The Gentleman Caller
My back and ribs screamed at me as I leaned out over the armrest of the motorized wheelchair and slapped the round steel button again, harder. An eternity later, the front door of FoneLand swung open and I rolled out of the biting January air into the warm lobby.
The old man at the security desk peered out over his trifocals at me.
“Oh, sorry, didn’t see ya, Janie. Woulda got the door for ya,” Pete wheezed.
“S’okay.” I forced my cold-numb cheeks into a smile as I drove down the beige carpet. Pete was a sweet old man, but God help us if anyone nefarious tried to sneak into the place.
The motor whined like a sick dog; rolling through all the snow outside was hard on the chair. Hell, it was hard on me. Even when I was healthy, if the temperature dropped below 20, the
