Chapter 20

My first thirteen years inside took thirteen years: I mean it felt like thirteen years. These past twelve years only felt like ten! I must’ve been getting used to the place.

I’d been tapping on the steel table top for the past ten minutes. The guard hadn’t even cuffed me to it. Unusual actually, but it was my lawyer, Bernard Costley is his name, an old guy, coming to see me as he did once every quarter: says he was doing so pro bono, no doubt to get some credit with the offices of the supreme being, I figured. Anyway, he had gotten me my old cell and my old cellmate; the guy was good. Now if he could just get me the hell out. I’d done the twelve, well almost. I needed a beer, or eight or ten.

The door clanged open and he came in and took a seat. No expression on his face. This couldn’t be good.

“You’re getting out. You’re getting out today, now,” he said. Well shit. I was wrong; this was good news. “But there is one thing, Andrew. You do anything like you did this last time; it’ll be life. I hope I’m clear. Stay the hell outta trouble, man. I mean it.”

“I understand. I promise. I will stay out of trouble. But you say today...” I said.

“Yes,” and now he smiled.

Well, I didn’t have to take the bus this time, and I didn’t have the rich guy’s PI to be giving me a ride either. I guess Mister Hanson had finally gotten the message that I didn’t want any of his shit or help or money or any of it, finally.’

I did wonder about my daughter every once in a while; she’d be twenty-five now. I knew she wasn’t mine anymore, but in my heart she was, even though I had never even met her, not really. I wonder if my traitorous ex had ever told her about me, I mean other than that she had a different bio-dad.

At any rate, I was back on the street. Well, the good news was. I knew how to survive on it. The bad news was that I didn’t like what I knew. Back to day labor and shacking up wherever I could. Fuck! I didn’t even have a ticket to the hallway house this time around. I kinda coulda used that one, but it was what it was.

A local food store owner, he was clearly the owner, was sweeping the dirt out of his shop. I went up to him.

“Need any help, even part time,” I said. He could see I was indigent. He looked around. You willing to get paid under the table.

“Yes,” I said, “thrilled actually.” The man smiled and passed me the broom.

It turned out I was making the legal minimum, but no benefits; that was the reason for the under the table shit. But now I’d be able to get me a cheap ass place again. Fifty-four-years-old and starting life over—for the third time. Fucking wonderful.

Well, what the hell. Life’s shit and then we die.

“Yes, he is out, and he does have a job. It’s shit, janitorial mostly, at a local bodega. being paid under the table,” said James Hightower.

“Damn. I sure wish he’d let us take care of him. I want to take care of the guy,” said Carlton.

“Carlton, the guy tried to kill you!” said Jim.

“Yeah, well, he had reason. That notwithstanding, I am glad he failed,” he said.

“Hmm, yes, I can imagine,” said Jim.

“James, I need you and your crew to keep an eye on the man. But do not approach him. Not for any reason. None of you guys. I just want to know he’s safe, that’s all. If it looks like we might be able to do more, then I will make that call,” said Carlton.

“Okay,” said James. “You got it.”

“What? Kari’s got a job? She’s working for you?” said Lea.

“No,” said Carlton. He had on a look, and it wasn’t ... well, it was something.

“Okay,” she said.

“She’s a bartender. At Pearl’s,” he said.

“What? I mean... ?” she started. “Wait! She’d checking out her ... Andrew!”

“It’s okay. He’s her daddy. You can say it. I certainly will,” he said. Lea looked sheepish.

“It’s just ... I mean what he did to you,” she said.

“It’s forgiven. He’s paid for his mistake, more than he should have as far as I’m concerned, Lea. And, yes, she’s a bartender.” She sagged back on the couch she’d been sitting on since having been motioned to do so by her husband.