Page 6 of Back in the Saddle

“I know he’s the King of the Encampment.”

“What else?”

“What else do I need to know?”

“Is he addicted to drugs?”

“That’s not need to know.”

“Is he PTSD?”

“That’s not need to know either.”

“It will be, when he turns because he can’t find his fix and he’s going through DTs, or he’s having an episode and you’re in his space.”

“Homer’s solid.”

“He lives in a homeless encampment.”

“He’s still solid.”

“How do you know that?”

All right.

Enough!

I threw both my arms out and cried, “I just know, all right?”

“Jessie?”

I turned.

And sure enough, about ten feet away, there was Homer and about seven other dudes from the camp.

They seemed menacing in the shadows, but they were scraggly and obviously didn’t get regular nutrition.

Though, even if they were healthy, Eric was the kind of guy who could probably best the lot of them.

Another of those reasons why I was into him. It was clear he could take care of himself and any bad business that came his way, so in the end, if you were his, he could take care of you.

No one had ever taken care of me.

Not ever.

In my entire life.

“Everything okay?” Homer asked.

No!

“Yes,” I lied. “This is Eric. He’s a friend. And he’s not a fan of the hour I chose to visit you.”

Homer looked to Eric. “You’re right. It wasn’t smart.”

Oh my God!

Really?

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