Vengeance. Mystery Writers of America Presents B00A25NLU4

his feet and nosed his way out from between the seats.
    The bus driver was waiting impatiently, one hand on the lever, wanting to close the doors against the August swelter. He eyed Earl in the rearview mirror.
    Earl took his good-natured time. He strung his camera around his neck and centered it just so, adjusted his dark glasses on his nose for comfort, gathered his carry-on bag, smoothed the front of his poplin jacket, and moved up the aisle toward the exit. He was making something of a show of it. And why not? He was seventy years old and a black man back in the South.
    Melon followed, brushing at Earl’s pants cuff.
    As they reached the exit, Earl turned to the driver, keeping his gaze off and distantly focused. He pushed his dark glasses higher on his nose, giving the man his best Ray Charles sway-and-grin. “Thank you so much for the ride,” he said.
    The driver studied him with a puzzled look on his face. “You don’t mind my asking . . . if you’re blind, how do you use the camera to take pictures?”
    “I let the dog take ’em,” Earl said in a polite tone. Then he turned, leaving the driver to ponder that image, and stepped down off the bus. “Jump!” he said. And Melon made his leap of faith to the ground.
    See, it was the dog that was blind, not Earl.
    Earl led the way through the wash of hot diesel exhaust, across the bus paddock, to the street, where a row of taxicabs sat parked at the curb. The first two cars in the queue were manned by Middle Eastern drivers. They stood outside the vehicles, chatting near the sign that read TAXIS ONLY . They seemed wholly indifferent to his approach, indifferent to the possibility of a fare. At a third taxi, a black woman had already prepared the passenger door for arrival.
    Now she was calling to Earl’s dog, “Here, boy! Bring your daddy right on in. Let Loretta give you fine gentlemen a ride.”
    Earl crossed past the two Middle Easterners, who found need to voice objection now. Loretta flipped them off and waved Earl and his dog on over.
    The idea that Earl was blind and that Melon was his service dog was a ruse they played routinely. It got them onto public transportation together and into the bars along Vermont Street back in LA. And so far, it had won them a few courtesies here in the South. Few seemed to question it. The dark glasses also served to shade Earl’s aging eyes from the light. They were both getting old, he and Melon. They depended on each other for their respective advantages.
    Earl folded himself into the backseat, saying, “Up,” for Melon to join him. The dog found his place on the seat, and they both settled in for the ride.
    “You know where Cabbagetown is?” he said as his lady driver slid in behind the wheel.
    “Sho’ do,” Loretta said, cranking the engine. “I know where e’thing is. North to Buckhead, east to Conyers. You ain’t really blind, is you?”
    “How could you tell?”
    She was looking at Earl in the mirror. “I seen blind folks; they’s always hesitant. You seem to know where you goin’. Dog’s somethin’ else, though. Playing along like a regular little con man.”
    “He’s the one that’s blind,” Earl said.
    “You say! I saw the way he come jumpin’ off the bus. Must trust his master somethin’ fierce.”
    “We’ve been together for a while,” Earl said.
    They had come off Forsythe Street onto Memorial Drive heading east. It had been forty years since Earl had last been in Atlanta, the place of his birth. The city didn’t seem much different really from what he remembered. Maybe a few more glass-and-chrome buildings was all. It still had the same shady streets, the same sleepy feel to it. LA, by comparison, never seemed to stop.
    “What’s your name, big man?” Loretta asked, nosing the cab through traffic.
    “Earl . . . Earl Lilly . . . but most people call me Little Earl.”
    “Cause you so tiny and all,” Loretta said, metering out the sarcasm.
    “Yeah, ’cause of that,” Earl said.
    “So, what brings you two good-looking dudes to Hotlanta? Come to howl at the moon?”
    “I think we’re both a little too old to be howling at anything, except in pain. Actually, I’m here to find someone,” Earl said. He fished a photograph from inside his jacket and passed it across the seat to her. “You ever seen this young lady?”
    Loretta looked briefly at the photo, keeping an eye on the traffic ahead. “She a beautiful young woman. One of yours?”
    “She’s my