Sendoff for a Snitch (18 page)

Back in the kitchen, Nicole had set the table for two. “Sit down.”

Awkwardly, I sat. She put a big bowl of the soup in front of me and a plate with slices of the fragrant bread in the middle of the table, along with butter and some fancy jars of different preserves and honeys.

“What are you up to?” she asked.

“I got to go check out my apartment,” I said. “I want to see how much of my stuff is salvageable.”

“You can bring it over here,” she said, “and put it in the carriage house, since you’re going to be staying there for a few weeks anyhow.”

I tipped my bowl up to catch the last of the soup in the spoon. “I’m not so sure about the house sitting while you and Mandy go on your honeymoon trip…”

A cloud settled over Nicole’s face. “You decided you can’t do it?” she asked.

“It’s not that…”

Her eyes tightened. “You don’t want to do it because we’re a lesbian couple and you don’t approve?”

“No! Ain’t none of my business. Except I’m glad Mandy found somebody she can be happy with. That damn Radman was just out to take advantage of her. I think the reason he could manipulate her was because she was lonely. So if she’s got a good relationship with you, she’ll be a lot better off. And I’m happy for her.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

I shifted in my seat and looked away from her. “I’m just afraid I’m gonna be locked up again.”

“What’d you do?” she asked.

“Nothing! Well, nothing bad enough to get locked up for.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I been associating with convicted felons. Which I’m not supposed to do. But as long as there weren’t no crimes committed, they’re not gonna think it’s that serious. I hope.” I stared at the assortment of jars, trying to decide what I wanted to try.

She stirred the soup in her bowl. “Is that all?”

“It’s all I’ve done,” I said. “But I think they want to question me about some other shi…stuff.” This wasn’t the place to say “shit.”

“Like what?”

“You been watching the news?”

“Yes. They keep showing that picture of you rescuing that lady from the car in the water.”

I grimaced. “You see about some guy, got pulled out of a stairwell. Dead?”

“I remember something about that. The only casualty of the flood. So far. They thought he might have drowned, but they were treating it as if it were a homicide. That one?” She lifted the spoon and sipped the soup.

“Yeah. Well, it was a guy I worked with and who tried to set me up a few times. They know I don’t like him.”

She leaned back in her chair. “So you’re afraid they might think you were responsible?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he have any other enemies?”

“Lots.”

“So why would they be looking especially for you?”

“Well, for one thing, because it was the stairwell outside my apartment where he was found. And I was the last person who they knew was driving his truck. Stuff like that.”

She eyed me. “I can see where they might want to talk to you.”

A work crew was assembled on the sidewalk and stairs outside the parole office. All the crew members wore blue jeans and orange hoodies with “Inmate Trustee” stenciled on the back. From the county detention center. I looked around, but didn’t see a corrections officer supervising them. Maybe they all had work release status.

I sidled up to a guy who was sweeping up a pile of trash. “The parole office open?” I asked.

“Nah. Gonna be closed all week.” He cocked his head and looked at me. “Can you read okay?”

“Yeah.”

He pointed to a white placard attached to the wall. “Then better you should read it yourself than have me tell you and maybe mess it up.”

I went over to it, excusing myself to the person who was trying to scrape some ugly muck off the concrete in front of it.

The posted notice confirmed what he’d said. Basically, they were skipping a week. Fees wouldn’t be excused, though, so bring double the money next week. If there was a problem—low battery on an ankle monitor, situation where a parolee needed permission for something—they gave a number to call, since the offices were closed and not all PO’s cell phones were active. Show up for treatment at outside providers as scheduled. Otherwise, therapy and treatment groups held at the parole office would be resumed next week. And all appointments set for this week would be honored next week.

“Honored” wasn’t the word I would have used, but its meaning was clear enough.

My next appointment would be over a week away. They’d probably detain me at that meeting, if they hadn’t caught up with me before.

Next stop was my apartment. No power in that part of town. No signs of a cleanup, either. A downed tree blocked the road. It had hauled electric lines along with it.

The crime scene tape was still there, but it was torn and flapping in the wind. I hesitated only a minute before I slipped down the stairs, my key in my hand.

Inside was very dark. And it smelled as bad as Jumbo George’s place, minus the patchouli. A few inches of water and who knows what covered the floor.

I pulled out the tiny flashlight and shined it on the walls. A watermark five feet high showed on the wall. The cheap paneling that came up to a chair rail was sagging away from the wall.

The sinks were still full of water. In the bathroom, the toilet was full to the brim. Grime covered the shower stall to the same five feet above the floor.

My throat closed. It may not have been much, but this little one-room apartment was the only real “home” I’d had in years. And it had been mine.

I could stay at Jumbo George’s for a few days. I still wasn’t sure when Mandy and Nicole would want me to house-sit, but maybe I could move in there early. At this point, I didn’t want to count on Kelly’s place as a possibility.

Was I in total denial? Let’s face it. As soon as things settled down and the law enforcement personnel were free to return to their regular duties, I’d be picked up and brought in for questioning concerning Aaron’s death. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about a place to stay. I’d have a temporary bunk in the county detention center. And likely a permanent one back in a state prison.

My chest felt heavy. Angrily, I wiped tears away from my eyes with my sleeve. Sniveling wouldn’t change anything. I might as well just keep acting like I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life in prison. Even if it was an illusion, it was one I valued.

