The Long Journey Home

By Gary William Ramsey

When Houston, Texas FBI Special Agent, Nathaniel Hemmingway Armstrong, believed that he had lost his young son to a child molester because he was detained, and didn’t pick him up from a childcare center, he was devastated. His wife, Kathy, whom he married when she became pregnant, blamed him for the loss and divorced him, taking all his assets. He suffered a mental breakdown because of the devastating guilt and turned to the bottle to ease his pain. His excessive drinking cost him his job with the FBI and subsequently, he half-heartedly opened a Private Detective business. His only comfort and companion in life was his little mix breed dog, named Nick, who loved Diet Coke and fettuccini afredo, but most of all he adored Nathaniel and attempted to take care of the drunken man. An unscrupulous and sexy young woman, a former gentleman’s club dancer, hatched a plot with her lover to take advantage of Armstrong’s alcoholism and frame him for the murder of her rich, older husband. The plot thickens when Armstrong’s college sweetheart, Layla Sterling, now a lawyer, and the love of his life, agreed to help him if he stopped drinking. As the mystery untangles, there’s a shocking turn of events that leads Armstrong to Mexico City and a life or death involvement with two warring Mexican Drug Cartel Kingpins. With the help of his little dog and his former girlfriend, he struggles to prove his innocence and to solve the mystery of his son’s death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TheFictionWorks
• Release date: Oct 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781581246117

Book preview

Home.

Foreword

Most people who are reasonably healthy, when thinking of life and death, regardless of age, delegate the thoughts of their deaths to humans other than themselves. It is rare that we can comprehend dying, unless we are suffering an incurable condition. We know death exists because we see people dying every day. No human, however, can truly comprehend passing until his moment arrives. We anticipate and understand that our loved ones will die. However, we rarely think empirically of our own ultimate mortality. We simply trust that we will wake up every morning and live our lives.

With this deceptive comprehension of our own mortality, it’s impossible that we can grasp the untimely death of one of our children. Since I have been blessed that both of my daughters are healthy and alive, I don’t pretend to understand the grief of parents who lose a child. The pain and the ensuing depression must be catastrophic.

Many believe that there is an extremely high divorce rate (80-90%) when a couple loses a child. Those claims are based on statistics from a study done in 1985. The strain caused by this horrible burden is devastating.

After a man loses a son and feels some blame for the death, however far-fetched, he will probably lose it mentally. When his wife, who also blames him, leaves and the ensuing divorce accompanies the loss, his will to live is probably broken, regardless of his previous mental strength.

Some may turn to suicide. Others may go to drugs or alcohol. The mind requires a way to escape reality and calm the raging guilt and pain.

This is the story of a man, broken and depressed by the loss of his son, with only a small mixed-breed dog to comfort him. His journey in the hell that is his life takes many turns as he attempts to find The Long Journey Home.

Chapter 1

Nathaniel Hemmingway Armstrong,

I knew it was my mother calling because no one but she would waste the breath to call me by the full atrocious name she hung on me at birth. I was sitting on the floor listening to Won’t You Wear My Ring Around Your Neck by Elvis, playing with my baseball cards. I had traded with my neighbor and playmate James, a Junior Gilliam card from the Brooklyn Dodgers for a Bullet Bob Turley of my beloved Yankees. I popped another peppermint candy in my mouth and hoped she wouldn’t call again. But, of course she did.

Nathaniel Hemmingway Armstrong, you better answer me right now!

What do you want, Mama? I yelled back.

Come help me catch a chicken, so we can have it for supper, she yelled right back at me.

I loved country-fried chicken, but I hated the part of wringing the chicken’s neck. Mama didn’t want to get blood on her hands so I was always assigned the task. Meticulously placing my baseball cards back in the shoebox and putting the lid on, I slid the box under my bed and went to the kitchen where Mama was standing at the sink, wearing a yellow apron, her long black hair coiled up in a bun. She was washing collard greens.

Get that fat hen over there by herself eating the worm, she told me. "She’s good for nothing anyway since she never lays eggs."

Yes Mama, I said, while walking out the door.

I chased that hen for ten minutes before I corralled her, and grabbed her by the neck. I swung the hen three times in a circular motion in the air until her head separated from her body. Her headless carcass fell to the ground flapping and bouncing in the dirt. I held the remains of her bloody head in my hand.

Just as I was about to throw her head down, it turned and looked at me with blank dead eyes.

