Twenty Palaces: A Prequel Read online

  Twenty Palaces

  By

  Harry Connolly

  Copyright © 2011, Harry Connolly

  CHAPTER ONE

  I stepped off the bus into the November wind and drizzle. I'd gotten out of doors in the last three years, of course--they'd let us into the yard nearly every day--but now that I had my freedom, weather made me feel exposed and alone.

  And I was glad. I was a free man again.

  At the far end of the bus station, Uncle Karl leaned against the wall. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and moved through the crowd toward him, taking care not to jostle or bump anyone. Bumping up against some stranger didn't mean the same thing outside as it did in, but old habits die hard.

  It had been fifteen years since I'd seen my uncle and I was startled by the lines in his face and the ash gray in his mustache. He'd worn his big blue Seattle PD uniform, gun, badge, handcuffs, and hat, and he stood as near the exit as he could without being on the other side of the door.

  He wasn't going to make things easy, but that was fine. I was ready. When I got close enough, he jerked his thumb at the passenger side of a Chrysler Sebring sedan and said: "Door's unlocked." He didn't smile or offer to shake my hand, and he'd skipped right over Welcome to town. How was your trip.

  I nodded and we went outside. I tried the passenger door and found it locked. "Other one," Karl said.

  Of course. I climbed into the back seat, setting my backpack and manila folder beside me. Then I clicked the seat belt across my chest. I was a seat-belt person now. A paycheck person. If I was lucky.

  Karl pulled out of the parking lot and drove through the city. I had the same view as the last time I'd ridden in a car--the back of a cop's head. At least I wasn't handcuffed this time.

  "Thank you," I said. Seat-belt people were polite people. Karl just looked into the rear view mirror and scowled. "Uncle Karl, can I ask a favor? I mean, beyond all the favors you're already doing for me?"

  "What is it?" His voice was as flat as a piece of sheet metal.

  "The bus was late getting in, and I'm supposed to meet a guy about a job. He's a guy I knew in junior high and he said I should look him up right away before he goes off shift."

  "Your aunt has dinner waiting for you."

  It sounded like an accusation and for a moment I didn't know what to do. I wanted a real job as soon as I could get one, but my aunt and uncle were taking me in. I didn't want to insult them before I'd even arrived.

  "Where is it?" Uncle Karl asked. "I'm sure your aunt will understand."

  Not fifteen minutes later, he pulled up to the curb at a little business district not far from the house I'd grown up in. My uncle scowled at me through the rear view mirror. "Is that what you're wearing to the interview?"

  I glanced down at my brown Dockers and the white button down I'd picked up in a Valley Thrift Store. Interview? I'd never been to a real job interview in my life and it startled me to hear the word. I thought I was just meeting a guy. Should I have worn a tie?

  It didn't matter because I didn't have one. My second-hand backpack had my other clothes, but none were as nice as what I was wearing. "I guess so."

  "Are you going to ask me to wait for you?"

  "No," I answered quickly, reading his tone and expression. Uncle Karl wasn't going to be waiting around for me to do anything. "I remember your address. I'll come straight there after."

  He nodded. I scrambled out of the car, leaving my backpack on the seat. I couldn't bring it to an interview.

  The business was a copy shop. There was a clock above the cash register that said it was two minutes to seven, but Wally, the guy I'd come to see, was nowhere in sight. Had he left early?

  There were two employees behind the desk--one was a teenage boy with a brush of fake orange hair and piercings through his eyebrows, the other was an aggressively bland college-age girl with her collar buttoned tightly across her throat.

  The only customer was working a self-serve machine. I walked to the counter and the bland woman met me there.

  "Hello." I remembered to smile. "I'm looking for Wally King."

  Her face turned sour, then became Professionally Dismissive. "I'm sorry. He isn't here."

  The teenager found a stack of papers to sort at the counter, moving close enough to eavesdrop. He wasn't subtle about it. I pressed on: "Do you know when he'll be in? He asked me to meet him here and give him this." I opened the manila folder. A sheet of paper floated out, slid across the top of the counter and bumped the woman's arm. "Oops," I said, suddenly feeling ridiculous. "I didn't mean to shoot it at you like that."

