Players from both teams lined up on the sides of the lane, hands up. Danny took the shot and missed. Jorge got the rebound and grinned.
All was not right with the world for Danny Messer this night.
Mac sat on the cot next to Keith Yunkin in the small, clean cell. Neither man spoke. There was nothing to say. Keith had murdered four people. He had done it to honor his brother. He had done it to rid the world of four people who preyed on children.
Mac sat, looked at the wall of the cell, smelled the scent of past and present bodies. He read the graffiti that would be scrubbed off later in the week. There were fresh messages, drawings.
"I Did Not Do This Crime This Time.- Big Ron."
"Not Fare. Just Not Fare.- Ollie from St. Paul."
"Warren Was Here."
Mac had been there for almost half an hour looking at the wall, hearing people in other cells cough and talk to themselves, listening to Keith Yunkin breathe. Mac sat patiently, preoccupied with his own thoughts of the past. He had time.
Then Keith spoke.
"Did the rain stop?"
"It stopped three days ago," said Mac.
"Who stopped the rain?"
Mac had no answer.
Stuart M Kaminsky
