Vigilance Returns: Bedlam's Heroes, #1

By Jeremy Michelson

Can a new hero rise from the ashes of a fallen hero?

 

One day you're a recluse living in quiet isolation in your mom and dad's house.

 

The next you're homeless, living in a 1979 Ford Pinto Wagon you bought from your uncle for a hundred dollars.

 

Oh, and the Pinto happens to be haunted by the ghost of a vigilante hero. But you haven't figured that out yet. You're too busy stressing about where your next meal is coming from, since you lost all the money that was in your pocket.

 

Sucks to be you.

 

But that's not the worst.

 

You're far from home, in a city that's threatening to come apart and eat itself alive.

 

The city needs a hero.

 

You need friends and a job and a place to live.

 

You're in no position to be anyone's hero.

 

Except there's something about that Pinto you bought from your uncle. It never needs gas. It can't be damaged. Sometimes things…happen around it.

You're slowly putting the pieces together.

 

Can you figure it all out before the bad guys come for you again?

 

Because next time…they're going to do more than beat you up. They're going to kill you.

 

But before they kill you, they're going to kill your new friends.

 

Are you going to let that happen?

 

Can that ghost living in your car help you?

 

Can you both be the heroes your friends and your city needs in their darkest hour?

 

Vigilance Returns, the first twisting adventure in the Bedlam's Heroes series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeremy Michelson
• Release date: Feb 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224839728

Book preview

1

Judson

When his parents called him into the kitchen, Judson Barnes expected another lecture.

He’d endured quite a few in the last few years since his ignominious and premature exit from college.

He sat across from mom and dad at the family’s round, rustic pine table. He folded his hands in front of him and put on his respectful and attentive face.

Duck, the family’s golden retriever beagle mix turned around twice and sat beside Jud. He may have been the family’s dog, but he was really Jud’s. Duck had the floppy ears and spots like a beagle–though his fur was gold and white instead of a beagle’s reddish brown. On Duck’s right side was a large white spot that looked suspiciously like a silhouette of a rubber duck.

Hence Duck’s name.

Late morning sunlight poured through the wide window above the sink. Dust motes sparkled in the air. The kitchen was spotlessly clean, but still held the faint smell of bacon and fried eggs from breakfast.

He’d cleaned it after the morning meal like he did every day. It felt good to be useful.

Mom and dad had their backs to the light. It turned their graying hair into halos. The image made him uncomfortable.

He looked away. Dad had built the knotty yellow pine cabinets that lined the walls. Actually, he’d built the entire house. A rambling, comfortable, three bedroom home that sat in a nice, quiet neighborhood at the end of a narrow street lined with an overarching canopy of ancient maple trees.

He loved the house almost as much as his parents did.

Maybe more.

He had no idea it would be a long time before he saw the kitchen or the house again.

Dad folded his hands in front of him on the table just like Jud had. Dad’s hands had the scars of countless home projects. Strong, capable hands that had shown Jud how to use tools the right way.

His father wore the familiar faded jeans and button up grey checked flannel shirt that he seemed to wear regardless of season. Had he ever seen him in shorts and a t-shirt?

Dad had the same lanky, but sturdy, wide shouldered frame that Jud had grown into. He was a little over six foot. Judson had him beat by about an inch. He also had dad’s thick, brown hair that grew too fast and seemed to always be on the verge of falling over his eyes. Dad’s hair had receded to the top of his forehead over the years and there was a thinning patch on the back, but it was still thick and somewhat unruly.

When had the gray appeared, though? It had snuck in here and there until those isolated little threads had found enough friends to make dad look…old.

Jud looked away.

Mom sat with her arms wrapped around her. She had on her standard mom uniform of blue jeans, dark colored blouse (green today) and her favorite sweater. A formerly riotous tie dyed thing that had faded to pastel colors. Her hair, always a reddish brown was streaked with gray, too. For a while she had dyed it, but had stopped a few months ago.

He never asked her why.

She sat strangely still, her blue eyes fixed on him, her lips pressed to a thin line. Come to think of it, she’d been strangely quiet all week. Not bantering with him like she often had.

His eyes went back to dad. He’d been oddly quiet too. Not that dad was much for conversation, but he hadn’t asked how the job hunting was going.

Like he did practically every day.

Maybe he’d finally gotten tired of asking.

But then, that’s probably what this lecture was going to be about. Which was more or less what all of them had been about.

Dad glanced at mom, then back to Jud. He sighed and leaned forward.

Juds, your mom and I have come to a decision, dad said.

Jud’s heart skipped a beat. Then pounded into overdrive.

