“How about I make a way for you tonight? I have the extra room.”
“Why are you doing this?” The vagrant looked up at him through honest, hazel eyes.
Barnes took a seat in the booth, directly across the table from him. “‘Redemption is something you need to fight for in a very personal, down-dirty way. Some of our characters lose that, some stray from that, and some regain it.’ Joss Whedon said that.”
“Why do you assume I need redemption?”
“Redemption is the action of saving or being saved from error, sin, even evil. You can’t possibly feel as if you haven’t experienced, at the very least, error. So, I’m asking, which one will you choose? Will you stray, let it fade from your existence, or will you regain redemption?”
What Barnes had put into perspective resonated deep down inside, compelling the vagrant to lay down his arms. “I wouldn’t mind trying for the latter of the three,” he admitted.
“I think I can help you with that.” Barnes flashed a smile.
“I didn’t catch your name.”
“The name is Barnes, Edward Barnes.” The detective extended his hand for a proper greeting, it being reciprocated without haste.
“My name is Richard, but people usually call me Bird.”
“That’s an interesting nickname. Why Bird and not call you Richard or Dick?”
“I’m by all accounts a hobo. I move from place to place, hopping trains. One day I might be in Michigan, the next, Illinois. Seeing me here and there, people began referring to me as Bird. It just stuck.”
“If it’s all right by you, I’m going to call you Richard.”
It was one of the first times in years he’d felt respected. “That’ll be just fine, Edward. I’d really appreciate that.”
The lady at the counter behind the Plexiglas shielding tapped the bell. “Order up for Barnes.”
Barnes and Richard got up from the booth, Barnes heading to the counter to pay for their order, while his newfound project, Richard, stood near the door.
After paying for their meals, Barnes turned to see Richard holding the door open for him. The simple courtesy showed potential. He couldn’t possibly be all that bad. How on earth did he end up in such a deplorable state? “Thank you.” Barnes stepped out of the restaurant with a plastic bag full of delicious-smelling vittles in tow.
“You’re welcome,” Richard replied with a smile, knowing he was about to get a fine meal and a good night’s sleep.
Richard noticed but said nothing about the bulletproof vest he spied on the backseat as he tossed his duffle bag inside. I hope he’s not a cop just trying to arrest me. The thought crossed his mind as he climbed into the front passenger of Barnes’s Yukon. On the way to the detective’s house, Richard relished riding in comfortable seats. Hopping from train to train often only offered as much as a crate or pallet to lie on. Richard saw no blisters on his bottom as a welcomed change.
Barnes stole glances at the stranger from the corner of his eye as he wondered what he was thinking. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up like this?”
“I don’t mind,” Richard replied as he gazed through the passenger window, preparing to recall his misfortunes. The stranger released a long sigh, a feeling of despair overtaking him.
“My life had been a constant struggle since I came home from the Vietnam War. Nothing was as I expected it to be when I returned to the United States. People threw trash at me. They called us subhuman. Accused us of going to war for a cause morally unjust . . . As if we asked for it. I was one of more than 2 million men drafted. It was the beginning of the end of my marriage. I went to war, married, came back single and homeless. On top of that, there was nowhere for me to turn. My government had used me and thrown me away. My people shunned me and called me names. I used to wonder why this happened to me, but after years of living it, I eventually came to terms with the fact that this is the life I was meant to live.”
“Damn.” Barnes shook his head, empathizing with what Richard had revealed. He remembered the war and how hard it was on many Americans, especially those who had returned from fighting. “I wish there were something I could say to make it better. Nothing could possibly justify what happened to you. The way you were treated isn’t right. And although I can’t make up for what the government, the people, and your wife did all those years ago, I can try to help you rebuild your life from here.”
“You’d be willing to do that? Why? I’m merely a stranger to you.” It had been so long since Richard had witnessed an act of kindness so selfless, he almost couldn’t believe it. One could say he’d become accustomed to waiting on the other shoe to drop. Regardless of whether he believed it, he wanted desperately to. He’d been out on his own with no help for so long that he didn’t even know how to react.
