letting herself into the apartment. She appraised Tracy and smiled. “You look like an executive. Now go do your thing. Just remember, he needs you.”
On her way to work, Tracy practiced what she was going to say. Still, her stomach lurched with each step. God, she was such a wimp.
The sky clouded over and the breeze picked up, sending wispy puffs of white cottonwood seeds to float in the air. Tracy listened to the wind, loving the sound of rustling leaves. Better than a tranquilizer.
She entered the museum by the back employee’s entrance. The dining room was unoccupied, but from the parlor, Tracy could hear the shuffle of several feet and Carrie talking about Denver’s colorful history.
“…and when the news of the strike became known, over one-hundred thousand hopefuls flocked to the area between 1858 and 1860. One of the prospectors, William Larimer, established Denver City. Today, Larimer Square is a section of downtown rich in Victorian charm and old-time restaurants.
“With the miners came the entertainments. Not all of them struck it rich, but the locals did very well catering to the miners. Gambling was a favorite pastime. And they did it big, wagering mining stock and real estate. Legend tells us that town fathers won and lost entire city blocks during the long winter months.”
Tracy knew from listening that the group included children. If it were all adults, the guides told stories about the famous madams, many of whom became very notorious and wealthy from their particular form of entertainment.
Downstairs, Mr. Madden’s door stood partially open and she heard the soft click of computer keys. She knocked softly.
“Yes?”
As Tracy entered the office, Mr. Madden looked up from the computer keyboard. In his fifties, he was a pudgy little man, but what Tracy always noticed most was how he parted his thinning black
In his underwear, carrying his smokes and Bic lighter, he padded to the kitchen for a beer, settled down in the recliner, and picked up his latest nudie magazine, his black eyes fixing on the centerfold. After awhile, he flipped through the pages, stopping to study different pictures. But no matter who he looked at, he kept seeing Tracy’s face superimposed over the nude women. She was so pretty, looked just like...
He rose and walked to the bedroom for his wallet. Back in the recliner, he dug through the tattered plastic and took out a folded, worn black and white snapshot. He ran his fingers over the folds, carefully smoothing down the edges. A young woman smiled back at him, her dark hair crimped and wild from twenty years ago. Karr stared at the picture a long time, until he felt his eyes tear. Then he tore the picture, taking pains to tear around the pretty face looking at the camera. With one last look at the woman, he ripped her into shreds, making sure there was nothing left. He placed the pieces into the ashtray and with his lighter, set fire to it.
When the ashtray held nothing but ashes, he leaned back and closed his eyes.
Chapter Ten
At nine Tracy called Mr. Madden.
“You’re not calling in sick, are you?” he asked her.
“No, sir, I’m calling because, um...are you going to be there for awhile? I need to talk to you.”
“The books will take, oh, another half hour or so, then I’m leaving for a couple of days. A sort of mini-vacation. If you want to come in now, I could see you.”
Tracy checked the mirror one last time before she left the apartment. The charcoal colored pantsuit from the second-hand store hung loose, but it was better than anything else in her meager wardrobe.
She had to look nice today. And efficient. If she convinced Mr. Madden to trust her with more hours or more responsibility, it meant starting school in three weeks. No matter how difficult it was for her, she would do it. The important thing was the chance to make the extra money she needed.
“Wow!” Diana said, letting herself into the apartment. She appraised Tracy and smiled. “You look like an executive. Now go do your thing. Just remember, he needs you.”
On her way to work, Tracy practiced what she was going to say. Still, her stomach lurched with each step. God, she was such a wimp.
The sky clouded over and the breeze picked up, sending wispy puffs of white cottonwood seeds to float in the air. Tracy listened to the wind, loving the sound of rustling leaves. Better than a tranquilizer.
She entered the museum by the back employee’s entrance. The dining room was unoccupied, but from the parlor, Tracy could hear the shuffle of several feet and Carrie talking about Denver’s colorful history.
“…and when the news of the strike became known, over one-hundred thousand hopefuls flocked to the area between 1858 and 1860. One of the prospectors, William Larimer, established Denver City. Today, Larimer Square is a section of downtown rich in Victorian charm and old-time restaurants.
“With the miners came the entertainments. Not all of them struck it rich, but the locals did very well catering to the miners. Gambling was a favorite pastime. And they did it big, wagering mining stock and real estate. Legend tells us that town fathers won and lost entire city blocks during the long winter months.”
Tracy knew from listening that the group included children. If it were all adults, the guides told stories about the famous madams, many of whom became very notorious and wealthy from their particular form of entertainment.
Downstairs, Mr. Madden’s door stood partially open and she heard the soft click of computer keys. She knocked softly.
“Yes?”
As Tracy entered the office, Mr. Madden looked up from the computer keyboard. In his fifties, he was a pudgy little man, but what Tracy always noticed most was how he parted his thinning black
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