The Disposables Read Online Free Page A

keep-away, his mom, Julie Kelso, had snuck the molesting slime ball suspect back into her house.
    Wally Kim, a Korean kid, lost his mother, a prostitute who died of an overdose, and left him without relatives to care for him. And half-Mex-half-white five-year-old Randy Lugo came to our attention after his fifth visit to Killer King hospital for a broken bone.
    I carried them all into their bedrooms and tucked them in. Alfred was conspicuous by his absence. I missed him dearly.
    In the six months we’d had the kids, I treasured every minute I had with them. We wrestled on the floor, tossed a ball in the house, and played silly games. It didn’t matter what we did so much, what mattered was the laughing, giggling, and cheering. And the hugs. It wasn’t complicated. They hungered for attention and love. For me, maybe they partially filled Alfred’s empty place, but I’d come to love them as my own. I gave all I had and wished I’d had more time to give. I couldn’t imagine letting anything bad ever happen to them again. I wouldn’t allow it. These kids’ lives and security were more important than any petty crime I might commit to keep them safe.
    I lingered a little longer with Alonzo, my grandson, Alfred’s twin, and watched him sleep. The gentle rise and fall of his chest, the baby softness of his pudgy cheeks, his pure innocence, he was pure vulnerability.
    I left Dad asleep in the chair and went into the kitchen. From my pocket, I took out the wad of bills, that if caught with, I couldn’t explain and would violate my parole. I peeled off twenty hundreds from the roll of two hundred and fifty bills, 25K, and laid them on the table. Two grand would be more than enough to last him until I could make it back the following week. I started for the back door, stopped, went back, and added another ten one hundred dollar bills. The money was important but not more than my dad’s peace of mind.
    I had my hand on the doorknob when the old man’s voice from around the corner reached out, “Chantal called, said it was real important.”
    Dad had been so proud when I joined the Sheriff’s Department, even more proud when I was promoted to detective on the Violent Crimes Team, working the South Central Los Angeles area, making the ghetto safer by putting away the violent predators. He told all his friends over and over, told everyone on his mail route, as well.
    I’d been out of the joint now six months, had seen him on many occasions in those six months, and still I felt overwhelming guilt for having let him down. He’d lived by a code of honor with a strong work ethic like I’ve never seen in anyone else. He never missed a day in forty years as a mail carrier for the post office. He never backed down from what was right.
    The worst part of it, after it was all said and done, I was nothing more than a common street thug, now an ex-con on the dodge trying to keep from going back.
    I let go of the doorknob and went back into the living room. He had his teeth back in and smiled broadly, his brown eyes clouded with cataracts. He was always happy to see me, even from behind the thick glass wall in visiting.
    â€œI got your message at the tree and came over directly. I put some cash on the table out there and didn’t want to wakeyou. Sorry it took so long to get over here. Thing … things have been a little out of control.”
    â€œYou touch my kids, you’re going to wake me. You should know that.”
    I got down on one knee, put my hand on his. “I know, Dad. I’m sorry, but we’re almost through it.”
    I’d taken off the apron in the hospital and thrown it away, but some of the blood had soaked through to the dark work shirt and left unmistakable blotches. His eyes scanned my swollen eye, the bandaged hands. His palsied hand came up involuntarily to touch my face but stopped short. “I know you would’ve come sooner if