Dead Money Run Read Free Page A

Carrying money around in prison was never easy. Some guys went to the extreme of keeping their money in a small stainless steel tube and shoving it up their rear with a string attached so they could remove it when they had to. For me, the sock trick was more my style.
     

Chapter 6
    A t the bus station, I caught a break. The bus out of Atlanta was an express to Jacksonville. The downside was to get to Jacksonville Beach I had to take a local.
    It was two in the morning when the bus arrived at the Pearl Street bus station in Jacksonville. All I had in my pocket was the thirty-five dollars left from the hundred the prison had given me and the two, one hundred dollar bills under my left foot. Looking around the bus terminal, besides being tired, I felt a little lost.
    “You need a ride.”
    Turning around I saw a girl who looked to be about fifteen years old. No, make that eighteen.
    “Wh o were you expecting to see, Stanley?” she dead panned. I was so tired I wasn’t sure of the answer.
    “ My name is not Stanley,” I said.
    “Please bore me with the details,” she said.
    “I need a place to sleep and a way to get to Jacksonville Beach,” I said.
    “I can do that. What’s your name? Mine’s Hilary Kelly.”
    I refocused my eyes and took a closer look. The girl was really a woman and who could pass for eighteen about ten years ago. She had crow’s feet at the corners of each eye and her complexion had seen more than its share of sun. Pulled down in front of her face was a floppy hat that made it difficult to get a good look at her. She looked attractive, in a cute sort of way. Besides, I was tired and had nothing to lose.
    “Mine’s Lou Malloy. Pleased to meet you, Hilary. You got a car or are you on foot.”
    “Motorcycle. You okay with that?”
    “Sure.” In for a penny, in for a pound my old Pappy used to say.
    I had never ridden on the back of a motorcycle before. It was an interesting experience. The little Honda bike didn’t have a sissy bar to hold on to, so I had to wrap my hands around Hilary’s waist to keep from falling backwards. The little bike had more kick than I thought it would.
    It had been over fifteen years since I had been with a woman and, back then, I was just getting started. Holding onto her waist, I could feel her body flex with each turn and acceleration. I fought off the sexual experience. As she accelerated into each turn, she seemed to sense my arousal and leaned into me making things worse, but I worked my mind into thinking of something else. After about ten minutes we turned into a small court with twelve small trailers in it. Three trailers down, she stopped the bike in front of one that had seen better days.
    “Okay. We are here,” she said, bringing the bike to a stop.
    Here was not much. Someone had taken a can of silver spray paint and sprayed it on the outside to cover up some of the rust. The park was the size of a hundred by one fifty foot lot with hook-ups for the trailers. However, at two in the morning, I couldn't be sure of anything. I stood by the front door waiting for Hilary to unlock it. After she did, she stepped back and with the sweep of her hand, ushered me inside. Reaching around the door, she turned a light on. Inside, everything was built in. I was surprised by its compactness and how clean it was. Dropping my bag on the floor, I sat down on the couch. I was so tired my mind was a blank. I had some questions, but they would wait until later. Sitting down was the last thing I remembered.
    In my dream, I was talking with my sister. She was telling me how glad she was to see me and the plans she had for us. Said she wanted us to be like a family. I didn't remember what I said, probably nothing. After fifteen years, what was there to say? I tried to touch her and got a sense of falling toward her. She was smiling and reaching out for me when I felt movement around me.
    In prison , I learned early not to react too quickly to things stirring around me