Free The Dead Have A Thousand Dreams by Richard Sanders

and beaches. She got through the winter by
layering with blankets and keeping the kerosene stove
going.
    “There’s a lot of freedom
out here,” she said, “long as you know how to take care of
yourself.”
    Part of me admired this
kid’s guts. Part of me was horrified. I kept thinking about my
daughter. What if, a few years from now, she decided to take off
and live in the shadows like this? I’d go insane. I remember a
time, when she was 2, I took her to the playground. She was playing
in the sand by the slides and I looked away for a moment—really, 10
seconds at most. When I looked back she was gone. The sandbox was
empty. Then I saw her—she was halfway up the ladder of one of the
slides. I was floored. She could never climb the ladders before.
She’d never even shown any interest in the slides. Now there she
was, halfway to the top, climbing there all on her own.
    Jen was smart not to tell
me her family name.
    “I spotted you from a
house,” I said.
    “Yeah, I know. The crazy
guy’s. Wooly Cornell’s. I usually go there at night. This time his
wife saw me from the kitchen.”
    “You go there
much?”
    “They put out good
garbage. It’s one of my preferred sources. He’s a prime waster—he
throws a lot of good stuff away.”
    “You know much about
him?”
    “I’ve heard
stories.”
    “Like what?”
    She pulled a handful of
her hair to her nose and gave it a sniff. Something was on her
mind.
    “I know he takes walks in
the woods,” she said. "He goes to this rock.”
    “That’s him.”
    I looked at the trees
around us. Nothing was moving. I took a 20 out of my
wallet.
    “You want to make some
money?”
    Jen wrapped her arms
around her shoulders, hugging herself. Her freckles became lost as
the blood rushed to her face. “I don’t do things like
that.”
    “I don’t mean that. I mean
I’ll pay you for information.”
    “What kind?”
    “The guy, Wooly? He’s in
some trouble. He’s got someone on the premises, guarding the
house.”
    “I’ve seen her. Hispanic
woman, scarred face.”
    “But she’s on the inside.
We need somebody watching the outside, the woods. Something might
happen to Wooly, especially in the next five days. You see anything
that’s off, you let me know.”
    She took the money. “I can
do that.”
    “You stay out of trouble,
but if you see anybody hanging out back there, you let me know. You
have a way to get in touch? Is there a pay phone
anywhere?”
    “I don’t need a pay phone.
I have this.”
    Jen pried a cell phone out
of her shorts. “I found it. It’s a pre-paid. It works.”
    “Good. I’ll give you my
number—call me if you see anything. Can you do that and stay out of
trouble?”
    “I can stay out of
trouble.” She put the cell back in her pocket, then grabbed another
noseful of hair and looked out at the field of dwarf pines. There
was nothing there to look at as far as I could see, but she kept
looking at it.
    “Can I ask a
question?”
    “Depends,” she said, a
little guarded.
    “Why do you keep doing
that thing with your hair?”
    “It’s a tic.”
    “I know, but why? Does it
remind you of something? What does your hair smell
like?”
    She thought for a moment.
“Hair.”
     
    >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
     
     

CHAPTER 4
    PASS THE DRAGON
    >>SUNDAY JUNE 17 (4
days to go)
     
    SUNDAY JUNE 17, 9:00
a.m.
    HE’S JUST HIM
    A day of rest, a day of
peace. At least that’s the way I was looking at it. I woke up
thinking about Monte’s suicide, thinking too about the talk I’d had
with Jen. It just felt like a day to make things right.
Specifically, like a day to sit Wooly down with Georgiana Copely
and let them hash their differences out. I didn’t know who’d been
taking shots at Wooly, but it was true—as he’d spared no pains to
point out—that it’d all started with Georgiana’s prediction. It was
time for them to make amends.
    I told Nickie my idea when
she woke up. She agreed. Psychologically, at least, she thought it
would