Uh oh. Decisions were bad.

This isn’t easy for us, Dad said.

Oh man. Really bad.

Blood roared in his ears. His body went cold. He wanted to jump up and run from the room. But his body was frozen in place. He couldn’t escape the words.

Dad shot another glance at mom. Who sat huddled within herself, her face like stone.

We love you, son, Dad said, But it’s time for you to grow up.

No, no, no, no, no…

We know you’ve had a tough time with people, Dad said.

Shut up, shut up, shut up…

And we talked this over with the therapist…

Jud’s face went hot.

She agreed this might be the best thing for you…

The stupid therapist. What did she know?

Dad rubbed his face. Were the old man’s eyes glistening with unshed tears? He’d never seen dad cry. Not even after grandma died.

Dad put his hands flat on the table and took a deep breath.

It’s time for you to move out, son, dad said.

Jud opened his mouth. But there weren’t any words. Move out? His brain refused to process it.

Today, in fact, dad said, We’ll give you a few minutes to pack a bag. Then you need to get out.

Jud rocked back liked he’d been smacked with a two by four. Which dad might as well have done. He gasped and suddenly found his voice.

Today? he said, But I don’t have anywhere to go. What am I supposed to do?

Dad nodded. That’s kind of the point, dad said, You need to figure it out.

The oxygen seemed to be leaving the room. Black spots danced in front of his eyes.

But…but, I made you breakfast, Jud said.

Dad nodded again. And a fine breakfast it was, son. But it’s past time for you to be out on your own.

But…I cleaned the kitchen, Jud said, I just vacuumed the living room.

And we appreciate you doing that, Dad said, You still need to leave. Now, your mom got you a nice sturdy duffle bag for your stuff. You probably shouldn’t take anything too heavy. Just the basics. Like if we went camping.

We’ve never gone camping, Jud said.

Dad scratched at his chin, nodding and looking off over Jud’s shoulder.

You’re a smart kid, Jud, he said, You’ll figure it all out. You just need a little push.

Jud held onto the edge of the table, like the world would fly away from him if he let go. Which, was kind of accurate, come to think of it. He turned to mom. This couldn’t be happening. She wouldn’t kick him out. Would she?

Mom? he said.

Her eyes narrowed. Like the time he’d taken apart her fancy red stand mixer when he was seven. The only thing that had saved him from a spanking was the fact that he put it all back together. It actually worked better afterwards. Though she wouldn’t admit it.

It’s time, Juddy, she said, We’ve been dropping hints for months now.

Hints? What hints? he asked.

Dad slapped the table. Snapped attention back to him.

Juds, we need to stay focused here, he said. He reached into his shirt pocket. Pulled a folded stack of twenty dollar bills out and laid it on the table between them. There’s five hundred dollars. Enough to get you…somewhere, I guess. Now, you have five minutes to pack. Better jump to it, son.

Jud stayed right where he was, his fingers death gripped to the table. The world reeled around him. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. His heart was going to break out of his chest and run screaming around the kitchen.

Beside him, Duck whined.

Dad sighed and looked to mom. Better go pack for him, Lisa, he said.

Mom gave a tight lipped nod and stood. She looked down at Jud for a moment, her eyes softening.

Relief flooded though him. It wasn’t real, they were just trying to scare him. Well, it worked.

I’ll go look for a job tomorrow, I promise, Jud said.

Mom gave a sad shake of her head. Just promise you’ll brush your teeth every day, she said, I’ve already packed your toiletry case.

She pivoted and left the room.

Dad stood. Came around the table and gently pulled him to his feet. Duck jumped to his feet, tail wagging.

It’ll be okay, Juds, he said, More or less. Or not. Who knows. Life tends to feel random, but somehow we end up where we’re supposed to be. You know?

Ten minutes later, Jud was out on the doorstep, a big black duffle bag that smelled like plastic slung over his shoulder.

The front door slammed behind him.

He was on his own.

2

Judson

Where was he supposed to go?

The duffle bag, smelling like plastic and fresh nylon, pulled at his shoulder. It held all his worldly goods now. Basically a change of clothes, some toiletries and his small, leather bound tool case. That and the clothes he wore was it. Well, and his custom made multi-tool that he carried with him everywhere.

A gentle breeze tugged at his unruly air. It was still early enough in the early June morning that the air was cool. He shivered.

Not from the cold, though.

He stood there on the front steps of his parent’s house for several seconds.

Kicked out.

This couldn’t be happening.

