His boots pounded the roof like pistons as he dashed around metal ventilation and under telephone lines. The apartment block was right beside a bed and breakfast. Small alleys, gaps that varied in width, some that were impossible to cross, divided most of the buildings in the area. Not slowing for even a second Jack sprinted and launched across the divide between one building and the next, landing hard and rolling. Back up he pressed on even at the faint sound of another command to stop.
Adrenaline pumped through his system keeping him moving even as he took the next leap only to realize the gap was too wide. Jack slammed into the wall, bounced back and dropped. His arm caught on cabling slung between the buildings. It snapped and he plummeted three stories only to find himself tangled up in more cabling. Had it not caught and held him, there was no doubt in his mind it would have been game over. Still he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Pain shot through his body, and fear crept over him at the realization that the cops weren’t far behind. Only twenty feet above the ground he shimmed across the cabling and dropped down onto another fire escape. There he lifted a window into an apartment and dove inside. His shoulder crashed into a table causing the whole thing to collapse.
“Where did he go?” a cop’s voice bellowed. Out of sight but not out of mind, Jack was about to scramble to his feet when he came face to face with a woman holding a handgun on him. She was a black woman, late sixties, a ton of long beads around her neck, and a pair of thin spectacles balancing on the end of her nose.
Slowly, Jack raised his hands.
“I don’t want any trouble.”
“And I don’t want a broken table but it looks like we’re shit out of luck.”
They stared at each other, Jack with one hand and knee on the ground and her eyeing him over a gun that looked too big for her tiny hands. More sirens. Another cop bellowing to get guys on the ground.
“Get over there,” she said twitching the gun towards her couch. “No funny business as I’m just itching for a reason to squeeze this trigger.”
He nodded and stayed low, sliding across the ground until he parked his ass on the leather couch.
“You kill someone?”
“Nope.”
“Steal?”
He shook his head.
“That’s a whole lot of sirens out there.” Her eyes darted to the window. She shuffled over and peeked out before closing it. Jack surveyed the room. There was a rainbow colored throw rug beneath the broken table, and a wall with shelves covered in crystals. A dream catcher hung above the door, and on the table was a stack of tarot cards. “Well? You gonna explain?”
Jack sighed. “I hardly think it matters. Would you believe me?”
“You leave that to me. Now get those gums flapping.”
For a woman of her size and age she didn’t scare easily. Hesitant, he told her the truth. When he was done she nodded and sniffed a few times and walked towards the doorway that fed out into a corridor.
“Am I free to go?”
“Of course but I would advise against it unless you want to find yourself in the pen tonight.” She turned away. “I’m putting on some green tea. If you want to join me come on in, otherwise the door is off to your right.” She disappeared out of view. Jack remained seated for a minute or two before getting up and stepping into the hallway. He glanced right towards the exit and then back to the kitchen. He could hear her filling up the kettle. Her response caught him off guard. He fully expected her to either shoot or at the bare minimum call the cops. Realizing the streets would be crawling with cops he headed into the kitchen and took a seat at a round table.
“You live alone?” he asked.
“For the past twelve years. But don’t you go getting any ideas,” she said raising her eyebrow. “My husband passed away. God rest his soul. I have a son but he’s behind bars.”
Now he was starting to get a clearer idea of why she hadn’t reacted like anyone else might. Those who had family inside understood that not every situation was black and white. In the years Jack had spent inside Rikers he’d met a lot of good people; flawed, and at times deserving of being locked up but good people nonetheless. Many came to their senses inside; others fell apart and grew bitter and angry. “How long?” Jack asked.
“Three years so far. Armed robbery. Some days I wonder where I went wrong. His father was a good man and I think when he died something broke in my son.” She poured out two cups of tea and brought them over, then took a seat across from him. Jack sipped at the drink and sat there quietly as she looked him over.
“You some kind of medium?”
She laughed. “I’ve been called many things but not that.”
“But the tarot cards in the other room…”
“I do readings for people but I hate labels. Too often we use them to divide each other, to make ourselves feel superior to another. We are all equal…” she fished for his name.
“Jack.”
She nodded and sipped on her drink. “Would you like me to read your cards?”
“I’m not sure I believe in all that.”
“You don’t need to. Few do but the cards are rarely wrong.”
He shrugged, and she went and retrieved the cards. As she shuffled back into the kitchen she stopped and he figured she must have noticed his handgun sticking out the back of his jeans. She didn’t say anything but simply took her seat and began. Over the next fifteen minutes she mumbled incoherently at times and Jack simply nodded, his eyes every so often lifting to the clock on the wall. He’d been keeping track of time knowing that