And who knows? Maybe I would find out something that would throw suspicion somewhere else. Maybe Banjo would have picked up rumors that would give me a lead.

Yeah, right.

I got down the laundry basket I’d lashed to the overhead pipes. Surprisingly, the clothes in there weren’t very damp. They did have a musty odor, but if I could hang them up for a while somewhere, they might be okay.

The mattress was a total loss. The bedding didn’t look much better, but a run through a big washer at the laundromat with plenty of bleach might make a difference. For now, though, I’d leave it here.

To really take a look around and see what else I could manage to save, I’d need a better flashlight. Lifting the laundry basket and its contents, I went out of the apartment. I stood in the landing to lock the door. No point leaving it unlocked—even if there wasn’t much of value in there, I might be able to find some more stuff later.

Several inches of water stood on the cracked concrete, not moving at all toward the drain. The storm drain system must still be flooded, at least in this part of town.

I carried the laundry basket back across town to Mandy’s house. As I lifted the knocker on the front door, I looked down at my boots.

They had been clean when I’d put them on earlier. Now, they were caked with mud. And probably sewage from the backed-up drains.

When Nicole answered the door, I declined her invitation to come inside and stand on the nice rug. “Look at these boots. They’re filthy.”

She frowned. “We’ve had mud in here before.”

“Yeah. But I’m afraid I was walking where the sewers might have backed up.”

“The sanitary sewers? Or just the drain sewers?”

“Both, I imagine. When the storm sewers get clogged, they spill over into the sanitary sewers. And then both overflow. It’s a mess.”

She wrinkled her nose at the thought. “We haven’t had any problems with that,” she said.

“That’s good, ma’am. But other sections of town have.” I didn’t explain to her that, when the lines below were blocked and she flushed her toilet, the contents would come spilling out of drains farther downhill. Like those in my apartment.

“Okay. Do you want to put your things in the carriage house, or in the garage for now?”

“The garage is fine.”

She came out with the keys to the garage. “You work at Quality Steel Fabrications, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“On the news, they said any shop employees who could make it in should report at eight tomorrow morning to get the plant ready for production Monday.”

Quality Steel was getting ready to reopen? First good news I’d heard in a while. “That’s not my shift,” I said.

“The announcement said any employees. They especially want wheelwrights, setup men, and lift drivers.”

“Lift drivers. That’s me.” I’d show up. I needed the money.

I wondered if Kelly would be there.

On my way back to Jumbo George’s, I stopped at Tex Mex’s takeout for a big bucket of chili and a slab of cornbread. I was well aware that he would eat the vast majority of it, but he’d fed me for two meals, and I owed him.

There were still no lights in any of the windows, but the street showed a bit more activity, with the staff of a ladies’ specialty shop down the row busy washing the exterior and show windows. It was a bit uphill from Jumbo George’s, so it might not have sustained any water damage.

The door to the head shop stood open. Loud, argumentative voices reached me. I could pick out Jumbo George’s, but I didn’t recognize the other one. I stopped on the sidewalk outside. Maybe I should come back later? But then the chili would be cold. The temperature was above freezing, but it was still damp and cold. Warm food was a comfort, perhaps more so to someone with an appetite like Jumbo George than to most people.

I stepped inside and let my eyes adjust to the dimness.

Jumbo George was leaning his bulk on the counter, his chest heaving. Another man, much skinnier, stood on the other side of the counter. His fists were balled, and his face was fierce.

Coughing, Jumbo George waved a hand at me. “This here’s the guy I was telling you about. He’s been helping me clean up. I told him he could stay upstairs. In my room.”

The other guy swung to face me, his chin and lower lip stuck out. “You were messing with my stuff,” he said.

This must be Nick.

I put the chili and cornbread on the counter. No sense it getting spilled if there was a fight. And no sense me being handicapped by holding it.

Firmly planting my feet and squaring my shoulders, I braced myself. I let my hands hang by my sides, hands curled slightly, but unclenched, and narrowed my eyes into a version of the prison yard stare that had served me well for years. I glared back at him.

“I got George here a few extra blankets. And I knocked some stuff off the nightstand. So I picked it up. You got a problem with that?”

“You had no right to touch my stuff.”

“You missing something?” I asked.

He glanced at Jumbo George, looking a bit confused. “Well, no, but…”

Jumbo George straightened up, propping himself up with his arms. “If you ain’t missing nothing, what’s your beef?” he demanded.

Nick’s face was set in a stubborn pout. “It’s my stuff.”

“Nobody’s disputing that,” I said.

“Do you want your blankets back?” Jumbo George asked. “I’m sure Jesse would bring them back upstairs for you.”

“The hell with the blankets.” Nick turned on his heel and stalked out.

We watched him go.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

Jumbo George shrugged. “He came in and went upstairs to get something and got all bent out of shape. At first I thought it was because I had his nice quilt, but it because he was afraid you’d gotten into his stuff.”

“I did pick up what I knocked down,” I said, “but I left it all there for him.” I didn’t add that it had the little envelopes of white powder, probably some kind of CDS, all neatly packed in envelopes with names written on them. Or that I’d looked at all the legal paperwork.

“Well.” Jumbo George heaved himself off the counter and nodded toward the bucket. “What that you got there?”

“Chili. And some cornbread. I thought we could both use some warm food.”

“Bring it on,” he said, making his way to the back of the store.