“You’re my brother, and you need help. It’s just that simple. I can see that you’re a good person. Sometimes, people just need a new perspective to help them see the error in their ways. On behalf of America and its citizens, I apologize to you.”
“That’s very noble of you, but it’s not necessary. It isn’t your fault.”
Barnes stopped at the flashing red traffic signal directing the four-way stop just a block from his house. “Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?”
“I don’t know. I guess. I’m sure I picked that restaurant because you were there.”
“I believe you walked into that restaurant for us to meet. You need help, and in a sense, I could use some assistance too. In other words, me assisting you will, in turn, help me. Going from place to place, you’ve encountered much. I’m sure you’ve developed a set of skills that are immeasurable for some. That’s a gift in itself. From this moment forward, your life is going to change for the better. Are you ready for that?”
“I’ve waited more than two decades to hear something like this. I’m beyond ready,” Richard professed.
Barnes pulled up to his three-bedroom bungalow, parking in the driveway behind his cruiser.
“I had a feeling you were a cop.”
“Do you have something against cops?”
“Not the just ones,” Richard answered.
“Justice is a matter of fairness that should always be determined by the individual. I’m always fair in my dealings. We all get what’s coming to us. Lucky for you, it’s a warm bed and a delicious meal,” Barnes reminded him.
“There is no way I can repay you for your kindness.”
“Seeing the shift in your life will be repayment enough. It will definitely take some work, but nothing good comes easy . . . except for this corned beef sandwich, of course,” Barnes remarked, ending his response on a lighter note.
Richard’s tummy growled as he took in the aroma permeating the vehicle. “Good. ’Cause, I’m pretty hungry,” he admitted.
Barnes shut off his engine. “Me too. Let’s get inside so that we can dig in.”
Chapter 13
Date Night
Elsewhere, food and music provided a therapeutic release....
“Never too much, never too much, never too much,” Gertrude sang, sashaying over to the kitchen sink, where the metal strainer held the al dente-cooked macaroni pasta.
An aroma of garlic and oregano pervaded the two-family flat on Gable Street. Gertrude danced around the kitchen, singing along with the Luther Vandross classic as it played from the stereo in the living room.
She added a teaspoon of olive oil to the firm noodles so that they didn’t stick together. She had prepared everything. She had fried the ground beef, the sauce sat warming, onions and bell peppers were sautéed, even the yellow and white corn she’d sliced off of the cob had been simmering. The only thing left to do was mixing the ingredients before she’d let her creation warm in the Crock-Pot. Dinner not only looked but smelled delicious. Gertrude had finished preparing their meal with an hour left to spare—time she’d use to get dolled up for her date with Ronald.
* * *
The steaming
stream of water rinsed Ronald’s blood-coated face running down his sculptured frame. He let his head fall back, allowing the hot shower to soak into his loose coils. It was that evening he washed away his worries and, along with it, the memories of what happened earlier at Arthur Columbus’s house.
The fact that he had stabbed him over 100 times, ripping Arthur’s limbs from his torso, would be a memory soon forgotten. When a stream of blood sprayed across his face, blurring sight in his gray eye, not even then did he stop the brutal dismemberment.
They were all memories Ronald was determined to forget just as he recalled them at that moment. Never again would he think or speak of them.
* * *
On the other side of that wall, in her own unit, Gertrude ran the loofa over her smooth, caramel skin, cleansing her temple. She thought it would be a good idea, just in case Ronald had a taste for dessert. Water rinsed her bouncing curls, stretching them beyond the center of her back. Its steamy temperature felt good on her skin. Yet, not as good as Ronald’s hands, she imagined. Gertrude closed her eyes in anticipation of him touching her, running the loofa down between her soaked thighs. “Hmmmm,” she hummed with delight, on the verge of pleasuring herself right there in the shower.
