Run Baby Run Read Online Free
Author: Michael Allen Zell
couldn't imagine keeping a few hustles going anywhere else. Moms wasn't on this earth either. Who knew where his brother Eric had gone?
Hutch was dressed in black from head to toe, same as he'd been at work. He wouldn't be able to blend into the night much longer, though. Daylight would be coming.
Wincing from his tender knee, he tried to walk on the side of his foot, wincing harder at the idea he now had no home. Couldn't stay in New Orleans. No new place to go to either, what with the money gone.
Hutch couldn't have felt more helpless, more alone, but for a moment he also considered himself blessed.
Two doors before the next Franklin intersection stood an abandoned building. The little house just past it was tidy. Flowers in front, flag holder, the whole deal. This other building, though, was a mess.
The façade was tan-colored stucco with three large grey paint blotches partly covered by larger brown ones to mask the graffiti already coming back. There were three second floor windows with metal canopies.
Hutch nodded in approval. This would work as a hide-out for now, but how to get in?
Both iron doors were locked. The one in the middle with a garage door next to it, also locked, must've been for the business. The door on the left had steps behind it and was a 1/2 address. Former upstairs apartment.
Hutch was now determined. "This is good," he said softly. A difficult place to get into probably meant no other inhabitants, and he could stay there as long as needed.
There were chain link gates on both sides of the building. The one on the left was used by the tidy-house-occupants to protect their car and a swing. The one on the right had nothing behind it but overgrown weeds. Easy choice.
Hutch scaled the gate. It normally would've been a simple move, but with his banged-up knee, he went over sideways, like a track high jumper extending over a pole with legs as scissors. "Motherfuckin'sonofafuckin'bitch," he said, due to the strain.
Hutch ran his hands over his sweaty forehead.
After climbing over a second chain link gate in the rear, he shouldered open the rotted back door.
"This building ain't been occupied since Katrina. Maybe longer than that," he said.
He limped up the stairs, feeling the mold already getting into his system.
"Aw, hell no," Hutch said, remembering how the black mold had irritated his nose and mouth when gutting a few houses. Eventually he had to stop doing favors, because his body couldn't handle it.
The second floor was a mix of detritus and disarray. The roof was open to the sky in spots, so the mildew and mold was fresh and strong from occasional rain. Anything of potential value had been taken away for reuse or cash. All that was left was in the process of disintegration. The stench was overwhelming.
Hutch's eyes stung, but only from the mold. He was in a shitload of trouble. His world was rapidly getting smaller. A target was on his back. But he was a tough character himself.
"Be strong, Hutch. Keep it together. Done some dirt in my life, but this is a whole lotta mess," he said.
He hobbled over to the closest window overlooking the street, being careful not to walk under the roof holes. Hutch assumed that years of rain had rotted the floorboards. Termites, attracted by the moisture, likely would've turned the wood to sponge.
Hutch looked out at Franklin and the closed Chinese restaurant across the street. He was immediately reminded of how the whole thing came about. Stretching out on the floor next to the window, the conversation with Clint at the Chinese place in the Quarter about a month ago bombarded his mind.
"What's the deal? Shit, Clint, couldn't we talk about this at work?"
"Hutch, Hutch, take it easy. Tell me the chicken isn't all that."
"Yeah, it's good, but why we here on Dauphine? Not for the food. C'mon, man. Placate me."
"Okay, okay. Here it is. I heard crazy stuff at the club yesterday. Been thinkin' about it. I got in early. Had to bring my bitters and
Hutch was dressed in black from head to toe, same as he'd been at work. He wouldn't be able to blend into the night much longer, though. Daylight would be coming.
Wincing from his tender knee, he tried to walk on the side of his foot, wincing harder at the idea he now had no home. Couldn't stay in New Orleans. No new place to go to either, what with the money gone.
Hutch couldn't have felt more helpless, more alone, but for a moment he also considered himself blessed.
Two doors before the next Franklin intersection stood an abandoned building. The little house just past it was tidy. Flowers in front, flag holder, the whole deal. This other building, though, was a mess.
The façade was tan-colored stucco with three large grey paint blotches partly covered by larger brown ones to mask the graffiti already coming back. There were three second floor windows with metal canopies.
Hutch nodded in approval. This would work as a hide-out for now, but how to get in?
Both iron doors were locked. The one in the middle with a garage door next to it, also locked, must've been for the business. The door on the left had steps behind it and was a 1/2 address. Former upstairs apartment.
Hutch was now determined. "This is good," he said softly. A difficult place to get into probably meant no other inhabitants, and he could stay there as long as needed.
There were chain link gates on both sides of the building. The one on the left was used by the tidy-house-occupants to protect their car and a swing. The one on the right had nothing behind it but overgrown weeds. Easy choice.
Hutch scaled the gate. It normally would've been a simple move, but with his banged-up knee, he went over sideways, like a track high jumper extending over a pole with legs as scissors. "Motherfuckin'sonofafuckin'bitch," he said, due to the strain.
Hutch ran his hands over his sweaty forehead.
After climbing over a second chain link gate in the rear, he shouldered open the rotted back door.
"This building ain't been occupied since Katrina. Maybe longer than that," he said.
He limped up the stairs, feeling the mold already getting into his system.
"Aw, hell no," Hutch said, remembering how the black mold had irritated his nose and mouth when gutting a few houses. Eventually he had to stop doing favors, because his body couldn't handle it.
The second floor was a mix of detritus and disarray. The roof was open to the sky in spots, so the mildew and mold was fresh and strong from occasional rain. Anything of potential value had been taken away for reuse or cash. All that was left was in the process of disintegration. The stench was overwhelming.
Hutch's eyes stung, but only from the mold. He was in a shitload of trouble. His world was rapidly getting smaller. A target was on his back. But he was a tough character himself.
"Be strong, Hutch. Keep it together. Done some dirt in my life, but this is a whole lotta mess," he said.
He hobbled over to the closest window overlooking the street, being careful not to walk under the roof holes. Hutch assumed that years of rain had rotted the floorboards. Termites, attracted by the moisture, likely would've turned the wood to sponge.
Hutch looked out at Franklin and the closed Chinese restaurant across the street. He was immediately reminded of how the whole thing came about. Stretching out on the floor next to the window, the conversation with Clint at the Chinese place in the Quarter about a month ago bombarded his mind.
"What's the deal? Shit, Clint, couldn't we talk about this at work?"
"Hutch, Hutch, take it easy. Tell me the chicken isn't all that."
"Yeah, it's good, but why we here on Dauphine? Not for the food. C'mon, man. Placate me."
"Okay, okay. Here it is. I heard crazy stuff at the club yesterday. Been thinkin' about it. I got in early. Had to bring my bitters and
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