You murdering bastard, the chicken’s beak squawked.

It clamped down on my thumb with its beak and bit it off. The bloody piece of meat fell to the ground beside her flapping chicken’s body. The chicken’s head proceeded to bite off my index finger. I screamed, Help me Mama, help me! Mama just stood there looking out the window and grinning as the chicken head’s beak bit off all my remaining fingers.

The alarm clock compassionately blared, awaking me from my recurring nightmare. I massaged my sweating noggin and sat up in the bed. My pounding head felt like an over-inflated balloon ready to burst. I opened my bloodshot eyes and tried to recall what caused this friggin hangover. The last thing I remembered was going to the Lone Star bar and sitting there drinking boilermakers with a redhead named Maggie. She was short, well stacked with an infectious laugh. I looked to the other side of the bed to be sure that Maggie didn’t come home with me. Fortunately, no one was there. I didn’t have a clue how I made it home, but I was still wearing the golf shirt and jeans from the day before. I looked down, and my snakeskin cowboy boots were still on my feet.

I swung around and staggered to my feet, feeling an urgent need to get to the bathroom fast. I stepped forward and felt something under my foot. There was a soft yelp and a growl. Looking down, I realized that I had stepped on the tail of Nick, my mixed-breed mutt.

Sorry Nick, I murmured and cautiously stepped around him. He looked up to me with watery eyes and licked my boot. Nick was the only thing I had left from a disastrous divorced settlement with my wife Kathy. The main reason she didn’t want Nick was that he despised her and would regularly piss on her bedroom slippers.

Man, I love that dog.

After twenty minutes of expelling boilermakers and cheese, red pepper and onion nachos from my aching body, I made my way to the kitchen with Nick following me, where I prepared a breakfast of sausage, grits and coffee, split the food into two bowls and put one on the floor for Nick. My pooch loves his sausage and grits, and I’m proud to say hasn’t tasted dog food since Kathy dumped me. I grabbed some spicy tomato juice from the fridge and a bottle of Grey Goose Vodka from the pantry. I chased my breakfast with a Bloody Mary. Nick wanted some too; I poured him a bowl of Diet Coke instead.

Man, I love that dog.

After a second Bloody Mary, I showered, shaved and dressed in an open-collared white shirt, jeans and my favorite grey blazer. After wiping off my boots with a washrag and putting them back on, I stuck my single-action Colt Peacemaker revolver in my belt. Nick barked twice, indicating that he needed to take his morning pee run. I opened the door to my rundown apartment and let him out. I was on the second level and watched Nick scamper down the flight of stairs. Since I am not a barbarian, I downed two cups of black coffee, popped in a peppermint breath mint and left my apartment. Because I could no longer afford a morning paper, I grabbed the one in front of my neighbor Agnes Stanton’s door. Nick and I hated the old hag and he occasionally took a dump on her welcome mat in front of her door. She called the landlord several times trying to get me evicted, but as long as I paid Henry his rent, he didn’t give a shit.

With the paper under my arm, I proceeded to my red fifteen-year-old pick-up truck with the rusty dent in the passenger-side door, which I opened to let Nick in.

Time to go to work, partner, I said. Nick barked and sat down in the passenger seat. I lowered the window on his side halfway down and cranked the truck. As soon as we hit he highway, Nick stuck his head out the window to get some fresh air. It was a beautiful spring day in South Texas with a warm southerly breeze drifting through the palm trees. Since I was drunk most of the time, I didn’t notice the weather, but Nick did.

Man, I love that dog.

After a twenty-minute ride, we arrived at 1010 NASA Road One. Due to the recession and the layoffs at NASA when the space shuttle program was scrapped, the office building was half empty. My small office was on the second level. The only other offices on my level were those of the law firm of Willis and Carpenter. Their offices were luxurious. Mine was a shithole. Just like Agnes Stanton, my neighbor in the apartment building, they wanted me out, but I was paid up in rent for six months. Ol’ Henry owned that building too. And oh yes, Layla worked there.

Nick and I walked to the second door on the right after getting off the elevator. The sign on the door read, N&N Investigations. I became a private eye shortly after I was kicked out of my former job as a Special Agent for the FBI, when for some reason they were less than enthusiastic about my getting drunk and bringing my dog to the office. I called the ASPCA, otherwise known as The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, and reported the FBI, but they told me to go to hell! Surely it was cruel to leave Nick at home alone while I chased crooks for the bureau, but they didn’t see it that way.

