that there was no price he had to pay.
He carried his freedom out the front door, past the whimpering dog, and on the bus to work. His freedom wasn't light or happy or proud. People spoke to him but he didn't understand and had to ask them to repeat what they'd said. They'd oblige but still Socrates didn't get it. Finally he'd just nod his head as if he knew what they meant.
?Sumpin' wrong wit' you?? young Darryl asked him on their one forty-five lunch break.
?I don't know if it's me or everybody else, Darryl. Damn.?
?What is it??
Socrates looked at the boy. They were both killers. But Darryl still had a chance to be better.
?How you feelin', Darryl?? Socrates asked.
?Okay.?
?How is it out there with Howard and Corina??
?Okay I guess. I mean Howard always talkin' 'bout how good he is. 'Bout his job an' how him an' Corina wanna buy that house they rentin'. It's like he braggin' all the time but he okay.?
?But you could talk to 'im, right?? Socrates wanted to know. ?I mean if you got a problem you could talk to Howard.?
?If I got a problem I could talk to you,? Darryl said simply.
?But if you was home and you wasn't gonna come in to work,? Socrates argued. ?If you couldn't see me for a few days you could talk to Howard and Corina, right??
?I guess,? Darryl said, sounding no happier than Socrates felt.
It was sixteen miles from work to Socrates' home. He decided to walk part way, telling himself that it wasn't much longer than waiting for the bus to come.
On the way he had a talk with himself. A talk about what if.
?What if the cops drove up beside me right now?? he asked himself as he neared Robertson and Olympic. ?What if they stopped me and said, ?Hey, niggah, what you doin' walkin' on the street up here? You live around here???
Socrates thought he might say, ?I live in this city. I pay the tax pay your salary and fix these here streets. I guess I could walk if I want to.? And then, in his daydream, he walked away from them.
But the cops followed him down the streets of his imagination. They stopped him on Fairfax and made him stand up against the wall. When they couldn't find anything in his pockets Socrates demanded their badge numbers because, he said, ?Now you gone through my pockets and that's illegal 'less you got reason to 'spect me of a crime.?
The scenario played itself out in a dozen different ways. In some he was shot and others the policemen were killed. In one long fantasy the people in the street rose up in a riot that lasted for fifteen days and leveled the streets of L.A. into the rubble of rage.
After more than two and half hours, almost three, Socrates was tired but he hadn't been stopped by the police. He climbed into a bus and sat there exhausted. In the middle of a nap he decided to turn himself in.
It was well past dark when Socrates got home. He'd taken the shortcut past the place where Ronald Logan had died. He only remembered when he saw the spot where Logan had fallen. He stood there trying to feel something for the boy he had slaughtered but all he felt was wrong.
When he got home Killer was so sick that he couldn't even propel himself on his halter to greet his master. Socrates decided to put off turning himself in until the next day when he could make sure that his dog would survive.
He took the dog back to the veterinarian who saved his life when his legs were crushed. Dolly Straight told him that he would have to put the dog in a hospital where he'd have to undergo an operation if he were to survive. Socrates had never heard of an animal being operated on but he trusted the doctor and cared more about that dog than he cared for most people.
That night he considered Darryl and Killer, deciding that it would be wrong to leave either one by going to jail. Socrates wasn't afraid of prison; he wasn't afraid of anything. But he didn't need to prove that. What he needed was to make what amends he could and still meet his obligations.
?Okay now lift him,? Nelson Saint-Paul said to his temporary helper Socrates Fortlow and to Stuart Lane, a regular worker in the funeral home. The two men were big but Ronald Logan was heavy with death. They had him all
