After I stepped outside I pulled from my pocket all of the pages from the phone book that I had crammed in there, then squinted at them until I could make out the addresses I needed. I was going to need a phone, at least for a little while, and I walked three blocks to a shop where for sixty bucks I bought a disposable cell phone with more calling minutes than I was going to need. The salesman tried selling me other services, like texting and music downloads, and I listened patiently until he gave up and finally accepted that he wasn’t going to get any more money out of me. I was impressed with his initiative, though. You’d have thought with the way I smelled he’d be anxious to just close the deal on the phone purchase and herd me out of the store.
Once I was outside again, I found a quiet spot and played around with the phone until I figured out how to use it, then I took out those phone book pages again and called a mattress store. I negotiated the cheapest price I could and arranged to have the bed delivered by six, telling the salesman I’d pay cash instead of using a credit card. When he asked for a name, I made one up, and when he asked for my address I froze for a few moments before I was able to find the form I’d brought with me that had it on it. I guess the salesman must’ve taken it as a senior moment.
With the bed ordered and the little money I had dwindling fast, I next walked to a hardware store where I bought what I needed to clean my apartment, then I lugged the stuff back to the apartment building. I was out of breath by the time I got back and rested for a while before getting to work. It took several hours before I was done. I don’t think it was possible to get the apartment really clean, but at least I knocked a good deal of the grime off of it. I went out again after that and bought several bath towels, soap, shampoo, and other personal hygiene items. When I returned to the apartment, I stripped and took a shower. The water never got hotter than lukewarm, but I stood under the shower head for a good hour trying to scrub those fourteen years of prison off of me.
After leaving the shower I brushed my teeth hard enough with a new toothbrush that my gums were bleeding up a small river in no time. I’d gotten used to shaving in prison without looking at myself, and I did it once more as I tried hard not to catch even a glimpse of myself in the mirror. When I was done with that I poured on some cheap cologne hoping it would hide the stench that had gotten embedded in my clothing. Then I got dressed and headed out.
It was a little before three o’clock. There wasn’t much foot traffic, but there were plenty of cars once I got back on to Moody Street. I tried not to look, I tried to keep my focus straight ahead, but I could sense the occasional car slowing down to get a better look at me. I could feel the driver’s eyes on me. It didn’t happen often, maybe with four cars, but it was enough to get my heart pounding. I veered off Moody Street first chance I had and walked side streets as much as I could. I had to stop a couple of times to ask directions. In one of the stores the guy behind the cash register recognized me right off and after giving me a slow look up and down told me to go fuck myself. The other people I asked never bothered to get a good enough look at me to recognize me. The first three of them ignored me, the fourth gave me directions, talking loudly as if I were hard of hearing. I don’t know why she thought that, but I didn’t bother correcting her.
My first stop was at a bedding store where I bought sheets, a pillow and a blanket. After that I went to a thrift store where I was able to buy some used clothing very cheaply that fit better than what I had on. Three pairs of pants, same number of shirts, and a heavy wool sweater. The stuff smelled of mothballs, but that was an improvement on how my other clothes were smelling. I also bought a portable radio, a Red Sox cap and a pair of dark sunglasses. I put on the cap and pulled it down low, then the sunglasses, figuring that it might help disguise me. The way the lady working the cash register chatted with me it must’ve at least worked with her.
I was too loaded up with packages to drag the stuff back to my apartment, and I asked the woman if she could call me a taxi. She was more than happy to, and as I stood waiting for it she kept chatting away. I didn’t pay attention to what she was saying. I wasn’t used to that much talking. It was probably the most anyone had talked to me since prison, and maybe well before that. Anyway, all she accomplished was making my headache worse.
When the cab mercifully arrived, the driver sat where he was while I made two trips to carry out my packages. He didn’t bother to hide his disappointment when I gave him my address. He wasn’t going to make much money on this, and from the looks of me – especially given that he was picking me up at a thrift shop – he knew he wasn’t going to get much of a tip. After a few minutes I noticed him studying me in the rear-view mirror.
“You’re him,” he said.
I didn’t bother answering. I just looked out the window and tried to pretend he wasn’t talking to me.
“You’re him,” he repeated, unperturbed by my ignoring him. “You’re the one in the papers.”
I felt my ears reddening. “So what,” I found myself muttering.
“Speak up. I can’t hear you.”
I faced forward and found myself staring hard at the back of his head. “So what,” I said again, louder this time.
“So maybe you can give me your autograph?”
The reddening in my ears had spread to my cheeks. At least it felt that way from the hotness. “Why the fuck would you want that?” I half-heard myself asking him.
He shrugged. “It might be worth money someday. I’ll tell you what, you give me your autograph and the fare will be on me.”
I didn’t say another word to him. When he pulled up to my building the meter read three dollars and forty cents and I counted out exact change and pushed it through the slot in the Plexiglas separating us. His thick eyelids lowered in response. He watched me pull my packages out of the cab, waiting until I had them all out and was loaded up before calling out to me, telling me how he hoped they would catch up with me and in the end I’d get mine. Maybe the “they” he was referring to were Lombard’s organization, maybe it was the families of my victims. I wasn’t sure which it was, but in either case, I couldn’t much argue with him, and didn’t bother turning around.
It was five o’clock by the time I was back in my apartment. While I waited for the bed to be delivered I took inventory of the money I had left. Putting aside the hundred fifty dollars that the bed was going to cost me, I had eight hundred and forty-two dollars, and I still had more things I needed to buy. Still, even after that I should be left with five hundred, which would be enough to let me live somewhat decently for a month, and then I’d be on Theo’s budget. I thought briefly about trying my luck at the track, see if I could boost what I had, but realized the futility of that. In my old days I made money that way, but it was because I was connected and the tips I was given were usually good. Anyway, a month would probably be enough time for me.
While I waited I took out my cell phone and tried to work up the courage to call Michael and Allison. It had been over two years since the last time I tried, and maybe they’d had a change of heart. In the end I couldn’t do it. I had Michael’s number keyed in on the phone, but all I could do was stare at it until a hard knocking on the door brought me out of my trance. I flipped the phone off and opened the door enough to see that the delivery men were there with my bed.
They set the new bed up quickly. The lead delivery man presented me with a bill, and while I counted out the cash he looked at me with a puzzled expression and then at his work order form which had the name I’d made up earlier.