Sendoff for a Snitch by KM Rockwood Read Free Book Online Page A

said, “You need a raincoat.”
    I shrugged. She might be right, but that didn’t get me a raincoat.
    “Wait,” she said, reaching under the counter. She pulled up a roll of black plastic trash bags.
    “I know it’s not elegant,” she said as she pulled one off the roll and reached for a pair of scissors, “but it should help.” She cut down the back seam of the bag, then cut a hole in each side near the bottom. “If you put this over your shirt, but under the jacket, it’ll keep the water off your shirt and help keep the warmth in.”
    She flipped it upside down and handed it to me. I slipped one arm through each hole and pulled the cut seam together in the front. Then I put the jacket on. It was chilly, but she was right—the wetness didn’t reach my already damp shirt.
    “My dad used to take me camping when I was a kid,” she said, “and he always said there was no point in hauling along a raincoat as long as we had plastic trash bags.”
    She took another bag and cut a bottom corner off diagonally. “Here,” she said. “You tuck this inside your hat, and it’ll make a waterproof lining.”
    She certainly had a point. The slick plastic wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it would keep my head dry.
    “Nothing I know of to do for your feet,” she said, frowning down at my wet work boots.
    I didn’t know of anything, either.
    “You’ll just have to change into something else when you get home.”
    Change into what? I didn’t own another pair of boots. Or shoes. Once again, I wasn’t going to let her know how poverty-stricken I was.
    She glanced around, then pulled a few more bags off the roll. Bundling them with the one she’d cut the corner off, she handed them to me. “Here. These might come in handy. Stick them in your pocket.”
    Gratefully, I took them. Maybe I could carry this concept a little further and figure out a way to keep my feet dry, too. I did have some clean, dry socks.
    Opening the door, I headed out into gale-force winds. Rain pelted me from every direction. I ducked my head close to my chest. Mandy’s makeshift waterproof linings were working, though. My blue jeans clung to my legs. I wasn’t sure I could feel my feet, and my arms were getting soaked, but my head and torso were not getting any wetter, and the wool jacket and watch cap were actually holding in body heat. Assuming my body was producing any heat.
    I hurried home. I’d only have time for a few hours sleep before I was supposed to report to work at midnight for a welcome Saturday shift. I took overtime shifts whenever they were offered. The time and a half pay came in handy. And if the power did go off and we couldn’t work for a few days, it would be even more important.
    Water careened down the outdoor stairs that led to my apartment and gurgled down the drain set in the concrete. Thank goodness that drain was working better than the ones in the underpass by the railroad tracks.
    Once inside, I striped off all my wet clothes. Even my underwear was damp. The unpredictable radiator was cranking out heat, so I hung the blue jeans and shirt over that. Moving one of my kitchen chairs close to it, I pulled out the tongues from my boots and propped them on the seat of the chair so the insides were facing the radiator. The jacket I turned inside out and hung over the back.
    Shivering, I pulled on dry clothes and dumped a can of chili into my frying pan. It was either that or ramen noodles, and I was hungry enough that I wanted a filling meal. While that was heating, I made two peanut butter sandwiches for work and stuck them in my lunchbox. I filled the thermos with instant coffee and stowed it next to sandwiches. Not exactly an appetizing lunch, but come four a.m., I would be very glad I had it.
    When the chili was hot, I scarfed it down, swallowed a scalding cup of instant coffee, rinsed out the pan and the bowl, set my alarm clock, and tumbled into bed. I didn’t like to go to work tired—it was too easy to do