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Silas Black was late. He was always late. Time, to a man like him, was a relative thing. A problem for someone else to worry about. Usually, the person waiting for him. He wore a watch but never used it. An observer would have noticed the watch didn’t show the correct time, so checking it would have been an exercise in futility. It also explained why, at that very moment, Silas was trying to determine the time by looking at the sun. Although it was obscured by clouds, he decided it was 9 o’clock. He was wrong.
Somewhere, not that far away, a storm was clearing its throat. Silas looked over his shoulder at the houses across the street. A thick blanket of clouds was reaching out over the rooftops. He judged the rain was about a mile and a half away. But he wasn’t good at guessing distances, either. He considered the speed of the storm, its distance from his current location, and the amount of time between now and when rain was falling on him. The last thing to come to his mind, though, was where he had left his umbrella.
He looked up at the old maple beside him. For a moment, he considered moving away from the tree, given the high likelihood of lightning. Yet, the entire street was shaded by similar, proud maples. These trees were so old that the sidewalk was punctured by their emergent roots. Silas looked at the neighborhood around him. Children probably rode bikes over the broken sidewalk. Men ambled down the road at a relaxed pace. Neighbors would smile and wave at passersby.
What a horrible way to live.
But Long Island still had a few surprises, as the detective was about to find out. An old woman was making her way across the street. She was pushing a rumpled, empty shopping cart. A plastic bag was tied around her head. As she reached Silas’s side of the street she paused. The old woman gazed at the stranger in his navy greatcoat. Silas stared back. She flipped him off. He felt more at home.
[Read more…] about Black Days, Chapter 1: “Toy Story”