The street looked normal. A dozen mismatched, but well maintained homes at the end of a tree-lined culdesac. The branches of the ancient maples hung over the street and the equally old sidewalks in front of the houses.

He’d seen this street every day of his life. Walked those cracked and uneven sidewalks to and from school for a dozen years. Summer, Fall, Winter, Spring. Every season of the year, he’d look out of his upstairs bedroom window and there the street would be. Sometimes one of the neighbors would out in the yard, mowing, raking leaves. He knew the names of practically everyone on the street. Though he couldn’t say he knew any of them very well.

He had raked leaves and shoveled snow for most of them, though. Made five or ten dollars here and there.

Would one of them take him in?

Who? Maybe Mr and Mrs. Banksly, three houses down? He tried to picture walking up their rose bush lined walkway and knocking on their dark blue door. They were both retired. Mr. Banksly would open the door, look down at him over his half rim glasses, his balding head glinting in the light. Jud would open his mouth to ask the question–Could I stay with you for a few days?

No, of course he wouldn’t ask. That would be too embarrassing. He couldn’t ask any of the people on this street. He’d die of pure mortification.

There seemed to be only one thing to do.

He spun around and started pounding on the door with both fists. Crying and begging his parents to let him back in.

Tears streamed down his face. The bacon and egg breakfast he’d made (for all of them!) roiled in his stomach, threatening to spew out all over mom’s prized azalea bushes.

Please! Let me in! he shouted, I’ll get a job! I promise!

Then came a sound that flooded him with relief.

The lock clicking back.

The knob turned. The door swung open a few inches. He caught a glimpse of his father’s face.

Dad! I–

Duck slipped though the door, a gold and white blur.

The door slammed shut. Locks clicked.

For a few seconds he didn’t know what to do. Then he kicked the door. As hard as he could. It rattled the glass. And hurt his foot. He stumbled back. The duffle bag slipped down his arm, throwing him off balance. He almost fell down the steps. Grabbed the wooden railing just in time.

Duck sat down at the bottom of the steps. His tail thumped the sidewalk and he had a big, doggy grin on his face.

What are you so happy about? Jud said, You’re homeless now, too.

He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. He pounded down the steps and turned back to the house.

You know what! he shouted, Screw you! I don’t need you! I’ll…I’ll become a millionaire or something! And you’ll wish you’d been nicer to me!

Heart pounding, he spun on his heel and stalked down the sidewalk. Their next door neighbor, Mrs. Grink, was out on her porch, hands on her fat hips. The old biddy wore a shapeless blue and white checkered dress and had pink curlers in her hair. She gave him a stern look as he did a fast walk down the sidewalk.

He almost–almost–flipped her the bird as he went back.

But that would have been really rude.

But he thought really seriously about doing it.

Duck padded beside him, tail wagging a mile a minute. At least someone was enjoying this.

3

Suni

Sigh.

Uncle Frank really needed to hire a professional bookkeeper.

Suni Thompson pushed the stack of receipts and bills aside on the cracked and worn diner table and rubbed her tired eyes. Too much reading. Too much faded and tiny print. Too much numbers.

The air was heavy with the greasy aroma of grilled burgers and french fries. The lunch rush was petering out. A few longshoremen from the nearby docks sat in the far booth, laughing about something. A few suits from the insurance offices up the street were at the counter, nursing cups of coffee before heading back to their dingy cubicles.

The clink and clatter of dishes and silverware–diner music, as Uncle Frank called it–rose from the back. The new kid trying to wash dishes. Probably unsuccessfully. This latest new hire was as dumb as a bag of rocks.

Hopefully he wouldn’t break any. Dishes were expensive. And Uncle Frank didn’t like spending money. His old diner was a relic out of another era. A long, narrow, standalone building at the crumbling edge of old downtown. Full of nostalgic chrome, and pillowed stainless steel cladding. A row of booths ran along the windowed wall. Their vinyl seats still bright red, but cracked and worn from countless butts sliding across them. Between the booths and the kitchen was a long counter made of some mysterious black material that she guessed was either petrified rubber or a slab of wood cut from satan’s forest. Either way, it seemed impervious to wear.

Unlike the rest of the place.

Oh, Uncle Frank kept things up as best he could–with her part-time help. Everything was spotlessly clean–as only an ex-Navy cook like Frank could demand. His two long-time waitresses, Jeane and Hailey, were good about getting out the cleaning rags and mops when things slowed down in the afternoon.

But forty years had taken its toll on the place. Deferred maintenance on the roof and the kitchen equipment that was going to bite Uncle Frank hard one of these days.