I had been drunk or half-drunk almost every day since Kathy dumped me for the damn lawyer, Fleming, who took me for everything I was worth in the divorce settlement. To be honest I was drunk most of the time before that. In the State of Texas a divorce was supposed to divide the assets 50/50 but Donovan Winslow Fleming, Kathy’s lawyer and now husband, worked his magic with the court and left me penniless. I did have one trick up my sleeve. I had won about fifteen thousand dollars on a weekend binge in Las Vegas. Shooting craps when you’re inebriated can be helpful sometimes. I didn’t disclose those funds with the listing of my assets. Ha, ha, shit-asses. I was able to pay six month’s rent on my office and five months of my apartment rent with the loot, but it was running out fast.

When I unlocked the office door, Nick ran to the one chair in front of my old oak desk, the one which would have been reserved for clients if I had ever had any. I laid my cell phone and my Peacemaker down and put a pot of coffee on the stand where I displayed Styrofoam cups and small packs of creamer and sugar that I had taken from the country cooking restaurant, which I frequented to eat pinto beans and collard greens. Other than a picture of Ronald Reagan on the wall above the coffee pot, nothing else cluttered the office. I don’t believe in unnecessary things littering the room, even if I had money to buy more furniture and decorations. I was, however, saving up for another chair.

I took the cup of black coffee and sat down at my desk. Nick barked. I knew what he wanted. I opened one of the drawers in my desk, retrieved a small bowl and poured my coffee in it. I put it on the floor and Nick jumped down and started lapping. I poured myself another cup. When Nick wasn’t looking, I snuck a pint of Jack Daniels out of the desk drawer and spiked my coffee. A little pick-me-up never hurt anyone.

After about two hours of reading Agnes’s newspaper and staring out the window at my spectacular view of the parking lot, I stood up. Time to go to lunch, Nick. After all it was 11:15 already. Nick glared at me. Don’t worry about Agnes’s paper. I’ll put it in front of her door when we get home from work. I just borrowed it. Nick barked twice. I think he wanted to dump on the paper this evening. I looked at him again and I swear he had read my mind and was grinning.

Nick had just barked twice as a reminder that he wanted to dump on a page or two this evening when I heard the unexpected sound of someone knocking on the door. Opening it, I was engulfed in the fragrance of expensive perfume and found myself staring at a fantastic-looking woman, dressed in a white linen suit short enough to reveal long, tan legs set off by white spiked shoes. A diamond studded cross hung around her neck, paired with diamond earrings of at least a carat. I raised my head to her face. Her full lips and her large brown eyes topped off a real looker. She was at least 5’10" and was blessed with D cups.

Oh shit! inadvertently escaped my lips.

If you’re finished gawking, can we come in? she purred.

A very large black man stood behind her wearing a charcoal uniform. This is Buck my chauffeur and bodyguard, she said, walking past me into the room.

Nick jumped out of the client chair, walked to the corner and sat down.

Come in, was all I could manage to say.

She walked over to the chair, looked at Nick in the corner, and took a silk hanky out of her purse, wiped the dog hairs off the chair and took a seat. Buck closed the door and stood in front of it without saying a word.

I want to hire you, she said.

As for me, the only thing that came immediately to my mind was that, without my even noticing it, hell must have frozen over.

Chapter 2

Madelyn Davis married Alexander Stein when she was twenty-one years old. Alexander was the fifty-year-old heir to the Stein fortune. His father Lucas Stein, seventy-five, had made his initial fortune in oil futures and enhanced it later on Wall Street as an investment banker. He became a billionaire at the age of forty.

Alexander met Madelyn at Lipstick’s Gentleman’s Club, which was located just south of Houston, Texas. Madelyn had gone to work there the day after her twenty-first birthday and quickly became the most sought-after lap dancer in the establishment. While most of the dancers raked in twenty bucks a lap dance, she demanded and got forty. Madelyn had long black hair, full lips, legs to kill for and big brown eyes. Her D cups enhanced a slim but curvaceous body. She had it and she flaunted it.

That Saturday night Alexander was celebrating. His father had suffered a heart attack and finally the old shit-ass was going to die. Alexander had been getting by on an allowance of twenty thousand a month and he was tired of scrimping on that piddling sum, while his bastard father was worth over two billion. After flunking out of college and traveling the world for several years, the only work he had ever done was to sit in his VP office at his daddy’s firm and shag the secretaries. His father finally gave up on him and threw him out of the company and his home. However, his mother had demanded that Lucas continue to send Alexander his allowance. After all he was her only child.

