Travelin' Man Read Online Free Page A

him, KC. Call him now. He wants to hear from you.”
    â€œI will,” KC promises, a blatant lie.
    â€œWill you pray with me now, KC?”
    â€œNo,” he answers decisively as he ends the call.
    Ten minutes later Coach Freeman is calling his cell. KC assumes the Coach has just heard from his friend in Tampa. He doesn’t answer, letting the call roll into voice mail.
    KC, call me and tell me where I can wire money for you to get back to Sacramento. I told Frank not to release any funds to you until we get this all straightened out. I talked to Jerry Breakstone at your agency and he says Bill Keller is crazy and a hothead. Jerry is calling the assistant g.m. of the Rangers about sending you to Hickory or Myrtle Beach. We know you didn’t do anything wrong and that the things they are saying aren’t true. The Lord is testing us, KC. We will be fine. Call me back.
    Coach Freeman will know by KC’s skittish response, his shaky voice, that he’s lying when he denies the story the Chiefs are telling to justify their decision. The Coach will never believe KC’s tall tale that he was jumped by two black guys coming out of the laundromat, that the cops got it all messed up, thinking he’d gotten into a fight with a drunk coming out of the queer bar next door. His story sounds preposterous, even to KC. So he chooses the safer course of responding by text.
    Â 
    I AM OK I WILL CALL U SOON AS I CAN
    Â 
    Sacramento’s out of the question, at least until he can come up with a more believable explanation for being cuffed and hauled off to the police station. He needs to get the fuck out of Spokane, but can’t even think about where to go until he has his car back. He knows a gypsy repair shop run by some scary Mexicans who will give him a good deal on a set of retreads. They’ll sell him used parts they’ve scavenged from the salvage yard and might throw in scraping the paint off the windshield for free. He’s gonna need to pay for gas and oil and eventually he’s going to have to eat.
    There’s one man in Spokane who’ll be willing to help. Mr. McGwire has always been kind and generous to KC. He’s always telling KC that they’re friends, good friends, despite the forty years’ difference in their ages. Mr. McGwire says it doesn’t matter how they met—KC responding to a post on craigslist by a GEN dad seeking younger, fit son for good times.
    Call me Red , he’d insisted, a nickname he’d been given many years ago before his still thick hair turned silver. Mr. McGwire’s a rich dude, with a big house outside the city. Every few weeks, KC gets a text or a call inviting him for steaks on the grill and carrot cake. Red’s made him promise more than once to never be too shy to ask if he ever needs anything.
    â€œHi Red. It’s Kevin,” he says when Mr. McGwire answers his phone. He’s a little anxious since the unbroken protocol has been that the older man contacts the younger to suggest they get together. Mr. McGwire seems angry, or at least irritated, to be receiving a call from his young friend.
    â€œI’m really, really sorry to call you,” KC apologizes, regretting his impulsive decision. “But I wanted to let you know I’m leaving Spokane.”
    Red’s attitude changes and he even sounds concerned, asking if everything is okay. No problems or emergencies he hopes.
    â€œNo, no,” KC lies. “I got promoted. I’m gonna manage a Radio Shack in Tacoma.”
    Mr. McGwire may be his friend, but he can’t be trusted with KC’s true identity. The guy Red knows is named Kevin Conroy, a shift supervisor at the electronics franchise in a mall on the other side of town.
    â€œWhen are you leaving?”
    â€œTomorrow. I didn’t know when you’d call and I wanted to say goodbye.”
    â€œWe need to celebrate, Kevin! Why don’t you come over around eleven? I’m