Page 155 of Give Me Redemption

With my windshield wipers on, I pull into town. With narrowed eyes, I creep down the streets, passing streetlights that look blurry from the soft rain falling. A few people walk on the sidewalk with umbrellas, having no idea that a child molester was/ is here.

I remember the address Pipe gave me. My fucking phone died, and I don’t have a charger in here. It’s in my personal car.

It’s been hours. He could be anywhere. I have my radio if I need to call in for help, so I’m not worried about the damn phone.

I spot the sign for the bar hanging out over the alley. I pull across the street and kill my lights. A couple walks down into the darkness, and I sit and watch. I look at the cars parked and the street signs. The moon peeks out from the clouds, covering everything in blue.

I run my fingers over my lips, wondering if he’s in there. I would have no idea what he looks like. Should I go in?

I’m sure he knows what I look like. If he sees me, he could run.

I have an odd feeling in my gut. I don’t know how to describe it, but something is telling me he is in there. My skin prickles, and my fingers twitch. I keep my eyes glued on the door, watching, waiting. Like a lion sunk low in the bush, ready to pounce on its prey.

He doesn’t know I’m here.

He doesn’t know that I’ve found him.

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Hours tick by as I stare after the door to the bar. Couples filter in and out, I hear a band playing, and the rain has subsided. I pop my neck and rub my throat. I wonder if this is his regular hangout. Does he live close to here?

Is my sister here?

Why was he in Maine a few months back?

A man walks out with a cigarette between his lips. He stumbles a bit before holding his hand on the wall and unzipping his jeans. He pisses in the alleyway, urine splashing on his shoes.

Is it him?I wonder.

A light buzzes on at the end of the alley, giving the man a face, but I can’t see it because I’m the wrong way.

Without thinking, I open my door and climb out of the car. I look around before crossing the road, stepping off the sidewalk just as a car whips past me. Quickly, I step back, my heart in my throat at almost getting plowed down. I exhale and try it again just as the man walks back inside.

“Shit,” I curse. If I go in there with a gun, I’ll look suspicious. He’ll see me for sure, if he’s even in there.

I untuck my blouse, covering my gun and badge before walking to the door. The band plays loudly and horribly. A cloud hovers in the air from chainsmokers, and it smells like stale beer and black mold.

Jesus, this place really is a piece of shit.

I look around, trying to spot the man I saw outside. My eyes scan over black tables filled with women who are too old to wear so little clothing. A few guys play pool on the other end and a couple dances near the stage. There’s a dartboard that’s been stabbed over a thousand times. In the back, paint peels from the walls, and I spot a bucket near the bathroom catching the drip from the ceiling.

Bingo.

There he sits, enjoying a smoke with one foot propped on the bar of the stool. I move past the tables and pick an empty seat a good distance away from him. The bartender walks up to me.

“What’ll you have?”

“Water,” I say, knowing I need to keep my head straight here.

“This is a bar, honey, not a fucking waterhole. What’ll you have?”

I narrow my eyes at the woman who’s twice my size. She wears a black T-shirt that saysfuck youon it. Her voice sounds like she’s smoked since she came out of her mother’s vagina.

“A beer then,” I say, even-toned. “Whatever you’ve got.” She nods before reaching down in the cooler and pulling out a Miller Light. She sets it in front of me, not even bothering to open it.

But what did I except? I lean up and slide my hand into my pocket, pulling out some cash before tossing it over to her side. She grabs it and walks back over to her smoke that sits in an ashtray. My eyes look to the man sitting at the bar. He’s older, his skin tan from being outside.

He doesn’t look like the man I remember from the street now that I think about it. I reach for my beer, twisting the top off as little pieces of ice slide down the side.

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