The Black Stiletto Read Online Free PDF Page B

I saw it in his face and eyes. That intuition again. The wild animal’s instinct to protect itself.
    I had to flee.
    For three more horrendous months I endured existing underthe same roof with that evil man. At the end of January 1952, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore.
    I got hold of a bus schedule. I figured out how to get to the Odessa station in town and how much money it would cost to go somewhere far away. I packed a knapsack with some clothes and necessities. Then on a Sunday morning when my mom and Douglas were sleeping late, I crept into their bedroom. I could do that well. I called it “sneaky-weaking.” Like a cat, I could open doors and go in and out of a room without making a sound.
    So I sneaky-weaked into the room and grabbed Douglas’s billfold, which was sitting on the nightstand by his side of the bed. He’d been paid the Friday before, and I knew his routine. He always cashed his check for the full amount, went for a drink at one of the roughneck bars, then came home with a wad in his wallet. On Monday he used it to pay bills, give some to my mother, and maybe put a little in the bank.
    But this was Sunday.
    I counted two hundred and fifty-two dollars in his wallet, so I took it and replaced the billfold. There was another hundred and twenty-five stashed in his nightstand drawer. I had managed to save a hundred dollars of my own money, so I thought I was rich. I had no idea how quickly that amount of cash would slip away out in the real world . But I didn’t think about it, and I wouldn’t have cared if I had.
    I grabbed my knapsack and left the house. Caught the bus at the end of the block and rode it downtown. I didn’t know where I wanted to go from there, so I studied the big board and the names of all the various cities. New York sounded the most exotic, so that’s what I chose. I boarded the next bus to New York City and left behind my home, my brother, my mom, Texas, and that sick creep Douglas Bates.
    As soon as I was in my seat, I vowed that one day I would get revenge on the bastard for what he did to me.

4
Roberto
T HE P RESENT
    My goddamned heart nearly stopped when I heard the guard shout, “Ranelli! Roberto Ranelli! Your ride’s here!”
    Holy Mother of God.
    I’ve been waitin’ for this day for fifty-two fuckin’ years. Sittin’ in this rathole all that time, gettin’ old, just tryin’ to survive. I knew they couldn’t keep me in here until I died. I always thought I’d see the outside again.
    They gave me some street clothes to put on. Some trousers that barely fit, a clean white shirt, and a dumpy sport jacket. I don’t know where they got ‘em. Probably some thrift shop in Ossining. Or maybe there’s some kind of shitty charitable organization that provides civilian threads for parolees. Hell, I don’t know. I don’t care, either. I just wanted to get the fuck out of here.
    The guard known as “Red,” because of his flamin’ red hair and freckles, approached my cell and gave the signal to the operator down the hall. No keys in this place, not anymore. Everything is automated. Run by computers. Amazin’ inventions, those computers. When I first got sent up the river, there were no such things. They were science fiction. I’m glad I got to learn how to use one in the prison library. I witnessed the evolution of computers in that stinkin’ library. I remember the first one they had was a stupid Apple IIc. We all thought it was a marvel. I think that was in nineteen eighty-four or somethin’. By 1990 we hadreal PCs that ran on DOS. Yeah, I learned what DOS was and how to manipulate it a little bit. Then Windows was the next big thing. Then things really started to explode. Computers got more sophisticated, faster, and smaller. Now we got these Macs in the prison library. Pretty nice machines. Hold on— we don’t got ‘em. They got ‘em. I’m outta here. I’m fuckin’ paroled. After fifty-two years. Unbelievable.
    The bars slid open and I walked out.