Total pages in book: 13
Estimated words: 11838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 59(@200wpm)___ 47(@250wpm)___ 39(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 59(@200wpm)___ 47(@250wpm)___ 39(@300wpm)
He headlocks me, then swiftly pushes me away. Larry has always kept distance between us, as if he’s afraid to touch me, and I’m thankful for that. Not because his touch is bad, but because I dislike being touched. That’s why I prefer invisibility.
“Anyway, you need to leave before they find you.”
“No. I did nothing wrong, and if I hide, that means I’m admitting to a crime I didn’t commit.”
“So what do you plan, woman? Are you thinking of barging into the midst of those policemen? What are you going to say? Like, ‘umm, hey there, officers, I’m the one you think killed Richard, but I actually didn’t, so let’s just shake hands’?”
“I’ll simply tell them what happened.”
“No one will believe you, Winter. Your fingerprints are all over his office and you were the last one who saw him alive before you disappeared. You’re guilty in their eyes. And if you go in there, they’ll lock you up for twenty years. You won’t get a good lawyer either, because state-appointed ones are shit.”
His words penetrate my brain, slowly making sense, but I want to dismiss them as fast as possible. I want them to be untrue. Because I can’t accept that option.
“So what do you suggest I do, Larry? Run away?”
The older man snaps his fingers. “Exactly. Lie low for a while and then we’ll figure some way to get you out of this city.”
It’s the most logical thing to do under the circumstances. It is. But I’ve always been attached to this merciless city with super glue. Besides, it’s where I have memories with my baby girl, and if I leave, it’ll be like I’m abandoning a piece of me.
“But…Larry…”
He sighs, jamming both of his hands in his orange coat. “You don’t want to leave?”
I shake my head.
“But you might get locked up. You have to.”
“I know. Are you…coming with me?”
“Absolutely, woman. We ride together and die together.”
“That sounds like some motorcycle club’s slogan.”
“I stole it. Roll with it.” He peeks his head around the corner, his hazel eyes shining with concentration before he focuses on me. “Now, go. Don’t stay in open places and avoid cameras. I’ve got your back.”
I wrap my arms around him in a brief hug. “How will we meet again?”
“I have my homeless intel. I’ll find you. Just lay low.”
After I reluctantly release him, I carefully make my way through the back of the alley.
I glance behind me to cast one last glimpse at Larry, but he’s already gone.
Usually, when we’re not at a shelter, Larry and I spend the night in the subway station. The benches are our friends and the marginal silence is better than the loud city outside.
So that’s where I go first, but soon realize my mistake when I see the news about Richard’s death on the station’s TV.
Two middle-aged men, who appear to be football fans judging from their blue Giants hats, stop in front of me to watch the news. I shrink backward and blend in with a wall in case anyone here recognizes me.
“What a mess,” one of them says, lighting a cigarette, despite the no smoking signs.
“Maybe it’s a sign that he wasn’t meant to run for mayor,” the other replies, shrugging a shoulder.
“Wasn’t meant to? Man, have you even been living in this city?”
“Why? What?”
“Richard Green was the prime candidate for mayor.” Cigarette Man leans toward his friend and lowers his voice as if he’s sharing Central Intelligence Agency secrets. “There are rumors that he was backed by the mafia.”
“The mafia?” the other man whisper-yells.
“Keep your voice down, you idiot. You want to get us whacked?”
I scoff at the way he mimics the famous mobster movies, but I find myself moving closer, while still keeping a distance, to get a whiff of their conversation. If Richard was backed by the mafia, then the scary men dressed in dark suits make more sense since they dropped by occasionally and went straight to his office.
“Is it the Italians?” the non-smoker asks.
Cigarette Man blows out a cloud of smoke and I block my nose and mouth with the back of my hand to keep from coughing. “No. The Bratva.”
“Russians?”
“That’s what the rumors say.”
“Are the filthy Russians getting involved in our politics again?”
“Yeah, man. And their mafia is no joke. Heard they kill people like they’re flies.”
“This is a country of law.”
Cigarette Man bursts out laughing, waving his hand to catch his breath from the force of it. “What law, man? Those monsters make the law wherever they go.”
“Are you saying Richard’s death isn’t as simple as the media’s painting it out to be?”
“Yes, I am. All that is a diversion.” Cigarette Man motions at the line that reads “Richard Green, New York City mayoral candidate, was killed by one of the homeless people in the shelter he directed.”
I squint at the TV and frown. My picture should be all over the news with a wanted caption on top. How come they didn’t even mention my name? Did the police not give concrete statements to the media yet?