THE LANDSCAPE WAS urban — a pile of tall buildings
set against glass waters glimmering beyond a concrete
divide. The breezy night air blew newspaper leaflets
across shadowy, rain-slicked streets that were smeared
with a rainbow of neon. High, ornate streetlights
provided splotches of relief in intervals along the
asphalt. The air smelled of damp garbage and car
exhaust.
A beat-up, rusty sedan slowed to a creeping halt
between graffiti-laden brick buildings, smoke clouds
pluming from underneath the hood. The door fell open
with a groan and two designer shoes emerged to meet
the wet pavement. Levi’s face bore no emotion as he
stepped out of the car and removed his suit jacket,
folded it neatly, and placed it on the driver’s seat. He
circled around to the smoldering hood and unlatched it
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to look inside. A sudden noise reverberated among the
buildings somewhere behind him, but Levi didn’t turn
around. He recognized the sound as that of a
basketball hitting the ground in measured bounces, its
echo spreading across the deserted city block like a
war drum thumping outside ancient city gates.
Someone was hoping to gain his attention.
Thirty feet from Levi’s car stood four imposing figures
on the street. The one dribbling the ball was no more
than twenty years old, with gothic tattoos inked into
his upper arms. The one beside him steadied a box
cutter against his side, ready for action. They were the
welcoming committee on this side of town, and locals
dreaded running into them. The big man dribbled the
ball with greater force, inviting a response from the
harmless man in the dress shirt and slacks. They
wanted to see the fear in his eyes. They wanted to see
him sweat, maybe even beg a little, before stabbing him
in the chest and walking away with his wallet.
Levi’s back remained to them as he hunched over to
tighten a loose hose in the engine compartment. The
group descended upon him slowly, moving a few steps
closer, loose gravel from the busted cement crunching
beneath their shoes. Their threatening shadows
stretched to the end of the street, ominously covering
their victim’s form. Levi clapped his dusty hands
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together, wiped them on his slacks, then casually
turned around and faced the four menacing youths,
his posture nonchalant.
A standoff.
The big man with the basketball stared into Levi’s
eyes and saw something that he didn’t like. The air
became very still as the lights reflecting off the river
splashed the street with purple and green hues. Levi
took a deliberate step toward the group, and the big
man instantly took a step back. An empty expression
hung over Levi’s face as he invited the welcoming
committee to move closer to him.
The big man swallowed, tapped the guy to his left,
and then nodded to the other two. The group turned
tail and retreated in the direction in which they had
come, each step taken more quickly than the one
preceding it. Levi stepped inside his car and fired the
engine, which came to life with a deep rumble. He
pulled away into the night, heading to a place of rest.
FOUR HOURS EARLIER…
Hinnom Valley Prison
(Hard Labor Camp)
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A prison guard, standing six-foot-three, rapped on
the cell bars with his stick as he strolled down a
darkened corridor smelling of black mold and pain.
Stopping at Levi’s cell, he took a deep breath and
reached for a ring of keys on his belt. Levi heard the
jingle, but ignored it. He knew the drill: inspections
and pat-downs at six and nine.
“You’re free to go.”
That got his attention. Levi rose from his cot,
chewing gum.
“Free to go where?”
The guard slid a key into the lock and said, “Turn
around and place your forehead against the wall. I’m
going to open the door slowly. Do not resist me, Levi.”
Levi laced his fingers behind his head and turned
toward the brick wall of his cell, placing his forehead
against it. The guard took note of Levi’s muscular
forearms and scarred hands. He shook his head with a
sense of amused awareness.
“I never filed an appeal,” Levi pointed out.
“Your conviction was overturned. Warden said to get
you out of here as quickly as possible. And he
emphasized the quickly part.”
“They don’t overturn cases like mine.”
“Well,” the guard sighed. “They did.”
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The guard opened the door and approached Levi with
grave caution.
“I want the vest,” Levi said.
“You don’t need it.”
“If you’re taking me somewhere, I want the vest.”
“How about I just hand you my gun; would that earn
your trust?”
“It might,” Levi answered.
“Sheesh. That’s always the problem with you — you
don’t trust anybody. You don’t need a vest, you don’t
need a gun. No one’s going to try anything.”
“You think I just fell off a turnip truck, Marty?”
“I just do what I’m told,” the guard replied as he
placed a pair of cuffs on Levi’s thick wrists and led him
out of the cell and into the corridor.
Ten minutes later, Levi was standing at the exit
station as a tray of items slid into view, underneath a
bulletproof partition. He leaned over to view his
possessions and felt embarrassed. Someone like him
should’ve had more to his name. A woman in a blue
uniform watched him curiously from behind the glass.
She was sad to see him go, but didn’t know exactly
why. All the prison guards knew his reputation, but he
spoke to the women like ladies and treated most of the
guys like proper gentlemen. Just don’t provoke him.
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She knew that much. She observed him passing a
hand over the items, a vulnerable glimmer in his eyes.
“Something wrong, Levi?” she asked.
“Nah,” he responded. “It’s just been a long time, you
know?”
He peered down at a silver watch, a leather wallet,
designer shoes and a folded suit on the counter in
front of him, smiling at old memories.
“Is that everything?” he asked.
“That’s it. Your car was released from impound.
