Last Bandit: Book 1 in The Bandits Series

Love Walked In

Chapter 4: Love Walked In ~

I just bought a fifth of Jack Daniels. I'm running out of money. But I'm thirsty.

I heard someone say at the liquor store that there was going to be some work being done on the Gateway Arch. I'm pretty sure that's in St. Louis, so I must be close.

Now I'm walking around with a guitar case in my hand, a pillowcase slung over my shoulder, and a bottle of Jack in my grip. People are staring. Ha.

They're afraid. Either that or their repulsive looks are because they're unhappy about my dirty appearance.

I don't think I look that scary. Well, I'm tired. I haven't taken a shower in days. No, weeks. Or maybe just one week, I don't know. My eyeliner is probably smeared. My hair is probably a mess because I've lost the will to brush it. I probably stink.

If only there was a freshwater stream near. Or a bathhouse to wash up in. Hell, I'd take a dip in a pool if it would help the dirt and grime to dissolve.

I've been yearning for some cigarettes, so I buy a pack. I'm almost broke again. Maybe I should play my harmonica again. But I'm not hungry. I'm never hungry anymore. Just thirsty. My pants are already getting loose. I need a new belt.

I take a break from walking, sit down on the cold concrete and light up a cigarette. Now I'm in St. Louis, the Gateway Arch peeking through buildings. I start up my Walkman and listen to The Jacobites' first album. I like Dave Kusworth very much.

And I awake by the sound of a high voice asking if I'm alright.

"Oh, thank God. You're alive," a middle-aged woman chimes in my face. Do I look dead?

"Come on. Get up," she says nicely, pulling my arm.

I arise wearily. My head's in the clouds and I'm a bit hung over. And some asshole nabbed the half of whiskey I had left.

"C'mon," she insists as she pulls me forward. I blindly obey and grab my things.

I really wake up when I'm in her car. She's babbling about God and how young I am. So I figure, by her appearance and actions, she's a full blown catholic mother Mary trying to earn her ticket into sainthood by helping a bum like me out. Yeah, there's a cross hanging from her rear view mirror. Oh, this should be interesting.

She introduces herself as Theresa Montgomery. Never mind. She's mother Theresa, not mother Mary. I tell her I'm Johnny, and she asks for my last name. I wanna say B. Goode just to be funny. But instead, I come up with another fake name.

"Silvers."

"Well, Johnny Silvers, our home is your home tonight."

Our? Oh, there's another person in the front seat I didn't notice before. It's a girl, and she's very still. She turns around slowly to look at me. I smile when our eyes meet, but she quickly looks forward again. She's just a teenager by the looks of it.

We drive passed a little white church. Then a pasture of grazing cattle. We're out of the city now. The grass seems greener and the sky looks bluer. Maybe it's just my imagination.

Their house is a big, two story farmhouse with a porch going all the way around it. We park in front of it, and then I'm instructed to grab my things and follow them inside.

"You're awfully quiet, Johnny," Theresa says to me as we step onto her porch. Well, what is there to say? "No need to be shy."

I'm not shy. I'm tired. Perhaps that's why I'm so quiet. Maybe I should speak more. In fact, I don't think I've spoken at all since I've met these people. Besides telling them my name.