Free Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela by Felicia Watson

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    of a bloodied body lying on a floor very much like the one he stood on.
    He hurriedly opened them, noting that Nick‘s frown was now more
    puzzled than pissed. Needing to fill the yawning chasm he‘d cleaved
    between the two of them, Logan added, ―It happened… a while back in
    Elco.‖
    Nick took a deep breath before saying, ―Yeah, it happens. But
    Pittsburgh ain‘t Elco, and I can take care of myself. Been doing it a
    long, long time.‖
    Unconvinced but out of ammunition, Logan surrendered the
    battle. ―Didn‘t mean no harm.‖
    ―Okay.‖ Nick‘s throat muscles moved, obviously swallowing
    anything more on the matter. He hooked a thumb into his pocket,
    asking, ―You still wanta help with the car?‖
    ―Sure. I ain‘t one to….‖ Logan lost that train of thought in a
    memory before firmly stating, ―I don‘t care.‖
    ―Good. That‘s all we really want, you know.‖
    Logan didn‘t know, but it seemed he was going to find out.

    FRIDAY night, Logan parked in front of his landlady‘s house, dog-tired
    and glad of it. He had pulled four hours of overtime at work, which he
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    Felicia Watson

    had spent moving all of the sapling trees from the nursery section to the
    front of the garden center, where they would be displayed as clearance
    merchandise for the next two weeks. From the passenger seat, he
    grabbed the paper sack containing a small box of fried chicken and a
    six-pack of beer—both obtained at the corner store—and slowly headed
    for the steps leading down to his basement apartment. His plans for the
    evening were: shower, dinner, TV, and not thinking at all about the
    events of the previous night. Especially not anything related to Nick
    Zales.
    Logan‘s plan didn‘t even make it to the front door, since his path
    was blocked by a tiny grey and navy figure perched on his top step. The
    person closed a small leatherbound book and jumped up at his
    approach, revealing to Logan that it was none other than Sister Ciera.
    She was one of the Sisters of St. Francis Millvale, a convent with a
    thriving prison ministry, who had offered her help while he was still
    navigating the labyrinth of the legal system.
    Despite her cheerful assistance, Logan had never really felt
    comfortable around the woman, maybe because of her propensity for
    rapid-fire speech colored with her slight Philippine accent, maybe
    because she didn‘t dress like that flying nun or the ones in the movies,
    or maybe because she didn‘t preach at him and talk about God all the
    time. Not that he wanted that—not by a long shot—but it would have at
    least fit his idea of what a nun should be. When she greeted him with
    an exuberant shout while dusting off her ordinary cotton trousers, he
    wondered if she fit a nybody’s idea of what a nun should be.
    ―Logan, I hope you don‘t mind me dropping in on you.‖ Without
    waiting for a reply, she continued, ―You‘ve been on my mind so much
    and you‘ve never called or checked in with me—you still have my
    card, don‘t you?—so I thought I‘d check in with you.‖
    ―Umm, yeah, I still have that card somewhere….‖ Not sure that
    was really true, Logan decided to change the subject by asking her in.
    Ciera eagerly agreed, following him into the one-room apartment.
    ―I can see, and smell—smells good by the way—that you have your
    dinner there, so I won‘t stay long at all. But tell me, how are you
    making out? How is the counseling going?‖

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    Logan placed the paper bag on the kitchen counter before turning
    and answering, ―Uh… it‘s goin‘… fine.‖ He wondered why she was
    bothering him about this instead of just going directly to his counselor.
    ―Don‘t you see Dr. Gerard at that center sometimes?‖
    ―Of course, but I wanted to hear if it‘s working for you . Is it? I
    hope so, I think the world of Trudy; she‘s a very compassionate woman
    and not at all judgmental towards men in your