That’s when the wall phone in the kitchen buzzed, halting Gertrude’s me time and rushing her from the cleansing stream.
Aunt May was old school. Unlike most, she didn’t have voicemail, which meant the phone rang until someone picked up. Gertrude rushed to the kitchen, the excess water dripping from her hair to the plush burgundy housecoat that covered her.
“Hello,” she answered, snatching the phone down off the wall.
“I thought I was going to have to come over there early.”
The sound of his voice had made her heart skip a beat. “You can come over anytime you’d like. Dinner is almost ready.”
“I shouldn’t be too much longer. I was calling to see if you needed me to bring anything?”
“A bottle of wine, maybe,” Gertrude requested after a moment of brief hesitation.
“White, red, or pink?”
“Since we’re having pasta, I think a white would be appropriate.”
“White it is. I’ll see you soon.”
“See you soon,” Gertrude responded as she leaned against the wall twisting the telephone cord around her index finger. “He’s such a gentleman,” she cooed to herself. The smitten young woman’s walls were indeed coming down.
* * *
Not a mile from there, Transfiguration’s recreation hall on Mound Road had a packed house. Fifty rectangular tables lined in rows filled the space. Each table seated ten people, and there wasn’t an empty seat in the house.
Aunt May, being in her element, felt good to her soul. Bingo night had everything she needed for a good time: conversation, the chance to mingle with friends, as well as the opportunity to win some cash. A thin layer of cigarette smoke floating above their heads poisoned the atmosphere. The vast majority of those assembled were running through a pack of Slims sitting at their side. The crowd sat puffing and chatting while marking off key phrases in their crossword puzzle books as the brief intermission ensued.
“So, now I think she likes him. I told the child he didn’t want none of what she had. You can’t tell these kids a thing these days,” Aunt May gossiped to her friend and neighbor, with whom she’d hitched a ride there, Peggy Avarice.
The 74-year-old widow with no children lived next to the abandoned lot. She’d lived in her house for over fifty years and naturally seen all the goings-on in the neighborhood.
Peggy snapped her neck, turning to face May. “Are you talking about that weirdo landlord of yours?”
“What makes him a weirdo? He just knows what he wants and what he doesn’t want.” May rebuffed, sliding her book to the side to place her ten bingo sheets out in front of her.
“That’s not what I mean,” Peggy quickly cleared up the misunderstanding. “I’m talking about the fact that he’s always out there digging into the ground in the middle of the night.”
“What is he doing out there?”
“One day, I saw him out there watering the flowers, and I asked him. I said, ‘Hey, I saw you out here in the middle of the night. Were you burying something or digging it up?’” She motioned with her hands, adding animation to her claims.
“Ooohs,” erupted from a few of the other players sitting at their table as Peggy had successfully garnered their attention, something her raspy voice usually did effortlessly.
“He told me he was outside building the foundation for a shed. Funny thing is he must have been building that shed for over a decade now. He was no more than 9 or 10 years old the first time I saw him out there digging.” Peggy paused to puff her cigarette, allowing what she’d revealed to sink in.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” May inquired, shocked her friend had kept such a thing secret.
“I had no idea you were going to push your niece into the arms of a crazy man.”
“There has to be some explanation.”
“Other than the fact that he’s probably out there hiding something he doesn’t want anyone else to see. What if his sister is not even buried at the cemetery?” Peggy protested.
“Why don’t we find out is a better question?” Wilson Moral, a male spectator, chimed in.
“Now, we’re talking,” his old pal Grady Meek spoke up as he leaned into the table.
Following suit, May sat up, leaning in closer to the table. “Wait, what are we talking about here?” she quietly inquired.
Wilson flicked his thumb across the flint wheel of the lighter to ignite his Marlboro Red. “I’m saying we should find out if he’s the kind of guy you want your niece to be hanging around with,” he replied, masking intentions he would allow to surface in due time.