During the ensuing years he predominantly partied, slept and drank.

It was about 7 p.m. on that Saturday night when Alexander stumbled into Lipstick’s with three of his pals. At this early hour, there were only about twenty men in the place goggling at the dancers. Alexander ordered a round of margaritas for himself and his friends. After two rounds, he boisterously ordered drinks for the house. I will soon be very rich! he bellowed in a slurred voice. This declaration did not escape Madelyn’s attention.

I can get lots of easy money from that drunken fool, she thought. Madelyn strolled over to the table and sat down. What are you boys celebrating? she asked.

Alexander gazed at the dazzling girl and replied, I’m celebrating meeting you, baby. He pulled out his money clip, handed a wad of twenties to his friends and said, Go have fun, guys. I need to be alone with this gorgeous creature. His friends chuckled and left.

Can I get a dance? he whined, handing her a fistful of twenties. She quickly noticed that he had given her a hundred bucks.

Let’s go to the private VIP section, honey. I can tell that you’re very special. She took him by the hand and led him to the private room designated for the rich players. Madelyn dimmed the lights and directed him to the large red velvet chair located in the center of the room. She sat him down and grabbed the remote from the small table beside the chair, pushed it, and the sounds of Ray Charles singing Georgia on My Mind filled the room. Madelyn moved her hips to the music and began to seductively rub her body against Alexander. She immediately felt his arousal, but teased him. He tried to grab her breasts, however, she took his hand and said, Not now baby, wait awhile.

When the song was finished, Alexander took out his wallet, counted out ten one-hundred dollar bills and said, Don’t stop, I want you for the evening. Two dances later, she didn’t stop him when he unhooked her bra and caressed her magnificent breasts.

She made sure that he had a happy ending, after which he fell asleep. Madelyn tugged the wallet from his pocket and looked at his driver’s license. It read Alexander Stein. The address was 9210 Tensely Drive, Apartment 710, Kemah, Texas, which was located in a posh waterside neighborhood called Waterford Harbor. The apartment buildings were in the front of the large complex. Through the security gate near the back, there was a development of waterfront mansions. Most of the estates were valued at over five million. Madelyn had visited the mansion section previously with a rich client whose wife had been out of town. That night was worth a cool two thousand dollars to her.

She smiled and wrote down his name and address on a napkin. Stein’s wallet was fat with bills. She removed half the cash and stuffed it in her handbag. In his drunken state he wouldn’t know what happened to it. After going to the bathroom, cleaning up and dressing in shorts and a halter-top, she returned to him. Madelyn wanted to be sure that she kept this fish on the hook. She strolled to the bar and grabbed a large cup of black coffee. She returned and gently shook Alexander until his eyes opened. Here honey, drink this. You need it. He took the coffee and sluggishly sipped it. He drained the cup and asked for another.

Listen Alex, if I may call you that? You are in no shape to drive. Why don’t I call a taxi and take you home.

Yes, you can call me Alex, he said. Honey, what’s your name?

Madelyn Davis, she replied.

Will you come home with me? he whined.

Sure Alex, let me grab my bag and call a cab. Madelyn kept a change of clothes and bathroom essentials packed in a bag inside her locker in the event she left with a rich client. Her normal fee for an overnight fling was two grand, but Alex had already given her eleven hundred and she had stolen another eight hundred from his wallet. She felt like if she played this one out, it would be a much bigger score.

The taxi delivered them to the apartment and they enjoyed a nightcap before going to bed. After tantalizing foreplay, Madelyn slowly guided him inside her. She knew that she had him hooked when he finished and whispered in her ear, I love you.

Madelyn moved in with him the following week, and subsequently discovering that he was the heir to his father’s billions, set her sights on hooking him for good.

They were married two months later, much to the chagrin of his mother and dying father.

She reluctantly signed a pre-nup.

Chapter 3

Let me check my calendar to see if I’m available. I opened the drawer to my desk and took out a small appointment book. After studying the blank pages, I said, I think I can work you in. What’s your name and what’s the nature of the job? I couldn’t help allowing my eyes wander to those fantastic legs, as I waited for her answer. I then slowly raised my eyes, passing the D cups and her lush full lips to her big brown eyes. She smiled at me, completely aware that I was checking out her assets.