  She glanced at the paper. It was the job application Wally had sent me, all filled out.

  "No, I don't know when he'll be here." She had something more she wanted to say and despite herself, couldn't hold it back. "He hasn't been in to work for three days. We've been short-handed."

  She managed to make it sound like a plea for sympathy and an accusation at the same time. The teenager spoke up. His voice was surprisingly deep. "He's off stalking his ex."

  Bland Woman cut off that line of discussion quickly. "Sorry. We can't help you."

  If Wally hadn't show up for three days, I figured he didn't want his job anymore--At least, he didn't want it as much as I did. "Do you have any openings? I can work any hours."

  The bell above the front door jangled. "Ray! You made it!"

  Wally came through the door and spread his arms wide. He was as fat as I remembered, but he'd grown sloppy, too. His face was flushed and blotchy. His clothes were a mismatched clash of yellow plaid and green stripes. Even his sneakers were mismatched. His hair, however, was carefully blow-dried and gelled into place.

  I had to force myself to say it: "Wally. It's good to see you." I let myself be hugged and slapped on the back. Wally was all smiles.

  "Hey Andrea, Oscar," Wally said. "Did Ronnie fire me yet?"

  Andrea seemed put out, as though Wally had ruined a speech she'd prepared. "Well, he hasn't said anything to me, but we've been short-handed all this week."

  "Let's make it official: I quit. Ray here can take my place. I kinda promised him a jay oh bee."

  I stepped away from Wally and focused on Andrea immediately. "I'll work hard," I said. "I need this job. I can cover any hours and I'll work hard and... I take beatings like a pack mule."

  Andrea wrinkled her lip and looked over my application for the first time. "It says here you've been to jail. For Battery."

  "He was probably sticking up for someone," Wally said. "Ray's like that."

  "Not any more." I gave Wally a cold look, trying to back him off. "I learned a hard lesson. I don't do that anymore."

  Wally walked behind the counter. "If you recommend him, Ronnie'll give him a couple shifts. Let me get my stuff from the office."

  Andrea wouldn't look at me, and Oscar was watching me too closely. I'd have had better luck if I hadn't mentioned Wally at all, and damn if I wasn't going to have to walk all the way to my aunt and uncle's house without a job. "Please. Like a pack mule."

  The bell above the front door jangled again. "Wally!" I turned to see who was shouting, and there, standing in the doorway, was Jon Burrows.

  I felt woozy all of a sudden, as though I was starting to unravel. I staggered back against the wall. Andrea grabbed a fistful of Oscar's shirt and said: "That's him!" With her other hand, she pulled a tiny gold cross from beneath her collar and clutched it.

  "Jon!" Wally called from the far end of the room. "Stroll on in here!"

  Jon did an exaggerated strut toward him, moving away from me. "Look at me, Wally, you fucking genius!" He lifted his knees high and punched his thighs, and the motion made him turn slightly so I could see the edge of
his face. His hair was too long and he was carrying a good-sized pot belly, but it was him. Even after 15 years, I knew him on sight. And he was walking.

  Without even realizing what I was doing, I started toward the exit.

  Wally leaned on the counter. "One hundred percent vertical, my friend."

  "Friend?" Jon said. He jumped across the counter, grabbed Wally, and kissed the side of his head.

  "Excuse me," Andrea cut in. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but... Would you tell me how it happened?"

  Jon glanced at the cross in her hand. "It was a miracle."

  "Jon," Wally said. "You'll never guess who's here."

  And I was through the door and gone.

  I'd barely gotten twenty feet when I heard the copy shop door jingle again. I ducked into the recessed storefront of a darkened Hallmark store. It wasn't really cover, but it was all I had.

  Jon charged out of the copy shop and looked up and down the block. It must have been darker than I thought, because he couldn't see me. "Ray!" he called. I watched him, feeling the breeze on my face. He took a deep breath through his nose, as though smelling a flower. "Ray!! RAY!!"

