King Maker: The Knights of Breton Court, Volume 1 Read Online Free PDF Page B

back to the reservoir and drowned. The tragedy was still repeated at supper time to children who dawdled too long after the street lights went on. The main drive of Breton Court was laid out like a horseshoe with elongated tips. As one went down either side, individual courts of townhouses faced one another. King lived at the base of the horseshoe. A few townhouses were still owned and rented out by people who simply refused to sell to the three owners even if they didn't live there.
      King stayed in one of those. His condo overlooked the southern bend of the creek, now overgrown with weeds and filled with discarded shopping carts from the nearly vacant strip mall on the other side of it. It was better than living out of a car which he had done for months. Clumped between his court of condos and the next were trash dumpsters. A black raincoat and a pair of jutting legs dangled from one. Merle fell from his perch, a tangle of legs and arms in an awkward sprawl, then drew the collar of his black trench coat up about his neck, though there was no chill to the air. The aluminum foil helmet was a nice touch.
      "What's the good word, Merle?"
      The old bullshit fool gave a clenched-fist salute, though he didn't pause from his rummaging activities. Merle had a familiar spirit. Maybe he was one of those faces, those strangers you bumped into on a bus or train and instantly poured yourself out to. Maybe he was one of those neighborhood peripheral figures who seemed to travel in the same circles he did, even if the two had never officially met. Thinking back on those times, King felt a certain comfort about the man, as if the shambling bearded tramp were a filthy protective shadow. If he were the Merle he had heard people whisper and laugh about over the years, by most accounts, he appeared better, younger, now than he did back in the day. Maybe he cleaned up from drugs and such and was now merely homeless. His breath smelled of pork rinds and Funyuns.
      "Signs, signs, everywhere are signs."
      "I heard that." King plopped down on the curb, withdrew a burrito from his bag, and offered it to Merle. "Somehow I'm not really surprised to see you here. You seem to get around."
      "That's me. The bad penny." Merle pinched off bits of bread and scattered them about him. He shooed away the birds, making way for a squirrel to come collect as he will. Without a warning, Merle suddenly bowled over, gripping his head as if trying to keep it from exploding. His face flushed an agonized shade of red, his mouth locked in a silent scream. Collapsing on the ground, he waved King off from helping him. When he next spoke, his voice had the weak rasp of a sick kitten.
      "You alright, man?"
      "I'm fine. I suffer from spells."
      "You ought to see a doctor. Get that checked out."
      "I'm past the concerns of a doctor. What say you, good King? Caught twixt the knights of Dred and Night?"
      "Nah, they just jawing. They needed to show their teeth some."
      "The Night's too long. Night's daddy was a crackhead. Got hit in the head with a shovel."
      "Do what?"
      "He was sitting on a curb, people acting stupid. Crackhead just bopped him straight in the side of the old noggin." Merle tapped the side of his head, dislodging his aluminum cap. He sprayed food with each sloppy bite, losing almost as much as he ate while he spoke.
      "My daddy was crazy, so I hear," King said. He fought to be legally emancipated from his mother years ago. She had two little ones at home and he was old enough to live on his own so that she could concentrate on providing for the young ones. According to his grandma, she was never quite the same after his father's death. Whenever she spoke of him, it was with a mix of awe and sorrow, as if either she had been betrayed or her idea of him had been. At any rate, he had to get his social security benefits transferred into his name but to her address so that she could spend it. They'd make it without him. As