Mr. Armstrong, I think my darling husband Alex is cheating on me, and I’m heartbroken. She smiled sheepishly as she spoke the words. I knew that she was lying, but what do I care. I needed the money to keep me in booze and Nick in sausage and grits and Diet Coke.

My name is Madelyn Stein. My husband is Alexander Stein. She reached into her Coach purse and pulled out a checkbook. She tore off a check and began to fill it out. Do I make this out to N&N Investigations, she asked.

That’s fine, I said.

By the way what does N&N stand for?

Nat and Nick, I said casually. I’m Nat and that’s Nick." I nodded toward my beloved mutt. Nick barked and stood up. She looked at me quizzically but said nothing. She finished filling out the check and handed it to me.

The check was for five thousand dollars. Will this do for your retainer? she asked.

Yes, I said, trying to appear nonchalant as I sipped my stone-cold coffee, but it will be a thousand a day plus expenses.

Actually I would work for a hundred a day, but a man can’t be criticized for trying.

I almost choked when I heard her say, A thousand a day plus expenses is fine. When can you start?

I coughed, attempting to clear my throat and look unconcerned.

Are you okay? she asked.

Fine, I grunted. Nick barked. I can start first thing in the morning. I said, attempting to look indifferent. I handed her a note pad. Write down your and your husband’s name, address and phone number. Also I want to know where your husband works. If you suspect any particular person he is being unfaithful with, I need her name and address.

I wouldn’t limit it to a her, she said. I don’t have any suspects, but he must be sleeping with someone since he hasn’t touched me for two months.

He must be a weird idiot, I replied laughing. If I was your husband you would be bedded twice a day. I knew it was a stupid remark the moment the words left my lips.

Buck, the big black guy, marched forward, You better be respectful to Ms. Stein or I’ll beat your ass.

Nick jumped to his feet and growled, baring his teeth.

Buck was surprised and stepped back.

I was about to bust my golden goose. Wait, wait, I said. Nick, sit down and shut up. Nick obeyed but kept his eyes riveted on Buck. Nick didn’t like anyone talking harshly to me.

Ms. Stein, I apologize. I intended no disrespect.

She grinned at me. Back off, Buck. The handsome man was paying me a compliment.

Buck returned to the door, but continued to glare alternately at Nick and me. This guy’s going to be a problem, I thought. I looked back at Madelyn. She handed me the information I had asked for.

Nat, I also wrote the security gate code on the paper. It’s a gated community and you’ll need that to get in.

When she was getting up from the chair, she provocatively spread her legs, revealing a black lace thong. Oh shit, what am I getting into? That looks like a Venus flytrap to me. Warning bells resonated in my head. I disregarded the bells and handed her my card. I’ll call you and give you an update, either in person or on the phone in a couple of days.

I prefer my updates in person and with just you and me in attendance, she said.

I looked at her and then I gazed at Buck. He sneered and pursed his lips. I knew he disapproved of her answer, but he knew better than to say anything. I watched her incredible ass as it wagged out of my office. Buck glared again at me when he closed the door.

I looked at Nick, Well partner, we’re in high cotton now. I filled my coffee cup with bourbon and fetched Nick another cup of black coffee. He lapped the coffee and I sipped my bourbon. Occasionally he looked at me, wagged his tale and barked.

Man, I love that dog.

Chapter 4

After ten years of marriage to Alex Stein, Madelyn was at her wits end. The man was now sixty-one years old and ignored her. Both his parents had passed away the year before, but because of the damn pre-nup, she was only given a paltry allowance of eight thousand dollars a month. At least they had moved into his parent’s mansion, which was opulent and suited Madelyn’s lavish expectations.

Alex was intoxicated most of the time and Madelyn tried to take advantage of that. However, his business manager Sam Hart made certain that Madelyn couldn’t touch any of Alex’s money aside from her allowance. She tried to seduce Sam, but he was one of the few men in the country who was faithful to his mousey wife. Only after Alex’s death would she be able to get her hands on the money.

Three months earlier Madelyn had met Rex Davis at one of the numerous parties thrown by her drunken husband. He was a handsome well-built man in his late thirties, who reminded Madelyn of a young Paul Newman. Davis claimed to be an architect who recently moved to Houston from New York. He had met Alex at one of the bars he frequented. Rex was a babe magnet and Alex was looking for a conduit to meet sexy young women, so he befriended him. Rex benefited from the friendship because Alex threw around his money like a drunken sailor.