“I’ll drive.” Tom, another elderly man sitting nearby, chimed in, volunteering. The stoma at the front of his neck caused his speech to sound somewhat guttural. One would think that, along with the cancer he had contracted, it would put a halt to his smoking. It had done just the opposite. Tom was the type of man who refused to let circumstances determine the way he lived his life. He did what he wanted, whenever he wanted.
“Well, look who it is. Tom Swine. I haven’t seen you in over a decade. I thought you were a permanent snowbird. When did you get back into town?”
“Just a few weeks ago. I thought it time I came home.”
And just like that, the five of them had formed a gang: Peggy, May, Grady, Tom, and Wilson.
Chapter 14
Dinner Guests Arrive
Back at the house, Gertrude’s doorbell chimed as she stood admiring her reflection in the mirror atop the vanity in the hallway bathroom. She twisted left, then right, checking to make sure her exposed back was adequately moisturized.
“Perfect.” Gertrude blew herself a kiss, then furnished her reflection a wink before rushing off to answer the door. Her body smelled as if it had been dipped in coconut. Freshly washed coils bounced atop her shoulders, strands nearly intertwining with the spaghetti straps of her sundress as she trotted down the hall.
She paused upon reaching the front door, resting her hand on the knob. There, Gertrude took in a deep breath, forcing it out in one quick huff, hoping to quell her nerves along with its release.
“Wow. You look really pretty.” Ronald admitted upon laying his eyes on the beauty he beheld. “I feel underdressed.”
“Thank you. You look handsome as usual. I see you took your hair down,” a blushing Gertrude remarked as her eyes devoured him, imagining how oiled he was under his black V-neck T-shirt.
Ronald’s freshly trimmed goatee was lined up perfectly above his strawberry lips. The ginger coils dangling past his shoulders glistened from his shower. Not a trace of Arthur Columbus’s blood remained.
“Are you going to let me in, or are we eating al fresco?”
“I’ve got to get better at this,” she remarked, recalling the last
time she had left him standing at the door. “Come right in.” Gertrude stepped to the side, finally allowing his entry. “Would you like for me to take that off your hands?” she added, referring to the bottle of white wine in his clutches.
“I can open it. Just point me to your corkscrew.”
“Come on. It’s in the kitchen,” Gertrude closed the front door, then proceeded to lead the way.
Ronald paused, not moving from where he stood. “You’re not going to lock the door?”
“Oh . . . I didn’t even realize I hadn’t.” Gertrude went back, twisting the lock. “There . . . We’re all safe and sound. Come on,” she brushed by him, caressing the back of his arm to usher him forward along with her.
The embrace worked. He followed, though determined to state his piece. “You should always lock your door. There are way too many bad people out here.”
“I know. You’re right, Ronald. Being from the South Side of Chicago, I should already be accustomed to it. I don’t know what made me forget.” She knew exactly what made her forget. It was the tall, handsome man standing beside her, regardless of whether she was willing to admit it.
“It smells delicious in here. Is that garlic bread?”
“It is, and it’s just about ready.” Gertrude rushed over to the stove with an oven mitt just as the oven alarm sounded. “The corkscrew is in the drawer behind you,” she said, opening the oven, allowing the hot air to escape.
Ronald opened the wine, setting it inside the bucket of ice Gertrude had placed at the center of the table. Everything looked delicious—even Gertrude as she approached with a casserole dish full of goulash.
He leaned back in the kitchen chair, admiring her essence. I could get used to this.
At the same time, Gertrude inched closer, looking into his eyes. I sure could get used to this.
However, thoughts were quickly tarnished by surprise guests....
“What’s for dinner, kids?” Aunt May blurted seemingly out of nowhere.
“Aunt May,” a startled Gertrude turned toward the kitchen’s entrance. “I thought you were going to be playing bingo for a least a few more hours.”
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