Chapter Ten
“She has sprung you, Scott” said Sergeant R. H. Howard through the bars at five in the morning on Friday. He inserted a key from his jangling key ring and turned the lock. R. H. or Robin Hood, as kids called him when he monitored the crosswalk at Springdale school fifteen years ago, had eyes which twinkled then as they twinkled now. Howard had been married and divorced twice, was still an easy touch for a boy in need of pocket money, played Santa Claus at Big K Mall during Christmas Holidays, and filled off duty free time playing chess with John Peckerwood or umpiring little league baseball games. Having gone to school with my mother, he had escorted my father from a jail cell sometimes as he now guided me. I wondered if anyone had bailed out the other miscreants. Had Sharon’s
