Seemsberian monkey on his shoulder limping toward him and extending a gnarled hand.
“I’m Bill. Bill the Lifer, they call me.”
“Simly Frye.” He hadn’t forgotten Becker’s admonition not to talk to anybody, but the man’s wrinkled smile made it hard not to say hello. “I’m only in for one more day.”
“Time is relative, young fella. Some people live an entire lifetime in a day! Ain’t that right, Fumbles?”
The old convict petted the monkey on his shoulder, which disturbingly turned out to be a mangy stuffed animal. Even worse, a few eyes in the yard were beginning to turn their way.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Bill.”
Simly started to look for another spot, but Bill followed.
“What you in for, if you don’t mind me askin’?”
“Trespassing,” said Simly, not wanting to get into the embarrassing details.
“Got caught with my hand in the Cookie Jar, 21 myself.”
“Sorry to hear that, bro. Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I just wanna pay my debt to society in peace and quiet.”
“C’mon, Fumbles! We can tell when we’re not wanted!”
As Bill the Lifer and his closest friend stormed off in a huff, Simly did his best to tuck into the shadows and make himself invisible again. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done.
“Well, well, well. Look what Seemsberian Snow Cat dragged in.”
Much to Simly’s horror, the entire Tide clan was drifting in his direction. The way they moved was like a sailboat tacking, plotting just enough of a circuitous route as to avoid the suspicion of the guards, who sat with their binoculars in the towers above. But in a very short amount of time, they had formed a semicircle around where he was standing.
“If it ain’t Kid Fixer’s string-bean sidekick!” An ex–Flavor Miner whose beard was tied with a rubber band got right in Simly’s frostbitten face. “Looks like Seemsmas came early this year, eh, boys?”
“I’m not lookin’ for any trouble,” muttered the frightened newbie, backing up the two inches that separated him from the wall behind him.
“Well, it’s looking for you.”
As The Tide started to roll in, Simly instinctively reached for the Fists of Fury™ that were clipped onto his belt. But then he remembered the collection of Tools that were normally strapped all over his body were now sitting in two cardboard boxes in Seemberia’s property room. So he put up his dukes— just like his grandpa Milton had taught him—and prepared to take his lumps.
“Les partir suel!”
En masse, the gang turned toward the voice of a gaunt figure that was approaching from the other side of the yard. His hair and beard were disheveled, and he was rail thin—though what there was of him was rock hard. Whoever he was, The Tide didn’t turn on him, which meant he merited respect.
“This don’t concern you, Frenchy,” the miner whispered under his breath.
“But it does concern them.”
The scraggly inmate unexpectedly hucked a rock up at the nearest tower, enough of a signal to catch the guard’s attention.
“There a problem down there?” The Corrections Officer took off his mirrored shades and shouted over a bullhorn. Nobody said a word, because nobody wanted to be tossed into solitary confinement or given extra sessions on the Couch. “I didn’t think so. Now break it up!”
He didn’t have to ask twice, and one by one The Tide began to reverse course and trickle back into the yard. But not before one of them gave Simly a vicious shove, knocking him into the wall and off his feet.
“I don’t care if you are Triton’s boy.” The Flavor Miner stepped right up to the one called Frenchy and spat directly in his face. “I’m personally gonna send you to A Better Place.”
“But I’m already there, monami .”
As the chess masters returned to their clocks, the bearded prisoner grabbed the newbie by the elbow and lifted him off the ice.
“Simly Alomonous Frye. What’s a nice guy like you doing in a
“I’m Bill. Bill the Lifer, they call me.”
“Simly Frye.” He hadn’t forgotten Becker’s admonition not to talk to anybody, but the man’s wrinkled smile made it hard not to say hello. “I’m only in for one more day.”
“Time is relative, young fella. Some people live an entire lifetime in a day! Ain’t that right, Fumbles?”
The old convict petted the monkey on his shoulder, which disturbingly turned out to be a mangy stuffed animal. Even worse, a few eyes in the yard were beginning to turn their way.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Bill.”
Simly started to look for another spot, but Bill followed.
“What you in for, if you don’t mind me askin’?”
“Trespassing,” said Simly, not wanting to get into the embarrassing details.
“Got caught with my hand in the Cookie Jar, 21 myself.”
“Sorry to hear that, bro. Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I just wanna pay my debt to society in peace and quiet.”
“C’mon, Fumbles! We can tell when we’re not wanted!”
As Bill the Lifer and his closest friend stormed off in a huff, Simly did his best to tuck into the shadows and make himself invisible again. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done.
“Well, well, well. Look what Seemsberian Snow Cat dragged in.”
Much to Simly’s horror, the entire Tide clan was drifting in his direction. The way they moved was like a sailboat tacking, plotting just enough of a circuitous route as to avoid the suspicion of the guards, who sat with their binoculars in the towers above. But in a very short amount of time, they had formed a semicircle around where he was standing.
“If it ain’t Kid Fixer’s string-bean sidekick!” An ex–Flavor Miner whose beard was tied with a rubber band got right in Simly’s frostbitten face. “Looks like Seemsmas came early this year, eh, boys?”
“I’m not lookin’ for any trouble,” muttered the frightened newbie, backing up the two inches that separated him from the wall behind him.
“Well, it’s looking for you.”
As The Tide started to roll in, Simly instinctively reached for the Fists of Fury™ that were clipped onto his belt. But then he remembered the collection of Tools that were normally strapped all over his body were now sitting in two cardboard boxes in Seemberia’s property room. So he put up his dukes— just like his grandpa Milton had taught him—and prepared to take his lumps.
“Les partir suel!”
En masse, the gang turned toward the voice of a gaunt figure that was approaching from the other side of the yard. His hair and beard were disheveled, and he was rail thin—though what there was of him was rock hard. Whoever he was, The Tide didn’t turn on him, which meant he merited respect.
“This don’t concern you, Frenchy,” the miner whispered under his breath.
“But it does concern them.”
The scraggly inmate unexpectedly hucked a rock up at the nearest tower, enough of a signal to catch the guard’s attention.
“There a problem down there?” The Corrections Officer took off his mirrored shades and shouted over a bullhorn. Nobody said a word, because nobody wanted to be tossed into solitary confinement or given extra sessions on the Couch. “I didn’t think so. Now break it up!”
He didn’t have to ask twice, and one by one The Tide began to reverse course and trickle back into the yard. But not before one of them gave Simly a vicious shove, knocking him into the wall and off his feet.
“I don’t care if you are Triton’s boy.” The Flavor Miner stepped right up to the one called Frenchy and spat directly in his face. “I’m personally gonna send you to A Better Place.”
“But I’m already there, monami .”
As the chess masters returned to their clocks, the bearded prisoner grabbed the newbie by the elbow and lifted him off the ice.
“Simly Alomonous Frye. What’s a nice guy like you doing in a
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