Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“A good handful. She made me a sandwich after and kicked me out at three p.m.... I went back every week after that.”
“Sandwich? What kind of sandwich?”
Rock shoots Hyde with a disgusted look, but he's smiling. “Sandwich. That's what you took from that conversation?”
“Oh, I took a lot from that conversation.” Hyde winks at me, and I slump back into the chair, content that they've understood what I'm saying.
“Ham, cheese, tomato,” I say for the sake of finishing the conversation.
When they get out of this place, and if I succeed in getting across the border, we'll have a place and a time to meet without ever having to say another word.
“You hear they're trying to pin Wilson on Garcia?”
“Seriously?”
While we were locked up with Lory, Wilson's miserable life was snuffed out. Someone strangled him with a torn piece of sheet. He didn't have many friends in this place, and none amongst the crims, so identifying a killer with a motive was like finding a needle in a haystack. Garcia hated Wilson, but I don't think it was him. Grady might not have had the guts to take out someone who threatened to blackmail him, but he had the capacity to put the right people in the right place for it to happen. Isn't there a saying about your enemy's enemy being your friend?
Like Whitaker, Wilson underestimated his opponent.
“He's a lifer anyway,” Rock points out. “Doesn't matter what they say he did.”
“Easy to bury a stick in a bonfire,” Hyde muses.
“Did you just make that shit up?” I ask, laughing.
“Sure did. You're not the only one who's good with words, Kinkaid.”
He's right. The letters these men have been writing for Lory are poetic. For three rough, prison-hardened men, we sure can come up with some pretty words when inspired.
Thirty minutes pass before I drag myself up. I rest a hand on each of their shoulders. “I'm gonna hit the sack,” I tell them. “I'll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Tomorrow.” With a final squeeze of their shoulders, I walk away, hoping, praying that we'll meet again in a little town far away and that maybe, if the wind is blowing in the right direction, our woman will be waiting for them, too.
22
KINKAID
COMING CLEAN
The laundry I'm surrounded with stinks, but I don't give a fuck as I struggle into the black jeans and jacket that the warden's brother-in-law tossed into the back of the truck. It's not easy to balance, buffeted by the bumps in the road. My orange prison pants rest discarded in a lurid heap on the floor as I pull on the boots. In ordinary clothes, it’s like I've shrugged off an outgrown skin. I wonder how long it will take the stench of the pen to leave my nostrils. Maybe, when I bury my face in Lory's hair, and it smells of feminine shampoo, I'll forget everything that came before.
She doesn't know I'm coming for her, but I am.
The truck stops suddenly on the side of the road, and the driver gets out. He's taking a piss, and this is my chance. I open the back door of the vehicle and jump out, disappearing into the trees and bushes that line the road. When he's driven away, I wait a few minutes, checking no one's watching before I make my way into town. It's a mile walk, but with the breeze in my face and the stars spread above me, I'd walk a hundred miles. The only thing I need is tucked into my sock. The tiny bit of paper Lory slipped past me before Grady led her away. Her name, her address, and her phone number. The sweet girl gave us everything we could need to find her. I just have to pray she’s still there.
On the outskirts of Holdridge, there's a dusty patch of land around half a mile from the road. There are five trees with gnarly roots and broad canopies, one of which is hiding something for me.
In the darkness, it's a struggle to find my way, so I'll have to go back. The money in the pocket of the pants supplied by Grady's brother-in-law won't get me far, but it's enough for a hotel room, a meal, some supplies, and a bus ticket if I need it.
It's almost dawn by the time I reach the street Lory lives on. Her apartment is above an old-fashioned shoe store, across from a dive bar where I used to hang out with my buddies. I pull a cigarette from the half-finished packet I brought with me. My hands are jittery, and I need the nicotine to take the edge off my nerves.
I get halfway through and decide to discard it. Thinking about what might happen next is only making me more nervous. A motorcycle passes me, and I instinctively turn my face into the shadows, conscious that my escape could be discovered at any time. I have to keep moving, or this might all be in vain.