Pink Walls

Saffron [Part I]✓

“I've grown a five o'clock shadow from just listening to you nag.”

There was nothing more utterly insipid than watching ice melt in winter. It was much worse than watching paint dry in spring but in situations like these it was a necessity.

It was boring moments like this one that made me wish I had a watch—at least then I'd have something more appealing to look at as I waited—but lucky for me I never needed one to know that I was running out of time.

I had less than twenty-two minutes left and this pan of ice didn't seem like it was going anywhere.

"Kayden!" a familiar voice hollered from behind me.

"Frank," I greeted back, turning my waist slightly so I caught sight of the man as he lumbered into the narrow alley, trash bags in hand.

"I thought you wouldn't be back; thought you had finally abandoned me," Frank scratched at his beard with his free hand then rubbed his belly as he walked towards me. "Have you?"

"I'm here now, aren't I?" I returned my gaze to the melting ice. Sometimes watching it bullied it into heating up faster, though Frank would never believe me.

"Oh sorry, I didn't get to read the note that you didn't leave me." He settled on the heap of cardboard and washed rags piled on the wall opposite me. "So where have you been these twenty four hours?"

"Out," I tilted the pan to one side to let the part that had already melted warm the rest. "And it hasn't been twenty four hours yet."

"I left just before midnight and that was the last I saw of you," Frank took a pocket watch out of his jacket. "It's a quarter to ten now. So what have you been doing for approximately twenty-one hours and forty-five minutes?"

Before I could say anything, he added, "And don't give me any bullshit about sightseeing or visiting friends. We both know you prefer to spend your days wallowing in despair."

"Well, I—"

"And don't you dare lie and tell me that you were on a run," he blustered, the pocket watch swinging lightly by its chain, "because guess who showed up at 4am on a freezing Saturday morning inquiring about your whereabouts?"

"Frank, I really—"

"That's right," he snarled. "Ron—effing—Cisco. When they couldn't get in touch with you, they came looking for me and of course I didn't know nothing so they politely told me to inform them the moment I laid eyes on your sorry ass. . . So what sort of trouble are we looking at?"

"What trouble?"

"The shitload you've gotten yourself into."

"I'm not in any—"

"Really? Because Ron Cisco doesn't make personal visits for no reason, and anyone who runs for the Cisco's can't stay out of trouble for long," he banged his fist on his prosthetic leg. "Take it from someone who's been there."

"Well, I stay out of trouble. I don't know anything worth killing for," I fixed a grin on my lips. "And I'm getting out soon."

"No one gets out."

"I am," I got to my feet and turned to face him. "I need to borrow your knife. I've grown a five o'clock shadow from just listening to you nag."

"You know I love you like my own son."

"You know—" I wanted to say but my sentence was cut short when I had to dodge the knife as it whizzed past my cheek and imbedded itself into the wall behind me.