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Addison Eberhard turned out to be a jolly man who was like a clean-shaven version of Santa Claus. Rosy cheeks. Belly full of jelly. Perpetual smile. And completely uninterested in fighting Simon’s case.
“It’s just a misdemeanor,” he’d chuckled. “Don’t mean a thing. I’ll get you a deal that will wipe it clean after six months.”
“But I’ve done nothing wrong or illegal,” Simon replied. “This is no better than extortion.”
“Call it what you want. But you lose? You get jail time. And that don’t get wiped clean.”
“No...no...this isn’t right.”
“Look, Simon, I’ll fight it if you really want me to, but it’s a lost cause.”
“Even if I prove that the school they referenced is more than a thousand feet away?”
“Can you?”
“I think so. I did an informal count and it was forty feet more than the limit.”
“A limit that’s not hard and fast.”
Simon sighed. He was beginning to lose patience so just said, “I see. Thank you for your time.”
“Think on it, Simon. Give yourself a little space. You’ll see what I’m telling you is right.”
Simon rose, saying, “Whether I do or not is unimportant. Good bye.” And he left.
Drove straight to that shop. Parked in back and went inside to find, yet again, that Mr. Tran was not in.
“He left at five,” said the sad stringy boy.
“Will he be in tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
Simon thanked the lad and got the counter from his car. He went directly to the corner of the school, set the counter up, and ran it straight up the sidewalk to the lamppost by the store.
One thousand, one-hundred and six feet. Even allowing for moving around, that was well outside the law’s parameters.
He took a photo of the reading, then ran it back up to the school, recording it with his phone. This time the reading was one thousand one hundred and two.
He returned to the lamppost and checked the somewhat new sidewalk around it. No evidence of where the lamp might have been before, but even assuming it had been even with the storefront, that only removed eleven feet. Which still put it outside the threshold. Which was nonsensical.
What made the arresting officer...Jansen? Yes, Jansen. What made him think his arrest had been within what the law proscribed? Was there a city surveyor’s office that had misread or mis-entered its measurements? Had other men been arrested here and scared into making deals? This was a lot to have to process.
He drove on to his hotel, emailed Amir and Olivier the tracking information for the shipment...as well as a copy of the XLS list...then sat there.
Just...sat there.
Staring at his laptop.
His now blank laptop. Devoid of any folders aside from Olivier’s, a generic one titled Simon’s Everything, and one he called Fun. He opened the last one. Up popped more than two dozen Word documents and three more folders noted as being from the past three years. One was for little poems he's written about men he'd titled Ditties. Most of them quite naughty.
He decided to add another to a Word Document...
He opened some images from his file of jpegs and found one showing a young man caught in a beam of light slashing down one side of his body, highlighting his musculature in a chiaroscuro style. It looked somewhat like the sketch he had done of the young trucker.
He imported it to the word document...then sat there, just looking at it. Unmoving. His mind drifting. Trying to decide whether or not to make that into a sketch, as well. But he could not focus any further.
Eberhard was probably correct, when it came to the normal actions and attitudes of most people. Just bad luck. Get it taken care of. Over and done. And then he'd never have to come back to this goddamned town, again.
But Simon could not work like that. There was some sort of glitch in his makeup. Or DNA. Or mentality. He didn’t know which. And it was not a consistent thing...not, at least, on the surface.
There were occasions where, when he believed someone was trying to take unfair advantage of him, his inner self would erect a brick wall and he would not let the perpetrator past it. Could not. Period. No matter what the threat.
He would simply say, no way in hell...and mean it...as he did now.
And that little voice in his head was now telling him, I told you not to come.










