Free King Perry by Edmond Manning Page A

have to remember to….
    No. No reviewing or thinking too far ahead while in the weekend. One of the four pillars of kinging: be here, Vin. Be in this moment, right now.
    I guide us from landmark to landmark, ancillary buildings, quietly discussing which shadows offer the best protection. I encourage Perry to watch the guard’s beam to learn how wide he swings the light, how closely he looks behind corners, and we survey our immediate surroundings to determine obvious spots where the guard might direct his attention if looking for unwanted guests. I point out good hiding places in case we get separated and plan a rendezvous spot. Perry is not crazy about hearing this, and truthfully, there’s no chance we will be separated. I wouldn’t do that to him. But I’m okay if he’s afraid of that possibility for a while.
    “Do you like the word ancillary ?”
    “Vin,” he says, threatening me.
    “ Alaska . You have to use my Alcatraz name. What’s yours?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Well, come up with one or else I’ll have to yell out your name.”
    He says, “Nevada.”
    “You’re copying my state theme? Lame.”
    “Still not laughing under this.”
    “Nevada, you have to learn to relax. You’re way too tense.”
    We skirt the security guard twice and tour almost completely around the island, ending only about 500 yards north from where we first made our initial disappearance over the Charlie Brown wall. All that separates us is the bird sanctuary.
    I guide him toward the stone stairs outside the sanctuary gate and we descend, lower and lower, until we find ourselves standing in an abandoned building structure. We’re far enough below the night guard’s walking path that his beam won’t reach us even if he directs it our way. I consider this space to be my Roman safe house. A cement foundation littered with stray twigs supports two stone walls but no actual roof. Each wall boasts enormous floor-to-ceiling rough-carved windows.
    It feels Roman to me: austere, commanding, with a legacy of violence. Caesar might have told his troops to make camp here on the eve of battle. I could imagine fires in the corner, square shadows jerking, rectangular ghosts and maybe a flogging over there. Geez, Vin, don’t think about Roman brutality. I almost barfed when Perry talked about spilling intestines….
    No. Stop.
    Talk about something.
    “Don’t you think this place could use some big curtains? Over those windows? Something that would ripple in the wind, like maybe thick, velvety maroon. Big ferns in the corner over there and a bust of Caesar on a column. Nothing excessive, but it’s a boxy space, so maybe something—”
    “What are you talking about?” Perry asks, mouth frowning through his ski mask. “Why would you hang curtains?”
    “I’m decorating. It’s what we, as a people, consider when confronted with unfinished space like this.”
    Perry is silent for a moment. Then he says, “You were freaking me out with all those words-that-start-with- x stuff. Now this.”
    “No, no, the word doesn’t have to start with an x ; I like words with x in them, or sound funny in some way. Boxy has an x .”
    “Could you not be that way while I’m freaking out to death, please? Seriously.”
    “Sure. Let’s sit.”
    I move to sit behind Perry and position him so we can watch for the guard’s light. I hold him and massage his neck to help him relax.
    “I’m sorry I freaked you out with the word stuff. That was me being goofy to get you to calm down.”
    Perry leans back into me, a gesture that indicates he is more relaxed with me than his brain realizes. His body reveals that he’s not worried about me being a serial killer; he just dislikes feeling fear.
    After a few minutes, Perry says, “The few times this week I actually considered your weekend thing, I worried about you talking the whole time about spark plugs and changing out engines. I thought we wouldn’t have anything in common.” He pauses.