A Guardian of Innocents by Jeff Orton Read Free Book Online

truck.
    Then another scream echoed through the parking lot, followed by, “No! Let go of me, you bastard!”
    A masculine voice answered her, “So this is what you’ve been doing, huh? You been selling it on the side too?”
    What in the holy fuck is this? I thought. I knelt beside an old Ford Bronco and opened my mind, trying to concentrate on what the owners of the two voices were thinking.
    From the man I heard whore whore fucking whore, but the woman’s thoughts were wordless. From her I just felt bursts of high emotion like fireworks in a clear night sky. Intense fear, outrage that her boyfriend had followed her here and embarrassment that her occupation as a stripper at a dirty, low-class tit bar had been discovered.
    They were so wrapped up in their heated argument I wondered if they’d even heard the gunshots. Hell, in neighborhoods like this I’m sure people heard gunfire at all hours of the night. Maybe they had heard it, but just shrugged it off. Who knows? Who cares? I never found out.
    I was confident then that I’d been ducking past vehicles for nothing. So I stood up and casually walked across the street, constantly scanning the area to see if there really was anyone who’d seen what I’d done to Jack. The gun and my hands were in my pockets. My crotch was uncomfortably cold and wet now, as well as my right arm all the way up to my elbow.
    Why is my arm wet? I thought. I looked down and gazed at the blood that had saturated the sleeve of my flannel shirt. Even with my hands all the way down in the deep pockets of my baggy jeans, the blood stains still stretched about three to four inches past the rim of the pocket. Jack’s blood had cooled and was starting to get sticky.
    Coagulation, gotta love it!
    Behind me, the couple continued their fight, “Fuck you! Fuck you! It’s over! Get the fuck away from me you psychotic asshole!”
    “Over?” the man yelled, “I’ll tell you when it’s fucking over you whoring little bitch!”
    As I opened the door of my car, I glanced back and observed the man shove his girlfriend against the door of her SUV. Part of me wanted to step in just then, but I knew I had problems of my own to deal with.
    I got in the driver’s seat and quickly wiped the blood from my hands and the gun with a black towel I always kept in the Nova to cover up my portable CD player. It was the only thing I had worth stealing in that beat-to-shit car.
    With the keys still hanging in the ignition, I tried to start the Nova and heard a protesting rurr ur ur ur ur. . .  
    “Oh fuck, fuck no, fuck no!” I wheezed. A gaping hole formed in my stomach, burning with panic.
    In those few seconds I saw my future unfold before me. . .
    Police eye a conspicuous vehicle parked across the street while someone is drawing a line of chalk around Jack’s limp body. After running a tag trace, they discover this vehicle is registered in Jack’s name. They start asking why two of his vehicles were at the crime scene and I see myself on the run, not being able to return home, living homeless in the back alleys of Fort Worth until the cops finally find me and haul my ass off to prison.
    Even though I was an atheist back then I silently thanked God when the engine turned over on the second try. I put the gear in drive and accidentally squealed the tires a bit in my anxiousness to get out of the parking lot. As I turned right onto the street, I glanced left and saw the boyfriend brace the girl against her vehicle with his forearm, pushing up against her neck. He used his free arm to deliver an uppercut punch to her stomach, hard enough to make her feet leave the ground for a second.
    I braked, screeching to a stop in the middle of the street, uncertain if I wanted to risk getting caught so I could help this girl. My decision was made easier for me when a half-dozen bouncers in black t-shirts marked “STAFF” erupted from the front doors of Stiletto’s.
    Satisfied the girl would be saved in approximately