Chapter 1

I’m cussing. I don’t know why my brother Jimmy insisted on shipping the box via Greyhound. On second thought, I DO know why. He’s an idiot.

He’d finished cleaning out the old shed at Dad’s place, only a year after Dad left us, and the box carried a bunch of things that apparently didn’t match Jimmy’s penchant for shiny objects. The box was probably heavy, containing Dad’s equipment for handloading ammunition. Since I played some of the same games, I wanted the stuff.

FedEx would’ve dropped it on my doorstep. But nooooo. Greyhound. Not the best part of town at all. Walked into the place surreptitiously checking a concealed pistol on my hip. This might not be the South Side of Chicago, but it’s not a Sunday School picnic, either.

I presented myself at the counter, showed some ID to the gentleman behind the counter.

“Yeah, lemme look.” He punched at a terminal. “Uh, we gots it. Lemme find it.”

While I’m waiting, I scan my surroundings yet again. Late afternoon. I’d not relish being here after dark. Two African-American gentlemen were chatting up a white girl. She appeared to be a teen. She kept glancing at her cellphone nervously. She put it to her ear. I heard her say “This is Carlie. Call me when you get this.”

The flashier of the two men said, “Shee-it baby, you ain’t gotta sweat dat shit. I gots a fine crib. You kin stay dere...”

“No. Please leave me alone.”

“Doan’ be dat way, baby. We offerin’ you sumpin’,” the other one said.

The guy from behind the counter came back, rolling my package on a dolly.

“Please, just ... As soon as my UNCLE...” she looked at me pleadingly, “Gets finished...”

I detected that a little call for help had been made.

If you know me, you know I’m all about rescuing damsels in distress. I carry a card. I fix flats on the side of the road, that kind of thing.

She didn’t have ‘trouble’ written on her. Dressed normal. Little blonde thing.

“Girl, you looks thuteen ... you be hot stuff...”

“Carlie!” I said. “Ready to go...”

“She din’t come in ‘ere wit’ you,” the taller of the two said.

“No, but she’s my niece and I just came to pick her and her box of stuff up. So if you don’t mind...”

“Marcus,” the shorter guy said, “Let ‘im be...”

Carlie was up with a bounce and came right to my side. I walked her outside, unlocked my truck, put her inside. Started it. Air conditioning.

“Lock the doors. I’ll be back with my box. I hope you’ll let me in.”

“Sure...”

I went back inside, signed, got the guy to loan me the dolly to get the box to my truck and stuck in the bed. Returned the dolly.

Well, she’s still there with my truck running. I call that a good sign. I walk around to the driver’s side, hear the door unlock. Another good sign.

“Buckle in,” I said. “Bob Newman. Robert, actually. And you’re...”

“Carolina Williams. You must’ve heard me. Carlie.”

“Who were you trying to call? Can I take you somewhere?”

“Nobody. And away from here.”

“Nobody?”

“Phone’s dead. Battery’s dead. No charger. Wouldn’t matter. It was on Gramma’s plan and that’s run out. I was playing, trying to get those guys to leave me alone without makin’ a scene.”

“Not friends?”

“No. And when I got off the bus and the dude behind the counter saw I was gonna hang around, THOSE two showed up.”

“Where were you going?” I asked.

“I was gonna walk downtown, find a church ‘re something ... shelter.”

“Heck of a plan.”

Heavy sigh. “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft a-gley.”

I did a double-take. “Huh?”

“Never mind...”

“Did you just quote Robert Burns?”

“Yeah. And you KNOW that?”

“Waifs from bus terminals are not noted for scholastics.”

“Nor are men with big ol’ pickup trucks.”

“Good point. Now ... your plan, the one that took off for the heather...”

She smiled. “I dunno. Gotta get something going...”

“Where’d you come from?”

She named the town.

“You left there and ended up HERE? And that’s a PLAN?”

“You have no idea of the mess I was in...”

“Uh, fugitive from the law?”

“No.”

“Am I to assume that your backpack’s everything you own...”

She hefted it. “Sad. Look, Mister Bob...”

“Just Bob.”

“You’re older...”

“You’re younger. Uh, how old?”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Kinda does. Hauling young girls around is a good way to meet the wrong kind of law enforcement.”