The big stainless steel walk in freezer had threatened to quit in the heat wave last summer. Somehow Frank kept it limping along. Mostly through sheer determination it seemed.

Still, things weren’t the same since Aunt Marta died a couple years back. She used to take care of the books for the business and look after the things Uncle Frank never thought about. Like payroll. And taxes.

Uncle Frank had got pretty lost in himself for a while. If she hadn’t stepped up and helped him with the books, he would have forgotten to pay his bills.

It was a pain, but…she owed them both. More than she could ever repay.

But this couldn’t go on forever, either.

Or maybe it could.

She shuddered, looked out the dusty window at the gently undulating waters of the bay. At the corner of her vision was the faded glory that was old downtown.

Once proud buildings that lined east side of Bay Avenue. Buildings of red and gray brick that ranged from two to five stories with ornate fronts from a different era. Every year more of these distinguished old heaps were boarded up as businesses abandoned them for the towers of uptown. Or just went out of business.

And with the slow bleeding of workers from the area, fewer people came into the diner.

The mayor’s office was always going on about revitalizing old downtown. But nothing every seemed to come of it.

Still she loved the area. But what kind of future did she have here?

She was already twenty-two. Working at the massive old municipal library a couple blocks away. She’d worked there since graduating from high school. A temporary job that was feeling suspiciously like it was becoming permanent. A career sneaking up on her that she was letting herself drift into.

A job that didn’t pay much and had little future.

Not many people came into the library any more. How long before the city wielded the budgetary ax on the rickety old institution?

Sigh. Not what she wanted to think about.

What was she doing with her life?

She wasn’t bad looking. She was slim. Took care of herself. Her blonde hair was full and lustrous. Aunt Marta always said she had a pretty smile and dancing eyes. Whatever that meant.

Thanks to Uncle Frank, she had her own apartment nearby. Just a little studio up on the top floor. It wasn’t much, but it had a nice view of the bay. On a good day, she could see the ocean at the horizon, and watch the fishing trawlers coming in.

The door at the far end of the diner hissed open, clanging the bell at the stop. Startling out of her reverie.

Two men in black suits and dark aviator glasses walked down the length of the diner. They stopped at the cash register where Hailey stood. Hailey, sturdy and matronly, her helmet-like hair as bottle-brown as freshly poured soda, looked the men up and down.

Help you gents, she said.

Frank Holtz, the slightly taller man said.

Hailey popped her gum and gave the man a narrowed-eyed look that should have shriveled his manhood. Hailey could stare down a longshoreman with that look.

The two men seemed unaffected.

The slightly shorter man twisted his head back. Looked directly at Suni. The dark glasses gave the impression of bottomless pits in his pale, gaunt face.

She shivered and looked away.

That your name? Hailey said, Cause that would be a helluva coincidence.

We’re here to see Frank Holtz, slightly taller creep said.

Go get him, slightly shorter said.

Hailey raised a cupped hand to her ear.

Can’t quite hear you, she said, You want to add something to that?

The entire diner had gone quiet. Even the klutzy kid in the back had stopped banging dishes together.

The kitchen door swung open. Uncle Frank stepped out, wiping his meaty hands on his stained white apron.

Uncle Frank was a big guy. Even now, starting his seventh decade, his broad shoulders and thick arms were imposing under his white t-shirt. He would have looked a lot like Popeye the Sailor Man if Popeye had taken steroids instead of spinach. On Frank’s bulging forearms, respectively, were tattoos of a generously endowed mermaid and a Navy battleship under full steam, its main guns blasting fire. A thin scar ran down the right side of his face from his bald head to his clean shaven jaw.

He hooked his thumbs in the front pocket of his black slacks and gave the two men a steely eyed look.

What, he said.

Slightly taller reached into his jacket pocket. Uncle Frank tensed.

Suni put her hand on the ancient stapler next to her. The thing, once painted black, but now chipped and worn down to shiny metal in places, had more steel in it than most cars these days. If that jerk tried anything, he was going to get that stapler knocked against his head faster that he could say assault with intent to kill.

Slightly taller pulled out a crisp, white envelope. Held it out Uncle Frank.

Uncle Frank didn’t even look at it. Just stood there, looking like coiled rage.

This is an offer for your property, slightly taller said. "All of your property. It is very generous. I would suggest you accept. Immediately."

In a dangerously low voice Frank said: Who’s offering?

Our client wishes to remain anonymous, slightly shorter said.

Red tinged Frank’s face. Is this Maricela again? he said, I told her not to send any more of her little boys here.

We do not represent Ms. Donati, slightly taller said, We represent newer, more powerful interests.