Rex was very open to Madelyn’s flirtatious innuendos and their affair began at the Hilton Hotel in downtown Houston a week after they met. They had been meeting twice a week for zealous lovemaking ever since. Madelyn’s sole purpose in the sexual relationship was to find an accomplice to help her get to Alex’s money. Rex appeared to be a prime candidate. He never let her pay for anything and lavished her with gifts.

The truth was that Rex was a former gigolo who worked the hotels of New York in search of lonely rich older ladies. After a scam gone badly, when a wealthy banker found out about Rex taking his wife for ten thousand dollars, things changed. The banker didn’t want the bad publicity of calling the cops on Rex, so he just had him beaten and told him to get out of town or risk being killed. Rex left for Houston the next day.

Rex had his hand in several illegal activities. Anything for a buck was the way of life for him. While buying drugs for an older cougar, he became involved with the Reyes Mexican drug cartel. He set up drug buys for them and made himself available for other jobs. He never met Armando Reyes in person, but was approached by his number one man, Cortez for a special job. Reyes had married a very young American girl. She wanted a child, an American child. Rex was given the job of procuring a child for Reyes and was provided with the physical characteristics required by the man’s young wife. After making the appropriate contacts, he was able to fulfill the contract and was paid fifty thousand dollars. This cash set him up for his big payday. That payday was Madelyn Stein and this was his seed money.

Four months into the affair, Madelyn decided that the time was right to approach

Rex. After a room service dinner of lobster and champagne and forty-five minutes of passion, she lay naked next to him with her head on his shoulder.

Honey I just can’t take anymore of this sneaking around. I want to be with you openly. She whispered in his ear. If only Alex was out of the way.

Rex, who had gambled away a hunk of the $50,000 dollars and had spent thousands on jewelry for Madelyn, was trying to figure out the best scam to get to Madelyn’s money. He was unaware of her pre-nup. He really liked this woman, but he adored money. He had invested four months in this affair. The sex was fantastic, but it didn’t replace good ol’ greenbacks. He knew that Alex was filthy rich and he had planned to use Madelyn to get to the money.

Why don’t you just divorce him?

Rex honey, if I do that, I lose everything. I signed a pre-nup. I hate that pig, but I’ll be damned if I’ll leave him with nothing to show for the boring and aggravating years I’ve spent with him.

What do you have in mind? Rex asked.

Do you really love me? Madelyn whispered.

You know I do, baby.

There they lay, a con man and a con woman trying to con each other. The question was who was the better artist of the two.

If you really love me, maybe we can figure out a way for Alex to have an unfortunate accident, she said hesitantly. If that happened we can have the money and each other.

Rex smiled and kissed her passionately. I think we can work something out, but right now you turned me on, and I need some loving.

Madelyn obliged. I’ve found the man who can make me rich, she thought as he mounted her.

Chapter 5

Layla Sterling loved her position at Willis and Carpenter law firm. She was a certified tax attorney. The firm primarily dealt in corporate law, and her services were invaluable to the firm’s prime clients. She had never litigated a case in court; however, she was pleased to work behind the scenes.

Layla’s red hair was neatly combed back and bound in a ponytail. Her five-foot-four frame was still in the same shape it was when she was a cheerleader for the Duke University Blue Devils. She worked out daily at the fitness center on the first level. People continually told her that she looked like a redheaded Jennifer Aniston. She was frequently asked out, but rarely dated. Her spirit couldn’t stand another painful heartbreak.

The forecast called for rain and on this cloudy, cool morning, she was standing by the window in her office looking out. She was thinking about how much she loved to walk in the rain, when Nat Armstrong and his little brown mutt passed on the sidewalk just below her. She grimaced when he staggered and then regained his balance. The little brown dog named Nick looked up at his master and barked. Layla could see the dog’s mouth open. Nick was less than two feet high with short brown hair. He was a mixed breed like most Americans. Nick scurried to keep up with Nat’s long stride.

Layla reminisced about the two times she’d met Nat. The first time was when she was a freshman in high school. It was a one-time encounter, and they never spoke again until the second chance encounter at the sandwich shop in the Student Union at Duke University. He worked there every evening. It was one of the three jobs he had while trying to work his way through school.

She’d walked up to the counter to order a cup of decaf when she first saw him.