  I leaned back and closed my eyes, keeping very still. Then, as soon as Jon went back into the copy shop, I bolted from cover and ran.

  By the time I reached Karl and Theresa's house, I was exhausted. I'd run the first six blocks, then traded off jogging and walking the rest of the way, keeping to small residential streets as much as possible.

  I didn't want Jon or Wally to catch up to me in a car, and they didn't. Whether that was because they didn't look for me or they didn't find me, I couldn't tell. I knew which one I hoped it would be, but what did that matter? "Hope" was a four-letter word I couldn't bring myself to say.

  So when I arrived at my aunt and uncle's house, I was sweaty, disheveled, and still unemployed. It was Karl who answered the door. "Well?"

  "I'll try someplace else tomorrow."

  He sighed, disappointed. He also didn't move out of the way to let me in. Just as I wondered if I was going to sleep on the lawn, Aunt Theresa bustled by him and clasped my hands.

  She was smaller and rounder than I remembered, and she seemed more beaten down. Her knuckles were crooked, making her fingers come off her hands at an angle, but if her arthritis pained her, she didn't show it. "Raymond, it's... Oh, come here!" She put her arms around me and gave me my second hug in years, and the first one I was glad to have. "It's good to have you back," she said to my ear.

  "Thank you."

  "Come in, come in. Did it go well? Never mind, I don't care if you have the job right this second. You'll get one, I'm sure. Dinner is waiting for you, but Karl and I have already eaten, of course, since it's so late. Are you hungry?"

  "Yes," I was surprised by the force behind my answer. In fact, I was starving.

  "Good! I made stew because you used to love it. I hope you still do."

  I told her I did as she led me through the house. The furnishings were simple, worn, and slightly dusty. Karl certainly wasn't going to run a feather duster over the place, and I was sure Aunt Theresa did what she could. As soon as I found a feather duster or whatever, I was going to go over the whole room.

  She sat me at the table, then bustled to the stove. As she reached for a dutch oven, I started to get out of my chair to help, but Uncle Karl laid his hand on my shoulder. I sat again. She'd ask for help if she wanted it. Karl sat opposite me.

  The stew was so good I gasped at the first bite. "See? I knew you would need some real food. Certainly better than you're used to, right?" I nodded as she sat beside me. "And another thing! You're not a guest, not here. You're family, so don't get all worried about what's proper. If you're hungry, eat. Lonely, visit. That's how I want it."

  "I'm glad," I said. "And after dinner I'll take out the trash and do the dishes, right? Family."

  "I like this better already!"

  Uncle Karl wasn't smiling. "It's easy to start strong and then blow it. You aren't going to blow it, are you?" He didn't seem to expect an answer so I didn't offer one. "I've seen a lot of young guys try to go straight after they came out. Do you know why they fail?"

  "They commit crimes?"

  I regretted it as soon as I said it, but Karl pretended he hadn't heard. "They think they paid their debt in full just because they walked out of their cell. They think they have a clean slate. Truth is, you haven't finished paying your debt. People are going to keep taking pieces of you, treating you with disrespect, making you wait for things, and making you struggle for things. You think you've paid your debt, but you haven't."

  "I'm not going back."

  "Good, because here are the rules. No trouble, and nothing that looks like trouble. No loud music, no piles of beer bottles in the recycling, no buddies dropping by at 1 a.m. I don't care if it's a midnight prayer and needlepoint society; if it looks like trouble, I don't want it here."

  Aunt Theresa scowled at him. "Oh, Karl..."

  "No, it's all right," I said. "I want the same thing. No trouble."

  "Good," he said. "Tell us about the interview."

  "Jon Burrows was there." I hadn't meant to say it, but it came out anyway. My aunt and uncle looked at each other, and I knew they weren't surprised at all. "How long ago did he...?"

  It was Uncle Karl who answered. "Sometime within the last few days. Did he say how it happened?"

  The way he asked the question made me wary. I'd spent the last few years refusing to answer cops' questions, but what the hell, I was starting a new life. "He said it was a miracle, but I think he was full of... I think he was lying."

  "Why do you think that?"