Get out, Frank said.

Slightly taller raised the envelope. It would be unwise to refuse the offer, he said, Our client desires your property. Very much.

Uncle Frank folded his massive arms over his thick chest. Not for sale, he said, Not ever to the likes of you. Or Maricela. Now get out.

Slightly taller slipped the envelope back into his pocket. Without another word both black suited men pivoted on their heels and marched down the length of the diner. She hadn’t noticed their shoes earlier. Pointed with tall heels. They almost looked like…cowboy boots?

Before they reached the door, it opened, the bell rattling its cheerful tune.

Suni’s heart did a little flip flop.

Vance.

She told her stupid heart to behave itself. But it was already hammering. A flush climbed up her neck and face.

Vance Winter, tall and golden and gorgeous, as always, stepped in the diner. He held the door for the two men in black. They paused, staring at him for a moment, then exited.

Vance let the door hiss shut. He ran a hand through his wavy blond hair and flashed a perfect smile at everyone. He walked lightly up the aisle with the grace of the former quarterback that he was.

He raised his perfect eyebrows at the three of them, then slid into the seat opposite Suni.

What’s up? he said.

Uncle Frank scowled at him. Then turned and went back into the kitchen, grumbling something under his breath. Hailey resumed stacking white ceramic coffee cups under the counter.

Vance flashed her that perfect smile again.

She made herself let go of the old stapler and made herself smile back at him.

Why did he make her heart go pitter patter and her skin crawl at the same time? Uncle Frank didn’t like him. But then, Uncle Frank didn’t like a lot of people.

Hailey came around the counter and set a glass of ice water down in front of Vance. He winked at her.

Thanks, gorgeous, he said.

Hailey tittered like a little girl and disappeared.

Sun stared at the glass. Ice water. Vance didn’t drink coffee because he didn’t want his teeth stained.

He leaned back, hooked an arm over the back of the booth. He wore his usual artfully faded blue jeans and a polo shirt–today a deep cobalt blue that matched his eyes.

The guy was so perfect it made her want to puke.

And snuggle up to him.

Ugh. Damned hormones.

Some guys wanting to buy Uncle Frank’s property, she said.

Vance did an exaggerated glance over the inside of the diner. Yeah, prime real estate, he said, I can see it being a hot property.

She snatched up a stack of receipts and slammed the stapler on them.

Jerk.

Sure, Frank’s Diner wasn’t exactly a trendy establishment uptown. But it was home. Sort of.

She threw the receipts into the expanding folder she kept Uncle Frank’s info in. What did she want, anyway? She wanted to escape. She wanted to stay.

Hey, take it easy, Vance said, Just kidding, you know?

She let out a long sigh. Looked back out the window. Sorry, she said, Those guys…you seen them around before?

Vance shrugged. Them? Just another couple of suits. What about them?

She shook her head. They weren’t from around here.

But they knew about Uncle Frank. And his property. All of his property.

She shook off a shiver. I’ve got to get back to work, she said. She slid out of the booth. Vance didn’t move. Other than to look her up and down. Heat ran up her neck and into her cheeks again.

Damnit.

Their eyes met. For a moment it seemed like he was going to say something. Then a horrific crash broke the silence. The sound of a stack of plates hitting the floor and breaking into a million pieces.

Uncle Frank shouted a string of words that would blister the paint off a battleship.

Though the wide pass through between the kitchen and the back counter, a black haired head flew past. The kitchen door slammed open.

OUT! Frank shouted.

But the new kid was already running out the door. Not even looking back.

Frank burst from the kitchen, swearing and waving his arms at the rapidly receding former employee. The poor kid’s feet hardly touched the ground.

For the second time in minutes there was complete silence in the diner as everyone stared at Frank. He gave them a glare, then turned his back on them. Went around behind the counter.

With a sigh, he pulled out the well worn HELP WANTED sign he kept under it. Sighed again and stalked over to the window. Lay the sign against it. Gently.

Suni shook her head. The next kid probably wouldn’t last any longer than this one.

In a way, she envied whoever it was. They could just pick up and run away.

Something she couldn’t bring herself to do.

4

Judson

It felt like everyone was watching him.

Every house Judson passed, he glanced at the windows from the corner of his eyes. Did a curtain pull back ever so slightly? Were people sniggering behind their hands at the stupid guy with the black duffle bag? A bag so new it still had fold lines on it, and smelled of the plastic bag it had been wrapped in.

Beside him, Duck’s claws clicked on the sidewalk. The big doofus’s tail wagged like they were just out for a walk. Every few feet the golden retriever/beagle mix would stop and sniff something. Then pee on it.