“Sixteen, then.”

“For real?”

She rummaged through her backpack. “Driver’s license.”

I glanced as I drove. Math works out.

“Okay. Now, what do you wanna do?”

“I don’t suppose you know where those places are that, like, give out free lunches for the indigent...”

I noted ‘indigent’. I noted the blonde, blue-eyed creature sitting there and...

“You’re sitting in one of ‘em.”

“No, seriously. That kind of place, I get a meal, they’ll probably have people who can set me up with shelter and help...”

“Oh, okay ... You’re sitting in that, too.”

“Seriously...”

“Look, Carlie, I’m a thirty-two year old engineer. I’m divorced, wife’s two states away, I have a two bedroom house to myself in a nice neighborhood. You can crash there ... Phone. Internet. Computer. You can look up the proper agencies at your leisure...”

“Uh, I just left a couple of dudes who had ‘pimp’ stenciled on ‘em. So I’m outa the pan. Is this the fire?”

“Carlie, if you scream and holler for help, my next door neighbor will come running and chop me to death with a garden hoe. He’s decent people. I promise...”

“You make it sound like a sane option. What others do I have?”

“Drop you off at the big church downtown. You walk in and talk with them. They may have room at one of the shelters.”

“Okay. Others?”

“Marcus is probably saddened that you didn’t accept his offer in the personal entertainment industry...”

“Marcus can learn to live with disappointment. Carlie’s a good girl. Intends to stay that way.”

“Okay. So what’s your choice?”

“Lunch budget will allow the dollar meal at Mickie D’s or such.”

“Do you mind if I counter that choice with ‘yechhh!’ and offer a meal at a little diner instead? My treat?”

“Uh, Bob, I could ... if it’s not expensive...”

“Carlie, I just said ‘my treat’. That means I pay. Okay? I can afford it.”

“I’m not doin’ quid pro quo here...”

“Okay, now I’m taking you to lunch because I’m intrigued. Since I met you twenty minutes ago, you’ve dropped a Burns quote and a Latin phrase. These are not behaviors one might normally associate with the odd indigent teen.”

A smile crossed her lips. “I’m not odd. Much, anyway.”

“Talkin’ about professional cephalopods to strangers...” I muttered loud enough for her to hear.

Giggle. “QUID, not SQUID.”

“Ah, so you know the difference.”

“I do. Bob, you’re ... What do YOU do for a living?”

“Point at things and holler...”

“Seriously.”

“Engineer. I just finished a nine-month project in Africa. I’m between jobs right now.”

“Unemployed?”

“In the broad definition of the word. More accurately, I’m NOT seeking employment. Got savings at just the level I want. Taking some ‘me’ time.”

“Oh...”

“Oh? Like something’s WRONG with that?”

“I thought a full-time job was kind of a goal...”

“Miss Carlie, I’m full-time whenever I want to be. I can make a phone call right now and tell you where I’ll be working in six months.”

“And in that six months?”

I smiled. I know the answer. “I’d have everything I need. House’s paid for. I can be quite content. Might travel, might just sit on the bank of the river and fish...”

“Wow.”

“Hardly wow-worthy,” I said. “I just had goals...” I headed towards the outskirts of town.

“Where’re we going?”

“Gonna go to the house and drop this box in the garage, come back to town and find a place to eat...”

She watched the scenery change. “I thought you said ‘nice neighborhood’.”

“River road’s as nice a neighborhood as you can ask. I inherited this place. It’s mine.”

‘Mine’ was a cabin built on stilts, concession to the frequent floods. The area under the house was partially enclosed as storage and a workshop. The remainder, open, functioned as carport and the storage for a few toys – a two-holer kayak and a fifteen foot aluminum boat with a fifteen horse motor. And my OTHER car, a neat little SUV.

When I pulled off the public road I punched the button on a controller to open the gate to the six-foot chain-link fence, letting us in.

“Hmmph! Where’s that helpful neighbor?” she asked.

As we pulled in, she could see the adjoining property. There was a cabin there, and there was a man working along the fence line between us. When we stopped, I waved. He waved back.

“Let’s go do an introduction,” I said. “If you want.”