expectancy of most FAS/FAE victims, Howie was the main reason Willard, now in his early forties, was still around. Since no one wanted to see Auntie Balasha burdened with Willard’s care, Howie had a free get-out-of-jail card with most Park rats.
Of course, should he cease caring for Willard in the style to which the Park had become accustomed, said get-out-of-jail-free card was liable to be revoked, immediately and without notice. “Where’s Howie?” Kate said again.
“I dunno,” Willard said. “Around somewhere.” He brightened again. “Say, Kate, you know Maggie, up front?”
“I do know Maggie, Willard.”
“She’s got some of those Girl Scout cookies, you know, the ones with the chocolate in ’em?”
Willard was always hungry and he had a fatal predilection for anything sweet. “You want some?” Kate said.
Willard nodded, his head bobbing so hard he knocked Anakin Skywalker out of his shirt pocket. His eyes went wide with dismay and he caught the little action figure in clumsy hands just before it crashed on the floor. “Wow,” he said, patting Anakin on the head and tucking him back into his pocket with reverential care. “That was close.” He looked at Kate. “So will you ask her, Kate?” Cookies he could remember.
“I’ll ask her,” Kate said.
Willard beamed again.
Turning, she caught sight of Petey Jeppsen in the opposite cell. “Hey, Petey.”
Petey, lying flat on his back and staring at the ceiling, said, “Hey, Kate.”
“What for this time?”
Petey was tall and thin, with deep-set dark blue eyes, hollow cheeks, and stiff dishwater-blond hair cut short in no perceptiblestyle. He wore worn jeans and a dark blue fleece over a plaid shirt. His voice was deep and low and would have been pleasant on the ear but for its suggestion of a whine. It was only a suggestion, though, a distinct improvement from the last time she’d had any serious contact with him, when the whine was threatening to take over his entire world view.
He had closed his eyes at her question, willing her away. She stood where she was. He sighed and opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling again. “Howie Katelnikof knew a guy who—”
“Yeah, you can stop right there,” Kate said. “Come on, Petey, you know better than to hook up with Howie for any reason whatever. What the hell were you thinking?” Not to mention that Petey was here and Howie wasn’t. She was proud of the mercy she showed by not pointing that out.
He took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. He sat up, slowly. He leaned forward, slowly, to rest his elbows on his knees. He raised his head to look at her, slowly. “What the hell else am I supposed to do, Kate?”
“Get a job?” Kate said.
He snorted, but there wasn’t much life in it. “Nobody wants to hire a felon.” He was gathering steam and in spite of the subject matter she was glad to see there was some life left in the kid. He was only—what? Twenty-two? Twenty-three? “Nobody wants to hire a felon, or rent them an apartment, or make a car loan to one, either.”
Have you ever been convicted of a felony? The question was on every job application, every loan application, every rental agreement. “There are programs,” she said. “Your probation officer—”
He laughed. There was no amusement in the sound. “My PO. I check in with him once a week just so he can tell me how worthless I am. Yeah, he’ll get me set up with a program, all right. He probably gave my name to Howie when Howie went looking for someone tohelp him clean out that garage. And his first call right after that was probably to Chopper Jim.”
“Your folks—”
“No,” he said, his voice rising. “They told me never to come back. I don’t want to, anyway. I’ve had about all I can stand of preaching.”
The Jeppsens were born-again Christian fundamentalists who had moved to the Park twenty-some years before. Except for a dispute with the Kreugers over a common property line that had escalated into a shoot-out
Of course, should he cease caring for Willard in the style to which the Park had become accustomed, said get-out-of-jail-free card was liable to be revoked, immediately and without notice. “Where’s Howie?” Kate said again.
“I dunno,” Willard said. “Around somewhere.” He brightened again. “Say, Kate, you know Maggie, up front?”
“I do know Maggie, Willard.”
“She’s got some of those Girl Scout cookies, you know, the ones with the chocolate in ’em?”
Willard was always hungry and he had a fatal predilection for anything sweet. “You want some?” Kate said.
Willard nodded, his head bobbing so hard he knocked Anakin Skywalker out of his shirt pocket. His eyes went wide with dismay and he caught the little action figure in clumsy hands just before it crashed on the floor. “Wow,” he said, patting Anakin on the head and tucking him back into his pocket with reverential care. “That was close.” He looked at Kate. “So will you ask her, Kate?” Cookies he could remember.
“I’ll ask her,” Kate said.
Willard beamed again.
Turning, she caught sight of Petey Jeppsen in the opposite cell. “Hey, Petey.”
Petey, lying flat on his back and staring at the ceiling, said, “Hey, Kate.”
“What for this time?”
Petey was tall and thin, with deep-set dark blue eyes, hollow cheeks, and stiff dishwater-blond hair cut short in no perceptiblestyle. He wore worn jeans and a dark blue fleece over a plaid shirt. His voice was deep and low and would have been pleasant on the ear but for its suggestion of a whine. It was only a suggestion, though, a distinct improvement from the last time she’d had any serious contact with him, when the whine was threatening to take over his entire world view.
He had closed his eyes at her question, willing her away. She stood where she was. He sighed and opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling again. “Howie Katelnikof knew a guy who—”
“Yeah, you can stop right there,” Kate said. “Come on, Petey, you know better than to hook up with Howie for any reason whatever. What the hell were you thinking?” Not to mention that Petey was here and Howie wasn’t. She was proud of the mercy she showed by not pointing that out.
He took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. He sat up, slowly. He leaned forward, slowly, to rest his elbows on his knees. He raised his head to look at her, slowly. “What the hell else am I supposed to do, Kate?”
“Get a job?” Kate said.
He snorted, but there wasn’t much life in it. “Nobody wants to hire a felon.” He was gathering steam and in spite of the subject matter she was glad to see there was some life left in the kid. He was only—what? Twenty-two? Twenty-three? “Nobody wants to hire a felon, or rent them an apartment, or make a car loan to one, either.”
Have you ever been convicted of a felony? The question was on every job application, every loan application, every rental agreement. “There are programs,” she said. “Your probation officer—”
He laughed. There was no amusement in the sound. “My PO. I check in with him once a week just so he can tell me how worthless I am. Yeah, he’ll get me set up with a program, all right. He probably gave my name to Howie when Howie went looking for someone tohelp him clean out that garage. And his first call right after that was probably to Chopper Jim.”
“Your folks—”
“No,” he said, his voice rising. “They told me never to come back. I don’t want to, anyway. I’ve had about all I can stand of preaching.”
The Jeppsens were born-again Christian fundamentalists who had moved to the Park twenty-some years before. Except for a dispute with the Kreugers over a common property line that had escalated into a shoot-out
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