Life was easy for a dog.

Somehow it had become early afternoon. He’d been walking aimlessly for hours. His clothes were sticky with sweat. He was so thirsty he almost drank pond water with Duck as they passed through the city park.

The sky was too brilliantly blue above the comforting canopy of maples that lined practically every street in this little town. The morning chill had long since burned off. In another couple hours it would be hot. Summer was right around the corner.

What if it got really hot?

He’d never lived anywhere without air conditioning.

Never lived anywhere but his parents’ house.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why hadn’t he gone out a gotten a job?

He shuddered. Put his head down and picked up his pace. Made sure his feet didn’t catch on the cracks in the sidewalks. That would have been hilarious for anyone watching him from those houses. See that idiot sprawl out on the ground. Maybe he’d start crying and wailing for his mommy.

Stop it.

He shook his head. Wished the thoughts could be shaken off as easily. What had the stupid therapist said? Acknowledge the thoughts, then turn them around. Those negative thoughts don’t have to control you. Focus on more positive thoughts.

Yeah. More positive thoughts. Like what? Like, hey, at least my parents didn’t kick him out of the house stark naked. Wouldn’t that have been fun?

Heat ran up his face. Tears stung the corners of his eyes.

Why did they do this? He’d worked hard to make sure he wasn’t a burden. He cooked for them. He cleaned the house. He took the garbage out. He was practically their live-in servant. For the last couple years he’d done his best to stay out of their way. When he wasn’t cooking or cleaning, he was in his room. Reading or working on his little mechanical creations. Fixing stuff or combing the internet on his elderly laptop for information on gear ratios or watch building.

He stayed away from the social networks, though.

Mechanical things he was good at. People, not so much.

He would have been perfectly content, if not happy, to stay in his bedroom forever. Nobody bothered him there. No one said things about him. Or pulled stupid pranks on him that humiliated him in front of everyone.

Mom and dad kept asking when he was going back to school. Or getting a job. Didn’t they understand how hard it was to deal with people? People weren’t nice. People were always looking for ways to make you look stupid.

He’d tried to explain it to them, but dad just shook his head. Not everyone is that way, son. You’ve got to put yourself out there. Take some risks. That’s the only way you can grow up.

Grow up. Where was the benefit of growing up?

Maybe not getting kicked out of your house? Except adults got kicked out of their houses for not paying their rent or not making their house payments. Adults had to have jobs or they’d lose everything. Mom and dad had sat him down before he graduated from high school and explained all of that. About bills and budgets and income. It was a system with a whole lot of unfairness built into it. The system didn’t make exceptions for people who didn’t want to partake of it.

After the incident at college, he didn’t want to partake in any of that. He’d withdrawn to his room and tried to forget the world outside, for the most part.

Sure, there was a part of him that felt guilty about the idea of sponging off his parents indefinitely. But that’s where the cleaning and cooking came into play. He wasn’t just living there for free. He was contributing by being helpful around the house.

The only thing he couldn’t contribute was money.

Which seemed to be the issue.

Society in general was too stuck on the idea of trading goods or services for money.

Though, honestly, he had trouble seeing a way society could function without some agreed upon method of exchange for said goods and services.

The biggest problem was that his parents were stuck on the idea that he needed to participate in this whole servitude for dollars thing. What was the point of it all, anyway? Get a job, be miserable for forty to fifty years. Retire and hope to die before you ran out of money.

It seemed vastly unfair.

Duck barked, snapping him out of his pity party.

He stopped, looked up, blinking at his surroundings. It only took a moment to realize where he was. Somehow his feet had automatically carried him here.

Just down the street was Uncle Allen’s seedy old house. And his bright orange Pinto still parked at the curb in front of it.

Jud stood at the edge of the sidewalk at the intersection. The asphalt street in front of him was cracked and crumbling in spots. The city didn’t have much money for street repairs. And this part of their little town wasn’t exactly one of the better neighborhoods.

The maples that seemed to be everywhere in town were sparser here. Uncle Allen’s house didn’t have any in front of it, in fact. The only trees he had were four tall evergreens in his back yard. Which made him stand out from his neighbors even more.

Rurf? Duck said.

Jud kneeled down and scratched behind Duck’s ears. Duck groaned and thumped his right leg on the cracked sidewalk.

Didn’t want me stepping into the street? Jud said, There’s nobody here anyway?

Duck sniffed the air and rurfed again.

Stupid dog, Jud said.

He stood up. Almost stepped into the street.

