By J. Robert King
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Additional resources for Angel of Death
He is a garbage man in Griffith, Indiana. The loping ape has few friends, one sister, and no car. A graduate of Griffith Junior High, he landed his first and only job after the death of his father. He has hauled the garbage of Griffith for twenty-four years now and is known mostly as a harmless idiot. When he was twenty-seven, the garbage man unadvisedly flirted with junior high girls who passed him on the way to school. He was convicted of child molestation, though he had never touched anyone except himself.
You don’t. “Come on. ” He nods. He’s really small. Maybe he’ll be good at the Wheel. Maybe not. The stairs squeak. You know when anybody’s coming up because the stairs squeak. He’s coming up. He’s going to challenge you to the Wheel. He’s going to lose. There’s a little landing. To open the bathroom door, you have to step off the landing. It’s that little. Your door goes in, not out. You keep your deadbolt on. That’s a good name. Deadbolt. Stops them dead. You swing the door open. Home. The room is big.
Leland drew back from the man, her eyes searching his. She expected to see something predatory in him, something prepared to pounce upon and exploit her supposed vulnerability. But she saw none of that. He did not wish her harm. He wasn’t on the prowl. He was as vulnerable and lonely and desperate as she and – until a moment ago – he hadn’t even realized it. There, not ten feet from the police line that roped off the bloodstained ceiling and floor, the two cops clung to each other. Heat ghosted up from their shoulders into the chill place.
Angel of Death by J. Robert King