Warden even charged and gassed it for you. Might
want to change the oil though. It sounded a little
rough. Otherwise, you’re clear to go.”
Levi and the woman shared a look, a moment. He
then gathered his items, everything he owned, and left
Hinnom Valley Prison for good.
• • •
Twenty minutes after facing down four hoods on a
windy downtown street, Levi sat in his car, plowing
through a giant cheeseburger. He looked orgasmic, and
for good reason. It had been seven years since he’d
tasted anything with actual flavor, seven years since
he’d tasted freedom. Outside his grimy windshield, life
was happening: storefront shops packing it in for the
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night, sidewalk strollers out for some action, bars still
hopping. It all felt unreal to him. Am I actually free?
He wadded up the burger sack and tossed it into the
passenger seat, then rolled down his window to suck in
a deep breath of pungent city air. Not just any air, but
the kind that smells like liberty. A strange sense of
excitement danced in his chest and he knew that it
was real. The nightmare had finally come to an end
and going wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted,
was no longer a dream inside the walls of a prison
camp. He was now free to dwell and mingle among the
living.
Levi nursed a free beer at a dive bar which hadn’t
existed when he’d lived on the outside previously. From
the corner of his eye, he noticed two guys and a girl on
the opposite end of the room looking in his direction,
but trying to avoid being seen. Even over the bad
music, he heard the guys prodding one another,
saying, “Is that really him?” and, “Are you sure?” That
was enough to deflate his mood. Levi dropped a tip and
headed for the door. He was too tired to entertain
college kids tonight. He needed something he’d been
dreaming about for far too long as he wasted away in
that dump. Home.
Levi pulled his car to the curb of a nice, older
brownstone. It was on that very stoop that he’d killed
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many afternoons, basking in the energy of a city on the
move. He’d rested on the top step with a chilled glass
of tea, beside a potted green plant that he’d managed
to keep alive for more than a year. The plant was gone
now and the black iron handrails leading up to the
stoop were chipped and spun with cobwebs.
For a moment, he thought about not even going in
but he didn’t know where else to go. He had purchased
the small apartment home twelve years prior with prize
money he’d won from his first fight as a professional.
But in that moment, as he gazed at the apartment
home through a filthy windshield, it all seemed like a
lifetime ago. He was now banned from boxing,
penniless, and suffered from deep scars in his soul
that he feared would never heal. Then again, he was
also a free man.
Levi sat in his car, wondering if it was all a trap.
Maybe there was some well-connected enemy who
wanted him dead for what he had done. Would he find
someone waiting for him inside the apartment, gun
loaded and cocked? For all he knew, the pardon was
simply a ruse to get him to take a dirt nap outside the
jurisdiction of the prison camp. But deep inside, he
doubted it. After all, the warden and all the guards
liked him for the most part. With the exception of a few
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minor scuffles, he had kept to himself and never made
a fuss like most of the other inmates.
Not having too many choices at hand, and not feeling
up to sleeping in the car, he stepped out into the quiet
street and started up a few concrete steps that led to a
red door, styled after a castle gate but hinged on one
side, and scaled down. That was his one decorative
choice. It was now faded from neglect. He removed a
key from his pocket and pushed the door open with a
bit of effort.
A shaft of light from the street fell onto the hardwood
floor, revealing thick dust wafting through stale air.
Levi took a creaky step inside and settled his weight. If
someone were there to kill him, he’d already be dead.
But death was not something that frightened him
terribly these days. He thought to try the light switch
and grinned. After seven days the power company is
calling; how much more after seven years?
Just for the heck of it, and to quench his boy-like
curiosity, he flipped the switch anyway and was
immediately bathed in fluorescent light.
“How could that be?” he wondered. “Did the warden
pay the light bill too? I wasn’t that much of a saint.”
Moving further into his brick-walled, loft-style
apartment, he recognized a strange object sitting atop
a narrow wooden stand that once housed a trophy —
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his first. He moved closer and saw what could only be
described as an ugly lamp standing on a hand-written
note, half-slipped underneath. The lamp was about
twelve inches high and looked like an abused antique.
It appeared medieval, black as night, with an amber
glass fixture set inside the ornate iron bars that
snaked around the globe to hold it in place. The design
was rather anachronistic. There were no knobs and it
didn’t possess a wick of any kind. Not only did Levi not
recognize the strange piece, but he wondered how one
would even go about using it. It wasn’t electric, and it
didn’t appear to be a kerosene lamp either. The usual
candle hatch one would expect to find was suspiciously
absent as well. It seemed as though the lamp was
forged as a single unit, designed to be a non-
functioning ornament. He lifted the lamp and removed
the note from underneath, on which he read the
following words:
I’m the one who orchestrated your release. Now take
up this lamp and guard it with your life. Its value cannot
be estimated. You will be of much use to me, and always
bear in mind that your freedom was costly.
In Solidarity, K.S.
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Levi furrowed his brow. What a bizarre world I’ve
stepped into. He knew that whoever “K.S.” was either
wanted to have fun with him at great expense, or was
sincere in his request about the homely, but
apparently priceless, lamp on his table. He felt
uncomfortable receiving an heirloom from a complete
stranger, and one who was presumably still alive;
enough so to write a letter anyway. He also knew that
this mystery man must possess a great deal of clout to
have obtained his pardon, especially after what he’d
done.
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