An engine roared. A black Camaro squealed around the corner. It shot right toward Jud.

He jumped back.

The Camaro skidded to a stop right in front of him. A spray of asphalt crumbs and a stink of exhaust and burned rubber washed over him.

Hey Judhead. Whatchya doin’ loser?

The car’s big engine burbled and rumbled. Jud’s face went hot. Ricksley. Of all the people he didn’t want to see–especially today, Ricksley was in the top five.

Ricksley leaned down, his thick lipped grin going from ear to ear. The jerk’s dark hair was slicked back and shone like it had a fine coat of polish. A whiff of some strong, musky cologne wafted out of the car. Along with a hint of beer.

Which made sense, since Ricksley lifted a can of Budweiser and slurped down a good slug of it.

Ricksley was still wearing his high school letterman’s jacket. Black with gold sleeves and the school mascot, an angry python on the right breast.

Ricksley’s piggy eyes narrowed.

Asked you a question, Judhead, he said, What you doing out here on my street?

Jud trembled. He clenched his fists. Four years out of high school and he was still having to deal with these people.

Every fiber of his being told him to turn and run. But that would have been exactly the wrong thing to do. Predators like Ricksley just gotten excited with their prey ran.

It just made things worse.

What’s a matter? Gonna cry, little Judwad? Ricksley said. The jerk pantomimed rubbing tears out of his eyes. Wah, wah, I’m still a little baby. Time for another spanking, little baby?

Jud tensed. This still? Years later he was still living in fear of bullies?

This was why he didn’t want to leave the house. This was why he stayed in his room. How was he ever supposed to escape this?

Beside him Duck, possibly the friendliest dog in the world, let out a low growl. Not enough for Ricksley to hear, fortunately.

Ricksley grinned at Jud, his beady eyes narrowed, glittering in the dark pit of his rumbling muscle car.

Jud clenched the duffle bag strap. If Ricksley got out of that car…

What? What was he going to do?

How about defend himself for once?

But Ricksley would just kick his butt from one end of the street to the other.

His body shook. He pressed his trembling fist against his leg. When were people going to stop pushing him around?

What would happen if he did stand up for himself?

Something beeped.

Ricksley’s gaze broke away. Down to something in his car. He raised a shiny smartphone to his face. His lips moved as he read something on the screen. He frowned and dropped the phone down. It clattered into a plastic cupholder.

Jud winced. That was no way to treat a complex electronic device.

Your lucky day babywad, Ricksley said, I got business elsewhere. You better not be on my street when I get back, hear?

Rickley didn’t wait for a reply. His slammed his Camaro into gear and peeled away in a stink of burned rubber. Jud raised his hands as bits of crumbled asphalt pelted him.

The Camaro careened around a corner and disappeared. Jud let out a long breath. Stood and breathed for a few moments until the hammering in his heart slowed.

He fixed his gaze on Uncle Allen’s house. His chest tightened. Maybe things would be okay. Uncle Allen had always been nice, though a little strange.

He looked both ways and started across the street. Duck trailed after him, tail wagging.

Hopefully this awful day was going to get better.

5

Judson

Uncle Allen wasn’t much into lawn maintenance. Or house maintenance.

His old car looked pretty nice, though.

Down the narrow, cracked sidewalk on Uncle Allen’s street (were there any sidewalks in this town that weren’t cracked and crumbling?) he looked over the patchy brown lawn in front of the small, one story house where his uncle lived. And had lived for as long as Jud could remember.

The house had once been a pale blue. Or maybe the blue had been brighter, but what peeling paint was left on the house was the color of hazy sky. One of the windows on the front had been boarded over with a piece of plywood. Years of exposure had weathered the board gray.

Evergreen bushes along the side of the house had grown so tall they pushed up under the eaves. They were so thick they made the side of the house look like it was covered in luxurious green fur.

The gray shingles on the roof had large patches of green moss on the one side he could see. There were a few black patches, too, where shingles were missing altogether.

He didn’t know anything about re-roofing houses, but he could figure it out if Uncle Allen let him stay with him.

He could be helpful.

Just as long as he didn’t have to go out too much.

Beside him Duck whined. Came to a stop.

What? Jud said.

Duck tucked his tail between his legs, crouched down, his muzzle almost touching the sidewalk. The fur on his back stood up.

Jud followed the dog’s gaze. Right to Uncle Allen’s bright orange Ford Pinto wagon.

The elderly car had been parked in front of his uncle’s house for as long as he could remember. It was always clean, always the same eye-hurting color of orange. A faded FOR SALE sign sat on the dashboard. Which had also been there for as long as he could remember.

