by Frank Zafiro
Hiero bit his lip briefly, then nodded his head. “Yeah. I suppose I am.”
“That’s trouble. You know that, right?”
He glanced down at the T-shirt on the seat beside him. “Yeah, I know. I just can’t cut loose of her.”
I didn’t reply and instead stared off at the spires of the courthouse six blocks away.
Hiero continued, his voice tightening. “It’s just not that easy for me right now, Tower. My life is completely screwed. She’s about the only good thing I’ve got going. I know it’s messed up, but at least with her, I feel like—“
I raised my hand in front of my face and shook my head briefly. “Don’t,” I told him. “I don’t need to hear it. I don’t need to know your demons and you don’t need to know mine.”
Hiero was quiet for a moment. Then, “I owe you.”
I shook my head. “No. You don’t owe me.”
“Yeah, I do,” he said. “And I won’t forget. So thanks.”
Hiero put the Ford in gear and backed away, then shifted forward and cruised out of the lot.
I watched his truck turn left and cruise away on Indiana.
There was no reason to sit in the lot any longer, but I let the engine idle and stared absently out the window. The breeze outside my car window picked up slightly and I could hear the rush of air through the oak branches. I closed my eyes and focused on the flitter-flatter of the leaves. I listened to their many soft voices.
I listened for the truth.
I listened for a long while.
And when I thought I’d finally heard it whispered on the air, I accepted it, dropped the car into gear and drove slowly home.
Acknowledgements
I'd like to say thanks to my writing partner, Frank, for pursuing this project for the past number of years. Without your persistence, this story would still be hidden on a shelf somewhere.
-Colin
Thanks to:
My wife, Kristi, first and foremost. She read a flawed and bloated version of this book and gave me my medicine straight.
Colin, for agreeing to move on this project and for taking the flawed, bloated draft and editing it judiciously. Thanks for keeping things on the freeway, bud.
Melanie Donaldson, for being a super reader.
Jennifer Bowerman, for taking it for a spin.
Matt Rose, for designing a killer cover.
-Frank
About the Author
Frank Zafiro became a police officer in Spokane, Washington in 1993 after serving in the U.S. Army. He writes crime fiction, much of it set in River City. In addition to writing, Frank is an avid hockey fan/player and a tortured guitarist. His wife, Kristi, is about the only person who will enjoy either activity with him.
You can keep up with Frank at http://frankzafiro.com or his blog at http://frankzafiro.blogspot.com.
Frank is one of the two hardboiled partners in crime with Jim Wilsky at http://hardboiledpartners.blogspot.com.
Frank also writes under his given name and you can check that out at his main website: http://frankscalise.com.
Colin Conway lives, works and writes in Spokane, Washington. He met Frank while working as a police officer in the Spokane Police Department. Today, he works in commercial real estate and continues the search for new stories to tell.
You can learn more about Colin and his works of fiction at www.thewayofthecon.com.
