Chet Williamson McKain's Dilemma (retail) (epub

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.She was unable and unwilling to do any of the things they had done together before the stroke, so Runnells, independent enough before, found himself with even more time on his hands, and little to do with it except care for Leona, a chore he shared with Paulette.It was not a chore he enjoyed.He felt a need to hurt Leona, for she had betrayed his aesthetic sense, turning what had been a pleasant situation into a nightmare, a bargain in which he had sold himself, not to a cultured and attractive older woman, but to a misshapen hag, who was now actually growing jealous of him, possessive beyond reason.It was not fair.It was breach of contract, when you looked at it in a certain way.Marital agreement or not, she had not kept her unspoken part of the bargain.She was to have stayed Leona Coyle Barnes Runnells, sparkling and generous and charming.She should not have become this creature who wheeled herself from room to room and remained in the shadows, like some latter-day Glamis Castle bogey.She, or her damned arteries, had broken faith with Carlton Runnells, and now he felt himself entitled to break faith as well.For the next three years they lived what Runnells thought of as a Harold Pinter play.He cared for her, playing male nurse, helping her to her feet when she went through her frequent weak spells, and eating with her.He lost ten pounds due to a diminished appetite brought on by having to watch her eat, and she seemed to relish his discomfort, opening her twisted mouth wider than necessary to insert her fork or spoon.Their conversation decreased to necessities only, and the lack of practice made Leona's speech practically unintelligible after a few silent months.Paulette, who was taciturn to begin with, was no help.Leona refused to have a full-time nurse, for reasons known only to herself.Runnells suspected that it was to punish him in some way for some imagined infraction, perhaps the crime of being healthy while she was not, and he hated her all the more for it.The doctors had told him that Leona must be kept from any exertion, or she could suffer another stroke, and that a second one would most likely be fatal.Although he toyed with the idea of trying to bring on such exertion, either physical or mental, he chose not to attempt it.The situation was not unbearable, at least not yet.And he knew that what amounted to murder was something that he was incapable of at this point, and alone.But soon he met Michael Eshleman, and all that changed.Runnells, since he was no longer able to make his frequent trips to Philadelphia and New York, liked to occasionally engage in what he referred to as slumming.He would go alone into some of the rougher parts of the city and its environs, enter a bar, and watch what happened.Quickly he learned that the scenario of strangers getting beaten up was a fiction.Perhaps if he had been shorter, or more flamboyant, or puny, he might have been approached, but a normal-looking man with an average build could go into almost any bar in the city without fear of finding someone who wanted to punch out his lights.So Runnells found himself entering ever more reputedly fearsome bars, and finally going into the Seventh Ward to have a drink or two.The Seventh Ward was celebrated in song and story for being the crime center of the relatively crime-free city of Lancaster.Much of the ward's population consisted of blacks, Cubans, and Puerto Ricans, most of whom were decent citizens who had jobs, paid their taxes, and didn't beat their families.But there were some who made their living by buying and selling stolen goods, or drugs, or both.It was with no intention of looking for trouble that Carlton Runnells went into Lucky's Tavern one hot August night in 1981.It was simply out of curiosity and to satisfy a lust for excitement, which was precisely what he got.He knew he was in trouble when he entered.In the other tough bars in the city, there had been a racial mix—mostly white, but with an occasional pair of blacks, or a Chicano and his girl in a dark corner.But this place was exclusively Puerto Rican, and the kind of Puerto Rican that gave the lie to the image of them being little guys with big knives.They were, Runnells thought, big guys with, probably, big knives as well.He froze in the doorway, a white rabbit caught in the headlights of their cold and hostile gaze.To turn and walk out should have been easy, but he didn't do it.For some reason, it was easier to sit down at the empty stool at the end of the bar, and look down at the ring-stained surface.He would have one beer, and then leave.The bartender took his time coming over, but brought Runnells his beer [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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