He couldn’t recall ever seeing Uncle Allen driving the Pinto, but he didn’t see him very often anyway. Mostly Thanksgiving and Christmas. Even though they only lived a few blocks away. Uncle Allen always showed up in his beat up old Chevy pickup. Which definitely was not orange or shiny. The parts that weren’t primer gray or rusted may have been green. Though it was hard to tell.

Come on goofball, Jud said, It’s just an orange car.

He walked on. After a moment, Duck hurried after him, keeping Jud between him and the car.

Crazy dog.

He went up to the weathered and cracked front door, being careful to step around the rotted-through holes in the porch. The boards under him gave an alarming creak, but held.

Maybe he could fix the porch for Uncle Allen, too.

Duck huddled against his leg, casting fearful looks back at the orange Pinto.

The house had a musty smell to it. Like old socks and stale fried burger.

Maybe he could clean the place for him, too.

He was already making lists in his mind. Things to clean. Things to fix. Uncle Allen would be happy to have him live here for a while. Free help. Cleaning, cooking, repairing. Just as long as he didn’t have to go out.

Especially if Ricksley lived around here.

Just as he raised his hand to knock, the door opened.

Uncle Allen stood there, tall and scarecrow thin, his gray brown hair a wispy fog over the top of his head. He wore the same thing he always had on when Jud saw him: dark brown slacks, shiny brown loafers and a white, long sleeved button up shirt. The shirt was always spotless and the pants had a sharp crease down each leg. It looked like he had just come home from the office. Though as far as Jud could recall, he was retired.

Uncle Allen seemed to look older every time he saw him. The old man’s face was lined with sadness. His cheeks hung loose on his skull and his eyes seemed an abyss of misery.

There was some kind of family history with Uncle Allen, but Jud had a hard time remembering it. Something about a son that died?

Judson, Uncle Allen said. His voice was deep, but weak at the same time. Like he hardly every used it.

Jud put on a smile and put on his talking to people face. Hey, Uncle Allen, he said, I–

Uncle Allen held up a long fingered hand to stop him. The pained expression on his face got a little more pinched.

I’m sorry, Judson, Uncle Allen said, You momma already called me. Threatened me with all sorts of unpleasantries if I let you stay here.

Judson’s heart fell into his stomach. Where it boiled in the fresh bath of acid churning there.

His parents had already anticipated this.

He hadn’t even known he was going to ask Uncle Allen to let him stay until he found himself practically on his doorstep.

All of a sudden tears brimmed at the edges of his eyes, blurring his vision.

Darn it, no. He wasn’t going to cry.

He forced himself to smile. Blinked back the traitorous tears.

Uncle Allen, he said, I really need–

Again the hand. Uncle Allen’s palm was smooth. Practically unlined.

I’m sorry Judson, he said, I really, truly am. Lisa and you and your dad are my only… the old man’s voice hitched, …my only family left in this world. I don’t wish to make enemies of any of you.

But–

My sister is a patient and good person, Uncle Allen said, If she’s doing this, it’s for a good reason. Though I know it’s hard to understand right now.

Jud clenched his hands into fists and ground them against his leg. His chest was so tight it felt like it would collapse like a dying star. Then explode in a supernova of hurt and rage.

I wish everyone would stop telling me what they think is best for me, Jud said. The sound of his voice surprised him a little. It was like a growl.

Uncle Allen nodded. I understand, really I do, he said, But it’s going to take you a while to get there.

Jud blew out a hot breath and ran his fingers through his hair. What was he going to do now? Where would he go?

He turned. A flash of orange caught his eye. He sucked in a breath.

Really? This was the best he could come up with?

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Or something.

He straightened up. Pointed to the orange Pinto wagon sitting at the curb.

Sell me the car, he said, Please.

Beside him, Duck whined.

Uncle Allen’s thin eyebrows shot up. The Pinto? he said.

Yes. Please, he said, I need something to get around in.

Or maybe live in.

Uncle Allen rubbed his chin and stared over Jud’s shoulder. He had a wistful look on his face. Wistful and sad. Though the sad seemed to be just the natural shape of his face.

You want the Pinto? he said.

Not really, but it seemed the car might be his last refuge before sleeping under the bridge.

Yes, Jud said, Please, Uncle Allen.

Uncle Allen’s eyes returned to his. How much money do you have, Judson?

Jud swallowed hard. Money. That’s what everything seemed to come down to, didn’t it? That was the reason they kicked him out of the house, right? He wasn’t bringing in any money.

Not much, he said, "I