  "His expression. His tone. The woman asking the question was fiddling with a cross at the time--I think he was saying what she wanted to hear."

  Karl nodded. He took a dishtowel off the end of the table, revealing a newspaper. He passed it to me. The headline read "Miracle or Hoax?" and just below it were two pictures: One showing Jon in a wheelchair, his slack face partly covered by his long hair, and the other showing him standing in his yard, laughing. It was dated yesterday.

  I was about to say that I wasn't hungry anymore, but my bowl was empty. I didn't need an excuse to get up from the table. I carried the bowl to the sink and started washing the dishes. Aunt Theresa fussed over me a bit, trying to get me to take a second helping, but eventually she gave me a hug and let me get back to work. Uncle Karl stayed behind, watching me closely.

  "You can take that paper with you if you want. The key to the apartment is just beside it."

  "Thanks, I will. Is there anything in the article worth reading?"

  "Only that Burrows's insurance company is suing him for fraud. Listen, if this guy has broken the law--even if he's suspected of it--that makes him trouble, and you need to keep away from him. It's part of your debt."

  I nodded, not looking up. I'd expected him to say something like that from the moment I saw that headline.

  "By the way," he continued. "Just before you got here, a woman called. Andrea something. She said you can have the late shift at the copy shop tomorrow. Your shift starts at four, but she wants to you come in fifteen minutes early for paperwork. And bring this." He held a slip of pink paper in front of me. WHILE YOU WERE OUT! was printed across the top next to a cheerful cartoon character, and beneath that was a short list scribbled in ball point pen. I couldn't focus on it at first. "If you want the job."

  I snatched it out of his hand, then set it on the counter. Hell yes, I wanted the job.

  My uncle nodded at me, informed me that I'd need extensive training before I was ready to take out the trash, recycling and food compost in Seattle, and left me to finish the dishes. When the drying rack was full and the sink empty, I took the key, the newspaper, and the slip of paper into the backyard.

  My apartment was above a detached garage at the far end of the yard. The stairs creaked and groaned as I climbed them, and while the deadbolt lock was sturdy, the flimsy door it was mounted in had too m
uch glass.

  What the hell. Inside, I found my backpack laying on the couch, looking oddly deflated. My clothes were in the tiny dresser beside the fold-out couch. Against the front wall was a little sink, fridge and two-burner electric stove. Behind it was the bathroom. Against the far wall was an empty bookshelf.

  I switched on a lamp, casting a dim yellow light over everything. My aunt had rented this room to students looking for work and middle-aged men needing a new start. It wasn't spacious, but it was a good place to start over.

  The first thing I did was set aside the papers I'd need for my new job. After that, I went into the bathroom. Through the window, I could see into Aunt Theresa's kitchen window. She and Uncle Karl were sitting at their table, and he was rubbing some kind of salve onto her crooked, arthritic hands. I turned away, feeling like a peeping tom.

  Then, suddenly, I had nothing to do and nowhere to go. There was no TV or game console in the room, and I couldn't imagine going back into my aunt's house, sitting on their couch and watching whatever they were watching.

  It felt like a test. Or maybe I should say it was a trap. I had a lot of ways to fill empty time, but they were all old habits that might land me in jail or get me evicted. I sat on the couch, quietly looking at nothing. In prison I'd lived on the institution's schedule and now I had the freedom to stay up as late as I wanted. It was just fifteen minutes after lights out in Chino, but I slipped under the covers anyway, feeling oddly defeated.

  Tomorrow would be better. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I wanted to concentrate on my new job, how it would work and how I'd behave, but I fell asleep with the image of Jon Burrows standing on the sidewalk, screaming my name.

  CHAPTER TWO

  In the morning, I found myself once again with time I wasn't sure how to fill. The first thing I did was dig an old bicycle out of the garage below my apartment, fix the brakes, and ride to the nearest hardware store. I spent some of my dwindling gate money on a little bell, some string and a few other odds and ends.

  On the way home, I passed an open library. I was surprised that they would issue me a card on the spot and let me walk out the door with a small stack of books. Victims, was my first thought, but I pushed that aside.