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It was my fucking character flaw, but I didn't plan to deny it. If nothing happened, I was going to be disappointed period.Finally after the heavy socks and the hundred dollar running shoes, I belted on the utility belt and small pouch. In addition to my ID and credit cards, I carried my stainless steel derringer in there. The one which fired both 410 gauge shotgun shells or .41 caliber pistol rounds. I had .41 cal hollow points in it that morning.I had made sure Peter was awake and ready to drive, before I started dressing, so we were ready to go when I walked from the bedroom. We left Sylvia in bed with her eyes closed. I had no idea if she was really asleep or just avoiding me. It didn't matter, I had other things on my mind."I'll try to have someone call you to pick me up after the race," I said to Peter as I got out of the car a block from the start line. There was a mob that took up most of the block. I waited in line to register which was no more than showing my driver's. Top floor. Seeya!” He disappeared back through the door he’d come from, while Fatima made her way up the badly carpeted staircase to Freddy’s room, passing other rooms as she ascended, many of them pulsing to a different stereo beat. Fatima could hear some two-step garage coming out of Freddy’s room. She smiled. So much better than that Hard House stuff she’d had to endure last time she was there. She pushed open Freddy’s door, with a selection of rehearsed phrases competing for attention, along with the one that had only just occurred to her which was to compliment him on playing rather more melodic music. But she had barely said “Hi there, Freddy! How’re you?” when she realised that almost anything she’d prepared to say would be wholly inappropriate. Freddy was there. And his bedroom was exactly as Fatima remembered it. Tatty posters advertising club nights that had ceased to exist years ago. A stack of clothes piled high on an armchair. A small TV and a much larger stereo. And a.
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