Old Habits

Here’s something I’ve done on my blog in the past. A story in progress. You read it as I write it.

Part One

Old Habits

Is it still against the law to harbor a fugitive if you didn’t know he was a fugitive and you didn’t know he was living in your shed for three weeks?  This is the question Arthur has been asking himself since he saw Trent’s name and picture on the local evening news yesterday. Arthur hadn’t seen or spoken to Trent in nearly three years when he one day discovered him walking down the alley behind Arthur’s house.

This sudden appearance was only a momentary surprise for Arthur. It was the nature of their friendship that they would have protracted fallow periods with no contact and then Trent would suddenly show up where ever Arthur was living or Arthur would spot Trent walking through the airport as they happened to be catching different flights to different places but leaving from the same city. These coincidental airport meetings had happened on three separate occasions.

When Arthur approached him in the alley Trent initially acted surprised to see him, as though he had no idea that he was less than a block away from Arthur’s house. It took less than a minute for Trent to admit that he knew where Arthur lived. It took three drinks on Arthur’s porch furniture for Trent to reveal that he had been using Arthur’s shed as an apartment for several weeks.

Arthur said, “you know, I would have let you stay in the house like a human being. It’s no mansion, but I like to think it’s got more to offer than the place where I keep the tool box I never use.”

“I didn’t want anyone to know I was around.”
“Who am I going to talk to about the dead beat stinking up my house?”
“I figured,” said Trent, “that if you didn’t know I was here then you wouldn’t have to lie if anyone asked about me.”
“Lie? Did you do something? Are you in trouble?”
“I’m not in trouble as long as nobody knows I’m here.” A heavy wind pushed a plastic candy wrapper down the street and carried with it the smell of a fire several blocks away. It had that scent of quality wood burning, cedar probably. Someone was getting their fire-pit ready for an evening of roasting meat, drinking beer, and getting progressively louder as more and more people around them turned in for the night.
“And you don’t think,” Arthur said, “anyone would have noticed the weird bearded guy living in my shed? The beards a nice touch, by the way, certainly makes you look less suspicious.”
Trent dragged one of his large hands across his hair-covered cheek, scratching a patch of dry skin or emphasizing the fullness of his beard or both. “With this lovely high privacy fencing you’ve got I wasn’t too worried about it. Even you didn’t notice me in your backyard for almost a month, so I’m thinking your block club isn’t running the tightest neighborhood watch program.”

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More to come

LW